#let’s hope i didn’t miss any autumn references

[stillgotscars]

i don’t know why all the trees change in the fall. now i know why all the trees change in the fall. realized i loved you in the fall. like the colors in autumn, so bright, just before they lose it all. autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place, and i can picture it after all these days. windows flung right open, autumn air, jacket ‘round my shoulders is yours. the autumn chill that wakes me up, you loved the amber skies so much.

[aimfor-theheart]

|| zhongli x afab!reader || E/18+ || smut/a touch of angst/comfort || wc: 7k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

You have never been patient enough for worship. Sometimes, he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared or hated. As a god of hunger, you are not beloved or worshiped by many, if any at all.

You’ve never known the sort of worship that he gives you. 

✧ meet fruit collab masterlist ✧

a/n: this is apart of @willowser 's house server summer collab, meet fruit!! i took plums as my prompt!! this really got away from me and i had a lot of fun with this dynamic and i WILL be writing more of godly wife!reader and zhongli. i have a whole backstory. a huge massive fic i shouldn't work on but will fjdkslfdk i also need to give a special thanks to @itoshisoup , @lorelune , and @petrichorium for helping me with brainstorming and riffing earlier! also finding some godly names for the reader! in particular, mao came up with the name Tanai Zhenjun, which i will leave a note at the end about!! i hope you enjoy this sweet taste!! thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts <333

tags: afab!reader referred to as wife, and has several godly titles that mortals have called her, etc., a complicated relationship between zhongli and reader, mentions of past fights/canon typical violence, erotic fruit eating and feeding, finger sucking, biting, oral sex (f!recieving), some over stimulation, praise, maybe a little sex pollen because the reader causes feelings of hunger/lust/etc. but its consensual and zhongli can withstand it if he wanted, scratching, unhealthy godly dynamics, let me know if i missed anything!

In the shadows of his home, he would know you anywhere. 

(He would know you even if you didn’t appear to him like this, fully formed, and in the visage of mortals. He’d know you in the thunder and the wolves’ howl. He’d know you in autumn’s bitter wind and the fox’s cry. Across all of time, he’d know you.) 

You slip, serpentine, slow and with the easy grace of a predator into the last falling light of the sun; bronzed, honeyed, and appearing before him like you did decades ago, perhaps a hundred of years ago. 

Has it been so long already? 

The sight of you–perhaps simply you, yourself, spark an ache in his chest. Fierce. Hunger pains. 

And after all these years, he welcomes it, savors the pit in his stomach like a sweet fruit. 

You, his god of hunger. 

You, his divine wife. 

He tips his head back, leaning further into the chair at his deep, mahogany desk, as if he could fix his eyes to better see you. As if he could take in more of you, somehow, greedily, hungirly. 

“Hello, my Morax.” You hum and the sun catches in your eye as you step into his life again, after so long without. 

“Hello, my love.” He responds, as if it could’ve just been yesterday.

As if you are his wife and you’ve come home to greet him. As if he is your husband and he’s been working all day without you. 

“It’s been a long time,” he says then, “you’ve been away a long time.” 

You meander closer, on the other side of his desk, peering at the scrolls and papers there. His hands are stained in ink. He catches the downturn of your lips, the small quirking of them in displeasure. Such mortal things, he can hear your voice, the little hiss you get when you dislike something. 

But then your eyes roam to the bowl of fruit, now untouched, that had been brought to him in hopes of eating;

Slices of plum, gold and orange and tender on the inside, their moon-dark skins still curved to them. One still has the pit attached to it, carefully nestled within its flesh. 

Plums always remind him of you. 

(In truth, anything with pits, with bones, with something that can be picked clean and left behind reminds him of you.) 

In an instant, your fingers, nimble–adorned with his jewels, the jewels of his earth, snag a slice.

He watches as you sink your teeth into it, juice bursting, caught on your lip. 

You chew only a moment, swallow slowly as you watch him. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed around Liyue Harbor,” you begin, “I thought I wasn’t allowed around your precious mortals.” 

His voice, low and soft, rumbles in affirmation. “Yes, that is true.” 

“And yet you speak to me like I’m welcome.” You hold the last bite of your slice to your lips, speaking against it, “like I should’ve visited sooner.” 

You bear down into the fruit again. 

“You’ve come to pick a fight?” He asks, “I can feel you’re trying to stir trouble.” 

And it's true; your ability as a god of hunger, to spark it in others. To sharpen and change it from starvation to bloodlust to desire to despair to greed–to any form of hunger. 

You caused whole towns to be decimated, driven mad with just the residuals of you, the feeling of you too near, like a wraith haunting their doorway. You turned tides in the Archon war for him and against him. You have always been one of the biggest threats to Liyue’s peace—to the world. Perhaps even beyond.

You perch on the corner of his desk prettily. 

“I can’t visit my husband?” You purr.

He quirks a brow, “you only ever call me husband when you’re trying to kill me.”

Your grin is a wild slip of excitement, a fissure of heat in the clash of your gazes.

“I am trying to kill you,” you agree, but perhaps you have always been trying to kill him. The battles between you two carved the very land of Liyue and at the end of them, no matter what had transpired, he was still your husband. And you, his wife. “But I don’t feel like fighting tonight.” 

You pluck another slice of plum from the bowl and bring it to your mouth. He watches your lips part to take the fruit in again. 

He thinks of replacing your hand with his own. He thinks of the sticky sweet taste he would find if he licked into your mouth, he thinks of being between your teeth again like the little piece of plum.  

Something inside of him yawns open. 

You’re toying with him. 

“You’re in rare form, then.” he hums and does not deny your draw. He has long since stopped trying not to be swept up in you–he realized it was inevitable at some point. You would always pull at parts of him none of the world had, and like a puppeteer did you play with those strings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

You gaze down at him, almost lovingly, if he didn’t know better. 

Then you shift slightly, adjust yourself. 

And the first touch he has of you in decades, perhaps a century, is just a brushing of your calf against his forearm from where you sit atop his desk. Your bare skin beneath the pooling silks of your skirts. 

Heat rips through him like a tearing wound. 

His gaze flicks up to yours. 

“Did you know I was in Liyue?” You ask. 

“I always know the moment you enter my land again.” 

I always know the moment you come home. 

You shift your leg again, this time, a steadier press to his arm. 

He can’t help himself–he shifts his arm, opens his palm up against the curve of your bare calf to fully feel you, to hold you, in any minute way you might let him. Rough calluses scrape up  against the soft skin of your leg, the silk of your dress pooling around his arm, cool and like spun moonlight. 

You let him hold you like this, curl against the contour of you. His hand moves, dips down almost to your ankle, and back up to the bend of your knee. 

“You missed me,” you accuse, your voice a teasing lilt. 

Perhaps it’s you and the heady rush you cast on a room, on him, “yes,” he agrees honestly, “I always do.” 

“So sentimental in your old age. You’ve spent too long around these mortals.” You tell him, looking away so all you give him is the profile of your lovely face. The upward tilt of your chin, the haughty way you look down your nose. 

“Did you miss me?” He asks and he isn’t looking for you to placate him, but his hand is broad and inching up the back of your thigh. He pulls at you, urges you to the edge of the desk, where his other hand fits around the curve of your waist. 

“Don’t get greedy,” you chastise gently, but you still go with the pull of his hold. 

You slip into his lap like you were always meant to be there, fitting to him the way the moon fits into the sky, or the land against the sea. It’s an ancient feeling, bone deep, soul-cut. 

You let your arms fall around his neck loosely and to have you again in his embrace, after so long, does in fact, make him feel greedy. 

“I can feel it,” he says instead, perhaps just to spite you a little–to move another piece in this eternal chess game with you. “I can feel how you ache. I can feel the way you missed me.” 

“I always feel like that,” you snip, deft fingers slipping the band in his hair out so that it all falls free, loose and flowing over his shoulders in a wave of inky black. “I am always hungry like that.” 

“No,” he says and his voice is low like a wolf’s growling, a tiger’s purr, “I know your hunger. And I know this hunger of yours. You missed me.” 

“If you’re looking for a heartfelt confession, you won’t find it in me.” You tell him, proud little god that you’ve always been, “perhaps you’ll find it in your precious mortals.” 

Your voice takes on an edge, just shy of a sneer.

He laughs, a low rumble from his chest, amused, and pleased.

“Oh, that jealousy of yours. I missed that, too.” 

“Don’t get full of yourself,” you hiss like an asp and now, he worries you’ll bring your claws out. Your eyes glint in the last rays of light, like a bolt of lightning, like a spark of flame in a cold night.

He reaches up to touch your face, thumb sweeping over the arc of your jaw bone in a possessive hold. He forces you to look at him. “Come now, I thought you said you weren’t in the mood for a fight.”

“Then don’t test me.” You snap.

He fights back another fond smile in order to not test you further than he already has. 

He leans closer, his nose almost nudging against yours, “if you’re not here to fight. What are you here for?” 

“To eat through all your land until it is barren again.” You murmur and he knows it is just to pester him. Your fingers are winding in his long, silky hair and your eyes have gone half-lidded, so he knows you are not nearly as waspish as you’re pretending to be.

“If I could satiate your hunger, I would.” He murmurs darkly, lips brushing against yours as you carefully hold yourself back, a dog on a strained leash. At your best, you have always been a caged beast, pacing and desperate for escape. At your worst, you have been nothing short of desolation, teeth upon the earth in a vicious grasp, shaking hard, tearing it to shreds. Your bite never compared to your bark. You’d threaten destruction and deliver devastation; even you, surprised with your own vitriol, your own capability for demolition. 

He threatened to muzzle you once, long ago. 

You rear back slightly to look at him, “no, you wouldn’t. What would you have me be? Content?” 

He laughs softly again, low and warm, terribly fond of you despite it all, “yes,” he says very frankly, and then, “soothed, for once in your life.” 

“I won’t ever be soothed while you walk this earth.” You tell him and he cannot tell if you mean it with vengeance or with love. Are you being romantic? Or threatening him? Sometimes, he felt that your violence was supposed to be more like a kiss, and your kiss the type of violence that leaves him ruined for decades after. 

“And you would be after?” He asks, “I don’t think you’d know what to do if you finally managed to kill me in a meaningful capacity. You’d be bored.” 

You move to pull away from him with a snarl but he fastens his hold onto you tighter to get you to stay, he touches your face again, coaxing. “I only tease you.” 

“I said don’t test me.” You respond, but again, there is nothing nearly so vicious in you tonight. 

No, he knows the hunger in you tonight is a soft creature, a warbling, tender one. He’ll be kind to it, he will feed it and tend to it, even if he knows it will only grow larger still. Like caring for a tiger cub, only for it to grow into all those teeth and muscles, to bite the hand that fed it. 

“Forgive me,” he rumbles, and this time, he angles your head so that he can skim the strong line of his nose against your jaw, “let me make it up to you.” 

“You will not be able to,” you say indignantly and his own smile now feels sharper with the challenge, with your throat so near. He settles himself into a burning kiss against your pulse. Inside of him, something catches and sparks. Your hands curl around the muscles of his shoulders. 

“I know,” he coos, low and soft, almost sympathetic. “Then at least indulge the hunger you’ve caused in me.” 

This, in the least, you settle into. 

He pulls away barely to sit back, to look at you fully in all of your glory a moment. 

You look back at him, perhaps taking him in as well. 

The smoldering turns into a flame. 

The decades of years unspool inside of him and give way to a racing mind, images of what he wants, how he wants you. 

It is always like this, he thinks, eternally, desiring you, and never getting enough.

He thinks he must know how you feel. 

And then he gives into one of several of his desires that are rearing their large, horned heads inside of him. The beasts of his desire are all chained to you, he thinks. He reaches for the bowl of fruit. 

Perhaps it's your turn to be amused as he brings a slice of plum to your lips. You must know how he was looking at you earlier, you must know his desires if you are the one to stoke them. 

Still, you accept the fruit easily, minding your teeth as his finger slips against your lips. Sticky and soft and warm. You draw his finger into your mouth briefly, closing around it. He can feel the edges of your teeth as he pulls it out. 

The moment you swallow around the piece, he surges up to kiss you. 

To finally kiss you. 

He wishes he could call it something of a greeting or reunion, but it is too desperate and too vicious for that. Your teeth click together, coming up against one another, like an old key coming up against a lock. 

He tastes the plum in your mouth, sweet and a little tart, and can’t help the groan that rumbles out of him. 

Your hands disappear into his hair, tangle in the strands so that he can feel the press of your nails against his scalp. He feels the way you arch into the slide of his hands along your torso, bending to them, as if he is a sculptor. It pulls you closer, opens your hips wider in his lap in a way that makes heat rip through him.

When he pulls away, you’re already hazy-eyed, heady with the quick-burn of this sort of hunger, this lust. 

It pulls at him like the tide on the shore to drag him under. 

This time, when he places his lips to your throat, he sinks into a bite at the tender flesh there. 

Sometimes, he wishes he’d treat you more tenderly. As if that might be all you ever needed; more gentleness, and less teeth at your throat. 

But you arch and from your mouth spills your own moan finally, fingers tightening in his hair as if to hold him there. He feels your hips twitch forward, into him, an aborted rock of them, perhaps unknowingly or subconscious.

He wishes you inspired patience in him. 

(Usually, he claims to have a great deal. Unfortunately, he cannot claim the same with you in his arms again. Forgive me, he thinks again, but I haven’t seen you in nearly a century.) 

He stands suddenly with you still wrapped around his waist, hands fit beneath your thighs to lift you and place you on the broad expanse of his desk. Papers get pushed aside, some topple onto the floor in a fluttering mess. You laugh when the bowl of plums rattle precariously, but his mouth covers yours again, and he swallows the sound eagerly. 

He kisses you hard again, hitching your hips up to fit snugly to his, fitting his broad hands over the curves of your waist. You respond in kind, though, and twine your leg around his waist to pull him closer, arch your back to press your chest up to his.

When he pulls away this time, he takes you in, splayed out beneath him. 

“I did miss you,” he gets out roughly.

“Then show me,” you respond, stretching out beneath him, as if to tempt him. 

His hands move over the silk of your dress, bunching parts of it, tangling it. He decides in an instant that he doesn’t actually wish to deal with it, so he sets his hands on the bust and simply pulls. It tears like paper beneath him. And again, you laugh, amused with him now, with what you do to him.

“So impatient.” 

“It’s been a long time, my love.” 

And this time when he kisses you, perhaps you give into him more, feed what he wants. You mewl into his mouth, arch against him, drag your nails down his covered back. 

“Touch me,” you get out, demanding, a little fussy. 

“So impatient.” He mocks dryly. 

For his trouble, you pull harshly on the hair at the nape of his neck, baring his throat to you. 

His broad palm roams up the expanse of your side, your bare stomach, and to your chest. He cups your breast, thumb brushing against the peak in a way that makes you hum and squirm beneath him eagerly. 

You bury your face in his now exposed neck, nudge your nose there, which turns into your warm, open mouth. 

For a moment, surprisingly gentle, until he feels the quick flash of pain from your teeth. He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger with a little more pressure than necessary, just to hear the little noise of pain you make. 

He drops his face to the crux of your chest, lips dragging along the skin there, above your beating heart. And for all your bite and bark, you still offer yourself up to him for the taking. You still draw your hands over his shoulders, pushing at the clothes still on him. He doesn’t indulge you, but draws lower, hair spilling over your chest as his mouth opens against your breast. 

He nips and marks, sets his teeth against the tender flesh and sucks a bruise into you. 

“I miss your sharp teeth,” you admit.

He huffs, breath fanning against your skin. He raises his eyes, molten gold, to meet your own, “there’s no pleasing you.” 

And then he captures the bud of your breast in his mouth and at least manages to pull another sound from you, meandering, growing in your own desire. You squirm beneath him again but something inside of him (old and draconic) blinks its eyes open and he seizes your waist to still you the way a predator subdues their prey, sharply, and with a slow rolling of muscle, a flex of their strength. A serpent squeezing down around a mouse. A tiger bearing down on the deer. 

You don’t go easily, though. 

And the moment you feel his resistance, you squirm and push harder, straining. Arching and impatient. 

He nips, he fights back the more base urge to growl, and readjusts his hold on you.

“Stop squirming,” he commands.

“Stop teasing,” you reply, stubborn, and disobedient. 

“Let me enjoy you.” Zhongli responds, watching his own hand sweep over your breast, cover it, and toy with you. 

“Enjoy me later.” You snip, fastening your legs tighter to his waist, hitching him closer. 

And he feels a head rush of your ability pour through him, the tightening of your desire and lust, of your hunger spilling from you. It’s purposeful. He feels the dull thud of his heart kick upwards, the warmth that simmers beneath his skin. He blinks hard with it, but does not succumb. 

“You’re so insolent.” He finally gets out, just shy of a growl, “now hold still for me.” 

His lips skim the top of your stomach as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. 

You sit up onto your elbows, eyeing him, inching your hips to the edge of the desk eagerly. 

“I’ve always liked you best on your knees, Morax.” 

He sinks his teeth into your inner thigh in a more ruthless bite, forcing your legs open even as they threaten to close with the sudden jolt of pain. Hard enough that you hiss through your teeth, twitching towards or away from him, he can’t tell. 

(Images of days long past flash hotly in his mind, in another form, with those sharper teeth you’d said you missed.) 

He feels your hunger burst open like a ripe fruit, like the plum between your teeth. 

He soothes the bite with a slow, lingering pass of his tongue. 

His eyes flick upwards towards you. 

You look a little shaken finally, eyes glassy, teeth stuck in your bottom lip. 

He drags you closer, pulls you flush so that your hips are almost off the edge. You fall back with the movement and he doesn’t give you a moment. He isn’t feeling generous or very kind anymore. 

His mouth opens against you in a crush of heat, eager, perhaps impatient himself. 

A groan, low, from the back of his throat, works out of him at the first taste of you. 

Again, you try to squirm, and something ancient and vicious in him squeezes hard enough on your waist that if you were a mortal, he might sincerely hurt you. He doesn’t care if you’re trying to squirm closer or away, he realizes, he doesn’t care if it hurts a little, as long as he can have you like this. Open. His. 

Ah, he realizes, perhaps he isn’t ignoring your sway as well as he thought he was. 

He delves between soft folds, already slick, but he’ll make it worse still. 

(Perhaps, at one point, he had ideas of being a gentleman of some kind with you. Perhaps, at some point, he thought he would carefully work you open with mouth and soft tongue. He’d be loving and gentle with you. But you’ve always done something horrible to him, something he can’t tame, something he wishes he feared more.) 

You whine a little and the sound pools straight into his own desire for you. 

He fits himself closer, keeps your legs wider apart with his shoulders. 

“Morax,” you gasp and it’s with more heat and desperation than he is anticipating.

His eyes, heavy and gold, flick up towards your face, looking up at you beneath the dark fan of his lashes. 

Oh, you’re closer than he thought, he realizes. 

He doesn’t slow or stop or lessen himself, groans a little, and fits himself tighter to you. He digs his fingers into your skin and keeps you close. 

To his surprise, that is all it takes. 

Your gasp is strangled, perhaps a little surprised, as you arch off the desk in a bow-curve, poised to snap.

You fall to pieces as a cry loosens from your throat. 

He feels you pulse against his tongue and without thinking, he growls a little, a pleased rumble, and doesn’t stop.

He tastes you, savors it, and doesn’t let you hide or pull away from him.

Your hips twist and he follows the movement, wrestling you still, so that he can still enjoy you. 

You’re out of breath, hiccuping a little, trying to squirm away from him but there’s nowhere to go.

He won’t let you go.

He pulls away to rest his head on your inner thigh a moment, “so quick.” He teases, “you must’ve been pent up for it to be that easy.” 

He thinks, I wasn’t even doing that for you yet—I was still enjoying myself. I was being greedy. Hungry in my own way, in the way that you inspire.

“I should leave you now.” You huff, picking yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him, but your eyes are simmering.

He squeezes at your thighs, “you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

And before he can hear your protests, he dips forward again and flattens his tongue against your folds. Slow, broad licks that make you twist and twitch. 

“Morax—“ 

“I’m not finished with you yet, my love.” He says lowly, somewhere against where you’re most tender and sensitive. 

He takes his time teasing now. 

Enjoy me later, you’d said, and he doesn’t think this is what you meant. 

You have never been patient enough for teasing–for worship. Sometimes he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared. You were always Deus Inanis, Tanai Zhenjun, and later, Rapax Regina to the people. You have many names from them, none particularly kind or cherished. You were always the ghoulish god, the bad omen, the drooling maw of a starved predator. Your myth is not a beloved one by most. 

And some dare not even speak your name at all, for fear of inviting you. 

You are not a welcome god in the home and hearth, you are not for protection or courage. You are feared and warded off. You are, at best, used as a condemnation. 

(To him you were always softened with affection, even at your worst; little god, my curse, my love, keeper of my heart.) 

You’ve never known the sort of worship he gives you. 

You struggle with it, keen sharp and broken when he gives it to you. 

Sometimes you have all-out tried to refuse him or hasten him, poured your lust and impatience into him to get your way, to sway him to your own will. He can feel it again now but it never manifests in him the way you’d like it to. You assume his desire is one of his own pleasure. But it has always been this; 

You, belly-up and vulnerable, only for him, delicate in a way the rest of the world will never know. Pleasure-drunk and hazy. Lost to what he can give you–he wants to gorge you. He wishes he could fill the empty place inside of you. 

He’s spent an eternity trying. He’ll spend an eternity more. 

He focuses his intentions, strengthens the pass of his tongue with what he wants. He wants your pleasure. He wants it again and again. 

You curse a little, an ancient word, from when the land was Archon-less and free. 

He lifts his mouth from you briefly, “you are already cursing like that? This will be a long night for you then.” 

He opens his mouth again to taste you, to suck gently, your legs twitching over his shoulders as your breath hitches. 

This time you curse him, hissing through clenched teeth.  

He laughs against you in amusement, low and dark, and smooths a broad hand over the soft plain of your tensing stomach. As if he might soothe you, or perhaps because he wants to feel all of you, have you in his palms, in his arms. Against his mouth.

The next time you fall apart, he doesn’t let up once. His eyes have gone half-lidded and burning, a flint-strike of amber. You try to fight him again, wrestle out of his hold, but he strengthens himself. He steels himself, even, to your pulling of his hair, to your fussing and snapping–all of that melts to whining, to near-crying, as he continues. 

You’re too stubborn to cry for him now–there have been only a handful of times he’s broken you down that much. 

Perhaps if he were feeling crueler, he would try. 

(These instances have always come in the wake of something worse; your largest fights, or worst transgressions where he felt the need to punish. To strip you bare. These are saved, not for his desires, but for your catharsis after all your grief.) 

But your voice has gone higher with desperation, more broken, and he is pleased with that. 

Pleased enough that when you burst on his tongue again, your nails digging into the back of his hand as he holds you, he finally rises. 

Instantly, you twine yourself around him, legs around his waist, arms pulling at the front of his clothes to drag him down into your arms. You are always more desperate for affection like this, softened by pleasure, hungry for more. 

He goes down easily for you.

 Kisses you hard and open, so that you’ll taste yourself from his mouth, the way he tasted the plum from yours. 

You groan weakly and manage to gasp when he pulls away, “please–more. I need more. Need–” 

Always need, you say, when you get like this. Never want. 

“Need you.” 

He hums, the noise lumbering from his chest in a pleased, dark sound. 

“You have me,” he soothes, even as he feels dizzy with your own desire, a headrush of desperation–of need that rushes from you to him. 

Feed me, need me, fill me, possess me, take, take, take me. Fill. Aching–so empty, I’m so empty. Please, please, it hurts– please, I need more, need, need, need–

He lets out a harsh breath. It aches, almost sharply, almost on the wrong side of pain and pleasure. 

He does not torment you any longer. He does not torment himself, either. 

With fingers far more nimble than he feels, he loosens his slacks, he pushes his clothes out of the way just enough, enough to take himself in hand and hiss through his teeth as the head of his cock touches your slick folds. 

Molten. Fluttering still with sensitivity, with desperation. 

Your hips roll, eager, trying to urge him closer, inside–

“Morax–” you cry and the sound twists something in his chest, blooms like a bruise being pressed on. 

 He presses inside you and fills you in one, deep thrust. 

You gasp sharply, you pull at him, force him to collapse over you nearly, cover you completely. You cling to him, you wrap yourself around him like a serpent, now constricting him–

(He’s never been able to tell who is the serpent and who is the mouse, anyways. Who is the tiger or the deer? Was he capturing you? Or were you always capturing him?)

You hold him so tightly, calves flexing around his back, that he can hardly pull out from you to thrust.

He groans, almost in frustration, or maybe some form of defeat. 

“Darling,” he gets out roughly, “my love. My little god.”

The old, affectionate nickname burns through you and he can feel the desire like a knife’s blade in his own stomach. You moan– a soft, warbling sound. 

He manages to move his hips, barely leaving the hot clutch of you, to push back in deeper, harder. 

“Please–” you gasp, “more–kiss me. Touch me.”

“So demanding,” he scolds, but he kisses you hard, with too much teeth and roughness, and fits his palms over the sides of your body. He takes handfuls of curves, of your waist and your breasts, rough hands bending over the lines of you the way the light of the moon bends over the hills and valleys of his land. 

His next thrust is harder, a little rougher. You turn your face into his throat after you break the kiss and your teeth sink down into him hard. 

You always draw blood. You always have to leave your mark on him, on all that you’ve touched. 

But then you draw your tongue over the wound, licking softly, perhaps in apology. Perhaps to satiate another need that winds around inside you. 

Your hand tangles in his hair again and he bites back another raw groan as he thrusts, in and out, on a slow, rough drag. You’re clinging to him, tight and so wet that it’s making his thoughts bleary and clouded. Your lust shadows any rationality; your hunger possesses him. 

“Harder,” you gasp, you beg, you plead. 

And he thinks who am I to deny you? Who am I to deny the god of my hunger? 

His hand slips over your arm, your free one clawing at his clothed back still. He knows you will mourn not getting your nails into his skin after, but he will let you satiate the need all you like later. He’ll savor the way you try to tear him apart, like he always does. 

(And sometimes, he swears, you’re just trying to tear down his skin to be closer. Deeper in him. Scratching at his ribs and his sides like you want in, in, in. A bad dog at his door. A wraith that claws at his soul.)      

As he pulls at your forearm, flattening it out against the desk beneath you to pin you beneath him, he knocks into the bowl of fruit. 

The last of the plum slices tip out onto the desk and the remaining juice at the bottom of the bowl pools in a sticky mess over the wood, some over your forearm and wrist, over his own, too. 

He thinks you move without thinking, bringing his wrist up to your lips where you lick up a stripe up into his palm, against his thumb. 

You take his thumb into your mouth with ease and he cups your cheek in a possessive hold as he lets you suckle, tongue soft and warm and gentle against the pad of it. You groan, lashes fluttering, and this seems to please some part of you. 

His thumb in your mouth, cock lodged deep inside you. 

He pushes himself deeper on his next thrust, enough that you whine a little, eyes going glassy, cheeks hollowing around his thumb. 

He can feel the spit pooling in your mouth, wet and slick, can feel the way your walls squeeze and flutter around him desperately. 

He presses on your tongue, thrust growing a little faster, but still hard, deep–a little ruthless. 

But it’s what you need–so it’s what he gives you. 

You hold his wrist, little nails digging into his skin, desperate to keep his thumb between your lips. He can feel the press of your teeth in the meat of his hand. 

He readjusts, tries to draw his thumb out barely, only for you to latch down tighter on his wrist, and slide it back into your mouth with a noise of protest. Saliva spills a little, slick and messy against your bottom lip, against his hand. 

He coos, but it’s too dark to sound reassuring, and sounds more like a rough purr, just shy of a pleased growl. 

“I won’t go anywhere,” he soothes lowly, but it sounds like less of a comfort from a husband, and more of a promise from the beast you shouldn’t have let in in the first place. It’s loving in the same way a possession is. “My little god, I have you now.” 

Your peak this time makes something inside of him roar open. He feels your inner muscles bear down on him, fluttering desperately. 

Your eyes tip behind your eyelids, hiccuped breath against his hand as it twists into a guttural sound that he feels against his palm. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, turning your face so that he can press open mouthed kisses against your throat, suck a bruise there, turn the flesh tender, “I’ve got you. Good girl–that’s it.” 

Perhaps he draws blood when he bites you this time, too. Tastes it sharp on his tongue, the blood of a god. He lifts his head from your neck and finally draws his thumb from your mouth, spit slick as he traces your bottom lip. He pulls himself up from you to gaze down at you, slack jawed and messy, near feverish with your lust. 

His hips quicken, harder, and you reach out to splay your hand out against his tensing stomach, to push at him a little. 

But he doesn’t stop, feels you nip at his thumb, still making a mess of your lips and chin. 

Your legs are still hitched tight around him, drawing him in, keeping him close. 

He squeezes your hip with his free hand, he loses his rhythm when you draw his thumb back into your mouth, suckling softly on it. 

He groans, feels his own pleasure in a rush down his spine, a burst of heat that unfurls like a supernova. Collapses inward. Expands outwards. He buries himself inside of you, as deep as he can manage, deep enough that you make a little noise of pain maybe, but you hold him tight to you. Again, you constrict around him, dragging him back down by his clothes to slot your mouth against his as he fills you. 

It’s your turn to hum, pleased, almost purring, tightening your hold around him, locking him against you.

The kiss this time is slower, but dirtier, all tongue, open and messy. He groans into it, holding your jaw, feeling himself twitch inside of you, his own eyes fluttering with pleasure, lashes against your cheek. 

When you both pull away, you’re out of breath. Chests rising and falling against each other. 

You seem subdued now, heavy-lidded, but your lips drag to his cheek, down to the curve of his jaw. 

You roll your hips a little.

“More–” You murmur, “I want more.” 

His laugh tapers into a moan. He flexes his hips a little, heat simmering beneath his own skin. 

Your hands pull at his clothes finally, tugging at them, pulling at buttons until they snap and burst beneath your fingers, until you reveal bare skin. Instantly, your hands are on him, nails scratching into his chest gently, over his shoulders. 

(He’s going to take you to bed after this and he’ll rid you of the scraps of your clothes and the rest of his. He'll get rid of anything between you.) 

The ache in him builds again and suddenly he’s rocking into you again, deep and slow, watching the way he disappears inside of you. The mess he’s already made of you, the way he wants to make it all worse. He feels feverish himself now, a little lost to the sight– his desire suddenly feels inhuman. Monstrous. Too big for his own skin. 

You always seem to remind him of his divinity. 

“Hold me,” you demand now and as if commanded, he goes to you. 

He gets his arms around you and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. His desire unwinds. Time unspools from him. He loses himself in the pull of you, in the undertow of desire and hunger. He tries to satiate the ache you have carved in him. The ache you always have nestled inside of you. 

You beg him of more–more pain and more pleasure and more of him–until he feels near mindless with it. Gone with it. 

Shuddering with sensitivity and feeling you tremble with it, too. 

He doesn’t regain himself until another peak has been reached and fallen from, until he realizes the hour; the moon hanging in the window of his study like a copper penny. He forces himself to slow. To lodge himself deep and go still inside of you and let his head fall to your chest.

You cradle his skull, fingers slipping into his hair, catching your breath as the haze fades for a moment. 

He picks his head up barely, shifts only so he can catch your gaze. 

“Stay for a while.” He demands now. 

 You let go of a sigh, deep, perhaps tired. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed.” You hum softly. 

“Will you behave?” He asks and you lean down to kiss him–sweeter now. Perhaps apologizing. He accepts your affection with warmth, though. 

“You know how I get restless.” You respond, fingers tracing along the nape of his neck, one of them trailing down the bend of his jaw. 

You are softest now, like this. It’s a rare sight; one he savors, one he will stay hungry for his whole life, he thinks. 

“Yes,” he agrees, perhaps fondly, perhaps sadly. “If you could keep mortals out of it, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Even if I tried to kill you again?” You ask, finger tracing the bow of his upper lip. 

He smiles faintly and you touch the corner of his mouth, “yes,” he agrees, “even then.” 

“Or tried to steal your Gnosis again?” 

He snorts softly, picking himself up further to hover over you, to gaze down at you with more love than you have ever known what to do with. “You can certainly try again.” 

“Perhaps I should try harder this time.” The threat is fangless this time and you are at least soothed somewhat for now. He knows it won’t last long. 

But for now, he takes advantage of it. He cups your cheek, brushes his thumb along your jaw affectionately, and for once, you nuzzle into the touch. You rub your cheek into his palm like a cat. 

A flash of your teeth. You bite down into his hand. 

He laughs softly, but pulls his hand from you, dislodges your teeth from his flesh. 

Slowly, he tries to detangle himself from you. You are reluctant, but he appeases you with promises of more, of his bedroom. Of a bath and whatever you want. 

“More plums,” you say, letting him carry you to his bedroom like a young bride, cradled in his arms. “I’ve always loved plums.” 

He smiles, “I know. They remind me of you.” 

The admittance is a tender one, one that he has held for centuries that has finally loosened from his mouth like a bird taking to flight. 

In the morning, when you have slipped from him and his bed and his life once more, all that’s left are the marks you left on him, the deep scratches and latches of your teeth on tan skin–

And the pits of plums you devoured before you left. Not one is spared and he thinks his heart never has been, either. 

Not from you, his wife, his curse, his love–not from his god of hunger. 

***

a/n part ii: thank you for reading!! here are those notes on the reader's godly names:

There are three titles the reader is referred to. Two of them are latin, similar to Rex Lapis, and the third is from @itoshisoup, and is Tanai Zhenjun, which mao explained as such: "贪爱 (tanai) is a Buddhist term that is often translated as "craving", and refers to desire for both physical and mental things. From my understanding, tanai is sometimes considered a cause of suffering (苦 or ku), but is sometimes considered closely related to suffering in other ways. Given the motif of hunger, I would name the god Tanai, and additionally give them the honorific "Zhenjun" (a title associated with Taoist gods - much like "Dijun", which is the honorific in Zhongli's Chinese title, Yanwang Dijun; however, it is a lesser title than Dijun). Tanai Zhenjun is therefore what I'd call them."

The other two are Deus Inanis and Rapax Regina, which mean "empty god" and "rapacious/ravenous queen" in Latin.

i plan to write more of this reader and use these godly names again soon &lt;3

[faithhopeloveandtherapy]

There was a big local event on today that foster carers were encouraged to go to with their children. I felt like there was no way I could go with both children, Mr 7 is all high speed and enthusiasm, and Miss 5 is all walk at toddler pace in her own direction. Neither child has any danger awareness or ability to reliably follow directions (stop, wait, let’s go over here etc). In the end Miss 5 is not very well so I left her at home with d3 (who I pay £££ to provide childcare) and just took Mr 7.

I thought, am I being a wimp or just over dramatic , not being up for taking both children?? Then I got to the event and saw other foster carers with multiple children, but the children were walking alongside adults, doing as they were asked, not screaming or head banging…. I had even forgotten that children could do this!! I am so used to hanging onto them at all times it’s become normal to me. I only coped with Mr 7 because a staff member helped me out and let me jump in the queue for food (Mr 7 does not want food and does not like queueing). He didn’t have any meltdowns but did get close at two points - one when he couldn’t find a bow and arrow stall (?!) and once when we couldn’t find anywhere giving out lollipops 🤷‍♀️. The rest of the time, I just followed his lead, so he spent about 40 minutes on the bouncy castle and 30 minutes playing his own made up version of 4 in a row (he won 11 games to 2 but the rules changed every game 😂 I just insisted I had won on two occasions so that he didn’t always get to win).

Later this afternoon, I got a text from the people who were going to do our holiday care for a week in the autumn. They came to meet the children a fortnight ago, and messaged today to say that they think that it will be too much to have the two of them for a week so they are pulling out. Gutted. And not gonna lie, a bit pissed off. Because I will have had them for 5 months by then and they can’t manage 1 week. It also reminds me that these two children do have a lot of needs. It’s just become so normalised to me that I don’t notice it so much anymore. Back to the drawing board for the holiday care hey ho.

Took Mr 7 swimming late afternoon and it was just what we both needed in this heat. He had a great time and we didn’t get home till 7pm, just in time to do Miss 5’s bedtime and then Mr 7 has an hour of quiet play in his room. I hope Miss 5 is on the mend now. She screams the place down and thrashes and spits when I try and get calpol into her (reference earlier posts about giving medication) and I am so over that six hourly battle!

[we-were-beautiful]

The Fox and The Hounds pt. 3

A/N: I did switch up the writing style just a little bit and I am sorry if that throws people off. It is much easier for me to write in this style than the other but hopefully y’all will still like it. Also this fic takes place before the first war so there are some references to keeping humans as slaves which we know most of the high fae did  so heads up on that. Also I realize I worked myself into a corner and now have to come up with names for 17 doggos so please leave any suggestions  for names as I am drawing a blank on this. I will also accept people who want to beta read this for me to help me find silly mistakes that I know I miss

Summary: Its autumn court tradition to give your mate a fox kit before your ceremony. after years of knowing the Vanserra’s a mating bond snaps between the Autumn Heir and a well known smoke hound breeder

Warning: Brief mention of slavery 

 WC: 2.3k 

A month had passed since the mating bond had snapped between Eris and myself, and  since that fateful morning so much has happened since. Paprika has grown quite a bit and is an adventurous little creature. The hounds tolerate this new fox in the household but tend to ignore the small creature that nips at them. I had spent much of my time at the forest house with the Vanserras and Eris. This time has given Eris and I a chance to get to know one another on a more personal level rather than just the surface level friendship that we had previously had. However the last month had also been a never ending calendar of events that the two of us had been forced to attend. Balls, parties, and dinners; if there was an event with the nobility  Eris and I were to be in attendance. 

As it stands I am currently directing my fathers human slaves as they packed my clothing for a weekend away. Apparently Eris had arranged a weekend away for just the two of us with my father and his. To get to know each other away from prying eyes and without chaperones. It was a bit nerve racking; we had never really been on our own, either one of our parents or siblings are always with us or we are surrounded by the nobles of the court. The gentle bump on my hand pulls my attention away from my thought Paprika had hopped into my lap and decided that I needed to pay attention to her. A small smile gently forms on my face as I run my hand across the foxes soft fur “Y/N” my eyes glance to the door as my mother waltzes into the room. The humans give her a bow before returning to their task 

“Mom” I addressed her as she sat down next to me.

“How are you feeling, Darling.” she runs her hand through my hair 

“I’m not sure. We’ve never really been alone together.” I sigh and pick up Paprika to snuggle her to my chest. “And now we are going to be alone for a whole weekend. I don’t even know where to go from there.” 

“Well this is how you get to know each other Darling, if your father didn’t think it was a good idea he and Beron would not have agreed to Eris’ plans.” Mom gently takes one of my hands in hers “You two are mates, the mother deemed you to be his perfect match. Worse comes to worse you can always fall back on your hounds”

True enough Eris had requested that I bring my hounds along. So it will be us and 18 dogs in whatever little cabin that Eris had planned for us to stay in. We had introduced the dogs last week at our home so that they could get to know each other. Thankfully the meeting had gone relatively well. Ramiel was her typical self but didn’t start any fights with Eris’ hounds so we counted that as a small victory. A few servants from the Forest House had come earlier to collect the hounds and bring them to the location. 

The clock on the wall ticks reminding me that the hour grows closer to the time when Eris is going to come and get me. I am hoping that he will be amiable to take a minute out of our trip. Bella’s puppies are now at the stage where we start letting the new families pick out which pup they want. Beron had come by earlier this week to pick out which pup would be his. I figured Eris would like to have an opinion on what pup we should keep as we are going to be sealing the mating bond in a little more than two weeks. A puppy would be a gentle start to see how well we can make decisions together as a pair. 

The gentle brush against my mental shields jolts me out of my thoughts 

“Where did you go Dear?” Mom’s voice breaks the silence. Her soothing tone is as comforting as it has been throughout my whole life. 

“I was wondering if Eris would mind postponing our trip for a little bit so that we can pick out which pup to keep.”  I explain to her 

“That sounds like a wonderful idea darling. I’m sure Eris will not be opposed. Quite frankly I’m surprised he got you a fox and not a puppy.” I had heard about that little bet that my parents had made. She thought for sure that Eris was going to find a smoke hound pup, whereas Father bet that he would go the traditional route with a fox kit. Turns out Father who was born and raised in the Autumn Court and who was Eris Godfather was right about my mate sticking to tradition.

“While I wouldn't have been sad with a puppy I had always dreamed about a fox.” As if knowing that we are talking about her, Paprika lets out a little yip wiggling in my arms to her back wanting her stomach scratched. I gently scritch her soft underbelly. A knock sounds through the door 

“Enter” Mothers voice rings out. One of the butlers head pokes into the room

“Lord Eris is here for Lady Y/N.”  He addresses the two of us. Mom quickly stands offering me one of her hands. I take it and allow her to pull me up off the bed. 

“Thank you.” She dismisses him and he nods and walks away 

“Come my love, your betrothed is waiting for you.” She places a quick kiss to my forehead 

The walk from my room to the foyer seems to take forever. The soft clicks of Ginger and Paprika’s claws on the wooden floor break the unnerving silence. Even though I had gotten to know Eris on a surface level this was a weekend without others to buffer. Sure there would be a servant who would come and prepare our meals, but other than that it would just be the two of us. The thought both filled me with excitement and fear. As we approached the door Cinnamon eyes met mine. There he stood in all his glory. Eris Vanserra always immaculately dressed, somehow managing to seem out of place in our home. A soft smile formed on his face as he turned fully to face us. 

“Lady L/N.” He bows towards my mother, walking over to the two of us. He takes my hand and places a kiss on the back of it. A habit he had started once the engagement was formalized “ My Mate.” 

“Lord Eris.” I curtsy, the hem of my riding dress pooling on the floor before rising. He had told me multiple times that I did not need to bow before him or address him as lord; I was his mate, his equal but life in the court had taught me protocol on how to interact with the highlord's family. Eris releases my hand placing his on my chin gently tilting my head to look at him. 

“How many times must I tell you Mate that you are allowed to call me just by my name.” 

His tone could be read as cocky, his grin doing nothing to dispute that. Something in his eyes however seemed almost sad at the formality 

“At least once every time we meet.” and more if the Highlord was around. I was always cautious around Beron, even though he was my fathers best friend he was notorious for his anger and cruelty. Which I had no desire to experience, hence the formality with my soon to be in-laws. 

“This will change after the wedding “ He cups my chin tilting my head to look at him “you are my mate and equal, I won’t have us going through life with you addressing me formally” 

We stare each other down for a moment seemingly lost in each other. Something that I had noticed in the time we spent together. We tended to get lost in a little bubble of just the two of us even in a room full of people. A small cough from my mother pulls us out of it, making me jump backwards slightly away from the fiery haired male.

“Y/N, the servants have finished packing your things for the weekend.” She laughs at the situation and how easily we got lost in each other forgetting that we had an audience “Didn’t you mention wanting to show Eris something before you left.” 

“Oh, Yes” the puppy I had nearly forgotten. “If it's not too much I would like to gather your opinion on something before we depart for the weekend.” 

“Of course my mate, whatever you need it is never a problem .” He gently holds out his arm for me to take. I thread my arm through his getting ready to lead him towards the kennels Paprika danced between the two of us bumping into our legs to get our attention, the little kit was eager to set out on an adventure and given that her leash had already been attached she was more than ready to get out of the manor. 

“I will leave you two alone then.” Mother walks over and gives me a kiss on the forehead “enjoy your weekend my love.” 

She turns to face Eris and a saccharine smile grows on her face “I trust you will take care of my daughter Eris.” while not a threat the intention was clear as day, hurt my daughter and I will make you wish for a merciful end. 

“Of course lady Charis. It's just a weekend so that we can get to know each other outside of the court. I will make sure she is taken care of and protected.’ He bowed his head towards her not truly understanding that it was more than just a mothers threat to keep her child safe. She had kept her powers hidden from everyone here in Autumn and when I showed similar powers I was taken  to the night court to train and hone these gifts alongside my cousin. 

“Goodbye Mother, I will see you when I return.”  I smile at her before gently pulling Eris towards the door. 

“Goodbye my dear, I love you.” She always told us that when we left it didn’t matter how long we would be gone she always made sure to tell us she loved us. 

“I love you too.” I smile at her over my shoulder as I lead my mate out the door and towards the kennel. 

We walk in silence for a few moments before Eris speaks up. 

“What did you want my opinion on Y/N” straight and to the point as he typically was but not in a cruel way but rather inquisitive. As if curious to what his bride might want. 

“Well I plan on keeping one of Bellatrix’s pups, and since our ceremony is in two weeks I figured you might like a say in which puppy we keep.” I open the door to the kennel letting him walk inside. “The Highlord already selected his pup, as promised he did have first pick; I have a few families coming next week to select their pups. By the time of our ceremony the pups will be just about ready for their new homes.”  I led him back towards Bella’s large cage, swiping one of the dog tags embossed with the L/N crest, a simple way of knowing who the hounds belong to. “So we still have 5 pups to choose from.” 

‘I trust your judgment on quality hounds Y/N seeing as you are the most talented breeder in the court, but thank you for wanting my opinion” his voice seemed softer now that the two of us were away from prying eyes. 

Stepping into the cage Bella stands and walks to the two of us nudging my hands with her large head. It is a sight to see Eris drop to his knees to pet the pups, but the smile that he wore showed that he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I moved to kneel beside him gently petting the pups who were excited to see us. The runt of the litter worms his way into my lap circling around a few times before laying down. I had always been rather fond of this little guy. Even though he is smaller than his siblings he seemed to have inherited Khalid's personality, and if he's anything like Bella he will grow into a formidable hound. Eris reaches over to pet the pup's head playing with his velvety floppy ears. 

“You’re fond of this one.” it's not a question rather a statement. 

“I am, he reminds me so much of Bella when she was a pup. I ran a hand along his soft fur looking over to Bellatrix who had laid down beside me.  

“Does he have a name?” Eris looks to me and then to the pup. 

“No, I don't generally give the pups names, I let the families decide.”  It was a method that kept me from getting attached to the pups and wanting to keep all of them. 

“We can take some time this weekend to pick out a name.” Eris smiles at the pup, “I think he will be a great addition.” 

A smile grew on my face, this pup had weaseled his way into my heart, and I knew I would have chosen him on my own, but to have my mate agree to the runt of the litter made my heart happy. In times like this I can almost forget the whole situation that we are in. Right now we are just a couple picking out a puppy; no courtiers, no parents, just Eris and Y/N.  I clipped the tag onto the collar, the metal cool against my fingers. Eris reaches over and grasps my hand still holding the tag. 

“We will need to get you some different tags for your hounds when we return.” His voice is smooth and calm.

Reality hits me again. We were going to be mated in two weeks and I wouldn’t just be Y/N the daughter to Beron’s most trusted advisor and member of the court. I would be Y/N Vanserra wife and mate to the heir of Autumn. 

Taglist: 

@imma-too-many-fandoms @judig92 @fall-myriad​ @j-brielmalfoy @highlady-ofillyria @percyjacksonspeen @nyctophiliiiiaaa​ @b0xerdancer

[goddess-in-heaven-and-hell]

Invisible Strings Pt. II - Gwynriel One-Shot

word count: 4.4k

warnings: swear words, sexual innuendo

As it turned out, living in hell was a lot more comfortable than she thought. At least in a strictly physical sense.

Gwyn went about her usual routines in the safety and warmth of the house, only surfacing once a day for training. You’d think the priestesses wouldn’t go as hard as usual, with their pestering instructors being absent, but something about the fact that they currently fought very real battles served as a kick in the ass. They were diligent and thorough; even adding exercises and runs as they went. Gwyn knew her friends and colleagues were just as nervous as her, had just as much energy to spare. So, they went to work.

It was all calculated, really. Gwyn tried hard all day, working both her mind and body into a state of absolute exhaustion – because she knew that night was unavoidable. And night meant too much peace and quiet. It also didn’t help that the mere thought of it was so deeply entangled with thoughts of Azriel that sunsets were like a stab to the heart.

The only thing that helped, even if it was just for a day or two, were his messages.

Two weeks after he was gone Clotho visited Gwyn in the alcove where she set up work for the day, a crumpled piece of paper in hand and a conspirator’s smile barely visible underneath her low hood. Gwyn was reprimanded by her superior for the loud shriek she let loose when she understood. He kept his first promise, at least.

The message was brief, to the point, and seemingly scribbled in a haste. But he had thought of her, in the middle of absolute chaos. So she sat there for a while, the paper pressed to her chest and staring into nothing. It spoke of numbers and strategy, but held the sentiment of ‘all will be well’. And that was enough for now.

Each morning, Gwyn was the first to arrive at the big spread sheet that was plastered to a wall in the center of the library, right by the entrance. On it, Clotho (and any other official bearing news, Gwyn included) updated the ins-and-outs of this conflict. Each morning, she surveyed the malicious piece of paper, scanning frantically for death tolls, victories, and sometimes, a direct reference to her Shadowsinger.

And so, the days simply went on, with March turning into April, and April making way for the mild May days. As the morning air around them got increasingly warm, Azriel’s messages got increasingly short.

The latest one read:

“Gwyn,

Cassian: mildly hurt (leg, will heal eventually)

Nesta: furious at Cassian

Shadows: missing their favorite

Me: absolutely done with the people around me, will have to find a cave soon for some quiet

Yours, Az”

It brought the first real smile to her face after weeks of sadness. But she also knew (from the handy paper), that a certain notorious warrior with the ability to command shadows caused quite the ruckus during the lastest battle, which was fought right at the border of autumn and summer territory. It didn’t mention exactly what happened, just implied “considerable damage done after an outburst of power”. Gwyn had hoped for Azriel to clear some things up with his message, but he’ll simply have to tell her when he was back.

It turned out, she didn’t have to wait that long.

From time to time, even Cassian and Nesta sent word, assuring her of their relative well-being and the course of this conflict. It was Cassian who, scribbled at the very end of the message, informed her of exactly why her Shadowsinger went berserk that one time.

“… and Gwynie, Az saved out asses today. I’ve never seen him do something like it. It was like he released a blast from his Siphons and Shadows together. I’m not kidding, it evaporated the whole right flank of Autumn. Sent the rest screaming for their mommies. After, when I asked him about it, he just shrugged and mumbled something along the lines of ‘it got caught in the little shit’s uniform and he nearly ripped it’. Maybe you can make something of it.”

But it couldn’t have been. It was just a bracelet, after all.

On May 7th, victory was announced. The news didn’t even make it on paper, it was simply called out by one priestess after another, until shouts of euphoria and relief echoed through the mountain. This morning, Gwyn trained like she never did before. And with a bigger smile on her face than a squat should ever elicit.

They won. And they were coming home.

---

A few days later, as Gwyn readied herself for sleep, she felt something.

It started in her chest, and she briefly wondered if she should see a healer, but the uneasiness made way for warmth after a few minutes. Warmth then turned into a tingling feeling, spreading out through her arms and legs. Then, a pull.

When she reassured herself she wasn’t having a nervous breakdown, and sleeping like this was off the table anyways, she decided to move around. The priestess threw on her dressing gown over her nightdress, and started to climb some stairs. Working out some extra energy.

Until she noticed the pulling and tugging in her chest got worse every time she was at the bottom of said stairs, and slightly lighter when she reached the top. Another step into the hall of the House proper relieved her of more pressure. And another. She was starting to freak out again, when she suddenly noticed a very real tug on her wrist.

Gwyn looked down. At the whisp of Shadows wrapping soothingly around her and pulling her further into the corridor.

She wasn’t proud to admit that it took her a ridiculous amount of time to realize. But when she did, the fireworks starting in her body made her jump into action. 

Walking turned into racing, the walls beside her blurring. But the tears escaping her might have had something to do with that too. She rounded corner after corner, climbed up a thousand flights of stairs, like she knew where she was going. Her heart knew anyways, she figured. And then, she saw him.

Azriel was sat on the armchair of his room, door left open like he couldn’t be bothered to close it, his eyes closed with exhaustion. Gwyn briefly took him in, trying to get her breathing to calm. His coloring was all off, even though he must have been outside often. His shoulders slumped, and he seemed to have lost a bit of weight too. The male looked like he needed a holiday desperately. Even back in safety, his fists were clenched as they rested on his lap.

But he didn’t loose his wings, or an arm, or a leg, or his life. He sat there, in one piece, just like the night she barged into his room crying.

A moment which simply begged for a repeat.

“Azriel?”, she rasped out. All other words escaped her.

And him too, it seemed, as his head lifted to take her in. He moved slowly, deliberately, like he fought his strength for every inch gained. So, Gwyn helped.

In the middle of his room, they clashed together so hard it stole Gwyn’s breath away. Azriel hugged her unbelievably close, his arms and wings and Shadows coming around her body and engulfing her in his scent. The priestess hugged him back just as tightly, not caring that she was only in very thin layers of clothing, or that she was crying again. Because this was her Azriel.

Still hugging, Gwyn heard him mumble something into her hair. She couldn’t hear initially over the beating of her heart, but then-

“What in the Mother’s name are you being ‘sorry’ for?”, she leaned back only slightly (like hell would she leave his arms) so she could see his face, take in his gaunt features and familiar amber eyes.

Azriel entangled one of his hands from behind her and held it open between them, palms facing up. Where her bracelet found its last resting place, it seemed.

“I was flying and winnowing home in leaps, and during the last flight – I don’t know how – I felt it sliding off my arm. Caught it midair, but I don’t know if I can fix it.”, he explained with so much sadness it made her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. The strands were almost translucent, shredded beyond repair. And Gwyn smiled at its magic.

For lack of better words, it had worked like a charm.

Gwyn felt more tears sliding down her face in pure happiness. The bracelet must have ripped as soon as the wish held within was fulfilled. As soon as Azriel was flying home, safely and healthily.

“It doesn’t matter, Az. I’ll make you a new one. Or we’ll make it together.”, Gwyn was still in awe at the tiny piece of string, and the male standing in front of her. She stood on her tiptoes, both hands coming to each side of his face, and pressed her forehead against his. “Thank you for staying alive, Azzy.”

The Shadowsinger hugged her closer, one hand coming to the nape of her neck. “Thank you for keeping me alive.”

Neither of them had the time and energy to acknowledge what they both felt, clear as day, as it glowed and pulsed in their chests. They simply didn’t care, for there were bigger miracles in the world. Well, Gwyn didn’t. Azriel seemed to be too exhausted to notice anyways.

“Shadowsinger?”, Gwyn mumbled after a while.

“Mh?”

“You smell a bit.”

Azriel snorted. “Surprising, since I’ve just come from war and raced against time to be here earlier than everyone else. But next time, I’ll just bathe instead of seeing you right away. No problem.”

Gwyn smiled. “No. Next time, I’ll come with you, remember?”

“Right. I’ll tell Rhys to piss off some important people so you can have your war. But tomorrow.”, Azriel smiled at her, his hand coming up to caress her cheek. He fell quiet while his eyes continued to roam her face, soaking up her smile.

What he said next needed to be recorded in history for the best change of subject to ever exist.

“I’m in love with you.”, Azriel confessed.

He seemed a bit taken aback by it himself, for his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Gods, that should have come out a bit more … cohesively.”

Gwyn was staring at him, mouth agape but already stretching back into a smile. “It was cohesive enough I’d say.” The butterflies in her stomach at least understood perfectly.

“I- fuck“, Azriel finally let go of her, stepping back to the edge of his bed and sitting down with exhaustion. He was clearly annoyed at himself, and the combination of anger, confusion and sleep-deprivation made him look like an overgrown bat that was just woken up from a nap. It was adorable, and Gwyn wanted it painted.

“I planned to tell you this in a really romantic, beautiful way. Planned it every waking minute I spent there and wasn’t preoccupied. Gwyn, you were on my mind constantly, looking over my shoulder – and apparently also guarding my back. And I wanted to do this in a way that felt grander. Like in the novels you like so much.”

She practically felt him mentally scolding himself.

“You- I-“, he took a deep breath. “The thought of not having told you when I should have haunted me. It kept me going week after week, because I just wasn’t about to die before telling you. That you are my home, and my best friend. And for a few months now, I have started to think of you differently than before. The more I wanted it to go, the stronger it got.”

The priestess had hoped, of course, but hearing him say it gave her enough material to daydream for the rest of her life. Gwyn involuntarily inched closer to him until she was in touching range again, brushing her hand through his longer-than-usual locks and massaging his scalp.

“I think I knew. Or some part of me did anyways, when we said goodbye that night in March.”, she confessed, her voice as soothing as the patterns she drew with her fingers. “You really rather faced war than just confessing this the moment we parted, huh?”

Azriel signed. “Don’t remind me of my shortcomings, please, not tonight anyways. Swords are a little more straight forward to me than words of affection.”

The Shadowsinger’s hands came up to hold onto Gwyn’s waist, pulling her downwards so she sank onto his lap, her own arms draped over his broad shoulders. Apparently, neither of them was capable to be physically separated right now. She sat on rock hard muscle and leather, and yet, nothing has felt more comfortable in her whole life.

“We can work on that.”, she promised, “Put it right on the list, next to ‘make a new intimidatingly-male-colored bracelet’.”

“We can?”, he asked – voice so low it sounded almost … unsure?

Gwyn furrowed her brows, finding his gaze again to assure herself that he was still alive and not sliding into unconsciousness while she talked about bracelets. The hope and anxiety she was met with gave her heart a squeeze.

And she realized she hadn’t said it back.

“Oh Gods.”, Gwyn broke out into giggles, “Az, I’m sorry. You need some vital information to understand.”

She cupped his face again – it fit so perfectly in her palms – and pressed a soft, loving kiss on his lips. After a moment of shock Azriel responded, moving his mouth over her own in gentle, careful movements. It was her first kiss after Sangravah, and it felt exhilarating.

“I love you, too.”, she mumbled, her mouth still so close to his it brushed his skin with every word. “And only now that you’re back I feel like I can breathe again. You make me want to be brave and strong – even voluntarily go into war. You are my best friend, too. But at the same time so much more than that.”

Azriel’s face, previously neutral in expression, finally crumpled with emotion when he felt the truth in her words. That she wasn’t about to take them back or reject him.

“May I kiss you again, love?”

Gwyn smiled. It was all her body was able to do now. “Most definitely.”

---

Never had Gwyn seen a person that devoured that much food within so little time. It was actually impressive, and there was probably some kind of money to be won with that talent.

Her and Azriel were seated at the gigantic dining table in the house, serving themselves with the large breakfast the house provided in celebration of Az returning. And even though Gwyn ate perfectly normal these past weeks, she decided to treat herself too. Because a second helping of syrup-covered pancakes never hurt nobody, and she did go through a lot of mental tension.

Azriel was on his third or fourth plate by now, mixing sweet with savory and already looking so much better than last night as he filled her in on the fascinating and heartbreaking details of what happened. Gwyn doing the same with updates from the house and library.

Despite that fact that the priestess never felt more at ease with another person than Azriel, safe for her late twin, it was like they had reached another level of familiarity this morning. Oh, Gwyn was still giddy just looking at the male and the way he made holding a fork look swoon-worthy, but they might as well have been together for a decade. No anxious fidgeting, no desperate search for topics to talk about.

The fact that they officially spent their first night together might have helped.

It was all very innocent, to be fair. They simply refused to let go of one another, and so Azriel suggested she stay with him. Gwyn agreed, for purely practical reasons of course. And after the Shadowsinger had his much-deserved dinner and bath, they found each other again under the soft cover of the duvet. The blush that stole itself into Gwyn’s cheeks had nothing to do with the hot tea as she remembered it.

“What are you thinking about?”, Azriel’s voice held a dangerous teasing edge to it.

Gwyn took a sip from her cup, biding her time and hoping the color would miraculously drain from her face again if she tried hard enough. In front of her, the Shadowsinger raised an eyebrow. She felt like a kid being caught with her hand in a bag of candy.

The priestess set her cup down with pointed care and readjusted herself on her seat. “I’ve been wondering when Cassian and Nesta might arrive. Hopefully today.”

Definitely not her best diversion.

“Oh? And you were blushing because…?”. When Az caught a lie, he was as relentless as a hound on a scent.

“Well, I’m happy. For obvious reasons.”, her tone was way off, too defensive and high-pitched to have sounded normal. Gwyn blamed his beautiful lips for throwing her off her game. And the fact that she got an unlimited number of kisses from them now.

She wouldn’t come out of this easily. So, she might as well go down swinging. Because teasing your significant other was one of the benefits of becoming an official girlfriend. “I’m just so excited to see Cass again. Train with him. I’ve missed him so much.”

Gwyn added a sigh for good measure.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed at her. But whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a loud shriek.

Both of them were out of their seats in a heartbeat, Shadows flying out in every direction to scout.

“Balcony.”, Az mumbled, a dagger poised in hand and already on his way to the massive glass doors to their side. Gwyn followed him on silent feet.

But before his hands touched the handle, he relaxed his posture and let out a startled laugh. A Shadow curling around his ear must have given him a closer idea of their ‘threat’.

Landing on the balcony before them were Cassian and Nesta, wearing ridiculously large grins on their faces and looking a bit worse for wear.

Gwyn pushed past Az, out of the doors and flung herself in Nesta’s arms before she touched the ground. 

“You’re back!”, she whisper-cried into her hair while her best friend squeezed her in return. Those remained the only coherent words she uttered in her direction. They proceeded to communicate in a series of squeals and unintelligible sounds. But the sentiment was conveyed.

After that, the morning continued in a flurry of hugs, random outbursts of happiness and endless topics to talk about.

Their favorite, much to Azriel’s chagrin: Gwyn’s relationship status. Because according to Cassian, ‘nothing about this war was as bad as having to endure Azriel’s constant sulking’ and it ‘finally paying off’. Az seemed a bit taken aback that it didn’t remain their little secret for a while, but endured the good-natured teasing like a true hero.

Which, actually, seemed to be the general consensus of his behavior.

“That fucking battle, let me tell you.”, Cassian managed to get out in-between mouthfuls of food, “One second, we’re all in deep shit. Next, the whole right flank – incinerated. Nothing but darkness all around. And I just thought: ‘What the hell, who else in this army can wield that kind of power?’. Turns out”, Cassian clapped Azriel on the shoulder affectionately, “Az here did that all by himself.”

‘Az here’ looked ready to bolt into a far-off mountain village.

“How did you figure out to do that anyways? And why has that brilliant idea not come to you during the multiple wars we already fought?”, Cas asked.

Azriel just shrugged, clearly not comfortable with the question, which caused Cassian to roll his eyes at him. “Gwyn, any ideas what to make of it?”

Gwyn of course had an idea, but she also new Az didn’t really want to talk about it yet. So she answered carefully, “Maybe it was a burst of emotion. Your Shadows seem to react to that sometimes.”

“I got a bit angry.”, Azriel confirmed in a low, almost gentle voice. The explanation was clearly aimed at Gwyn, but it was Cass who answered.

“A bit angry my ass. He cut the guy’s head clean off his shoulders and then released a blast of power that had Rhys do a double take from the other side of the field.”

Cassian shook his head, and that was that. The conversation then turned to way more comfortable topics, and as soon as Cassian finished eating, Nesta flashed him ‘the eyes’. Both were out of their seats within seconds, not even bothering with an explanation.

Not that either Azriel or Gwyn needed one as they exchanged a long-suffering look.

“Can I interest you in a flight?”, he asked, already making his way to the balcony. His eyes sparkled with mirth and happiness, and Gwyn had never been more in love.

“Well, yes, you can.”, she pranced over to him, lacing her fingers with his and letting him take the lead to the railing. She always wanted to fly with him. “One more thing, before I lay my life into your hands.”

“They are very capable hands. But sure, go ahead.”, the Shadowsinger smirked at her in such an openly flirty way it made Gwyn blush. But she powered through.

“Soo. The angry tantrum you threw. You think it had anything to do with the bracelet almost ripping?”, she asked, the truth in her words confirmed as she took in his shocked reaction. Well, if you counted a slight widening of his eyes as outright shock.

“How on earth did you guess that?”, he replied, pulling her closer by the waist. “You’re too smart for your own good, Berdara.”

Gwyn giggled in triumph. She would not rat out Cassian and the hint from his message, not if it meant that Azriel thought her to be psychic. “It made sense. With you seeming so crestfallen as it ripped.”

The atmosphere changed after she said that, his playful attitude turning somber.

“It was a difficult few days. We lost a good chunk of our army, some valuable assets too, and both my brothers turned to their respective partners for solace while I stayed by the campfire.”, he spoke the words very matter-of-fact, but they hit Gwyn nonetheless. She could picture it, how he had to stay in the cold darkness without the comfort of a loved one.

“I’m not saying you should have come with me. To this day, I’m thankful you decided to stay.”, he quickly added, “Usually, this kind of misplaced jealousy would leave me hopeless and angry. But I felt your bracelet around my wrist, so instead I started to remember you. The thoughts of you, your smile, your gorgeous freckles – it felt like you were physically present. All my hope and dreams anchored to the bracelet. It spurred me on, because I wanted to win this war so you could live in peace. And it reminded me not to lose my temper and strike without thinking, so that I might return and have the courage to admit my feelings to you.”

“But that one time, I let anger take over. Because it nearly ripped. And it felt like I was about to lose that one tether I still had to you. The thought made me mad with rage.”

Gwyn stared at him in awe. At the male, who had saved her home yet again, and who’s unyielding loyalty made her heart race.

“We definitely have to work on your anger management.”

Azriel snorted, but nodded his agreement. He leaned down to carefully brush his lips against hers, the silent question answered by the priestess as she rose to her tiptoes to deepen the kiss. She was certain she’d never get enough of this.

“I’m so proud of you, Az. For getting through his, fighting for me and your family, for coming back to me. I love you.”

Being able to say it so freely now was a groundbreaking experience. Especially when it ultimately led to the great Shadowsinger blushing.

“Back to the topic of anger management though-”, Azriel said as he moved to scoop Gwyn off the floor, ready to take flight, “What was that again you said about Cassian earlier?”

Gwyn’s arms looped around his neck, holding on for dear life even though they were still firmly grounded. Her teasing would come to bite her in the ass now, it seemed. “Umm, I think it was that I hoped him and Nesta would return today. And ‘yay’, it came true.”

Lying by omission wasn’t too bad, right?

Azriel nodded pensively. “I seem to remember. But after that, I just recall feeling like I was stabbed in the heart.”

Gwyn had to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning. This playful side of him was her new favorite thing. “Weird. Heartburn?”

“You might be right.”, he answered slowly. Their eyes caught for a second. Then, Azriel stepped onto the railing, Gwyn still tightly cradled in his arms. He turned his back to the precipice, and the grin that graced his features felt simultaneously joyous and dangerous. “Must have been heartburn.”

He let himself fall backwards, laughing out freely as Gwyn shrieked with excitement. The drop lasted only for a second, before Azriel turned and caught them with the spread of his mighty wings. They lurched upwards again, sailing on a breeze towards the city of Velaris.

“I sincerely hope you are deaf on one ear now!”, Gwyn laughed. She was barely able to form the words from the wide smile that seemed to be permanently plastered to her face when she was with him. Even though her stomach remained somewhere on the balcony, she already loved flying.

“And I sincerely hope you think twice before you tease me.”, he answered in mock seriousness. He added a quick kiss to her cheek for good measure, just in case she misunderstood him. “You being with me now– it means you have to spare me from heartbreak like that.”

“I never took you for someone who likes to be coddled.”, Gwyn shot back.

“Ohh, you clearly don’t know what you got yourself into.”, Azriel drawled, banking right to fly over the outskirts of Velaris.

Gwyn thought to herself that she was more than happy to figure it out.

[pearlypairings]

happy birthday my photocheer queen!!! 🥰 could i get a "you remembered?" for them, please?

jonathan x chrissy || adorable fluff || 833 words

A/N: ahhh thank you for this prompt! I made it extra sickeningly sweet just for you<3 happy, super cute surprises!!

yesterday's prompt

She gripped the package in her hands, reminiscent of Ash from Evil Dead discovering the Naturom Demonto (Jonathan would appreciate her reference). It wasn’t going anywhere until he got home.

Chrissy stashed the wrapped box in her makeup drawer, confident that he would never discover it if he snooped around her vanity. This birthday gift had to remain a surprise, even though she had struggled to keep her own secret. With each passing day, the nagging sensation at the back of her mind grew, making it increasingly difficult for her to resist the urge to grab the package from the drawer and hand it over to Jonathan to open immediately.

But today was finally the day! She’d held out long enough!

She hunkered down at the kitchen table, waiting for him to return from his birthday tradition of going out on a dawn photography walk. The touch of Jonathan’s lips still warmed her forehead when he kissed her goodbye this morning in bed, and she let herself get lost in her own thoughts.

When their door swung open, she leapt up in the air, startled, bringing back memories of her time on the Tigers’ cheer team. There was a rush of the morning chill into the room that made her shiver just a little, reminding her winter would soon be here. 

Without missing a beat, Chrissy kept her tone peppy when they locked eyes. “Happy birthday, love.” 

Jonathan shook the autumn cold out of his jacket, smiling that little grin he reserved just for her. His camera bag swung at his side, kept safe under his right arm. His cheeks were stained pink from the whipping morning wind, but he looked as pleased as ever regardless.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.” He glanced around the tiny kitchen before his gaze landed on her and the box in her hands. His head shook. “I thought we said no presents this year?” 

“I agreed to no presents for me,” she said smugly, thumbing her chest. “Now come on, no semantics, get over here birthday boy. I’ve been dying for you to open this up all week.” 

Jonathan hung his things at the entryway hooks and when he reached her, he  kissed her nice and slow. She could feel the lingering smile on his lips, cold soaked all the way through. He was practically a walking ice cube. Nudging the gift into his hands, he relented at last to look down at the small gift. 

“Alright, alright,” he laughed. “I’ll be a good sport. Mom would kill me if she heard you complain that I tortured you all morning.”

Chrissy buzzed. The second she’d seen the window display, she knew she had found the perfect gift to give him. Jonathan was the worst to shop for—never asking for anything and rarely giving any hints when it came time for the holidays. But this year, she had pieced together, like one of her favorite Agatha Christie’s sleuths, that he had missed this particular thing for a long while.

The ribbon fell undone with quick work, and the delicate plaid paper crinkled as he ripped the pattern in half. He paused to make sure she was watching as he lifted the lid of the plain cardboard gift box to reveal his surprise. 

His dark eyes flickered when he peered inside. “Is that—I mean, wait, did you…”

Excitement caught his voice and kept it wound tight. Jonathan pulled out the contents to examine the metal circle hanging off the blue collar. 

Chrissy bit her lip. “It’s still blank. I thought you’d waited long enough to have the honor of naming him.”

He clasped the dog collar tight within his grasp. “How did you know? I mean, I never said…”

“No, you never told me.” She smiled warmly as he trailed off again. “But you mentioned one night how you loved your family dog, that he was your best friend while your parents were—” This was supposed to be light, she didn’t need to bring up memories of his father today. “—well, you know. I just thought, maybe, you were too scared to ask me, and I saw the cutest, fluffiest mutt at Marty’s pet store and remembered you said Chester had this crazy amount of wild fur and—”

Jonathan embraced her, unable to contain his happiness any longer. “You remembered? You remembered all that and realized that I wanted a dog for us? I told you that story months ago! After the big rain storm reminded me of the time Will, Chester, and I were stranded in Castle Byers practically all night.”

“How could I not remember Jonathan Byers telling an endearing childhood story? And the fluffy guy found me! He’s on hold right now. We just have to go pick him up from Marty’s.” 

Jonathan kissed her and clasped the collar between their palms. “Have I ever told you how outrageously brilliant and beautiful you are?”

“Maybe,” she said in between kisses. “Once or twice.”

[baileypie-writes]

Mind if I request a José Carioca x male reader, where they both have a nice picnic together?

Not at all I’m so happy that you requested a fanfic for José! The Three Caballeros is so underrated, so thanks for giving me the opportunity to write for it! Btw, this my first time writing for a male reader, so please forgive me if it’s not great😅

~ larkyparky

~Autumn Picnic~

Human!José Carioca x Male!Reader

Fandom: Legend of the Three Caballeros

Reader: Male

Relationship: Romantic

Synopsis: You’ve been working nonstop for an entire week. But now, since you finally have time to spend with your boyfriend, you’ve decided to have a picnic with him.

Warnings: Smoking(José), Reader and José having wine(no mention of them actually drinking it), kinda cringe, me not knowing Portuguese but trying my best lmao

~Art by chacckco on DeviantArt~

(Correct me if I’m wrong)

At last, it was the weekend. You don’t think you’ve ever had a week this busy in your life. Your work just seemed to never end, you even had to stay late twice!

You sighed, deciding to stop thinking about your job. You were finally free, after all. Instead, you focused your attention on looking for your boyfriend, José. You guys had decided to have a picnic in the Quackmore Institute’s park, since you hadn’t seen each other all week.

After about a minute of walking around, you spotted him. He had a picnic blanket in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. You saw him take a puff of it, before extinguishing it on the ashtray on top of a nearby garbage can. After looking up, he spotted you too. A smile spread across both your faces, and you walked towards each other.

“Hey José!” You greeted.

“Hello, meu bem(my dear)!” José embraced you in a gentle hug, before kissing your lips. “Here, let me take that for you.” He was referring to the picnic basket you had around your arm. Such a gentleman.

“Oh no, that’s okay! I’ll carry it, you can just set up the blanket.”

“As you wish.” He smiled, then stuck out his arm for you to wrap your free one around. You gladly obliged.

A little ways away, you found a nice spot under a tree. The leaves were starting to turn a beautiful orange, a sign that autumn was beginning. José spread out the blanket, then you both sat down. You open the basket, and pulled out two glass plates and two wine glasses.

“Woah, I didn’t know we were being fancy.” José chuckled.

You laughed too. “Well, we haven’t seen each other all week, so I wanted this to be special.” You took out the sandwiches that you made, and started unwrapping them from the plastic wrap. As you did that, José placed a kiss on your cheek, then rested his head on yours.

“I really missed you.” After placing two sandwich slices on each plate, you tilted your head up to kiss his jaw.

“I missed you too baby. I’m sorry I was so busy.”

“Oh, it’s okay meu amor(my love). It can’t be helped. Everyone gets busy sometimes.” You let out a hum, then reached into the basket and took out a bottle of wine.

“Want some?” You asked. José chuckled, before holding out his glass.

“Yes please.” You popped the cap off, and poured it in his glass, then yours. It was then that José noticed the label on the bottle. “Did you know that this is my favorite wine?”

You smirked. “Maybe.~”

He sighed happily. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“I try my best.~”

You two sat in silence for a few moments. A small gust of wind blew, causing some leaves to fall off the tree above you, and start drifting to the ground. The two of you looked up, admiring the beautiful sight.

“Eu te amo, meu lindo namorado.~(I love you, my beautiful boyfriend.)”

“I love you too, José.~”

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

A|N ~ I hope you enjoyed it! If anyone knows Portuguese, please correct me if I made any mistakes!

~~baileypie-writes

[crumbledcastle28]

Azriel Shadowsinger: Let Go

Part 2 of the Unexpected mini-series

Pairing: Azriel x fem!reader

Summary: There’s a magnetic pull to him, like his very being is haunting you. Your attempts to push it away only cause it to worsen.

Warnings: SEX POLLEN, but there’s a super long build up, no smut just heavy touching and dry-humping, references to abuse and trust issues, horny horny horny, heavy swearing, drugs are used, and Az is protective. Please let me know if I’m missing anything.

A/N: Helloooooo. I’m so happy people are enjoying this series. There will be three parts in total, and I really enjoyed writing this one in particular. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do :) (I’m so sorry for the length. This may be the longest thing I’ve ever written).

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, reblog, or ask, it would be much appreciated <3

Azriel Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You hated that you knew his name before you even met him.

Azriel Shadowsinger, Spymaster of the Night Court.

Beron, High Lord of the Autumn Court and resident pain in your ass, warned you about him before sending you on this mission.

“I know you’re better than him, you know you’re better than him,” he said to you, poking you in the center of your chest.

“Do not let him—or them—intimidate you. You will lead this mission, and represent the Autumn Court.”

You nodded, pressed against the stone wall as his breath fanned your neck.

“Do not fail me, Y/N, or your court,” he breathed against you. “You know what will happen if you do.”

Your wrists throbbed at the memory.

Your plan was just that: destroy the threat in Illyria, prove to the Night Court that their Spymaster was nothing in comparison to you, and return home with any information you could use against the the Night Court.

That was, until, you walked into his fucking chamber, and were hit with something you thought you’d never feel.

A pull, deep within your chest, that could only be described as consuming.

He hadn’t even looked at you, and you could barely see his silhouette in the darkness of his keep, but you felt it.  It was like a magnetic field, or an innocent moth seeing a burning flame for the first time.

Curious.

You convinced yourself that it didn’t matter, whatever it was. You were here for one job, and one job only. Beron would eventually find out if you strayed even a hair from his path. It wasn’t worth it.

You put on the mask of Autumn Court Spymaster for the thousandth time, and ignored the way your body wavered as it glided past his own. His scent drowned you.

Do not fail me, Y/N, or your court.

You did what you knew best: ignored it.

And then you went to work.

It was incredibly fucked up how torture made you feel. Maybe it was because you were finally given some power after being thrown into training against your will as a child, or maybe you enjoyed giving others only a taste of what you had endured for a century.

You didn’t like to think about it.

You pulled out your ruby-crusted dagger, the most expensive thing you had ever owned, and reminded Agnar of how beautifully it shined against his skin.

It should have filled in the hole inside you, the way Agnar begged for you to stop, but it didn’t.

That presence—his presence—crawled up your back as you worked, and sent a fuzzy feeling to your brain. It was subtle enough for you to block it out, but there is only so much a brain can do.

He was looking at you. Watching you. His eyes skated over you, not in a predatory way, but in curiosity. You could of sworn he was taking mental snapshots of the tactics you used, memorizing how your hips and legs moved.

It didn’t make you uncomfortable—it did quite the opposite—but it sure as hell pissed you off.

No male, not one, had ever taken the time to study you. Not in this way, not in a way of respect, like he actually knew what you felt in that moment, and solidified himself with it. He watched you in silence, like he was watching a performer perfect their craft.

The only way your body could find a way to react to it was anger.

You got the information you needed from Agnar, and immediately wanted the hell out of there. You needed a shot, or a shower, or a random fuck to clear your head.

But first, you were forced to look at him.

Gods.

“I know the brothel,” you heard yourself say to him, averting your eyes from the way the leathers he wore hugged his taught body. His frame towered over yours, but he kept his eyes focused on your face. “I can get there in more than enough time.”

You began your march to the door, shrinking under his gaze more than you cared to admit, before he blocked you with his hand over your stomach.

A pulse of electricity flowed through your organs.

“Wait,” he said, and his golden eyes met your own. “Rhys will need to hear about this. He will want me to go with you as well.”

No.

Do not fail me, Y/N, or your court.

“I don’t need your help,” you hissed. His collarbone was close enough to your mouth that you could smell your own breath.

He continued to stare blankly at you before dropping his arm and letting you pass.

You rushed out of the room in a blur, and heard a faint noise of him and another male speaking in the chamber.

You let your eyes flutter, and you took a deep breath from your nose.

A male with big wings and glowing eyes would not be the reason the Spymaster of the Autumn Court failed for the first time in a century.

~*~

As if the chamber was not embarrassing enough, the meeting with the High Lord was the worst of it.

Rhysand, or “Rhys” to the males around you, insisted that Azriel accompany you to the brothel in the Steppes. The place was so worn down you were not even sure of the name, but you knew where precisely where it was.

“I do not need help,” you had repeated to the High Lord countless times.

“I know that, we all know that,” he replied, folding his hands on the wooden table. “We do know, however, that a brothel that large is unsafe for any fae to enter alone. It would be safer for you to have someone you could trust.”

Trust.

Trust was a gift that had been stolen from you too many times.

“And besides,” the male continued, “I’m sure Azriel would enjoy himself in a place like that.”

The broadest and tallest one, named Cassian, laughed under his breath.

Azriel did nothing but stare into the creases of the old wooden tabletop, while you desperately forced your eyes away from him.

“Then it’s decided,” Rhysand said, leaning back into his chair, “you will leave tonight. I’d like for you to meet the High Lady.”

~*~

The trip to the brothel was easier than expected with Rhysand offering to winnow you as far as he could. The rest of the journey was mostly on foot, and you camped where you could, scraping together food as you went along.

The two of you had barely spoken three words to each other.

You fell into a rhythm: walk, eat, sleep, repeat. The two of you were trained enough to know when you needed to stop, and because of your similar professions, your stamina was almost exactly the same.

You refused to believe it was for other reasons.

You could not believe you had somehow wound up…comfortable around the male. The first night your tents were set up side by side you did not let your eyes shut for more than a few minutes.

The High Lord could have easily double-crossed you, or given Azriel separate orders to kill you. One of the few things you could gather from Azriel was that he was fiercely loyal to his friends, more like family, and that he trusted his High Lord completely.

You couldn’t help but wonder what that felt like.

If Rhysand ordered him to kill you, he would kill you.

A part of you hoped he would at least try, so that any hope you had that fae males could be good would crumble.

But he didn’t. Instead, he slept quieter than you had ever heard another being sleep, and he even set all of his weapons outside of his tent to silently assure you that he was not on this mission for funny business.

Still, your body finally crashed as dawn approached, and you got maybe three hours before you heard steps in the grass and twigs.

You bolted awake, reaching for your dagger, before you saw his familiar silhouette.

Your entire body breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him, and you were too tired to fight it away.

The two of you didn’t make it very far that day, since he insisted on you leading him wherever you went—which was also something you were incredibly foreign to. You sat in your tent once the sun set, and it only took a few seconds for you to succumb to a deep and dreamless sleep.

As you drifted off, however, a soft covering was laid over you, softer than you had ever felt in your life. You pulled it under your chin and hummed, curling in on yourself.

“Get some sleep,” you heard a gruff voice whisper above you. He looked a you for a few more moments before leaving as silently as he entered.

You kept that blanket for the rest of the silent journey, and some invisible threshold had been broken between the two of you.

Friends felt too strong, but partners felt alright. Temporary partners.

Nothing more.

~*~

You had never heard the roar of so many voices than when you finally reached the brothel.

“Stay ahead of me,” you heard from behind you. The dark-grey entrance to the brothel was loud—too loud. You could barely hear your own thoughts, let alone Azriel’s deep voice.

“Stick to the shadows,” he mumbled, “and we won’t be seen—”

“I know what I’m doing,” you whisper-shouted.

You hadn’t heard his voice in days, and the way its deep, attractive baritone squeezed your legs together boiled your blood.

He said nothing in response.

The two of you continued your walk inside, sticking to the edges of the crowded space and aiming directly for the dining room. You had been to this space countless times, and not all of those times had you been a guest.

You pushed those thoughts from your mind, and headed straight forward, not bothering to look at anyone in the crowd.

The dining room came closer and closer in reach, and just as you rounded the corner, a very familiar Illyrian male appeared from the dining room, surrounded by females. Drunkenness was present on his face, as well as in his stench.

That drunkenness had left you beaten to a pulp many times before.

Panicked, you reached behind you, grabbed Azriel’s hand, and rushed forward. He pulled his arm back initially, and you felt his eyes scan over your stature, tight and afraid, and he kept pace with you as best he could.

It was only after he saw how terrified you became at the sight of the male that his body pushed into your own, almost ushering you forward.

You pulled him into a tght-fit side hallway, which had another visible entry into the dining room. This entrance, however, was barely wide enough for you to fit through, let alone Azriel—wings and all.

It was practically a crack in the wall.

You pressed yourself against the creaky, disgusting wooded wall, and pushed Azriel against the wall across from you, meeting his gaze.

“Who was that?” he asked you sternly.

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Yes it does,” he spat, and squeezed your wrist with his left hand.

“It does, Y/N. Tell me.”

He had never said your name before.

“I’ll tell you after we get the hell out of here,” you said to him, peeking into the dining room.

He released your wrist, and the remnants of the warmth of his grip left the rest of your body feeling cold.

He continued to look at you before turning his body around to peer into the dining room.

The room was dark with candlelight as its only light source. Smoke and other fumes glided around the flames and above the males’ heads, who were sitting in a circle around a large, dark wood table. There were six males in total.

You had seen every single one before. You could recall each of their full names, what position they had in Illyria, and their closest loved ones.

This was the meeting you were here for. These were the males who planned to storm Ironcrest.

And they had no fucking idea who was watching them.

Azriel observed them as silently as you did, memorizing each of their faces. The spot you had pulled him into was more than ideal for a hiding spot, and his shadows covered over his back, hiding his wings.

He was so close to you that they brushed your cheek every now and then, softly and tentatively.

The males were making pleasant conversation—everything from their journeys to the brothel to the “sluts” they were planning to see afterwards.

Azriel’s leather-covered hands squeezed at his sides a little tighter when that was the topic of their conversation.

As you watched them, they slowly began to bring up their so called “operation.” Drinks were passed around, as well as various powders to smoke, and their voices began to sink lower and lower.

You found yourself creeping closer and closer to the entrance, desperate to catch anything and everything.

You didn’t notice Azriel moving behind you, towering over you so he could see as well.

As the males began to go over the basics—how many males they would need, where the exact location was, what their speeches would look like, weaponry and security—Azriel pressed into your back even more, paying close attention to the numbers and names that were being said. You could feel him take slow breaths against your spine, and your body froze at the feeling.

You were completely and utterly surrounded by him.

His scent, his leather, his breaths—you felt and smelled all of them. You had never been this close to him before, and the war you had been having inside your head began to reach its height.

He is not my friend.

He is not my partner.

He is not my mate.

He is nothing to me.

Just as your legs began to tremble under your own weight, the familiar male from earlier entered the room, drunkenly falling into an open seat.

You sucked in a breath—like a coward. There was no way Azriel didn’t feel it.

You closed your eyes, not wanting to see that male’s face ever again, when hot air hit your earlobe.

“He hurt you, didn’t he?”

You released a breath through your nose, and a pulse went straight to your already soaked core.

You swallowed in response, and Azriel smiled against the skin on your neck.

“If you’d give me the honor of killing him, in every way he fears most, I would enjoy it.”

Your body began to mold to against his own, but your eyes stayed trained on the males.

“Gods you smell good,” he mumbled, and he licked his lips before pressing them to where your neck meets your collarbone.

You lost the war you had in your brain, the pull you felt to him in your chest finally snapped, and you let yourself feel it. Feel him.

You exhaled, letting him guide you into him, and breathed in through your nose when he began to kiss down the side of your neck. A sweet scent filled your nostrils, and your eyes popped open.

You knew that scent. You could smell it anywhere.

Blackberry leaf, with a touch of hibiscus.

The smoke you saw flowing over the candles wasn’t ordinary smoke—it was infused with aphrodisiac.

And Azriel was breathing heavier and heavier into your neck.

Maybe you would regret this. Maybe he would regret this. Maybe you were disgusting and gross to let him do this to you under the influence.

But his hands felt so good wrapped around your waist, and his pelvis began to press harder and harder against your ass.

You had to tell him. You would hate yourself if you didn’t.

“The—the smoke,” you breathed, and he grunted against your jawline. “It’s got—“

“I know what it is,” he replied huskily, “I’ve been thinking about this long before now.”

And you let go.

You pressed your ass against his pelvis, feeling how hard and thick he was against you. He moaned against you, sucking harder and harder onto your neck. You hoped it left bruises.

Beron was going to kill you.

His own back pressed against the wall, and he continued to grind into you from behind. His grip on you was unforgiving, and the ache between your legs begged for more.

A flash of logic hit you out of nowhere.

Did the males in that room know you were here? Did they do this on purpose?

The scary part, however, was how little you cared.

All you wanted was relief, and you wanted him to give it to you.

You groaned before pushing yourself off of him, and spun yourself around to face him.

“Y/N,” he whimpered, whimpered at you. His hair had fallen down his face, and his lips and cheeks were reddened from how long he was kissing you.

Now you wanted to kiss him.

You pulled him to you by his collar, and pulled him into a searing kiss.

He pushed you against the wall, and his tongue entered your mouth like a steaming hot brand. Marking you and claiming you.

Your hands went to his hair, discovering it was just as soft as you expected it to be, and you kissed him as ferociously and hungrily as he did to you. His hands crept behind your back and down to your ass, and you ground your crotch against his.

Your eyes fluttered, and he groaned into your mouth. The friction you began to create against him was desperate and messy, and he ground into you hard.

You lightly pulled on his hair, and he seemed to like that, so you did it again. He pulled you into him harder, and you scratched your nails down his back.

“Fuck,” he said, pulling away to catch his breath.

You weren’t done.

You took the opportunity to pull his chest towards your mouth, and you kissed up his neck and to his jaw.

He exhaled shakily, and braced his hands on the wall behind you for balance. His entire torso was quivering under your touch.

You grinned.

You kissed extra hard on his pulse-point, then licked a strip across his jaw.

His body caved in, and a broken noise escaped him.

Who knew the infamous Night Court Spymaster liked his jaw licked?

“Oh Y/N,” he managed to breathe. He sounded like he had been flying for miles.

“I think you’re—“

“Who’s there?”

The gruff voice made you jump, tucking your face into Azriel’s body for protection.

You barely had time to process that that was your knee-jerk reaction before you were shoved further down the hallway, and blocked by darkness and shadows.

Azriel’s chest was still pressed against your own, but his shoulders and wings blocked your body, while his shadows blocked his own.

You were completely invisible in the shadows of the hallway.

Gods. He was completely covering you with his body, protecting every inch of your own. Putting himself at risk.

He kept his eyes on yours, and you kept your eyes on his.

He really was as beautiful as the rumors said.

His eyes were brown with a golden ring, and his pupils were blown wide. He had a more elegant beauty to him, with a sharp jawline and thick eyebrows. His face was firm—tighter than before. When you kissed him, it seemed as if he snapped away from his serious nature for as long as he could.

He reminded you of yourself, just much more beautiful, and much more kind.

“He’s gone,” he whispered, and you felt his breath on your mouth. Your core still ached for relief.

“We’ll…we’ll ambush them at Ironcrest,” he said, still breathless. His face was still flushed. “Take them all out at once. We’ll have the numbers.”

“Yes,” you responded. You had to have looked pathetic, looking up at him with hunger still etched on your features.

“We’ve gotten what we needed.”

Fuck yeah we did, you thought to yourself.

“Yes.”

His face began to move closer to yours, and he ran his lips over yours lightly. Chills erupted across your skin, and you couldn’t hide your shudder.

“Like you said,” he said grinning. He knew the effect he had on you.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Tag list: (please feel free to ask to be tagged! I apologize if I missed you or the tag is not working)

@leahkenobi @lovelyladymayyy @seraphqueen123

@em---r @azaideen @katiebellf @llovelydove @tinasbookishlife @sayhitomommy @wickedazriel @xxpeachyxo @icarusave @forever-paramore28 @peachyxlynch @feyretopia @evlynclia @wingedmiken @moonslattes @hollyismentallyillhelp @esposadomd @red-highlady @bsenpai @buttercake2234 @perssepeony @whor-3-crux @avengerswhre @leahkenobi

[lwt28brave]

LT2 masterpost

If it was up to me, we would get an autumn or winter EP. Since it’s not up to me at all, here, enjoy this post with everything we know so far of LT2, which is to say, not much at all. Everything here is hypothetical. I’ll be updating every time I see something relevant. A little disclaimer that while this is a masterpost (kinda), it could be read as discourse (duh, it’s also a theory), AND it’s also by me, and you shouldn’t expect me to be serious at this point.

Due to me restraining myself, there’s no reference to any of the times he’s mentioned his guitar skills and him improving but I hope you know I cried every single time.

I’m also linking my old pinned here. It was written before AFHF and around the free merch thing that didn’t lead to much, but I still think I made some good points.

Possible tracks:

Copy of a Copy of a Copy

Change

Faith in the future??

369??

Possible names:

369

Faith in the future

When is the album coming out?

Your guess is as good as mine

Friday 28th of January 2022. Almost two years after Walls. It’s a Friday. It’s a 28th. What else can I say?

Here you can find @want-to-be-loved timelines for every month.

Here you can find @berlinini’s timeline of what Louis has been up to this year (2021).

The rest is under the cut. And here you can find a PDF version where Tumblr can't tell me how many pictures I can add.

2020

He said back on May 2th 2020 he wasn’t writing anything new yet.

(x)(x)(x)

Interestingly enough, he’s said many times after that that the album’s not ready cause he has no new experiences to drawn from. I won’t call him out because he does it himself.

May 4th. He liked a tweet from DMA’s Johnny Took saying they had to go write together again. Louis has been credited as an influence for them and (kind of) participated in their previous record, so I’m assuming he meant for their music and not his, but you never know.

Nothing(literally nothing??? how did we survive) until 11th of July. We all know what happened that day. We all celebrated it. Nonetheless, that’s not what I’m talking about here.

(x) So, by the beginning of July 2020 he was working on concepts and ideas for the new album. That was fifteen months ago. I know perfection takes time but…

Brief summary of important things that happened from then until the next mention of new music:

Louis left Syco!!!! 10 days later he rescheduled the tour for the first time. He followed Matt Vines on Twitter, probably so we could publicly shame him into doing something. Also, the 10thanniversary. He followed more people I wish he hadn’t.

Then more nothing until September. Not even a single tweet. The first merch drop was on the 28th of August but he just RT’ed the tweet. He first mentioned Free my Meal on the 25th of September. Then on October 1st Walls hit #1 on a lot of countries and Louis was incredibly happy and excited about it ^^

And then, that same day, October 1st, 2020, he dropped this bomb:

(x)

He also said it was too soon to be sharing new lyrics with us (x)

And, obviously, this tweet which is actually what made me start this whole post. I would hope you know mate.

(x)

He also told us he was cooking "banger after banger" and that he was incorporating more social themes into his music (x)(x) (I believe any social issue is a political issue but that’s not the point rn).

COPY OF A COPY OF A COPY?!?!

These next paragraphs are brought to you by my mind not remembering things and me not having any links. I’m assuming COACOAC came from those writing sessions that supposedly happened in October. Or in LA but I have no idea if he actually was in LA at any point other than a Daily Mail article putting him there on December which would have been too late, but I do remember that someone said he was in the studio in LA last autumn???? A rumor. Maybe. IDK. Did I mention already all of this is very hypothetical?? Well, this is it. I can’t even remember if this was October or November or what. So, take this with a grain of salt.

I’m also… taking the liberty to assume, if you must, that Copy wasn’t meant to be a Walls reject because it sounds more mature and darker and it has a vastly different tone that Walls songs. I know he’s said that song probably isn’t getting into the album, but I want to have faith (in the future) that I’m getting a studio version. (But also, Louis, if you’re reading this, first of all GET OUT OF MY BLOG second of all, please don’t ever feel pressured again to add a song to the album because we have already heard it before. It’s your art and it should always be under your own terms).

So yeah, I believe that Copy is either one of those four songs (then imagine the other three??!!) or was written around the 1st of October date.

---End of the Intermission---

Then not much important (other than sharing more about Marcus Rashford fight against food poverty and the 2nd merch drop) until he announced the livestream on the 24th of November. (x)

It wasn’t until a few days before the livestream date we even thought again about new music (jk, I know we’re always thinking about new Louis’ music). So, December 9th/10th, 2020. Nine months ago. We got our first taste of new music!

He made sure we knew Copy of a Copy of a Copy isn't a cover! (x) (x)

(x)

Ok, so that’s it for 2020. (I feel like I’m missing something from September 17th because tweet was deleted but maybe he was still talking about cucumbers. We might never know. Unless I understand how Tumblr tags work). Expected, cause Walls was released in 2020. We needed to let it sit for a while.

2021

Another Summary: Louis third tweet of the year was telling the UK government off. So was the fifth. What a good beginning. On the 26th of January, he said he prefers pancakes over waffles. I hope he meant pancakes other than his own. More importantly, he tweeted the infamous “you lot read into things too much”. Don’t get me started, Tomlinson. Don’t. Then the 31st came around and Walls was one. He tweeted this. How wise. And Project Defenceless happened!!

15th of February!! Who cares about Valentine Day when the next day we got this? ♥

(x)

(x)

So…AN EP?? AN EP?? PLEASE RELEASE AN EP.

“I’m sure I will have something out this year but unlikely that will be the album”. Unlikely but not impossible. Also. A single would be good. This is the second time he mentions releasing something in 2021 and he sounds surer about it than the first time around.

He also said that he isn’t sure we will get a studio version of Copy. And that the best bridges from Walls to LT2 are Walls, OTB, KMM and Copy. Can’t wait!

Then we jump to March 6th when he announced he was going to create his own management company. “Sometimes action is needed first to encourage the motivation and belief”. As we can tell he was already manifesting some stuff which will lead us to the numerology stuff/Tesla… kidding. Or not. We might never know.

On the 22nd of March he answered some questions:

He told us music was still his main focus ♥ mwha. (x) I included this tweet to guilt-trip him into giving us music in case he’s reading this even after I told him to leave. ILY.

(x) I’d love to get a visual EP this autumn. Just saying. It sounds like a lovely concept.

(x)

…next (I will get into it, I promise. I’m just mad).

On the 25th he left for Mexico until April 10th. You could assume it was just for the documentary where we got ten seconds of footage or admit the obvious: LT2 its a Mexican baby!!

On the 26th (so, not so far apart from that first 369) we got the first Faith in the Future mention: (x)

Back then we were innocent people who had no idea what was coming upon us. We still have no idea because what the fuck does he mean with these. Please explain. I have one braincell and I don’t use it enough for this. I’m linking some theories.

On the 30th of March he confirmed he was already working on the documentary. So AFHF was already on the works. Will it take this long for us to get the Veeps numbers? We also got this tweet: "Got a decent chorus idea down" (x).

Same person that got the “something out this year” exclusive. If you know something share with the class. Also. Is this Change? I feel like this could be Change but I also assume he wrote Change after hanging out with his friends or being in Doncaster. But who knows.

(x) And the second mention to 369.

(x) 15th of April. The second "Faith in the future".

On the 19th of April he announced that he had something BIG for us later on the year which turned out to be the Away From Home Festival ♥♥ (x) I love him so much.

Then on the 28th he announced the 369 merch drop (which it’s probably the Walls drop? Except that the TOU and KMM ones were “drop 1 and drop 2” and this was drop 369 which, again, makes no sense) but we still don’t know what 369 means.

Into May’ 21 we go.

He rescheduled tour again. And dropped another bomb (x).

He announced he has signed with BMG as an independent artist by RTing this tweet on May 10th. The article also says that he’s already working on writing and recording LT2. The timing… we don’t know. What this deal involves… we don’t know either. Bear with me here because I have a lot to say about this.

I think the deal is only a distribution one, but that BMG are interested in Louis and what he (us) could bring to the table. They were either present at the festival or watching it, but officially they had no involvement at all with it (everything is credited either to Louis own company, 78 Productions, or Charlie Lightening’s company). That’s the case for both giveaways too; the vinyl one and the tickets for the festival.

I think it would be an unbelievably bad move not to test the waters with BMG now or soon-ish. At least a single, to see how it performs. Due to the circumstances, it’s obvious there’re certain limitations on place but I want to see how they push it, whether the radio play exist this time around and if the song is playlisted and promoted and all that… I would also love to know, since it says he signed with BMG UK, but it also states it’s a global deal, how things are going to go on the US and other countries.

Yes, yes. I know those are all questions and no answers. But I know the same as you, sadly. If any of you know more than you’re letting on… again, share with the class.

Where was I? Yes, on the 25th of May Louis had a great day writing (x). Since the first time he had mentioned he was officially writing to this date there’s almost eight months. And I believe he was writing before October’ 20.

He followed Robert Harvey that day and, on the 28th of May (why is it always the 28th???) he was spotted at the studio for the first time.

June was an interesting month for the fandom ♥. Lots of LHL content which I will love and cherish for the rest of times. On June 4th, June 9th, and June 10th he was spotted at the studio, but I believe he was there more days.

(x)

This was posted on June 6th and captioned Studio. Charlie also shared it with “Mega tunes being put down, can’t wait for this @louist91 #louistomlinson #LT2” as the caption. This gives me 2019 (Elton-Joint) vibes. I like it. Feels like we’re getting closer to something.

He added the Milano date on the 9th too which I’m mentioning because I’m going alone. Anyone wanna go with me please? I’m nice and I never eat anything before a concert so you can have my food. On other news. It didn’t come home.

During July he was at the studio at least three days too. Probably more. Feels like more with all the fan pictures we got. Or was that June? Anyway, July 1st and 9th we got some videos from Robert Harvey and wearesuperhi, which is who Louis has been working with the most, that we know of. I don’t know for sure they’re from that day. And on July 5th we got an article and lots of pictures of Louis looking really good outside the studio.

On the 12th of July the first fans started getting the free, 369 bucket hat and print. We still don’t know what the purpose was other than to thanks fans. Maybe that was it. I want answers and I still think it relates to a future project (see theories above), but it could also just be a bridge with the Walls breaking.

He didn’t tweet about anything interesting for a while, mostly because he lost his phone (he either throwed it in the air or smashed it who knows). Then on the 29th of July he announced the festival!

I’m glossing over it because there’s already been a lot of talk about it (rightfully) and while it was a wonderful thing, it doesn’t have much to do with LT2.

Let’s talk Change!

On August 3rd he tweeted this about the setlist.

(x)

And this (x) on the 28th! I can’t stand him.

We didn’t get it, obviously. Because who was going to get that. But we read too much into things. Alright.

On the 16thof August Dave Gibson shared this post tagged #LT2 with the eyes emojis 👀👀👀. I believe this has to do both with Change but also with whatever else came out of that Mexico trip.

(x) Last relevant tweet related to LT2 is this one.

So, on the 30th of August we got Change and we cried, and we know that Change is going in the new album. He said it. With those exact words. He also said he was “getting a feeling for it”. This has to meant he already has a general idea of the vibe of the new album and what’s going in it!!!!!! (Right? RIGHT?).

Anyway, let’s go back a few weeks because some other things happened on August. He was at the studio a few more times. Or it was suggested that he was there. On the 17th and the 18th. (Why was it so time-pressing to be at the studio instead of rehearsing for the festival? There was no studio at all on the documentary. Which makes sense, but again, then why?).

On the day of the festival we got another mention of Faith in The Future that made me feel part of a cult ngl. The words were flashing on the screen for less than a second. Okay.

And then he tweeted those words again after watching the livestream/documentary on the 4th of September (x). This is what makes me suspect it's either the name of the album or of the single.

On the same day, we got some interesting quotes about LT2 on the documentary.

��Soon I’ll have to think about me second album, which in my head I’ll get the tour out of the way and then I’ll address that. So, I hadn’t really given it much thought, to be honest”.

“When every day is the same is hard to feel creative and it’s hard to have any kind of proper inspiration”.

“As season started to come back, I started writing again and it was great and some of these songs turned out alright”.

And I think this is it. I might be overlooking some important details but that’s what we know and what we don’t know.

So. Conclusions. That’s what you missed on Glee. I do believe the album is, if not mostly done, partially there. And yes, this post is pointless and never-ending but it’s all in here if you need to tell Louis “Hey, you said this, mate”.

[kaistarus]

Caught In The Act

Pairing: HinataxReader

Words: 3K

Summary: You don’t really plan out the consequences of hooking up with your roommates best friend until she walks in on the aftermath and everything spirals into disaster

A/N: I don’t think this is NSFW, but it’s heavily implied/referred to throughout? It does however have Yamaguchi being a little shit which is *chefs kiss* my favorite kind of Yamaguchi

Masterlist

The worst melody you’d ever heard sounded throughout your room, dragging you from a peaceful dream you’d already forgotten. Groaning, you attempted to block out the sharp ringing with your comforter, but scowled when your tugs were made useless by an unusual weight. You blearily peeked down in search of the problem and froze, your heart's acceleration jolted your brain into alertness.

What you discovered to be holding your blanket down was a whole ass arm across your stomach with a whole ass person attached to it sleeping beside you.

You tried to keep your breathing even as you grasped the reality of your situation-disheveled autumn hair brushed lightly against your shoulder and soft breaths tickled your arm. It’d be easier to admire Hinata’s content features if you weren’t having numerous flashbacks involving embarrassing noises, words you didn’t think possible coming out of your mouth, and several explanations for why your legs were so sore. Your face burned as you stared at Hinata’s peaceful expression in horror and jumped when the back-up alarm began ringing.

At your sudden movement Hinata’s nose wrinkled and he began squirming uncomfortably. He furrowed his brow, opening his enough to peek at you holding your breath beneath his arm. You could see the cogs turning behind his amber eyes as they darted around the room and took everything in past their sleepy haze.

Finally, they landed back on you and he gave you a lazy smile, “hey.”

Your heart picked up its pace at his morning voice’s low rasp, and rather than having any normal reaction to your situation you flung your limbs at him to shove him as far away as possible. Hinata yelped as he tumbled over the side of your bed, hitting the hardwood floor with a solid thump.

“What the hell?” He poked his head over the side of your mattress with a half-assed glare, punctuating his question with a deep yawn. It was hard to take him seriously with his wild bed head and half-lidded eyes.

“Your alarm keeps going off,” you answered lamely, trying to fight down the amusement at how even after he combed his fingers through his hair it remained a chaotic mess.

“Oh,” he used your bed to push himself up, stumbling a bit as he began searching for where his pants ended up. Your eyes widened when all of him was in sight and you pulled the comforter up to shield your eyes. “Sorry, I forgot that I have to-what’s wrong?”

“You’re not wearing clothes.”

“Obviously,” you heard the creaking of your dorm’s shitty floorboards as Hinata moved around the room. “Is that bad? I feel like at some point you saw my-”

“But now we’re in the daytime,” you looked at the floor around you and sighed in relief when you found a t-shirt nearby to put on. Now you just needed pants… “Everything is completely different when the sun is out.”

Hinata was silent for a while and if it wasn’t for the hardwood flooring giving him away you would’ve thought he snuck out. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It’s hard to explain,” you said, coming up for air after you heard Hinata stand beside your bed. He held out his sweatpants to you with a lopsided grin that made your heart do a weird flip. “Thanks.”

He shrugged it off, sitting beside you on the mattress as you wiggled into his sweatpants. “I have to practice with Kageyama in an hour. Do you wanna go to the dining hall or something?”

You raised a brow at his nonchalance, sitting beside you just scrolling his phone like things were completely normal. “You want to go get food?”

“Yeah, I’m hungry.” He gave you a quick once-over and smirked. “Why did you wanna do something else?”

“No,” you put your hands in front of you and ignored the slight pout on his face. “I just figured you would want to talk or something.”

“Oh,” he fiddled with his cellphone and stared at anything that wasn’t your eyes. “No, we don’t have to make it a huge thing if you don’t want to.”

“Okay,” you nodded to yourself. “I mean, it isn’t a big deal anyway. We’re friends and this stuff just happens sometimes.”

Hinata now faced you completely and he was giving you his classic sunshine smile. “Exactly, this is definitely normal for friends.”

“Right, so why even waste energy worrying about something that meant absolutely nothing.”

Hinata’s smile faltered a bit and you were too aware of how his eyes had drifted to your lips. “Uh-huh, totally nothing.”

“It’s probably best if no one finds out though,” you nodded to yourself, warmth creeping up your neck from the growing intensity of his stare. “Just because it would be annoying explaining this to everyone.”

Hinata hummed, tilting his head with a curious look that had you fisting your comforter. “So, hypothetically, if it all means nothing and no one even knows about it…” Hinata had at some point scooted himself a little too close for your liking, his face inches from yours. “There would be nothing wrong with doing it again, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at his challenging smirk, “I feel like there’s some logic missing there.”

“But the end result is pretty good,” he said, barely above a whisper, pressing his forehead against yours. You couldn’t argue that. Not with how your heart was beating sporadically in your chest and your fingers were already itching to be tangled in his hair.

“Careful,” you whispered, trying to match his overconfidence, “keep acting like this and I might just start thinking it means something.”

Hinata rubbed his nose against yours lazily while forcing down a smile, “is that a no?”

You answered by placing a hand against his cheek and slotting your lips together. The pace he set was much more languid than last night and you felt a soft smile grace his lips as he cradled the back of your head, beginning to lower your head on to the mattress. The moment Hinata decided to hover over you was when you heard the door to your dorm creak open.

“Hey, sorry I’m back so early. I forgot about our exam tomorrow.” Yachi shouldered passed the door with her back facing you carrying a hefty duffle. You and Hinata reacted in the only logical way-staying completely frozen and hoping for some reason she wouldn’t see you. “Did you and Hinata actually study without me or did you… forget…”

When she looked over her shoulder, eyes finally locking onto the comical scene you’d presented, her jaw went slack and face turned a deep red.

“Wait, Yachi,” you tried stopping her before she dropped her bag and quickly hurried out the door. “It’s not what it looks like!”

Hinata looked taken aback by your statement, “what else could it possibly be?”

You glared at him, kicking him off you and chasing after Yachi-before leaving the room you heard a faint ‘again?’ shouted from the opposite side of your bed. Yachi hadn’t sped-walked too far and you thankfully managed to catch her at the end of the hall.

“Yachi, wait,” you tugged her hand to slow her down. “I swear it wasn’t what it looked like.”

That made her pause. She looked at you dumbfounded with both hands on her hips, “what else could it possibly be?”

“That’s what I said!”

You spun around to find Hinata, standing in the center of the hallway with arms crossed and staring at you quizzically as if you were the weird one in this situation. You gave him a quick once-over to confirm that yes, he was still wearing nothing but boxers.

“What are you doing?” You asked him frantically.

“Helping.”

“Why would you think-” You pinched the bridge of your nose and took a calming breath. “At least put some clothes on, Hinata.”

“You’re wearing all of my clothes,” he said, gesturing to all of you.

You pulled your t-shirt out while glancing down with a raised brow. Huh, well look at that.

“I really don’t care if you guys are dating,” Yachi put her hands up defensively. “It’s not a big deal and it’s really none of my business any-”

“That’s just it,” you pointed at her. “We aren’t dating. Not even close. I would never date Hinata.”

“What?” Hinata looked down at you annoyed. “Why not?”

“Because you’re…” You furrowed your brow, trying to search for any of the reasons that normally would be easy to find, but for some reason your mind was blank. “Because you’re Hinata.”

“If anything that’s more reason to date me,” Hinata gestured to himself. “Look at me. I’m the whole package.”

Yachi’s eyes flickered between you before she hid a sly smile behind her hand, “oh, I see.”

Hinata cocked his head to the side, “what do you see?”

Your cheeks warmed. “You don’t see anything. You put that face away right now.”

Hinata began prying Yachi for answers while she continuously turned away from him with a mischievous smile. You let out a relieved sigh that it was basically over when a door at the opposite end of the hall creaked open and you were faced with a yawning Yamaguchi.

He carried his toothbrush and toothpaste loosely in one hand while the other rubbed sleep from his eyes. He raised a brow at you three, slowly working to process the scene before him in his still foggy state. Yamaguchi’s head tilted idly as his eyes darted between everyone, eventually lifting his toothbrush and pointing it in Hinata’s direction.

“Why is Hinata wearing boxers in the middle of our dorm building?” He narrowed his eyes further and moved the toothbrush to point at you, “and why are you wearing Hinata’s clothes?” Yamaguchi aimed the toothbrush slowly toward your door that still hung wide open and you could practically see the lightbulb go off in his mind before the devious smirk crossed his lips. “Holy shit. Did you guys actually f-”

“Shut up,” you slammed your hands over your ears. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“Ouch,” Yamaguchi mockingly grimaced at Hinata. “That’s not a good reaction dude.”

“What do you-that’s not what-” Hinata stomped his foot. “It was a great time. Probably one of the best ones ever.”

“Whoa, let’s not get crazy.” You rolled your eyes. “You were alright, but definitely not-”

“Wha-alright?” Hinata threw his arms up. “The hell do you mean ‘alright’?”

“I think she means mediocre,” Yachi piped up from behind you with her hands still covering her smile.

“A little above mediocre, but…” you weighed your hands back and forth to signal that mediocre was just about right and Hinata stared at you completely baffled.

“Ouch,” Yamaguchi snickered.

“I can’t believe you thought I was mediocre,” Hinata furrowed his brow with a half-assed glare.

“Well, do you want me to lie to you?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Hinata, you almost came in your pa-”

He slapped a hand over your mouth with pinkening cheeks, “you know what? I think we all are mediocre sometimes at things, but with practice… uh… we get better.”

Yamaguchi raised an amused brow before another lightbulb went off. “Holy shit, so that means you guys were the ones who-oh my god, Tsuki’s going to be pissed when he finds out.”

“Pissed about what?” You asked after prying Hinata’s hand off your mouth.

“I woke up to a bunch of texts about how he couldn’t study because people were banging too loud,” Yamaguchi shrugged. “I’m a heavy sleeper, so I didn’t notice but he was not happy.”

“Holy shit, are you serious?” Hinata asked, sounding borderline giddy at the discovery. You scowled, smacking on the stomach to knock him down a peg.

“Hinata, that’s humiliating.”

“Oh, right.” Hinata forced a frown. “I am so embarrassed.”

“Think about it,” Yachi tapped her chin. “Doesn’t Tsukishima always wear headphones too?”

Yachi and Yamaguchi stared at you both quietly with wicked smiles before you groaned dramatically into your hands, your face was on fire while Hinata just laughed beside you, planting a hand not so comfortingly on your head. You knew in that moment your life could not get any worse.

Which was why that was the moment Tsukishima stepped out of his room a few doors away with his backpack slung over his shoulder. You almost thought you’d be lucky enough that he wouldn’t notice you, but luck wasn’t on your side as he glanced up, doing a double take at your group in the center of the hall.

It took him seconds to dissect the scene before his glare became piercing, “you mother fuckers.”

“What are the chances we all just pretend this never happened?” Hinata chuckled awkwardly while Tsukishima stomped menacingly toward him.

“What are the chances I get the sound of you moaning out of my head without someone killing me?”

“Slim?” Hinata squeaked.

“Do you think I wanted that bull shit taking up useful space in my brain?” He asked, towering over Hinata as he gulped and shook his head no. Tsukishima turned to you and you stiffened, immediately shooting your stare to your feet, “and you, forcing me to learn every one of Hinata’s kinks. I should take both of you outback and-”

“I don’t have kinks,” Hinata scoffed, turning to you to back him up, but you just looked away. “Oh fuck, do I have kinks?”

“That is not the point of our discussion, you pint-sized-”

“But aren’t kinks like a psychology thing?” Hinata looked back at you concerned. “It’s not pee, is it?”

“Why would that-I don’t know,” you looked at him warily. “Did you want to pee on me?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean ‘i don’t think so’.”

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re peeing on each other,” Tsukishima pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just do it at Hinata’s dorm building next time.”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty confident it’s not pee.” Hinata nodded to himself. “I really like volleyball… is that a kink? I don’t know if that’s how it works. Wait, can you combine sex and volleyball? That sounds like a kink. I want that one. Can that be it?”

“I would love to study your mind, dude.” Yamaguchi nodded in approval and Hinata just smiled back as if he’d been given a huge compliment.

“That’s not what I-” You took a calming breath. Hinata was going to be the death of you. “I mean, me and Hinata aren’t happening again, so no one has to worry about anything.”

“Wait, you guys aren’t secretly dating?” Yamaguchi gestured between you both with a raised brow.

“No, they’re hooking up.” Yachi rolled her eyes.

“Oh, fuck off.” Tsukishima scoffed. “Hinata keep your volleyball sex out of my dorm buiding. Got it?”

“Yes sir,” Hinata saluted before a melodious tune came ringing from your dorm room. His eyes darted to a wall clock and his body stiffened. “Shit, I was supposed to be at the gym already.”

“I should probably give you-” Before you could finish Hinata was jogging down the hall. He returned with his backpack and you opened your mouth to point out you were still wearing all of his clothes, but he already had his lips smashed against yours in a chaste kiss. You had your eyes wide, staring at him dumbfounded before he pulled away with a sunshine smile.

The moment he processed what he’d done you saw his brain shut down as he stared blankly-Yachi’s giggling made a perfect background noise for his malfunction.

“What the hell was-”

“We’ll talk about that later,” he chuckled awkwardly, giving you finger guns while walking backwards down the hall. “I’ll text you or call you or something.”

“I won’t answer,” you called after.

“You will,” he said before he turned away. “Because I’m gonna offer you food and you love free food.”

Dammit. He had you there. You were a sucker for anything that wasn’t dining hall food. “Well, I won’t be happy about it!”

You heard his laughter chime before the closing of a heavy door told you he was too far to keep up the argument. You huffed, crossing your arms and glaring down the hall.

“How long till he realizes he’s in his boxers?” Yamaguchi piped up.

“He’s probably more nervous of (Y/N) than walking around campus in his underwear,” Yachi reasoned with a hand on her cheek.

“He should be,” you snorted.

“You guys wanna get breakfast?” Yamaguchi asked, “all this making fun of Hinata has made me hungry.”

“I’m going to the library.” Tsukishima left down the hall without a glance back at you and your shoulders sagged.

“He’ll get over it,” Yachi placed a comforting hand on your shoulder while pushing you forward. “Just give him time.”

“Okay,” you murmured.

“Hey, so what is Hinata’s kink?” Yamaguchi asked, leaning into your vision.

You rolled your eyes, “praise.”

“That makes too much sense,” Yachi hummed.

“Hinata would get off on being told he’s great,” Yamaguchi shook his head, throwing the door open at the end of the hall and welcoming the fresh air. “Well, next time you get to have volleyball-sex. Whatever the fuck that is.”

“I don’t think even Hinata knows that.” Yachi giggled.

As you tried to keep up with Yamaguchi and Yachi combining the actual logistics of volleyball to sex you found yourself admitting in the back of your mind that you really were all talk. You kind of liked that people knew about you and Hinata and maybe… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if spending time with him became a regular thing.

Unless it involved whatever this volleyball-sex thing was, then you’d be fine without him.

[bluejay-writes]

Cinnamon & Spice: Stark Affection

This is the third installment in the Cinnamon & Spice series. You can read Cinnamon and The Emissary of Autumn via the links. You can also read this fic on Ao3 - I post there first!

Chapter 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 Rating: T for Teens (this is a kissing book) Pairing: Vanderwood x MC Summary: Vandy finally stops ghosting MC, and they go on that vacation they won last fic. Hijinks ensue, as per usual with these two. Notes: You can read this before reading the first two fics in the series. Just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. Go read those two first. Please.

Life after The Institution Masquerade had been hectic, and everything that MC had been hoping to avoid. Fawn, of course, had loved every minute of the paparazzi hanging around their apartment doorway just for a chance to catch a photo of Madame Cinnamon again. Despite the tabloids having a clear photo of her face after Obsidian had taken her mask down, they did not have a clear photo of his, and she’d been wearing so much makeup that without any other reference photo, the paparazzi seemed to miss her existence every time she left home.

And so, once she left home for classes in the morning, she didn’t return home until the evening. She was forever grateful for the shorter days this time of year, darkness obscuring her departure and arrival like a cloak. There was one thing that would lead them to her, the gold bracelet with the inscription Cinnamon on her wrist. She hadn’t figured out the clasp yet, and was way too embarrassed to ask Fawn for help. And while part of her was embarrassed, another part clung to it as a reminder that her encounters with him, Obsidian called Vandy by Lucille who was also 707, weren’t a product of her imagination.

----------

“Red Mocha for MC!” The barista called, and MC bounced out of her seat to pick up her drink, accidentally bumping shoulders with a man walking into the café.

“Oh!” She said, startled, as she looked up into piercing ruby eyes framed by touchably-soft looking platinum hair. Wow, he looks like a model, or a movie star. “Sorry, should have watched where I was going.” She apologized, smiling, and turned to continue her coffee retrieval mission. Once she’d done so and grabbed her drink, she turned back around to see the man still standing where they’d collided, though his attention was now on something in his hand, which upon further inspection…. Was her keys. Had she dropped them?

“Hey.” The man said as she walked over to him. “You dropped your keys.” He handed them back to her, and before she could even thank him, he asked a question she hadn’t been expecting. “So, how do you know the twins?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. They’re twins? That explains a lot, actually… except the hair, and what relation they have to him, but… “That’s a great question.” She countered. “How do you know the twins?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and then walked back over to her table and sat down, going back to her work. She had one project to finish before her degree was complete and she could relax again, maybe take a vacation, and she wasn’t going to let some attractive color-inverse doppelganger of Obsidian distract her.

Of course, a few minutes later the barista called out another drink - "Skinny vanilla latte, for Zen" - and MC realized why he looked familiar. There had been some story about this up-and-coming musical actor the day after the pictures of her kissing Obsidian had made the tabloids, helping squash the story. But if he knew Lucille… maybe that wasn’t accidental. Something to think about at least.

Across from her, the chair moved, and the man himself settled into the seat.

“Now that I have my drink, can I convince you to answer my question?”

“How I know the twins? I don’t. I didn’t even know they were twins.”

“That keychain belies the fact, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, the keychain that was one of many gifts from someone who goes by a number and not a name, that was delivered to me with no return address or contact information, and definitely hasn’t helped me find back the other man pictured? Yeah. Well.”

Zen looked at her carefully and laughed.

“I don’t know if that was too much information or not enough.”

“Me either.” She laughed, and glanced back at her laptop before shutting the lid. Clearly she wasn’t getting any more work done on that for the time being.

What was so special about this damned coffee shop that Zero Seven needed him to come get coffee here instead of the chain place that was actually nearby the office, anyway?

Waiting for the twins’ coffee, Vanderwood looked around the coffee shop, taking in the atmosphere. Maybe this place isn’t so bad. As long as the coffee lives up to the atmosphere…

“Dark Mocha, Dirty Chai, and a Caramel Monstrosity, for Stark.”

Vanderwood retrieved his coffee order, and turned to head back to the agency when his eyes landed on an unexpected couple chatting animatedly at a nearby table..

Cinnamon. And Zen?!

That was the last thing he wanted to see today. Or ever. Seven’s nagging was bad enough, he had no intention of inserting himself further into the woman’s life. But seeing that narcissist all over her? No thank you. He breezed past their table on the way to the door, determined to go unseen despite the very distinct coffee order he’d just retrieved.

The flash of purple and leopard print in a world of black did not go as unnoticed as Vanderwood hoped.

MC’s eyes immediately caught on him, and she half-stood and called out to him.

“Vandy!” she called, the first name that came to her lips, despite no one by that name retrieving a coffee order.

Zen also turned, and then looked between them when the man didn’t even react to her call.

“Vanderwood, what the hell.” Zen said, and grabbed his coffee.

“Listen, Cinnamon, I have to jet. Someone has to talk some sense into that idiot.” Zen did not wait for her to respond before following Vanderwood out the door. Wait, did he just call me Cinnamon?

MC watched them both leave, though Zen didn’t catch his quarry before they were both out of view.

Am I a bad kisser? Is that why he hasn’t reached out since the Masquerade?

----------

Three weeks later, MC and Fawn were out at their favorite dive bar on Karaoke night. MC hated karaoke, she was a horrendous singer, but Fawn loved the attention, and it meant that MC could drink quietly and make sure her beauty queen of a roommate was safe.

“You look more relaxed now, Em.”

MC set her glass down with an audible thunk, and eyed her roommate.

“Going out for drinks was a great plan. A poignant ending to my college life.”

“You get a job yet?”

“Nope, but I have an interview with the intelligence department at C&R next week.”

“Ooh, the one that brought the prime minister down last year? That’s perfect for your degree.”

MC smiled, and watched as Fawn bounced off to sing her next song. As the opening chords of some saccharine pop song started, MC flagged down the bartender for another drink.

Almost too fast, a glass slid in front of her, the liquid a different color than the Dark & Stormy she had been drinking.

“This isn’t…” she turned to say, and locked eyes with the brunette that haunted her dreams as he slid into the chair next to her.

“It’s single malt. We’re celebrating, right?”

“How did you…?”

“Eavesdropping.”

“Oh.”

She wanted to kiss him again. He’d been avoiding her for two months, and she almost didn’t care. Almost. One drink was not enough to make her that easy, and he was in trouble, anyway. She pulled her cellphone out and set it down on the table between them, tapping it a few times to open her contacts.

“Put yourself in my phone.”

He grimaced, and she speared him with a look.

“If you can’t even give me your name and number, you should go haunt someone else’s dreams.”

With a sharp nod, he reached out and entered himself in as a contact in her phone, going so far as to call himself and prove his phone was ringing with her number.

“Well.” She said with a big grin. “It’s good to finally know your name, Stark.”

“It’s one of my names.”

“Well, it’s no Obsidian or Vanderwood, but it’s still head and shoulders above Lucille.”

He laughed, and she reached out to take the drink he’d brought her, moving her straw from her old drink. She knew you didn’t drink single malt with a straw, but she didn’t drink anything she didn’t pour herself or at least test. A quick stir, and the pristine white of the straw retained its color. She saw Vanderwood’s smirk, but noted that he didn’t ask about the straw. She held it out of the way and took a small sip of the scotch, releasing a sigh as the warm burn filled her chest.

“That’s some nice scotch.”

“Top shelf.” He said, eyeing her straw. “Neat gadget.”

“One can never be too safe in this kind of environment.”

She looked up to where Fawn was finishing her song, and sighed.

“What’s the sigh for, Cinnamon?”

“We’re about to have company.”

“Should I make an exit?”

“Up to you. She’s nosy, and noisy, but she’s a good friend.”

Vanderwood considered for too long, and Fawn slid back into her seat.

“Oh, did you finally pick up someone to replace your ghost, babe?” Fawn said, eyeing Vanderwood hungrily.

MC grimaced. Fawn had been trying to convince her to get over Vanderwood, but she just couldn’t, and well, here he was having to hear the nickname her roommate had coined for him.

Fawn missed nothing, especially not MC’s expressions.

“Ohho!” she said, grinning. “This is your ghost?”

MC nodded. 

“Fawn, meet Stark. Stark, this is my roomie Fawn.”

Vanderwood nodded, and Fawn’s feral grin was going to give MC nightmares.

----------

Stark > MC: Good morning beautiful, how’s your head? MC > Stark: Are you for real? It’s 6am! Stark > MC: You’re awake, though. MC > Stark: Yep. No hangover, as usual. You wanted to meet up this morning? Stark > MC: Yes. About our trip. How soon is too soon? MC > Stark: Give me ten minutes to get dressed. Stark > MC: I’ll be outside, with coffee.

MC bounced down the stairs and laughed at Vanderwood leaning against a black Herrari.

“I didn’t know you were into sports cars, Stark.”

He chuckled, handing her a coffee from her favorite coffee shop.

“I borrowed it from Lucille.”

“I didn’t expect Lucille to have enough money for more than cup noodles.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He held the door open for her, and once she was settled in the car, he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Don’t tell him I let you have a drink in here, he’ll skin me alive.”

“Consider my lips sealed.”

They drove in silence for a bit, and then pulled into the parking lot of a travel agent.

“Are they open this early?”

“They are for us today. You’re sure you can drop everything and go?”

“I literally just finished my degree and haven’t lined up a job yet. This is the best time for me to go.”

The Travel Agent was not surprised to see them, and getting everything set up took less than an hour. Vanderwood was adamant about security and secrecy of their trip, even going so far as to arrange her transit to the airport for her.

“A week in paradise, huh?” MC said, when they were back in the car.

“As long as you’re with me, it will be.” He said, and kissed her cheek. 

MC felt her entire face go red, and looked away so that her hair would shade her face from view.

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Lovebug (14/14)

Summary:

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13

Notes: I know I usually post on Wednesdays but I'll be on the road on Wednesday and if I don't get this out soon, I'll probably end up dropping it next week or smthg so here it is. Two days early. I hope you enjoy :D

Is this all that there is to life? A glaring question that came unexpectedly, in between reading through codes for his nth freelance project the past few years.

In response, Levi closed his eyes, sat back and reflected. A part of him may have been asking that question for a while and slowly, Levi started to understand why he was asked that in the first place.

A few minutes ago, he had been strangely happy to see his code compiling at the first try. And just a few hours ago, he had been enthusiastic at running a debugger through a code and finding a few typos to fix.

Happiness. That was happiness right?

That part of him continued to nag. It soured that 'happiness,' leaving a burning dissatisfaction inside him. You’ve experienced better moments, happier moments.

Then Levi got fed up. He reached into the back of his mind, he remembered, then something stopped him from reminiscing for a while longer.

Something strange. Something buried.

He hadn’t allowed himself to feel much since he first moved into that new city. He had allowed the novelty and the business to carry him through his first months. But the novelty of a new beginning never lasted long.

Too shaken to even bother applying for a new job, Levi opted to work freelance. Consequently, his only companions were the four walls of his studio apartment and the occasional voices from next door.

There was only so much which could stimulate interest. His mind continued to search for them and naturally, time continued to move along with it. Routine and episodes of ennui seemed to last infinities in the moment. But in retrospect, it felt like they all happened too fast.

He had made sense of time in milestones, milestones worth ten times the refreshing feeling of running a debugger through code or the fleeting euphoria of compiling codes at the first try.

Is that all that there is to life? Eventually, he made sense of that strange voice. There was reason to that question.

That day was another milestone. If it wasn't for his nagging mind, he could have missed it.

It was a blustery autumn day in late October, the weather similar to the last view he had of his home five years ago. Shifting his gaze from the window of his present apartment, he took a quick look at the calendar and it was like a dam had ended up spilling open inside him.

The five year mark was a bittersweet milestone, five years since he left home. The fifth year rang more loudly than every year before that. Maybe because five was such a perfect number, or perhaps because he had been keeping something in for a while.

He felt a release. Then a reprieve from the monotony, a reprieve from the five years avoiding his old life. Levi found himself opening his browser tab, typing the words ‘love alarm’ on the search box and deleting it a second later.

An aimless and useless sequence of movements. He didn’t need a quick google search to know how it was doing.

The love alarm had become a household name even all the way in his side of the world. With his very human need to go out, whether it be for groceries, shopping or just some fresh air, Levi couldn’t completely ignore it. With the right decisions, Levi could choose not to give so much as a side glance at the people walking, heads bent down, staring at the number of hearts on their application.

When he went out though, even with his music at full blast, he would hear the familiar alarm as he walked through crowds.

At first, it had left a pang in his chest, a brief bout of nausea, perhaps disgust or embarrassment at his old life.

It had been five years since he first arrived though and it turned out, time did heal.

Levi looked through the wikipedia page of the love alarm and he found, it hurt more like a raw scar than a stab in his chest or a crushing weight. The nausea, the pang in his chest that plagued him years before were weak if almost nonexistent.

Curiosity took over.

He took his phone from the side of his desk and downloaded the application again. The name Jaeger was under the title screen and right next to it were the words ‘All rights reserved.”

Would would have felt like an ache in the chest years ago, felt more like a mosquito bite. Levi was just slightly annoyed. It did nothing to stop him though from registering again and looking through the application interface.

Nothing much had changed. There were some slight changes to the skin of the registration page, a change in the name of the company at the bottom. Levi purposely touched the activate button rapidly and found he had crashed the application.

That was one bug that he never got to fix. He turned his phone to the side, noting the way the screen glitched as it adjusted to the landscape orientation of the phone. Another bug Levi never got to fix.

Then he wondered who the developer on the other end had been to have never even caught it.

Biometrics registered, Levi activated the alarm to find no hearts. He couldn’t help but entertain that slight disappointment. Of course no hearts would have appeared though. He hadn’t even interacted with his neighbors.

It would have been creepy it rang. Letting out a sardonic laugh just loud enough for himself, he leaned back on the chair and stared at the ceiling, forcing his thoughts back to whatever coding freelance project he’d been dealing with a few minutes ago.

Work came in freelance projects. They were enough for rent, for savings and some capacity to eat out occasionally.

A simple yet comfortable life. But is that all that there is to life? That voice continued to tear into his work related thoughts. Levi gave in to the nagging thought again. He started scrolling through wikipedia articles detailing use, detailing acquisition history, he found another key word under related articles, more interesting than ‘love alarm.’

Mood Alarm.

It sent a strange shiver through the back of his neck. Levi rolled his shoulders, relieving the tension that came with the last few eons of reflection. He let out a whistle, opened the new article and scrolled down towards references.

There were lists of articles.

Partner of Zeke Jaeger and freshly minted PhD graduate Doctor Hange Zoe release Mood Alarm.

Doctor Hange Zoe. Something inside him was fighting for control. He couldn’t bring himself to click the link. At the same time though, there was this curiosity inside him that he couldn’t seem to get to the bottom of.

Under the link to the article was the official website.

At the front page, there was a boring and overly professional introduction Levi didn’t bother to read

Below them, everything else had been interesting enough to give more than a second long glance.

The list of functionalities. The color codes. Then newly launched dashboard functionalities, almost a carbon copy of the plan Levi had sent years back.

“Fucking hell, you actually did it,” Levi muttered. He couldn’t help but just allow the smile that tugged at his lips some control. Excitement had him searching for the application on the play store, downloading it and methodically going through the same registration process as the love alarm.

It didn’t look much like the mood alarm Levi had worked on years ago. He saw hints of it though and worked from there to admire it.

The front end had been cleaned up. The font chosen fit the silver-to-white gradient of the application. When Levi clicked ‘activate,’ the screen loaded.

The colors mixed against one another for a second, an aesthetic choice of animation that Levi couldn’t help but be amused with.

Red. Yellow. Blue. Purple. Green. Orange.

The colors continued to mix. Then some disappeared as if they had lost themselves in some colorful war.

Then it was only blue and yellow. The two colors danced against one another for a few seconds longer before they disappeared too. More specifically, they bundled against one another.

Green. It took him at least five seconds to get that reading.

He didn’t have to look at the guide on the website to know what it meant.

Sad happy? Or happy sad? Whatever that feeling was, Levi felt no need to introspect, or maybe he had been too lazy to.

It had been a while since he had even let himself feel something. The green on his screen, the feeling that accompanied it, seemed more like an old friend he hadn’t talked to a while.

If he had any ability at introspection, maybe it had already rusted. Still, he let those emotions inside him, that yellow and that blue do their work.

They had him turning off the mood alarm, then turning off the love alarm. Something inside him still hesitated to delete the applications. Then it had him considering the space on his phone for just a second.

He downloaded another app that night. A familiar app with a flame, then another one with a bee. Only months into his new life in a new city with a new job, Levi was already bored— and if he had to admit it—terribly, terribly lonely.

And maybe the best way to cure it was to spend the whole night swiping.

***

Finding a companion wasn’t as easy as desperation and a few second long rush of confidence made it out to be.

Perhaps, online dating was a rash idea, an uncharacteristic move.

Didn't he reject Petra years ago? How could he date anyone else? Petra… How is she… With nothing much to do but wait for his date, he found himself texting Petra as he waited in the cafe.

He sent a few thank you messages at her well wishes. They exchanged brief updates and Petra’s own updates dragged on for longer.

Her life was more eventful than his.

Petra had started dating Oluo. She had found someone who loved her, just as much as she loved him. Keeping a correspondence with her only highlighted points for reflection for Levi. The more he reflected, the more questions came up. The more he reflected, the more complicated the questions became.

He was lonely but could he be picky? At the same time, did he even have the heart to put anyone through the shitty experience of a half hearted courtship?

Hange’s words echoed in his head, not in any specific string, a few parts in words, a few parts in phrases.

Considering the circumstances… Love is a choice.

When he let her words echo through him, he managed to grip a presence long gone. A presence and a relationship, he clarified, that had never been his in the first place.

He never did completely brush away the guilt that accompanied every passing thought of Hange. There was this strange acceptance though that appended it, and it had him a little more discerning, a little more prudent.

If he couldn’t have her, he could always just keep her close in his own personal way.

“Have you heard of the love alarm?”

How long had she been there? How long had she been talking?

Right, Levi was on a date. She had said words before that question and Levi could have sworn they had exchanged greetings even before that.

“In passing,” Levi said. He manifested some reality from the words, as if a firm response was enough to forget decades worth of overtime and testing.

“It’s this application we can use to test compatibility… So at least we know if this could work.”

Levi listened with some fake intent as she explained how the love alarm worked. He made sure to nod at points where her tone had gone a little higher or louder.

“What do you think?” There was some finality to her voice, an expectant look on her face.

Levi hummed in thought.. “I don’t believe in using an app to check compatibility. What about when we consider circumstances? Get to know each other… Then decide if it could work?”

She looked at her phone for a second, then back at Levi, her brows furrowed in confusion.

Levi shook his head. “Sorry, I just don’t believe in things like the love alarm, it seems just like horoscopes or Myer Briggs to me. Compatibility, relationships, they’re just gonna be choices we make anyway.” He found himself guiltily looking away as he said those last points.

The pout that played at his date’s lips was evidence enough, there probably wouldn’t be a second date. “It’s not like our love alarm’s would have rung anyway,” she said.

It had been a while since Levi dated though and he started to realize, maybe his filter and his social skills had rusted just a bit.

***

Love is a choice.

It looked like he might have been the only one to believe that. He had managed to piss off countless other dates with his own ‘love is a choice’ schtick.

And he had been dating semi regularly for the past year already. Yet, nothing was coming up fruitful.

How the hell did Hange even manage to get married? Or maybe Hange had just been the exception. He then concluded, Hange just had too many other loveable qualities which could make anyone want to snap her up early on.

The more he entertained the thought of Hange, the heavier his own chest became. Then he stopped entertaining her then the cycle would start again, a very vicious cycle.

It just so happened that sometimes the thought of ‘Hange’ manifested as some domineering thought. ‘Love is a choice’ and the strange sensation that came with his whole body protesting, rebelling in their own little way worked hand in hand.

He was confused and consequently desperate enough to open the mood alarm for some inkling of comprehension. He would focus on the way the colors switched among one another, disappearing, always revealing a yellow and a light blue dancing between one another then always ending with a light blue.

Sometimes he was blue. Sometimes he was green.

Ane he continued to check. After all, he mood alarm had become a beautiful and constant companion. He had deleted the love alarm but kept the mood alarm close.

“What do you think of the love alarm?”

How many people are gonna ask about that fucking application?

Zeke had just been a little too good at marketing. It was the nth time someone had broken the ice of a first date with that fucking question and Levi regretted not making a drinking game out of it. Maybe he would have been able to drink enough to forget that cursed product.

“Are you okay?” his new date asked.

He had spent the past few minutes too silent, not thinking. “Nifa…” That was her name right? He cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”

She looked as nervous as he did, or even more nervous. That part was comforting at least. In a way, her demeanor seemed a little more pleasant, more genuinely curious than wary. “I asked just a second ago, have you ever used that love alarm?” she said in response.

Levi followed the same script. "In passing."

“Would you like to try it out? Just to make sure we’re on the same page, relationship wise.”

“I’d rather we relied on circumstances and compatibility to make the choice for us. Get to know each other maybe…” When it came to suggestions, Levi had revised his script just a bit. Too many people got offended by his invalidating horoscopes and Myer Briggs type for some weird reason. “Like get to know each other, like…” Levi trailed off for a second, allowing himself a pregnant pause. ”... Elizabeth and Darcy?”

Nifa had cocked her head to the side curiously, thought for a long second and smiled just a bit wider. “You read Pride and Prejudice?”

Levi nodded subtly. “A while back,.”

She paused for a second, seeming deep in thought. “Well… Now that I think about it, you might be right,” Nifa said. “This compatibility thing… Your idea of love. I think it makes sense.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Yeah, why?” Nifa asked.

Levi dropped his shoulders in relief, the weight of at least a hundred failed dates fell off his shoulders. “I’ve been dating for years and I feel like you’re the only one who actually said that.”

Nifa didn’t reply immediately and the longer Levi sat there, the more clearly he saw her face. Surprise morphed into something that seemed more like pity. Then, the chronic pang in his chest came back.

A first love did that to people maybe? A painful first love lost had that special power to maybe just twist his own philosophies, to make him almost disgusted at his own creations and the way it had challenged his own convictions.

Are you scared? Levi thought to himself. He couldn’t be too sure how he was handling himself in front of Nifa. He looked down at his hands, opening and closing them a few times and if he looked closely, he could almost feel those uncomfortable twinges in his wrist that came from years of coding.

“I’m willing to put the time into it if you are.” Nifa’s voice was more gentle and it flowed as if she had sensed the stiffness in his voice.

Levi didn’t respond immediately and suddenly their little corner of the crowded cafe was eerily silent. There was a melancholy that had blanketed their little corner despite the Saturday afternoon crowd.

Nifa seemed like she was trying to break away from it with some light conversation. “Hey, have you heard of the mood alarm?”

“The mood alarm?” Levi let that half smile creep up his lips, just high enough to be more invisible than obvious. Three words from a stranger and his emotions were reduced to a mess.

He once again felt that twinge again at his rests and that sleepless night, and her. He was remembering her in his office through sleepy exhausted eyes, with a cocktail dress and a sandwich bag in one hand.

There was also something amusing and painfully ironic about hearing his own brainchild, from someone so casually, as if it had turned into some household name while he wasn’t looking.

The conversation was getting painful, painfully interesting and the masochist in Levi was gripping him and pulling him back to reality. “Like the love alarm…” Levi added.

“Well, they’re products from the Jaeger corporation… You know the Jaeger family right?” Nifa added.

Levi could only be thankful he hadn’t been sipping at his tea then. He probably could have choked. How could he ever forget Zeke Jaeger?

He might have gotten a lot better at hiding his own disgust or Nifa could have been too deep in thought. She continued to talk. “They bought Love Alarm a few years back.”

“I know the Jaeger family,” Levi said.

“So you know about their eldest son, the heir of the Jaeger corporation… And his partner?”

Levi took a sip of tea, not bothering to respond.

Nifa may have taken that as a ‘no.’“His partner was working towards a PhD in psychology and apparently that was her final project. The codes for the mood alarm are very similar to the love alarm apparently."

“Oh?” Levi asked, feigning interest.

Soon, it turned into something genuine. Nifa was offering new information. “She got the PhD a few years ago and soon after that, the application was launched. And now they’re launching a solution for hospitals.”

“What kind of solution?” Levi asked.

“Wait, have you ever used the mood alarm? Or do you know how it works?” Nifa asked. “Anyway, I realized I ended up digressing here… The point I was trying to make is, the one who developed the mood alarm was able to prove that whatever measurements they use for the love alarm, are related to emotions. And what if, understanding how we feel when we work towards a relationship is a better determinant of whether the relationship could work?”

Levi nodded quickly, an attempt to be polite. At that point though, he wasn’t too interested in the point she had been trying to make “I’m familiar with the application and how it works. But you mentioned something about a solution for hospitals…” He didn’t think it was worth lying. He didn’t need a long winded explanation of the alarm he made. He needed an explanation of what Hange had been making."

Nifa didn’t seem to get the message. “So, the application will determine your emotions for you--- I have one right now and we could use it over time to articulate how we feel.” She pulled out her phone and dropped it on the table. “I think analyzing our own emotions would do a better job than relying on how the love alarm processes the emotions.”

There was something surreal about seeing a user explain it to him, as if they knew it more than him.

For a while, he couldn’t help but just entertain the possibility that in her own way, Nifa may have known more. With someone explaining and demonstrating, he was more easily able to make sense of the changes that had been implemented since Hange acquired it.

The app icon was reminiscent of the love alarm, two rings around it but instead of a heart in between, there was an icon, an elegant cross between a flower and a color wheel.

Red. Blue. Yellow. In between the primary colors were purple, green and orange.

Nifa activated it and held the phone between her fingertips. Just like the night when Levi had first played with it, the colored blobs swam amongst one another again, each blob would disappear one by one, leaving the remaining colors.

Yellow and Orange. “Looks like I’m happy,” Nifa commented. “So apparently the new dashboard allows us to connect this reading on the phone to a PC and get a more detailed explanation, numbers, heart rate, all the like.”

“You seem to know a lot about the app,” Levi mused.

Nifa cocked her head to one side. “Well, I’m into psychology too. I work as a psychologist in one of the hospitals. Our hospital is one of the first ones to buy software licenses so I’ve done my research.” She hummed, looking straight at him for a second as if studying him. “Now that I think about it, your job wasn’t on your profile. What do you do for a living?”

Levi’s response was automatic. “IT work.” He was suddenly self conscious about even mentioning the word ‘developer.’

“Ooooh... So you’d probably figure out how this app works much faster than I would.” Nifa sighed. “And you could probably help reassure me about this."

“Reassure you about what?”

“I’m honestly pretty nervous about rolling out this software.”

“Why?”

“Well, it’s relatively new, a few bugs would come up here and there.”

“All softwares are going to face new bugs with every update. It’s never ending,” Levi said nonchalantly.

“Spoken like a true IT guy,” Nifa joked. She took a sip of her shake and stared down at his tea and up at him again. “Say, since you’re in IT, you think you can hook us up with someone?”

“Hook you up with someone?” Levi asked. His mind was going places more suited for a tinder date than a conversation on career. He raised one eyebrow in question. He couldn’t be too sure of what she meant just yet.

It looked like she had started to understand that double entendre. Nifa blushed then let out a cough. “No, no. Our company is looking to build a small support team.”

“An IT support team?” Levi asked.

“Well, people who could focus on learning the product, dealing with whatever bugs, testing them, compiling them and sending them over to the Mood Alarm team. You think you’d know anyone tech savvy? Maybe familiar with how biotechnology works?

“I could try to look around…” Levi said.

“Great!” Nifa chimed

By some magic, the conversation shifted elsewhere. Nifa had a way with conversation, keeping some sort of a flow, talking about her own job and getting him to talk about his freelance projects.

Levi’s thoughts on the hospital solution though were an ubiquitous part of his mind space.That was the whole point of the investment right? Back then, Zeke and Hange had plans on selling it to hospitals.

And there was a free trial. That night, Levi had been curious enough to click the ‘book a free trial button’ and to even fill out the first few lines.

Organization name? He didn't have one.

Purpose? To catch up with his own brain child maybe.

He ended up staring at the blank screen for a while, wondering where the hell he would get an organization and a valid purpose.

He wanted to check it out, he really did. And he was a little salty that they required a background check before they even allowed trials for a project he created.

Curiosity became desperation. With desperation, came creativity, audacity. He took his phone with the intention of just asking Nifa a few questions, only to see there was an unread message from her.

Thanks for today! I had a lot of fun. Hopefully, we can plan something soon. I might be busy with work this week but maybe the week after?

Levi stared at her message and composed a quick reply, pleasantries forgotten.

You mentioned something about IT support openings in the hospital...

***

The hiring manager introduced himself as Moblit but he didn't say much else. Instead, he spent the next few minutes looking through Levi's resume, his brow wrinkled.

"Is there something wrong with my resume?" Levi asked, breaking the silence. He had kept it minimalistic, only sticking to odd jobs the past five years.

Moblit shook his head. "Nothing, it just doesn't look like you have support role experience."

"Do I need experience in a support role? I think I'm familiar enough with how apps work to stand in as one," Levi said. Should he mention that he had done the support work before?

"So you've compiled tickets, sent them over to developers?"

I'm the developer who deals with those bullshit tickets. He thought to himself. On the outside though, he nodded and leaned a bit more forward on the table. It wasn’t too difficult to show interest. He was genuinely interested, having given in to that curiosity-turned-desperation.

"Well, if you're interested in taking the job then…” Moblit said. “Let's see how much you know about the mood alarm app." He opened a folder. "It's a relatively new solution, so I don't expect you to know much but if you've heard of the love alarm?"

"I have."

"Well they're from the same corporation…"

Information on their history flew into one ear and out the other. "Do you have any more questions for me?" Levi asked. He could have interrupted Moblit there but he didn’t want to hear about a history he actually experienced first hand.

Moblit cleared his throat. "Well, if you could tell me how you think the mood alarm works? Then I’ll give you a list of common bugs and can you tell me how you will go about raising them to developers?

***

Six years hadn’t done much to make him forget. He had been working with the love alarm for almost a decade after all.

And the mood alarm? He had a strange connection to it, he couldn’t explain.

The code wasn’t open source. Of course it wouldn’t. That was an enterprise application and they wouldn’t want any hacker just randomly getting it. Yet, why did he feel so offended at not having access?

“Hey Levi, how would you handle this?”

“Handle what?” Levi didn’t look up from his monitor immediately. The voice and the question have all were all too familiar and it wasn’t urgent anyway.

“Levi, take a look…” Farlan seemed more frustrated than a second ago.

Levi looked at Farlan’s screen. Another display issue. He was all too familiar with the bugs and it looked like the love alarm and the mood alarm were coming up with the same issues. “Click the activate button three times really fast, right click the desktop, select inspect and take a screenshot. We send it over to the developers on the mood alarm team,” Levi said. That had become routine after a while, yet somehow, his two colleagues Farlan and Isabel were still asking questions.

Maybe because he was the only one who understood what the hell the developers needed to see to actually get to the bottom of the problem.

“Make sure to check it in both light mode and dark mode,” Levi said. “And also, there’s a known bug for the phone app, check if turning on the alarm affects your ability to receive notifications from other apps.” Those words had sent a wave of nostalgia through him. That was one of the bugs he had gotten around to fixing with the love alarm.

“Hey...”Isabel’s voice sounded from next to him. Levi turned around, almost jumping when he saw she had been close enough to look over his shoulder. “What are you researching?”

It wouldn't look good if he slacked off at work in front of colleagues a good few years his junior. Levi closed the tab. “Just my own research on mood alarm.” And when he looked at his codes a little longer, then back at Isabel who seemed almost confused, Levi realized it had looked more like extra work than anything else.

He spent the whole morning on ‘extra work, watching the API calls, making notes to himself to check the codes he had sent Hange years back just to see how much had changed.

“You finished all your tasks today and you still wanna do research on the mood alarm?” Farlan asked, a look of utter amazement on his face.

“What can I say? This app is pretty interesting.” it wasn’t a lie. Watching the growth of his own child from afar, was a fun thing to do.

“It honestly feels like you’ve done this type of work before."

“I did something similar,” Levi said.

“What kind of place did you work in before?” Isabel asked excitedly, her tasks also forgotten.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Levi answered, his tone unchanged.

“Something like the love alarm?”

Levi nodded. “Maybe that’s the reason I can figure things out pretty fast,” he said. The best plan of action was to digress.

“So that means we could make you handle the harder cases?” Farlan snickered.

“I’d rather you learn how to deal with others on your own,” Levi said. “I’ve worked with these apps for a long time. The bugs never end.”

***

“Moblit’s saying you’re doing a pretty good job picking out the bugs,” Nifa spoke above the bustle of the lunch time crowd.

“Are we?” Levi asked. He kept his words brief, not wanting to waste too much energy speaking over the others in the hospital cafeteria.

“Well, he was talking about you mostly,” Nifa said. “Most big issues get resolved with each release. And Moblit was saying that our support team just gives really good feedback.”

“The developers do the work. All we do is find the bugs.” Levi started to pick more meticulously at his salad

Nifa shook her head. “I think the support team deserves credit too. It’s difficult figuring out whether issues are user issues or there’s really a bug. Isabel also told me you find ways to reproduce it quickly.”

“Do I?” His responses were getting less and less creative. There just wasn’t much to say and the compliments were making him more and more uncomfortable by the second.

Moblit was a life saver. He had broken out of the crowd, running to Nifa, an urgent but excited expression on his face. “Nifa, you’ve got to hear this.”

Levi used that brief distraction to shovel more salad into his mouth.

Moblit had spoken just beneath the sounds of other conversations and Levi couldn’t make out what he had said. He did make out the urgency in Nifa’s face and the excitement. Whatever Moblit had said was contagious.

“When are they coming?” Nifa asked, her voice much louder than Moblit’s.

Levi stood up, gathering his plate, his utensils and his unfinished salad. “If I’m not supposed to be in this conversation…”

Moblit shook his head. “Levi, no, please stay. I’d rather you hear this since this is related to your line of work too.”

“Why?” Levi raised one eyebrow.

“Zeke Jaeger and his partner Doctor Hange Zoe, they’re planning to visit,” Moblit said.

Levi couldn’t even tell what expression he had on then.

Maybe Moblit had interpreted shock as confusion. “Zeke Jaeger is the owner of the love alarm. Hange Zoe’s the creator of the mood alarm… In case you didn't know.”

***

“Hey, I wanna see her… Is this how she looks like?” Isabel’s voice was a whisper, a very loud whisper. “She looks smart.”

Farlan’s voice wasn’t any softer. “Well, that’s what you’d expect from the mastermind behind the mood alarm right? I heard Zeke Jaeger bought her the love alarm so she could look through the code and make the mood alarm for herself.”

“Where did you hear that?” Isabel asked.

“Watch the interviews.”

The click and clack of the keyboard. Then there was the sound of voices coming from the loud speaker from Farlan’s computer.

Then Hange’s very familiar voice.

Levi didn’t want to listen. “You know, if you spend too much time looking through this. You’re not gonna get anything done.” He forced his voice into something louder than what he was comfortable with. “Don’t you two have other tasks to do?”

“Aren’t you excited to meet them?” Isabel rolled her chair next to Levi.

No way in hell am I meeting them. “I’m planning on taking a leave,” he said.

“Wait, why?” Isabel seeming heartbroken, as if Levi taking a leave was the most terrible thing in the world.

“Well, as employees we’re entitled to leaves right?” Levi asked emotionlessly, willing himself not to at all be affected by Isabel’s puppy dog face.

Farlan sighed. “You’re the best one at this type of work among the three of us. You know, this is a good opportunity for you to get noticed.”

“I don’t wanna get noticed,” Levi said, as he focused back again on the screen, refreshing their ticketing software a little bit faster that time. It really was an uneventful afternoon. He couldn’t blame Farlan and Isabel for doing nothing.

“It’s a big money, a chance at a big career move,” Farlan said, raising his voice as if that could have done anything to convince Levi.

Levi looked up from the monitor and back to Farlan. “Do you really want me out of here?”

Farlan shrugged. “I dunno, you just seem too overqualified for this kind of job.”

Levi sighed. “Believe me, I’m happy to be here.” He continued to click refresh, just in case anything could have halted that already seemingly awkward conversation. The reason why he didn’t want to run into Zeke or Hange… Was it written all over his face?

Just in case Farlan and Isabel were mind readers, Levi kept quiet, kept his eyes glued on the screen and he prayed the day would get busier somehow.

It did. But it got busy so close to the end of the day and overtime seemed inevitable.

“We’re not receiving any readings.”

The same exact fucking line, from ten different customers from different hospital branches around the country. “You’re fucking kidding me,” Levi muttered.

He opened all the test devices, only to find, none of them were receiving readings from the mood alarm either. He was sure though, he was annoyed, very very annoyed. Maybe even angry. “Try testing,” he ordered.

Farlan and Isabel were more emotional than he was. If it didn’t work for them, it probably wasn’t working at all.

They had full trust on him. Isabel and Farlan nodded and they went through the devices quickly. All test devices exhausted and there was nothing much to do. Levi was convinced it was an issue that could only be investigated on the backend. “We’re done for the day.”

“We have to send a report right?”

Levi started to pack his bag. “Send a report saying we’re not getting any readings,” he said with a shrug. “It’s probably a backend issue or an issue with their API.”

“You sure we can’t do anything from our side?” Farlan pressed.

Levi shook his head. “None.” He logged out, slung his backpack over his shoulder and exited the office.

He sensed their disappointment in him. In his months working there, Levi had never left the office without doing a thorough investigation and writing a detailed report.

That might be the first time in months, they would give something completely unhelpful for the developers. That wasn’t Levi’s intention though. There were just some things that were better off investigated on his own personal PC.

For the first time in a while, Levi didn’t go straight for the shower when he arrived back home. He booted up his own PC. When he checked his cloud account, he found the private repository with all the codes from the love alarm and the mood alarm was still there.

It hadn’t been touched in years though.

He scrolled through the code, allowing that wave of nostalgic to wash over him gently. Having been the only one who worked on the base, Levi was very very familiar with it. Memories came quickly with the nostalgia. There was a point where the server was down and he remembered the hundreds of support tickets about the temporarily malfunctioning love alarm.

No readings were coming through. Levi did a quick calculation of the time zones of his own city and of the mood alarm headquarters. Then he looked through the code again.

Convinced that it was a fair theory, Levi opened his pseudo email, entered the support email for the mood alarm and left just one sentence on the email body.

I’m convinced one of your devs left a debugger on one of these codes on the backend.

A few years ago, he had been guilty of leaving a debugger running overnight,  fucking up the whole command system of the love alarm.

He copied and pasted a part of the code and the sent the email off. For all he knew, the mood alarm could have branched off far from the love alarm, rendering his theory completely stupid. Still, it was a theory worth entertaining.

The issues from work forgotten, Levi started to open his other emails, finding one from Petra on the third page, dated months ago.

Just a reminder that he hadn’t opened that email in months. “A wedding invite?”

Petra Ral and Oluo Bozado invite you to celebrate their wedding…

He didn’t need the rest of it to convince himself to go. He only needed to look at the date under, conveniently a week after Hange and Zeke were scheduled to visit the hospital where he worked.

He sent off two emails that night.

One to Petra, a very very late RSVP.

Then one to management, a request for a two week leave. For personal reasons.

A wedding always made a good personal reason. That was probably only half his actual personal reason though.

***

“I didn’t even expect you to come.” Petra seemed happy.

It could have been the make up or her natural blush. She was a glowing bride, glowing bright enough that Levi was starting to feel lonely.

“It’s been a while,” Levi said. “And you two are looking good.”

“How’s life abroad?” Petra asked.

“It’s fine,” Levi said.

“You adjusted well?” Petra asked again.

“Yeah, I guess I did.” Levi took a sip of his wine.

“You managed to get a software engineering job there?” That time it was Oluo who asked.

“Something similar,” Levi said. He started to shake his glass a bit, feigning deep consideration. Maybe that would explain his inability to respond. In truth, he was in no mood to make conversation but when the bride and the groom had gone out of their way to sit next to him on the bench outside their party, and they had gone through all the trouble of asking, it was only polite that he kept his side of the conversation.

Somewhere along the exchanges, Petra brought up a question. And whether it had been appropriate or not, Levi couldn’t tell but he thought it worth an answer at least.

“Have you met anyone?” Petra asked.

“What?” Levi responded.

“I dunno… I guess someone who makes you feel good? Someone who manages to ring your love alarm?” Petra gave him a knowing look.

Levi only had to shift his gaze from Petra to the seemingly blank face of Oluo to know, Petra had at least kept that part to herself. To the others, his alarm ringing with Hange could have been just a bug.

Levi shook his head. “I haven’t touched the love alarm in years,” he admitted.

Petra seemed more understanding. “We haven’t touched it in years either.”

Levi raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

Petra stared ahead, looking deep in thought. She turned to Oluo. “Well, I guess a part of us wanted to build this organically, get to know each other first. And maybe that’s the best way to find people. I think the love alarm just causes unnecessary chaos sometimes.”

Levi only had to look back at his past five years to see it. To be honest, he could actually put the blame on the love alarm for completely uprooting his life. He couldn't say he totally agreed though. He didn’t regret the time with Hange either.

But he wasn’t going to deny her credit where credit was due. “You make sense.”

It wasn’t as simple as that though. Somehow, Hange’s own words had torn into the silence. Just for him. The love alarm causes chaos but sometimes it can tie loose ends.

And for him, it had been both. It had caused chaos but somehow, meeting Hange, having gotten to know her, having gotten to talk to her had tied some loose ends inside him.

What kind of loose ends? He couldn’t be too sure.

“Even when you don’t use the love alarm now, have you met other people?” Petra was still very interested in his love life.

Oluo should have been silently uncomfortable about that. Levi couldn’t tell with a quick glance.

“I’ve met a few people though… There’s someone named Nifa,” Levi said,

“Next time you come here, you’ll take her for a visit? Make sure to introduce us to her?” Petra asked.

“Or maybe next time, it will be us visiting,” Oluo added.

The brief conversation ended soon after, with a few exchanged greetings and a promise to bring Nifa. In case something ever happened between him and NIfa.

By the end of the night, he had made a promise to himself not to use that love alarm to find his next love.

Petra was right, the love alarm could cause unnecessary chaos. Besides, love is a choice right?

***

Levi came back from his very relaxing two week leave to two words that made his stomach turn.

Doctor Zoe. That was what Farlan and Isabel called her.

“Doctor Zoe…” Levi repeated. The words tasted unfamiliar. Suddenly, the road trip, the beach trip and just the quiet meetings in the cafe all seemed like just a fevered dream.

“And she stopped to talk to all of us!” Isabel sang, her eyes filled with wonder. “You should have stayed. I swear, I feel like you would have gotten along. She never stops talking. You two could have talked about the mood alarm for hours.”

“She sounds tiring to be with,” Levi said, an attempt at a halfhearted reply.

Farlan grinned, an alarmingly knowing expression on his face. “Don’t lie, you would have enjoyed at least listening. You’re way more enthusiastic about the mood alarm than we are.”

“I’m just being a good employee.” Levi shook his head, as if that was enough to erase the regret that shoved itself into his throat and down to his chest.

“She really made sure to talk to everyone,” Isabel said. “And she stayed for a few days longer. Maybe the plans changed since she went alone.”

“Wait, she came alone?” Levi said. Don’t regret. Don’t you dare regret leaving.

Farlan nodded in response. “Moblit explained this to us before they came.” He turned to Isabel as if expecting some explanation from her.

“I can’t be too sure either, I’ve only heard a bit about it. And rich people like the Jaegers, they like to keep their personal lives a secret right?” Isabel answered.

Farlan shrugged. “Anyway, from what Moblit told me, they intended to visit all the major customers including our hospital chain. They’ve been planning this tour for months, maybe even years but Doctor Zoe ended up going alone.”

“Did you ever find out why?” Levi kept his voice soft, anything louder and he might just look more invested. He turned back to the unopened tickets on his screen. From his peripherals, he could see Farlan and Isabel exchanging glances.

It was Farlan who spoke up. “I have a theory.”

“Tell me,” Levi said.

“They fought.”

“Okay, couples fight.” Levi continued to click at the tickets, opening them one by one, just to feel productive.

“Yeah, but it must have been a big fight right?” Isabel added. “I did some research on Doctor Zoe after we met her and apparently, they were having problems even years ago. Apparently, there are rumors that her husband bought the love alarm to save their marriage.”

“Where the hell did you get that info?” Farlan sounded incredulous.

Isabel chuckled mischievously. “The dark, dark internet.”

“That can’t be true.” Farlan shook his head in disbelief.

“I can’t really prove it anymore. A lot of the threads online that actually discuss this get taken down by the admin. But I swear, now that I think about it, it does make sense. I read some articles, no one expected Zeke Jaeger to buy the love alarm… Some said he did it to save the love alarm after a major bug showed up that could have prevented PR….Apparently, there was a certain point a few years ago, where there were photos of Doctor Zoe with another man. I tried looking for the photos but I can’t find them anymore.”

“You really got invested in her love life huh?”

Isabel groaned. “I couldn’t help it. She seemed so nice and she talked to us a lot even when we were just support, she took the time to teach us and she’s just so humble…”

“But what if she really did cheat on her husband?” Farlan challenged. “I mean, the rumors have to have been there for a reason right?”

“Do you think she looks like the type to cheat?” Isabel asked. “That very honest and open face?”

Farlan coughed in surprise. “She doesn’t for sure---but rumors don’t come out of nowhere right?”

“You two, go back to work,” Levi said. While the two had been working, he had been assigning tickets to them, an ingenious way to compose himself.

“Wait not yet, what do you think Levi? You might have better intuition than we do.”

“Intuition?” Levi repeated, one eyebrow raised.

“Does she really look like the type to cheat?” Farlan asked.

Levi continued to stare at the screen, not willing to risk showing them whatever expression played at his face then. “I didn’t meet her. You two did so you’re better qualified to answer that question. Tell me, does she look like the type to cheat?”

Farlan paused for a second, then narrowed his eyes at Levi. “I think I have a question which you might be more qualified to answer,” Farlan said. “You’re pretty good at finding bugs. Have you ever done research on the love alarm bug? What do you think the bug was… The one which made Zeke Jaeger buy the app?”

“I don’t think there was a bug,” Levi said.

“What do you mean?” Farlan pressed.

“Get back to work you two.” Levi kept his voice firm, loud and authoritative. Something he would have rather not done, if it hadn’t been for the weight which came with what should have been a light piece of gossip, and his whittling ability to keep a stoic demeanor.

The deep dark internet. Levi watched his two companions. Their eyes were once again fixed on the screen, Farlan’s fingers were flying over the keyboard, Isabel was playing with some test device.

Deep enough at work for Levi to take his own quick break. He opened an incognito tab and put his headphones on.

One video or one article, and he’d get back to work. He found an interview, the opening questions had been the same familiar ones Farlan had been playing on speaker months ago.

He played the first few questions at twice the speed. He knew the answers already.

What inspired you to make the mood alarm?

“Love alarm… Codes… Yadayadayada…” Levi muttered just a loud enough for himself. Hange had been careful not to mention anything about a developer. He could see the way she had shifted gazes for just a second, seeming uncomfortable.

He couldn’t blame her. Isabel had said so herself, in the deep dark internet, maybe there were rumors of an affair.

And some journalists were aware.

Personal Life? Around the point that someone asked about her personal life, Levi slowed the clip down. They had timed it, to the exact point where Hange had tensed up and looked away for just a second.

“Can you tell us about your relationship with Zeke Jaeger? How has it been?”

“How did you feel when you realized he bought you the love alarm? Is it true he bought it to win you back?”

Hange was admirably professional about it. “We’re digressing now,” she said with a light hearted tone, a laugh which seemed more rehearsed than actually Hange’s.

Is it true you had an affair with another man? It wasn’t loud enough for Hange to have heard it, just a sound among others. When Levi had been looking for that question and it rang more loudly for him. He rewinded the video a few times just to make sure.

What the hell… No we didn’t… We. Didn’t. Have. An. Affair.

“Levi, are you okay?” Isabel asked

“What?”

“You were talking to yourself just now.”

Levi quickly closed the tab as Isabel looked over his shoulder. “Nothing, just looking at tickets,” he said. He went back to their ticketing application, opened a few more tickets and decided to table the research until later that evening.

***

The deep, dark internet.

With his own personal wifi and his own VPN, Levi had more wriggle room to dig deeper.

There was a mention of a fight, a marriage on the rocks, and the rumors only grew from there. The more Levi found, the more courage he mustered. It turned out, the process of scrolling through threads, joining chat groups had been nothing but liberating.

Liberating but infuriating.

The internet was an aggregate of bad takes and the occasional good one. From bad takes came horrible half baked rumors.

I swear, if they end up divorcing…

Jaeger should have dumped her fucking ass from the start.

Slut…

Whore…

Hange Zoe. Fucking gold digger.

There were rumors that she had manipulated Zeke for the money. Rumors that she had only married him to complete her PhD.

Levi quickly went through those.

Some of the people were nice though and Levi read those comments a little more slowly.

The mood alarm was Zoe’s deal.

The money Jaeger put into was a donation.

If they’re not happy, let them divorce.

And there were videos, particularly zoomed videos in events of Zeke and Hange in conventions and conferences, the latest one only a few months ago. Before Hange  had visited the hospital.

In the most recent one, they were talking, just at the corner behind the stage, still visible from the camera. Levi rewinded the video again and again just to confirm their identity.

The Hange on the screen seemed indignant. Zeke had pulled her in by the waist, she pulled away. In response, Zeke had once again gone for her hands, pulling her towards him.

Just like back in the school gym.

It was different, that time in the gym Hange had been accepted yet determined at the same time. The Hange on the video, or the least, the one he could make out from the flailing of her hands, the stamping of her food on the ground, the moment she had pulled away then turned away was telling.

Hange wasn’t accepting anything anymore.

Levi scrolled through the comments.

If Hange Zoe divorces Zeke Jaeger… If she keeps possession of the mood alarm... she’s a gold digger.

She needed Jaeger funds to complete PhD… It’s Zeke Jaeger’s PhD not hers lmao XD

It was around the fifth most liked comment when Levi closed the tab, not bothering to bookmark the site. That was enough internet toxicity for the day.

***

“You’re transferring me?” Levi had ended up preempting the discussion.

Nifa and Moblit looked at each other, then back at him. Then Nifa nodded.

Moblit shook his head, creating some confusion. “No, we wanted your opinion on this first. The city we’ll be transferring you to isn’t very… convenient.”

“But you will be paid more,” Nifa said.

Since no one actually wants to live there. A fact no one actually admitted during those types of meetings but Levi had been in corporate long enough to know.

“And it’s just for a few years,” Moblit said, his tone, a tone of reassurance more than actual confidence. “Our hospital got special permission to do testing and research and we’ll need one support guy there. This is an important project for our hospital so...”

Levi had done a quick google search of the city under the table, a name he never heard of, and just the picture of a very sleepy town with not many buildings with even two floors was indicative. There was a reason why Moblit and Nifa seemed uncertain about a transfer.

There wasn’t much he did anyway in that city. How could moving away be any different?

“What’s this research about?” Levi asked.

Moblit responded to that more clearly and more confidently. “We’re planning to do further research, create programs for kids who grew up in difficult households to help them process emotions better. We’re starting with a few kids, on a small research facility up north… And having someone on call would be helpful.”

It didn’t take much to convince Levi after that. “There isn’t much for me to miss here anyway.” Really, he would have taken that transfer even without the pay raise.

***

There was peace and quiet which came with living in the middle of nowhere. Peace and quiet had a way of making Levi unbearably bored yet at the same time more perceptive as to why the hell no one wanted to live there in the first place.

Winters were cruel, with snow piling up meters high. Even in the summers, the sky was overcast and in all four seasons, the air still found a way to be suffocatingly dry.

Someone mentioned something about lake effects and something about rain shadows, and Levi couldn’t really tell which one was it. He wasn’t a scientist after all.

He was human though, a very simple minded human with no science degree. So he let the weather affect his moods, maybe even affect his long term philosophies in life. His current environment was too different from the bustling city he grew up in, or the other urban jungle he had lived the past five years of his life, he deemed his new home, the epitome of the middle of nowhere.

It was completely unfamiliar and by some psychological consequence to Levi, it was too far flung from his old life for Levi to even entertain anything about his old life, beyond work. So it became easier to take a more pragmatic approach at reminiscing.

A few months into his transfer, he had even started reading articles on Zeke and Hange again.

Billionaire Zeke Jaeger finalizes divorce would Mood Alarm founder Hange Zoe.

Then the comments section:

That was fast.

I knew it, Zoe’s a gold digger.

There was the string of names, whore, sluts, cheaters and gold diggers that never made too much sense as sentences. So Levi quickly closed the tab.

You actually did it. He thought to himself. And when he thought a little longer about it, he realized he did feel happy for her.

Happy? Sad? Disappointed? Out of curiosity, he opened his own mood alarm and clicked activate. It glowed with a bright green.

He could have been happier.

Levi decided to blame the sky for his fickle mood. That grey view that stretched far unimpeded by any of the surrounding low rising buildings, only ending by the mountains that seemed hundreds of miles away.

The surrounding mountains and the large lake followed him to work. An overly scenic landscape that reminded him, the train back to the capital only came once a day, the train that passed through the next major city only passed three times a day.

And fucking hell, train tickets were expensive.

By some modern day definition, Levi really was trapped in the middle of nowhere.

The weather only made him more cynical, yet angrier at the tasteless comments under the news article on Zeke and Hange’s divorce. As he neared the research center, he ended up tabling that reflection with one sentence, something comforting yet oddly depressing.

Hange wouldn’t look for me. Then he brushed it away violently soon after. The audacity of even considering the prospect that he was important enough for her to want to search for him. Why would Hange care where he is?

The fact that Hange was followed by the press while he was trapped in the middle of nowhere was indicative enough. They were from two completely different worlds.

***

It may have taken months more, but what Levi clocked to a ‘bout of wanderlust’ eventually settled. He found, keeping himself busy with the right work had done wonders to placate the turmoil inside him.

Keeping busy somehow made it easier to sit up and get ready for work. It meant managing to desensitize his own moods to the weather around him.

Most importantly, it meant seeing some connection with the world, some sliver of motivation to go the extra mile with the people who worked with.

“Early as always, Ackerman.” Same greeting everyday.

“Morning to you too, Onyankopon,” Levi responded as he entered the irsmall office.

Onyankopon was a companion  duringearly in the mornings, lunch times, late afternoons and sometimes, even the dinners when he would invite Levi out for a drink in the only bar for miles around.

Still, it made life remotely eventful when the only changing things had been the weather and his work.

And his work was very eventful.

“Uncle Levi! Did you find any bugs yesterday?” Just like every other morning, the two kids would burst through the door. Or more specifically, the brunette was always the one bursting through the door, the blonde just followed.

“Gaby, you might be bothering them,” Falco said. He said that at least three times a week.

Levi had never been the type anyway to tell them he didn’t mind their morning visits. It always meant something to look forward to.

“Nothing so far,” Levi said. He looked towards Onyakopon, the one in charge of reporting issues. “Hopefully.”

Onyankopon raised his hands in defense. “Don’t get mad at me, get mad at the devs who created the mood alarm in the first place."

Levi was constantly mad at the devs anyway, if he considered that constant state of self loathing. Working on the mood alarm as support had only made Levi realize how many shortcuts he had taken into making that damn application years ago.

“There’s nothing today,” Levi said as he looked at the two kids. “But I could give you a quick lesson,” he added. He couldn’t say no to the crestfallen faces of the two kids.

He dragged one seat next to him and guided Gaby to one of them and Falco to his own seat. “When I want to look for errors in the code, I look here first.” It was a terribly boring lesson, a useless one. Support 101. At the least, the kids seemed satisfied. “If I right click here, and then inspect, I can see what this website is made out of.”

Gaby let out a breath, a mix between a ‘wow’ and an ‘oh.’ “I can’t read it.”

“It’s another language,” Levi explained. “Computers don’t understand our language. So we have to learn another language to be able to talk to them. And when we’re able to tell them what we want, they’ll do things for us, things we can’t do ourselves.”

Gaby had asked more questions after that. Falco had asked his own too, albeit hesitantly.

The difference between the network and console tabs, the meanings of the strange brackets, what happens if they just aimlessly click…

That morning session ended with less than half the questions answered, and a promise to teach them more the next morning. Like every other day before, at eight in the morning, Onyankopon brought them to the activity room and Levi was left alone in the office.

There weren’t many people in the research center, only five employees in total. After all, there were only ten to twenty kids who came and went every day, a very manageable number for five people. He and Onyankopon shared an office and with Onyankopon busy a good chunk of the day, Levi was left alone.

With his own efficient working methods and his outstanding ability to quickly pick out the bugs, Levi was usually free for a cumulated five hours a day.

When he first started working there, his five hour long breaks consisted of reading novels or whatever stupid article came up on his timeline. He could have taken longer breaks yet chose to spend them as short sporadic bouts of inactivity

By spreading out periods of inactivity, Levi managed to somehow pacify the guilt at ‘doing nothing’ while being paid for the eight hours a day. There were times, it was strong, remnants maybe of his stint with the love alarm, barely taking leaves, willingly putting him through the pain of overtime.

Some days, they were particularly strong, sometimes incomprehensible that Levi suspected they could have been related to the burning curiosity, the burning attachment to his own application that never abated.

A burning attachment, a natural need to be productive eventually resulted in sporadic bouts of unproductivity spent just testing the mood alarm all for a brief look into his own emotions.

Even when he wasn’t feeling anything in particular, the application continued to glow colors, just flitting between greens and blues. They could have been yellows or oranges maybe, when Onyankopon or Gabi or Falco visited. He had never been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve though and thus, had never opened it with them around.

That day wasn’t any different. Alone in the office, he opened it again, held it in his hands and watched the colored blobs swim amongst each other, mix amongst one another, then disappear.

Blue or Green? That day it was blue. Why blue and why not green? He could never ask. ‘How’ was always an easier question to answer. He only had to connect his phone to the PC then boot up the dashboard.

His next break, he decided to try a visualization exercise, like every other time before.

Memories never seemed to do the trick. He’d take a risk and dive deep, into his memories with Hange, his anger at the situation, the loss of a life before. Yet it all came out greens and blues. The alarm rang, an almost deafening sound in the silent room and for a split second, it had Levi attentive and a little paranoid. Levi knew though, with the thick concrete walls around him, it was a sound just for him.

He connected his phone to the dashboard and booted the PC again.

There were numbers. He switched to a bar graph view, noting how there were terms, hormones and chemicals he could only barely make sense of. But the blue and the green bars higher than usual yet still very low were signs in themselves.

That morning was a normal morning. And every morning since he built that habit had been a normal morning.

The only thing which ended up different about that day was when footsteps sounded just outside the door. If Levi had been listening closely, he would have been able to point out, those weren't a rhythm of footsteps he was particularly privy too.

But normal mornings tended to desensitize people. Footsteps weren’t particularly interesting either.

In a town with only a few hundred people, it would most likely be someone who already lived there. He continued to work. He disconnected his phone from the dashboard and played with the mood alarm in his own phone again.

The door clicked open behind him, slowly enough for the creak to sound, then fast enough for the slam to come right after yet gently.

Onyankopon always opened the door a little wider, always slamming the door behind him and in between, there was always a greeting. If Levi had been more aware of his surroundings, maybe the lack of all that could have peaked his interest.

In the grand scheme of things though, the door slamming wasn’t anything particularly interesting. Levi continued to sit and stare at his phone.

“Levi Ackerman.”

A voice in an empty room though, was always an interesting thing. By some natural inclination towards voices, any presence in a room that was always his by mid morning, Levi was listening.

Making sense of the voice was a surprisingly slow process. The mood alarm reacted first.

The alarm sounded.

A wave climbed from his chest up until his neck, there was a bristle at the back of his neck, a tickle at his ears, then something pricked at his eyes. He looked down at the alarm before he could completely understand. The colors continued to swim then mix.

They always disappeared and finalized the reading in five seconds.

A second or two passed, and the colors still didn’t look at all in a hurry to disappear.

You’re going crazy Levi. He took a deep breath. He was dreaming. Because what the fuck. Of course she wouldn’t be here. She had an international company to run.

“Levi…” The voice sang. “That’s you right?”

Don’t look back.

“Or maybe there are just a lot of developers named Levi in this world… “ The footsteps were only getting closer. “Developers who are just really good at using the mood alarm.” Then the voice was right next to him.

When she had settled on that seat right at his peripherals, he couldn’t exactly chalk it up to a fevered dream. The mood alarm in his hands continued to ring. He could have sworn at least five seconds had passed. Yet the colors never disappeared, countless colors still swimming around on the interface as the mood alarm continued to read his emotions.

Levi had never been a master of articulation. The war of colors, the chaos on the phone were the best visual representation. He struggled to find the right words, but she continued to stare from his peripherals, her face many things at once.

Apologetic? Expectant?

“It is you,” she said, triumph and relief apparent in her tone.

That only pissed Levi off more. Another emotion added to his boiling pot. Eventually Levi thought it necessary to respond. With too little time, too little mindspace to even attempt to articulate, Levi kept himself to three words, the only three which could have meant everything at once.

“What the fuck.”

In response, she let out a soft laugh. “Are you crying?”

Crying? Now that Levi did think about it, there had been a crack in her voice too. Levi looked up to see her, smiling. Her eyes were smiling too. Then he followed the tear streak that barely grazed the side of her lip.

There was enough time, enough silence for Levi to gather himself. To stare at the reading on the application that couldn’t seem to decide what emotion Levi was feeling.

With enough self discipline, enough concentration, Levi managed to speak. “Hange, if you ask people why they’re crying, you’re just gonna make it worse.”

***

There was only one tea shop in the town, a tea shop which naturally, Levi had chosen as his favorite hang out spot.

Over the months, he had grown familiar with it and in turn, it had grown to become an intimate friend. An intimate friend he had never expected to ever introduce to Hange.

Onyankopon and Moblit had joined them for tea though, and suddenly, Hange didn’t feel like Hange. It could have been the way she shifted to an ‘all business’ demeanor or maybe a part of him was still trying to rationalize what he had deemed to be a very irrational thought.

Maybe he had imagined visiting the cafe with Hange a few times. The realist inside him though, had always believed it to be impossible. At that moment, the dreamer inside him was still taking its victory lap.

“You should have told us you’d be coming. We could have set up something better than late afternoon tea,” Onyankopon said. Either way, he seemed very happy to see them.

Moblit took a sip from his cup then revealed an apologetic smile underneath as he put the cup down. “Apologies for visiting all of a sudden. Doctor Zoe is a very impulsive person.”

Hange nodded. “I hope you don’t mind. As soon as I heard about this, I hopped on the next plane just to get here as soon as possible,” she said “I’m hoping to start something like this in the hospitals back home.”

Moblit put his cup down. “Right, I never got to properly introduce you to Levi.” He turned to Onyankopon then to Levi. “But I’m sure you’ve had a fair share of introductions… You did barge into his office this morning.” He had an apologetic look on his face.

“Hey, Doctor Zoe just wanted to see how we were using the software,” Onyankopon said in Hange’s defense. “I’m more than honored to see that the founder of the mood alarm is taking the time to even wander around our facility.”

Moblit cleared his throat. “Anyway, Levi, this is Doctor Hange Zoe, the founder of the mood alarm application. She visited our main hospital a year back but if I remember correctly, you were on leave right?”

“On a personal leave,” Levi clarified. He couldn’t find much else to say. He took a long sip of tea.

“This is Levi Ackerman,” Moblit said. “One of our best in IT support. He learned how to use your application pretty fast.”

“Yes…” Hange said. “And ever since you told me about him, I’ve been very excited to meet him.” Her grin only got wider as she studied his features, her eyes giving him a good once over. “I guess that’s the reason I ended up taking my own tour of the center while you too were catching up. I wanted to see your genius IT support in action,” she joked.

It was almost unbelievable that that morning, Hange had showed a completely different side to him. She had wiped her own tears pretty fast, shifting her expression to something very professional as soon as Onyankopon and Moblit had entered the office just that morning.

The whole afternoon, Hange was busy with activities and tours of the town, Levi busy with his own work. They barely got to talk. Fortunately, that had allowed Levi time to compose himself, enough to keep a straight face when Onyankopon had invited them over for some tea.

Then and there, there were conversations of partnerships and business, almost reminiscent to whatever bullshit he had to deal with in his old company. But this conversation had Hange, and Hange had shifted her gaze towards him enough times for Levi to feel it only proper to reciprocate.

“Once this project is over, would you consider letting Levi go?” Hange asked. “I’d love to have him visit our main office, maybe help out with some of our development work.”

Moblit shook his head vigorously. “No hesitation. It always felt like he was overqualified for this type of job.”

“By the way you talk about him, I can tell.” She looked at Levi knowingly, a silent form of communication just between both of them. She turned back to Moblit then Onyankopon, her face once again all business. “There are many things I hope to still improve with this application so any support on research, troubleshooting, development is very much appreciated.”

“What do you suggest?” Moblit asked.

A quick glance at Onyankopon and Levi knew he was asking the same question.

Hange put one finger to her chin in thought “A partnership…”

It looked like they had expected Hange to talk Levi’s ear off non stop about the application. Moblit had mentioned something about going straight home while Hange discussed the partnership with Levi, mentioning bugs, the debugger that had been stuck in the system and the bugs which Levi had been quick to point out.

Levi, being respectful, had only listened.

That was until Onyankopon and Moblit offered to walk ahead, leaving Levi and Hange alone on the red brick road overlooking the large lake.

It was early in the evening but it still felt like late afternoon. The sun never set until seven or eight during the mid months of spring.

Yet, the streets was empty, bereft of anything but the both of them.

With one quick scan of their surroundings, Hange turned back to him, she bit her lip and took a deep breath.

Her demeanor was suddenly a stark contrast with the enthusiastic, eloquent one back at a cafe. The sudden transformation was enough for Levi to tense up,

Hange spoke up. “This town really sleeps early,” she commented. “You're planning on going home now too?”

“I usually go home an hour earlier, especially on weekdays,” Levi responded. “I’m only out at this time because they invited me for late afternoon tea.” Technically it was dinner.

“Do you go home….” Hange started, she paused for a second, a very out-of-place pause. “To anyone?”

It took a lot of effort for Levi to resist choking or even letting out a ghost of a laugh at that question. I’m married to my job. That was the answer that popped into his mind out of instinct.

“Did I make it time?” Hange added a second later, only reminding Levi that he hadn’t even mustered a glimmer of answer.

“Make it in time?” Levi asked, in an attempt to stall for time.

“Petra…”

“She married Oluo.”

Hange didn’t seem satisfied. “Is there someone else…” she pressed. “Someone else...”

Hange started to speak with her hands, gesturing for Levi to ‘go on,’ in some awkward wave of a hand. The first awkward gesture Hange had done since they arrived.

Levi couldn’t help but just appreciate that bout of vulnerability he could pull out of her. “There is,” he said.

Just for a second, Hange’s face fell and for a moment Levi relished it.

“Oh…” Hange turned away. “Then, I should take you home… I’d love to meet her…”

Then suddenly, Levi felt just a little bad for that trick. “I was fucking kidding,” he said.

Hange let out a loud sigh of relief, an ugly huff and she looked away, suddenly self conscious.

Levi had to admit, it was an ugly snort. He was tempted to take a good look at her face, and maybe he had craned his neck as she kept silent for a second longer. “I’m not some idiot who would marry someone just because it’s convenient," he said.

“Give me a break. I just graduated from college when I decided to get married,” Hange said. “Besides, we enjoyed each other’s company.”

“If you chose that type of life, I wouldn’t have stopped you. Besides, you had a lot on the line, your PhD, your mood alarm, the love alarm, your reputation. It wouldn’t have been easy choice to make.”

Hange hummed. “The PhD is done, my reputation, I don’t give too much of a rat’s ass about that. And the mood alarm? That has always been mine. I put my own money into building that business.”

“It definitely wasn’t cheap.”

“It wasn’t,” Hange admitted. “What if I told you, I earned my own capital for building it in one night in a casino.”

Levi's thoughts flew back to the night at the casino. He grinned. “I’d believe you.”

“So the mood alarm is mine and I managed to keep it,” Hange said. “But I never forgot you know... The plans, the codes, they’re all yours.”

“So you did get the email,” Levi said.

Hange nodded. “And the email got me thinking…” she trailed off for what seemed like an eternity.

Levi couldn’t wait. “About what?”

Hange thought for a few seconds longer, putting her hands behind her back. “That ended up one reason why I even considered leaving Zeke,” she said. “He has a different way of loving, I have a different one too. Love is freedom. Love is just trusting. Zeke on the other hand, always likes to play safe, tie people down.”

“What happened to ‘love is a choice?’”

Hange seemed unperturbed. “Love still is a choice.”

“Then why not choose to love Zeke?” Levi challenged.

Hange sighed and put one hand up. “You said it yourself, deciding to leave wouldn’t be an easy decision,” she started. “I considered three things.”

She put one finger up. “Our own views of love. Zeke sees it as a game, as an investment and he approaches it conservatively… On the other hand, I see love and relationships as a form of freedom, a risk. In love, I don't believe in playing to win.”

She put another finger up. “I considered how I was feeling, this really weird feeling, my thoughts on Pemberley then on colors.”

“I thought you didn’t want to be a slave to your emotions.”

Hange shook her head. “I’m not. I approached this methodically. Even before considering my feelings, I considered my circumstances.” She put the third finger up. “I considered the backlash, I considered Zeke’s feelings, dealing with a divorce. And that’s what brought me here, despite the criticism, despite my inability to buy the love alarm and to barely salvage the mood alarm.”

“You still gave in to your emotions.”

Hange nodded. “After thinking long and hard about it, I did. But before that, I weighed all three, and I decided to take the risk.”

“Was it worth it?”

Hange shrugged and she leaned over the rail, seeming mesmerized by the lake. “I won’t know yet but I guess, even when I thought you had someone else…” There was a flash of hurt on her face, enough for Levi to regret playing that little joke on her.

“I don’t have anyone else,” Levi clarified.

Hange continued to speak. “I still thought the risk was worth taking. It would have been unfair to Zeke if I stayed and who am I to stop you if someone makes you feel happy.” She turned back to him. “This is the way I’ll choose to love. I’ll weigh my emotions, my circumstances and my worst case scenarios. Then I decide the most loving thing to do. If I have to take a risk, I take it. And I guess, given all that, looking for you seemed like the correct decision.”

Levi couldn’t stifle that smile any longer, and he hoped somehow, his own words would stop it from getting any wider. “Well, it's too early to tell if it's a good decision.”

Hange opened her phone and opened the application. “Can we try again?”

“You wanna use the love alarm?” Levi asked. “Your ex-husband’s application.”

“It’s still your brainchild,” Hange said as she waited for it to load. She hovered her thumb over it.

“I don’t have it installed,” Levi said.

“I can wait,” Hange said. And there was no room for argument in her voice.

An awkward few minutes as Hange watched him download the application. Levi focused on the loading bar, and luckily, his biometrics were still registered from that brief experiment of a year ago.

“On three…” Hange said, her voice a little stilted.

But they didn’t finish counting or maybe they just counted at completely different paces.

The alarms rang, filling the empty space between them, two rings which never seemed to find a uniform pace. Even with a very dominant fastidious side though, Levi wasn’t thinking too much about such a small detail.

Hange’s was smiling, grinning, or whatever that was called. Her face was a mix between pure ecstasy and pure passion. She wrinkled her eyes at him, her mouth climbed into a grin wider than he had ever been used to.

She let out a loud sigh. “I was fucking scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you would have gotten over me… I dunno, thought you might just think love was a choice, and I dunno, stop feeling whatever that love alarm thing was feeling.”

“I don’t think the love alarm works like that,” Levi said. Really, he started to realize he didn’t know how it worked.

Hange shook her head. “I’m probably just overthinking. You know… I learned how to code over the years, talked to a few developers and tried to look into how the application works,” she said.

“Did you find anything?”

“Remember when you told me that the love alarm starts to figure out for its own what love is. It creates its own definition. Something we can’t even comprehend...” Hange was still grinning, her voice coming out as breaths and sometimes sounds.

Still, Levi could comprehend most of it. “You have any theories?” he pressed. Hange always had theories.

“Soulmates? Relationships in a past life?” Hange suggested.

“Well, we can’t really look back at those right?” Levi said. “Well, what else?”

One word, one word out of Hange’s mouth. “Pemberley.”

“Pemberley?” Levi asked. Somehow though as Hange looked back at the lake, up at the sky then at the gaudy main street of that small town. Levi started to understand it himself.

“It’s ugly here,” Levi said. At first he had meant it. As Hange started to look at her surroundings then back at the lake, with a look of wonder in her eyes, Levi was sure he had meant it as a challenge.

“When you’re in love then with the person we love, everywhere starts to feel like Pemberley,” Hange completed a second later.

Does it? And he wondered why the hell, he needed Hange to point it out.

They were in an ugly town, a place people were paid to live in. The sky was constantly overcast. When it wasn’t raining, it was snowing and it snowed six months a year. When it wasn’t snowing or raining, the sky was at least threatening it.

The way that Hange had looked at it with such naive wonder, the way she had just stood there, looking at everything and back at him, Levi couldn’t help but entertain the idea of Pemberley.

Maybe give the colors a chance to show themselves? Hange didn’t say it out loud. In the moment they made eye contact though, Levi couldn’t help but just give that little piece of advice a chance, whether it had been his own or Hange’s.

He looked first at the main road and the red brick path, noting how the gaudy red, worn by the elements more than actual foot traffic seemed to still glow a bright red despite the grey undertones. He then looked to the buildings, varying shades of concrete grey yet ‘the varying shades’ of it seemed to still have some sense of novelty.

He then looked back at the ocean, the dark sky above never allowed it a more beautiful shade of blue, yet the bluish black still continued to glow. The waves only sent glimmers of silver against the dark blue. Then it was only natural that he looked up at the sky, the sky which never allowed any other shade for itself, except on a few select days a year.

The fog blocked whatever green the mountains beyond the lake would have shown him.

Looking back at Hange then back at his surroundings, he started to accept it. There were greens, reds, blues, yellows and every other color in the spectrum. The world glowed with so many colors, so many lights and sounds. His emotions were a whirlwind that spun to whatever rhythm the lights and colors blinked at.

Colors persevered and they’ve always persevered.

Emotions persevered and they’ve always persevered.

Even emotions we don’t understand ourselves. Levi added to himself.

Maybe Hange was right. That was what the love alarm had been trying to show. The one person who made the colors, the emotions all the clearer.

“This is a beautiful place,” Hange said. “And I wouldn’t mind staying here, lay low a bit, just long enough for people to forget the divorce fiasco.”

“There are a few nice places here,” Levi said.

Hange continued to stare.

Why don’t we just live here together right Levi?

I know you, you wouldn’t be able to stay out of the action.

Levi felt almost ashamed at that mystery response that seemed to pop into his head out of nowhere. We can live here long enough to get our shit together. "First things first, let’s discuss this partnership, over tea in my house.”

“Now?” Hange’s widened her eyes. And her eyes were smiling.

“Well, unless you have other plans tonight,” Levi said.

Hange shook her head. “Nothing much…”

They made the whole way back to his home in silence. Surprisingly, Levi preferred it that way. It had been enough for him to appreciate his new comprehension of his surroundings, the small details he hadn't noticed before.

It wasn’t just the view. The rhythm of their footsteps, their uncoordinated breathing, and just the way the trees rustled, the wind blew, always found a way to glow different colors. His emotions, the chaos of every moment after that were also challenging him to find their colors.

And the circumstances that had them locked in his cramped apartment, sitting over tea, with no one else watching, nothing restricting them had Levi reflecting. It probably had Hange reflecting too. They spoke unhindered with just thoughts, expressions and locked gazes.

For one reason or the other, it happened quickly and abruptly, leaving no space or time to comprehend it.

Sitting on his living room sofa right next to her. Hands clasped against the other. Her dry lips were on his.

The magic welling in his chest, the thunder that climbed quickly up his throat, persevering even underneath the grey. They were all screaming at him then, they all glowed colors.

At that moment though, he had been to tired to reflect on it for any longer. He decided to just roll with it.

It was no use making sense of it. After all, life, love and emotions... They were all just complicated that way.

[txemrn]

So, I love your work. You often make Sam out to be the whore. 🤣 Can you please write a fic where Brynn is lonely and fed up with him working long hours and she is the one who cheats?

Hey, anon! 😉 I'm so glad you are enjoying my stories! Thank you so much for the request! It literally made me squeal, and I knew I had to make this a mini-series. I hope you enjoy this *NEW* TNA adventure, inspired by YOU! Thanks again, love! 😘

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"When Was It Over...?"

Prologue

Book: TNA (with a surprise crossover)

Pairing: m!Sam Dalton x MC (Brynn Schuyler-Dalton); MC x (Surprise Guest)

Word Count: 1126 (+/-)

Series Song Inspiration: "When Was It Over?" by Sasha Alex Sloan ft. Sam Hunt

Rating/Warning: angst; language; sexual references; this series will also contain NSFW content, infidelity, and verbal abuse

A/N: This story takes place after the events of TNA; Sam and Brynn have been married for a few years (if you ever want to read their about their demise, click here). Super duper special thanks to the lovely @kat-tia801 for ALL of the help and input! You rock! These characters and some plot belong to Pixelberry!

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Pensively staring at her reflection in her vanity mirror, Brynn Schuyler-Dalton carefully paints a matte oxblood red on her plump lips. Allowing the color to dry, she slowly twirls on the balls of her feet, inspecting her new YSL lace-trimmed lingerie, a sheer black bra and panty set that left very little to the imagination, that would capture any man's desire.

If only her husband would look at her.

Brynn tenderly adjusts her full breasts in the quarter-cup bra, ensuring that her cleavage is prominent in the scantily clad garment. Just the way he likes it.

At least he used to.

After slinking on a delicate pair of thigh high hosiery and clasping it in place with a matching garter belt, she unpins the curlers from her silky tresses, allowing her radiant, golden autumn curls to bounce on her sun-kissed shoulders.

She sits on a cream tufted stool, reaching down to slip on her red-bottom stilettos before examining her finished sensual look, a special surprise for her husband.

And if she was honest, it was a special surprise for herself.

Brynn fingers through her jewelry box, holding up pearls and diamonds alike up to her ears. Studs. Chandeliers. Cartier. Tiffany's. She lets out a sigh as she peers into her dreary blue eyes.

Would he even notice this time?

She settles on a pair of vintage gothic-style teardrop diamonds. Fixing them to her ears, a brilliant cascade of rainbow colors flash across her face, making Brynn do a double-take amongst her gems.

Her engagement ring.

A coy grin grows across her face as she slips it on her ring finger. She abruptly gazes at herself in the mirror, her hand dancing in different postures, modeling the emerald-cut diamond as if she were in a magazine. Her grin quickly explodes into a toothy smile as her heart begins to race, remembering the joy, remembering the excitement of that day. What Sam looked like. What he tasted like.

Brynn secures the ring with her white gold wedding band. Standing up from the vanity, she holds out her arm to admire the pair, how they looked perfect, how they looked so well-together.

And that's when she noticed it: her husband's side of the bed, the sheets perfectly made and the down comforter tucked. It's been made up all week. She usually finds him on the chaise lounge in his office or on the sectional in the game room with the shifting shadows of a muted television.

"I didn't want to disturb you," is always his excuse. Brynn knows it's just a line, but there is some hidden truth: he doesn't want to be disturbed.

With the expansion of their start-up technology company two years ago, the young Dalton couple knew there would be sacrifices. It started as working late hours a few times each month; now, working late every night was an expectation.

Brynn drags her hand across his pillow before taking it in her arms. She takes a deep breath, savoring the remnants of citrus and bergamot. Tightly wrapping her arms around his pillow, Brynn gently nuzzles her head into its softness. Her eyes water, threatening another evening of unheard sobs; but, she quickly clears her throat.

Not tonight. Tonight, she's not going to miss him. Tonight, she's not going to miss his touch, or the look in his eyes, or the smile on his face. Tonight belongs to them. Tonight she will rekindle that spark she craves so badly. Tonight, she won't simply fuck him out of obligation, but rather make love with him. Tonight was the start of something new.

Or at least she hopes.

Hoping to start the intimate evening with her husband, Brynn decides to spice things up. Dimming the lights in her room, she carefully positions herself sensually on their opulent bed. She grabs her phone, and photo after photo, she positions her hand in suggestive ways on the exposed skin of her neck, her abdomen, finally laying to rest on her upper thighs.

With a mischievous gleam in her eyes she giggles as she toggles through her pictures, looking for the perfect snapshot to send to her husband. Innocent. Devilish. Sweet. Raunchy. Brynn knows all of them would turn him ravenous.

At least they used to.

She settles on a seductive photo of her hand gracefully wandering up her inner thigh. Opening up her messages, she clicks on his name to start a new note. She selects the media file. Send.

Brynn lays back on her bed, proud of what she has accomplished as she hugs her phone to her chest. She gently bites her thumbnail in anticipation, knowing what the night would bring her. Love. Attention. Her husband. She feels giddy, as if this was her first time.

Lost in her imagination, she's interrupted by a familiar chime from her phone.

A new message. From him.

Brynn's heart begins to gallop as she clicks on the notification of the new text message from her husband. She takes a deep breath, feeling the rush of adrenaline course through her veins. A firing of electricity ignites her nerves.

But, it's short-lived as tears gather in Brynn's eyes. A weight of humiliation lays heavily on her chest as she stares at the response. Her stomach burns, threatening to expel its contents.

Cute. Working late, then dinner with the GE rep. Don't wait up.

Numb. Brynn sits on the side of the bed in silence, her body limp. Her mind races in a dizzying pattern, leaving her unable to discern a single thought. The excitement that was bursting from her heart has been squelched and smothered. And she's never felt so empty, so unnoticed, so unworthy.

Brynn suddenly feels restrained, choked, like she can't breathe. In a panic, she searches for the bra clasps behind her back. Her fingers fumble with the delicate metal hooks, but finally as she begins to whimper in frustration, she feels the release of the straps. She quickly whips the garment off, throwing it against the wall in the corner of the room. She takes a deep breath, savoring the taste of air in her lungs. Freeing.

Brynn closes her eyes as beads of tears roll incessantly down her cheeks. With trembling hands, she takes off the earrings. And the shoes. And the hosiery.

So much for tonight.

She lays down on top of the down comforter, pulling her husband's side of the large blanket over her body. He wouldn't be using it.

She clenches her eyes closed, willing for the rivers from her eyes to stop, willing for her heart to stop aching, willing for the world to stop crashing down around her.

How? How did this happen? How did their marriage get to this point?

When was it over?

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TNA Tags (Please tell me if you'd like to be added/removed): @ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @forallthatitsworth @issabees @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @neotericthemis @shannonwrote @shanzay44 @shewillreadyou @socalwriterbee @somersetmummy @taniasethi @thefrenchiemama

[damianosismyking]

from the prompt list: 3 or 6 for lamen :) love your writing sm!

Hello dear anon! Thank you so much for the prompts and kind words <3 Unfortunately, this turned out a little long. I hope you enjoy it anyway.

|Prompts chosen from this list! |

#3: “Come with me to the other room” – “We are not going to talk about this now.”

#6: “Here, take my jacket” – “I told you I’m not cold” *shivering*

~~

[1,9K words]

It had everything to be the perfect night, but of course, fucking Aimeric would ruin it.

Laurent had been impossible to convince, deadly opposed to getting out of the house unless it was indispensable, and more so getting out of the house to be somewhere loud and crowded.

In the end, Damen managed to convince Laurent through bargain: if he came with him to this one party his friend was throwing, just this time, then Damen would spend the next three months giving Laurent as many back rubs as he wished without complaint.

More than anything, Damen was just happy to get Laurent out of the house. It did him well to be around people that weren’t Damen or his coworkers for a change. To talk about things that didn’t include slide presentations and spreadsheets and whatever he saw on the TV or read on some site. Shake things up a little.

And it worked wonders. Laurent had found a clever girl with whom he connected and had been chatting for a while. He even allowed himself a soft drink (which didn’t have enough alcohol to qualify as an alcoholic beverage). Damen’s heart lurched as Laurent smiled politely, very obviously entertained.

Convinced that Laurent was fine on his own, Damen left the room to witness a drinking competition unfolding in the backyard. He fully intended to take part in it when the lightweight college boy on the left inevitably passed out.

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes. It was just enough time for Damen to step out to the backyard and see the college boy hurl his insides on the grass, and Laurent was poking Damen’s back with a brutal force.

The light quality that had been on Laurent’s face a moment ago had vanished. His jaw was locked, and Laurent seemed angry like Damen hadn’t seen in a while.

“What happened?” Damen asked, but as soon as the words were out, the reason materialized into the backyard.

Aimeric. Fucking Aimeric.

He came hand in hand with an older guy who was not Jord but might as well have been, greying beard, receding hairline and all. Aimeric’s hair had grown long enough to tie up into a bun since the last time Damen saw him. He greeted and smiled a very politician smile at some folks by the pool, making his way to them.

“What are you doing?” Laurent clutched the front of Damen’s shirt. His eyes on Damen were piercing, and Damen knew it was in an attempt to not let them travel east, to the last person any of them expected to see there.

If only Damen had known, he’d never have invited Laurent along. “Let’s go home,” he suggested.

“No,” Laurent replied steadfastly. “I want to see what you’re doing.”

Damen pulled Laurent to his side, a protective arm swung over his shoulders to keep him from view. The issue was that even trying to keep Laurent from harm, the harm had already reached him. Before Damen had a say in it, Laurent was stepping into the place emptied by the college kid, asking the host to explain the rules for the game.

Calling after him resulted in nothing. A second after, Laurent’s hands were tied back, and he was bending over shot glasses placed at the table, grabbing them with his mouth and tossing his head back to drink. He dropped the glass unceremoniously at the table to mouth the next one and the next one, down the line like it was water.

Laurent won, finishing his shots first. The next opponent took the place of the girl Laurent beat. Once again, Laurent won. He was getting ready for a third round when Damen stepped in.

“Come here.” Damen pulled Laurent closer reaching behind him to untie the hands.

“I was playing a game,” Laurent protested but ultimately allowed himself to be untied and dragged away.

Damen returned inside the house, guiding Laurent by the hand. The shots hadn’t hit him yet, but they would soon. Finally, they made it to the kitchen in search of water.

And there was Aimeric too, like a bad presage. In his heart, Damen prayed Laurent would overlook Aimeric with the back pressed to the stove talking to some guy who very evidently drooled over him.

Of course, Damen wouldn’t be so lucky, and Laurent would gulp his water while burying Aimeric with a deadly glare. It certainly didn’t help that Aimeric met the gaze and leaned into not-Jord’s ear to whisper something and giggle.

It certainly didn’t help that it happened again and again. One too many times.

If it bothered Damen, who objectively had nothing against Aimeric, he could only imagine what it did to Laurent to see his ex-friend magically pop up at every location they ran to and very conveniently start whispering to the nearest drooling idiot.

Laurent’s pupils were blown wide already and his lids heavy. It would get worse, and when it did, it was for the best if Aimeric wasn’t anywhere within Laurent’s sight.

“Come with me to the other room,” Damen whispered into Laurent’s ear.

“We are not going to talk about this now,” Laurent’s groggy response. He didn’t even bother masking that he was intently staring at Aimeric, who laughed carefree with not-Jord’s hand in his back pocket.

“Who said anything about talking?”

Laurent tagged along with Damen, wavering behind him. They crossed the restriction rope to make it upstairs, to the room area Pallas may get angry at him for invading.

But Damen knew the place, and he knew that in Pallas’ parents’ room, there was a nice balcony with a bench where he had sat more than once to get high with his friends throughout high school. It opened to the view of the sleeping neighborhood and blocked the noises from the party happening downstairs.

The night was chilly, even for late Autumn. It ruffled the tops of the trees and shifted strands of Laurent’s hair.

Damen started to remove his jacket, but Laurent rose a hand to his face. “I’m not cold.”

Laurent walked right past the bench and propped himself up to sit at the balcony with a leg hanging off each side. Damen went to stand beside him, in case Laurent lost balance.

Laurent breathed in deeply, his head lolling against a column. “I hate drinking,” he said, squeezing his eyes.

“Do you need more water?”

“No. I need to be sober.”

“Water could help you with that,” Damen pointed.

Laurent shook his head lazily. He swayed until his head hit Damen’s chest. “No.”

Damen tilted Laurent’s chin up to peck at his lips. Laurent’s mouth tasted disgusting, but he leaned in with a soft sigh, and Damen kissed him deeper. It went on for some time. When Damen pulled back, Laurent shivered.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Damen offered, tucking a strand of hair behind Laurent’s ear.

“About what?” Laurent said. His speech was even more dragged than before, but he knew precisely what Damen had referred to. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Laurent.”

“There is nothing to talk about.” Damen recognized a sign to drop the subject when he saw one.

He knew, however, that the fallout with Aimeric was still a sore spot for Laurent. And that regardless of his claims, he missed his friend. Aimeric had been one of the few people Laurent trusted enough to befriend, and after the blown-out fight that resulted in them never speaking again, Aimeric changed drastically into the role of one of Laurent’s fiercer – if not to say most dedicated – antagonists.

Laurent had been telling Damen for months that Aimeric fed people lies about him and twisted his secrets to tarnish Laurent’s image all around. Damen had thought it was the paranoia speaking, the way sometimes Laurent thought people were looking at him a certain way or laughing behind his back. But, as it turned out, Laurent had been right. The realization curled Damen’s stomach and boiled his blood.

“Are you going to tell Nicaise?” Damen asked, running his fingernails lightly up and down Laurent’s nape.

Laurent smiled. “I don’t want him to kill Aimeric.”

“Wise.”

Laurent’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. His pupils were so wide his irises were reduced to little blue bands. He shivered, losing a battle against his trembling jaw. “Here,” Damen said, “Take my jacket.”

“I told you, I’m not cold.” A strong shiver followed the statement.

Damen wrapped his leather jacket around Laurent and pulled him close, resting his chin at the top of Laurent’s head, blond strands tickling his neck. There was a good chance Laurent may fall asleep like that, and Damen would have a tough time getting him off the balcony. “Are you going to throw up?”

“No. I think.”

Damen laughed into Laurent’s hair. “Come lay down.”

“I’m not in the mood tonight, Damen,” Laurent frowned.

“I meant actually lay down. You’re barely awake as it is.”

“I’m awake,” Laurent said, but he swung his leg over the balcony and hopped off, staggering on his feet.

It was an easy task to take off Laurent’s sneakers and tuck him in bed, always so impossibly pliable when he had a little too much to drink. He was reaching the worse of his drunkenness, barely capable of keeping his eyes open anymore.

“Please tell me if you need to throw up,” Damen said, sitting at his bedside just to look at him. Even poorly illuminated and wholly wasted, Laurent managed to be the most beautiful thing Damen’s ever laid eyes on.

“Lay with me,” Laurent whined.

“In a minute,” Damen said. He planned to go back downstairs once he was sure Laurent had blacked out, to explain the situation to Pallas and try to save face, but Laurent didn’t need to know that.

“You think Ric is going to hate me forever?” Laurent’s eyes were closed, face going lax. The chances he’d remember that conversation after he woke up were minimum.

Damen ran a finger down Laurent’s cheek. His face was flushed red and warm. “Will you?”

Laurent nuzzled Damen’s hand, pinning it in place with his own. “Probably.”

Laurent’s breathing evened out. He didn’t stir when Damen pulled his hand from under his or when Damen stood. To make sure, Damen whispered, “I’ll be back in a minute,” into Laurent’s ear just to see if he’d react. When Laurent remained the way he was, without a muscle on his face twitching to indicate any part of his subconscious remained awake, Damen snuck out with silent steps.

He’d bring a bucket up with him when he came back. And a bottle of water.

Before that, though, he may have a thing or two to solve with a certain brunette.

[somethingthatsaysbubbles]

THE RIPPING CASE OF MS. DELIA RODWICK | Chapter Two: Above the Vaulted Sky

CHAPTER WARNINGS:  MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Mentions of Prostitution. Stage Names. Drinking (Champagne). Enthusiastic/Explicit Consent. Undressing. Nudity. Explicit Descriptions of Arousal. 

Word Count: ~3.5K

Fandom: The Alienist

Pairing: Laszlo Kreizler x AFAB GN!Reader

Insert Guide: (F/C) = Favorite Color.

Translations: Szerelmem = “My love” in Hungarian. 

A/N: Thank you so much for all of the love and support! I’m so happy that people are enjoying this. As always, let me know if you catch a typo, missed warning, or you would like to be added to the taglist. The reader is referred to only by their stage name in this chapter, but (Y/N) will be implemented in the future. In this chapter, the reader wears period-accurate, assumed-feminine clothing. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies. Enjoy!

Masterpost

Your glove fell to the floor with an easy, rebellious sort of reverence as you eyed the good doctor over your shoulder. You appraised him playfully as he coughed and hacked behind his hand; the tops of his cheeks flushed a perfect, peony pink. “Are you alright, Dr. Kreizler,” you asked, perching on the lip of the chaise lounge. Your fingers weaved together over your chest, and your other, gloved arm gradually bared itself to the cozy candlelight that caressed the room. Leaning forward, you draped your silk glove across the floor by your feet, and—arching your back—your fingertips capered up the curve of your cream-colored shoe. Dr. Kreizler’s coughing quieted, and your smile widened as he stared openly—his blush deepening. “Is something wrong?”

His gaze broke away from your fingers so quickly that you worried for the muscles in his neck. “Yes! No, I mean—” Dr. Kreizler cut himself off, forcing down another sip of disgustingly sweet champagne before endeavoring to make eye contact. “Nothing is wrong—” He paused as your hand held the heel of your shoe before slipping it off and exposing your sheer stocking. “What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting for you to ask your questions, Dr. Kreizler.” Sitting up straight, you brought hands back up your body to the floral, feathered fascinator that sat on the side of your head. Your fingers raked the edge of a silk rose in the arrangement before stroking the length of a large, white, ostrich feather. “I thought that was obvious,” you whispered, plucking the feather from your fascinator. You danced it down the inside of your arm, and your eyelids fluttered in brazen bliss.

Dr. Kreizler’s responding gasp captured your gaze; your dance was brought to a sudden, screeching halt with the realization that he wasn’t looking at you. In fact, his eyes were focused everywhere except on you. His cheeks were painted a sanguine, sunset red; his left hand gripped the arm of his chair so tightly that his knuckles resembled fresh, fallen snow—his champagne glass spilling its forgotten contents on the rug by his feet. Your eyebrows crinkled upward in concern, and you quickly reattached the feather to your fascinator before grabbing a cloth off the bar cart. “If you want me to stop,” you offered, kneeling before your client—pressing your cloth to the soiled carpet. “I will.” Your gaze flicked upward; you didn’t know why, but you hoped he was watching you. You needed his eyes on you, and that desire—that realization made your chest tighten and ache. We’ve only just met—

Your thoughts were interrupted as your eyes met his. Honey, you thought. His eyes are brown like honey and sunbaked earth, the color of autumn leaves and ducks’ wings—the color of Papa’s favorite, winter coat. Smiling, you remembered the smell of homemade banana bread and the feeling of your father’s rough, work-hewn hands. Dr. Kreizler’s eyes were warm, and you blushed as you basked in them. Every fanciful façade you wore was pulled apart under his mild, muddy gaze. Your hand stilled, and he smiled—the corner of his mouth tilting up imperceptibly. Inhaling sharply, you refocused your attention on the spilled champagne—taking the alienist’s empty glass and your ruined rag back to the bar cart. “When faced with a conversation I’d rather not have,” you spoke honestly, “such as the brutal murder of someone I love—” 

“—you soothe yourself with a distraction of some kind,” Dr. Kreizler offered, and you nodded—worried by the way he seemed to peer into your soul—confused by the contradictions in his character. This man blushed at the sight of your wrists and ankles, but he was alert enough to understand you—to know you after only a few precious moments spent staring into his eyes. “Is this all a distraction for you then,” he inquired, gesturing vaguely to the room around you. There was a new confidence to his cadence. He’s enjoying this, you realized. He enjoys picking people apart. 

“Burlesque?” You forced a laugh and refilled the doctor’s flute. “No, but I enjoy doing it,” you said. Dr. Kreizler’s hand reached for the glass out of courtesy, but you swallowed its contents with a smirk. “I’m sure most people prefer distracting themselves with something they enjoy.” 

The good doctor scoffed playfully, and your second genuine smile of the evening lit up your lips. “What do you enjoy most about your profession? The attention,” he guessed, clasping his hands in his lap—his elbows resting on the arms of his chair.

“The power,” you replied, sitting on the edge of the chaise lounge. “The ability to leave very smart, articulate men momentarily tongue-tied.” You placed the alienist’s empty glass on the floor by your feet. “It was one of Delia’s favorite pastimes as well,” you mused. “She taught me almost everything I know.”

“Almost?”

“Well, she didn’t teach me this.” Sliding off your remaining shoe, you draped yourself over the chaise and hung your head off the side. You studied your shoe curiously—as if making a profound, scientific discovery—before you opened your mouth and ran your tongue down the length of the heel. Looking toward the doctor, you broke—giggling over the way his blush spread down the sides of his neck. You bit your lip in an attempt to stifle your sweet joy, tossing your shoe beside its twin. It was a valiant effort, but you failed to be professional when you noticed the corners of Dr. Kreizler’s eyes crinkle delightedly at your childishness. “I meant what I said,” you squeaked out. “I will stop if you want me to.”

“If I want you to stop, I will ask you,” he said, quietly serious. Your heart stuttered with the admission that some small part of him enjoyed your teasing. 

You smiled as you sat up, slowly sweeping your fingers over the buttons that lined the back of your dress. “Ask me a question, Dr. Kreizler.” 

The alienist’s eyes burned eagerly. “I take it you are plenty aware that Ms. Rodwick was a—”

“—prostitute,” you offered, your eyebrow angling upward. “Yes,” you sighed as your fingers leisurely loosened your dress—casually revealing your corset to the room as well as Dr. Kreizler’s wandering gaze. “I was aware. We met yesterday to gossip about our more awful clients.”

Dr. Kreizler blinked swiftly—surprised. “You were with her on the day she was murdered? Where?”

“Caffè Florian near Delmonico's,” you replied, freeing your arms from their sleeves. “I know that information implicates me, but I have an alibi. After brunch, I was here. Practicing.” You stood, balancing your weight on the balls of your feet—the front of your dress tightly against your chest. “Delia was called back to work early, but our original plan was to spend the day together—lay out a blanket by my fireplace and read to each other.” Following the music, you faced away from the good doctor and dropped your dress. Layers of (F/C) satin—a second skin—pooled around your ankles like ripples in a pond. “Delia loved to read poetry.”

Dr. Kreizler’s reply was ragged in a way that made your lungs swell with pride. “Did Ms. Rodwick have a favorite poet?”

“Many,” you cooed, looking over your shoulder as you toyed with the tie that held your bustle and petticoat over your hips. “Her most recent love was John Clare.”

“John Clare? That’s a rather melancholic choice.”

“I thought so as well.” With a twirl and a quick tug, both your bustle and petticoat fell to the floor. “Delia was a melancholic kind of person.” You grasped the arm of the good doctor’s chair and used its strength to help you step out of your clothes. With a smirk, you circled him—your fingers ghosting over the arms of his chair—your heels never hitting the ground—your whispered breath hugging the hair on the back of his neck. “I long for scenes where man hath never trod/A place where woman never smiled or wept/There to abide with my Creator, God,/And sleep as I in childhood sweetly slept,/Untroubling and untroubled where I lie/The grass below—”

“—above the vaulted sky.” Dr. Kreizler’s soft accent struck you, and a beautiful blush caressed your cheeks. Your hand rested near his left elbow, and the gramophone stopped spinning. In response to the room’s silence, the doctor’s eyes embraced yours. “Ms. Rodwick worked for Mr. Adrian Hale, correct?” 

A peal of forced laughter caught in your throat. “Worked for is not the phrase I would use,” you said, gliding toward the gramophone.

“How would you describe their relationship?”

“Ace owned Delia,” you hissed. “She did what he wanted, when he wanted, and with who he wanted.” Flicking the turntable off, you firmly grasped the gramophone’s crank and wound it as quickly as you could.

Your client tilted his head: intrigued by the sudden malice in your voice. “Ownership seems to be the status quo in this business,” he offered easily.

You scoffed. “This business—”

“—sex work.”

“Is that what you make of my profession, Dr. Kreizler?” With a quick click, Gaskin’s delicious drawl resonated around the room once again. “Sex work?” 

“Of course,” the good doctor replied. “Your state of employment demands that you sell an idealized, sexual image of your body for the consumption of your customers. You fetishize yourself for a profit and, in doing so, reduce yourself to nothing more than a sexual object for the purpose other’s enjoyment.”

You giggled and perched on the lip of the chaise lounge—your dance decidedly forgotten in favor of listening to the alienist attempt to explain your job to you. “Is that all I am to you? A sexual object for your enjoyment.”

Dr. Kreizler’s face fell, his cheeks turning red enough to rival a cherry tomato, and you bit your lip to suppress a howl of laughter. “I—” He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, adjusting his waistcoat. “Of course not. I’m here to ask you about Ms. Rodwick and the details of her murder. Nothing more.”

You arched forward and grinned as the good doctor’s eyes flicked from your face to your chest. “Do you always blush during interrogations, or am I just lucky?” Admiring his alarmed state, you brought your knees under you and angled your body so the alienist could watch you work your corset loose. “I wouldn’t call myself a sex worker.”

“What would you call yourself?”

“Delia called me an artist,” you said as he focused his attention on your fingers. “To some extent, I agreed with her.” Rising to your feet, you faced away from Dr. Kreizler. “I paint a fantasy using my body,” you said. “The clothes I wear, the way I move, and the music I dance to...” 

Swaying your hips, you swung open each side of your corset—forming a pair of pseudo-wings up your back. “It’s a sexual fantasy, but my focus as a performer is less on the sexualis nature of the image and more on the creation—the journey I take toward that image.” Giggling, you offered, “In other words—” 

One corner of your corset dropped, hanging freely from your hand before you discarded it with a delicate whirl. “It’s not about being naked, Dr. Kreizler. It’s about how I undress.” You winked teasingly over your shoulder, and—for a moment—Dr. Kreizler’s honeyed gaze was replaced by Delia’s bittersweet, emerald eyes. Frowning, you tried and failed to shake away the memory of her smile. “Delia had a very romantic way of looking at the world,” you mumbled. “I imagine that’s what ended her life.”

Dr. Kreizler’s face softened, and you looked away—disgusted by the pity hiding behind his eyes. “You disapproved of your friend’s romanticism.”

Pulling the ostrich feather from your fascinator, you shook your head. “No. I firmly believe that the only way to live a happy life is with a little bit of romanticism and wonder.” Forcing a smile, you turned to face the doctor and dragged the delicate feather down the length of your chemise—teasing the space between your breasts. “However, I am a realist as well.” You bit your lip, circling your right breast with the tip of your feather. “Delia was convinced she would find the love of her life in that brothel.” You gasped purposefully, a breathless shiver working its way up your spine for the sake of performance; though, the way the good doctor’s eyes darkened—enraptured by your tantalizing display—tugged your lips into a languid smile. “I know better.”

“Care to elaborate,” Dr. Kreizler asked, his voice wavering as his hands hovered lower over his lap—no doubt hiding an erection from view. 

Who am I to deny such a polite request?

“Men,” you purred, carefully closing the distance between you and the doctor, “usually fall into one of two categories.” Stroking the downy feather up the side of your neck, you tilted your head back with a gainful grin. “They are either customers, or they are not customers. I would never marry the first while the latter would never marry me if they knew what I did for a living.” You stood between the Dr. Kreizler’s spread legs and gave your feather a familiar nuzzle despite the sad nature of your statement. 

The alienist’s lips hardened into a fine, unreadable line. “Which category does your employer belong to?”

You chuckled. “Are you asking if I want to marry Mr. Sinclair?”

“I’m asking if he owns you like Mr. Hale owned your friend.”

“My employer,” you warned, dancing the feather down your inner-arm, “is a snake oil salesman with a grating personality, no sense of personal space, and a proclivity toward smoking himself into an early grave.” With a pause, you rested your feather on the doctor’s right hand; he gasped as you circled him like a vulture. “He does not own me, Dr. Kreizler. I. Own. Him.” Your feather swept up the length of his sleeve as you continued, “I put food on his table, and he knows it.” Giggling, you ghosted your feather over the gap between his shirt-collar and his jawline before jerking it away. Dr. Kreizler inhaled sharply, searching for the sensation you deprived him of by leaning back into his chair. You whispered, “I’m not interested in Mr. Sinclair. Though, if I was, I’m sure his boyfriend would have something to say about it.”

The good doctor moved so forcefully your head spun. Turning in his seat, he regarded you with a sweetly surprised frown on his face. If it weren’t for your sudden closeness—the way your lips sat just inches from each other, you would have laughed. Instead, any witty remark you might have conjured was overpowered by his cologne. It has to be his cologne; it smells too perfect to be anything else. The alienist smelled of cedar and old books, likely a direct result of the long hours he spent in his office, but beneath that was the lovely scent of lavender. He smelled like an evening stroll through New York’s butterfly gardens or an early-August day spent in the fields of Provence, pouring over the collected works of John Keats. He smells like the day I met her... 

“Mr. Sinclair is a homosexual?”

You smiled joyously and teased your feather along the curve of his jaw, mimicking his accent poorly as you pulled away. “A homosexual,” you mocked, your fingers itching to reach out and run themselves through his hair. You resisted by draping your leg over his chair. Balancing your foot on its arm, you made sure not to touch him as you tossed your feather behind you—sliding your fingers up the length of your stocking. “Does it take effort on your part to be so clinical, or is abject seriousness your natural state?”

Your client swallowed nervously, compressing his body against the back of his chair. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to offend you—”

“—I’m not offended,” you interrupted, drawing up the leg of your drawers—revealing the elastic, leg garter that kept your stocking still. “I’m entertained.” With a flick of your thumb, your garter fell onto the doctor’s lap. “Are you entertained, Dr. Kreizler,” you asked, sliding your stocking down your leg. Your hand held onto the back of his chair as you hooked the sheer fabric on your toes and used the stocking to swing your leg out and back. Pulling your toes to your shoulder like a scorpion’s tail, you ripped your stocking away with a flourish. 

“My goal for this evening is not entertainment,” the good doctor assured you, his voice oozing uncertainty. 

A deep warmth settled in the pit of your stomach as you took him in. His honey-irises practically swallowed his pupils; his hands clung desperately to his chair as his cheeks and neck flushed to resemble a Bouton de Rose begonia. Dr. Kreizler’s hard cock strained against the seam of his trousers. “That doesn’t mean you can’t be entertained,” you promised him, planting your bare foot on the floor. You slowly swung your other leg over his head and grasped your garter. The chair’s wooden arm creaked under Dr. Kreizler’s hand as the freed elastic fell beside its twin.

“I believe in the separation of business and pleasure,” he choked out as if quoting a cookbook.

“You are an exception to a great many rules then.” Keeping your eyes locked on his, you rolled your stocking down your leg—removing it with the same flourish as before. “I’ve found that the vast majority of people prefer mixing business with pleasure or pleasure with business.” You blushed, your breath tangling in your chest. For any other client, you would have ended your undressing here. Routine required you to drop your drawers and let your shift stand between you and complete nudity as you performed a final fan dance. 

Dr. Kreizler is not just any client, some secret part of you whispered. I want him to see me. All of me, and that thought terrified you. It terrified you, but it did not stop you. 

Taking a step back, you stood between the good doctor’s legs. Neither of you spoke as your fingers fretted over the embroidered, shoulder straps of your chemise—letting the fabric fall to your feet. All that was left to cover you were your bloomers; your breasts were bare before Dr. Kreizler’s forlornly famished gaze, and the steel bars that pierced your nipples sparkled in The Water Lily Room’s soft candlelight. “Have you ever seen bosom piercings before,” you asked, settling your fingertips over your stomach. Your nipples pebbled under his unbroken attention. “They’re quite popular in France,” you whispered, hungry for him to say something—anything at all. 

His soft, pink tongue peeked out to wet his lips, and he hid his crotch with his hands as he took a trembling breath. “I can’t say I have.” Dr. Kreizler cleared his throat, clenching his fists. “Do you visit France often?”

“As often as I am afforded.” You smiled in a way that was just as skittish as it was prideful. “My name is Angel de Beauchene, after all.”

Your client huffed. “I was under the impression that was your stage name.”

“It is.”

Dr. Kreizler’s eyes searched yours shyly. “What is your real name?”

You rounded the chaise lounge, smirking as your lower half disappeared behind its raised back. “Kreizler,” you mused. “That’s German, correct?”

The alienist’s eyes narrowed, noting your obvious avoidance. “Yes. My father was German, and my mother Hungarian. We emigrated to the U.S. when I was a boy.”

Was... Your smile softened. Have both of his parents passed? You faced away from him as your fingers toyed with the tie on your drawers. Does he have any other family? Siblings, you wondered. A lover? A sudden, sick feeling welled up in your throat and forced you to swallow. Stop, he’s just a customer. Nothing more. Looking over your shoulder, you asked, “Hungarian? Do you speak the language?” 

He nodded. 

“What’s your favorite word?”

“Szerelmem,” Dr. Kreizler said softly, and you tugged on the tie of your bloomers—baring the entirety of your lower back and upper hips to the doctor’s gaze. You gave him no time to process the reveal as you stood on the tips of your toes and rested your ass on the lounge’s raised back—plucking your fans from the floor. With a flick and flourish, you covered your nakedness like an oyster’s pearl shielded from the sea. You fell into your fan dance with a bright grin, bringing the good doctor with you.

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Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 8

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Saturday at 5:00, she’s standing outside Mulder’s apartment door. When he’d proposed watching a movie, she questioned whether that was the best idea. She doesn’t have any particular reason for trying to hold off on things getting more physical, other than the lingering subconscious belief that nice girls don’t take their pants off before there’s a ring on their finger. That’s never a policy she’s stuck to in the past, but it still feels like they should wait a bit. Maybe it’s what happened before, their previous indiscretion, that makes her feel compelled to take things slow. Regardless of the motivation, spending time alone at one of their apartments is a surefire way to end up ditching her plans, along with her clothes.

Speaking of clothes, she’s worn jeans and a T-shirt, decidedly more casual than their last date. She’s also put on a black lace bra and matching boy short panties underneath, just in case. She has no intention of Mulder seeing her underwear, but on the off chance she changes her mind, she’d hate for him to see her granny panties. She also shaved her legs and her bikini line, just in case. Taking a deep breath and promising herself she will exercise exceptional self control, she knocks.

When he answers, she instantly feels her resolve falter. He’s wearing jeans and a white T shirt, bare feet, and a beaming smile. He immediately steps forward and slips his arms around her waist, pulling her close and kissing her like she’s just returned from sea. He smells clean and masculine, the stubble on his chin scraping her cheek and summoning a groan from her throat, which she successfully stifles. Finally he pulls back, looking at her with soft, affectionate eyes.

“Hey,” he says with a little smirk, and she smiles at him like they’ve just shared a secret.

“Hi,” she replies, resting her palms on his upper arms.

“Sorry to accost you before you’ve even gotten inside,” he says sheepishly, his arms still wrapped around her, “I’ve been waiting all week to do that.”

She chuckles and he releases her, slipping his hand into hers and leading her into the living room. When they enter, Priscilla stands from her place on the couch and arches her back with a meow, then paces excitedly with her eyes trained on Scully.

“Hi Priscilla,” she greets the cat, sitting on the couch where Priscilla climbs right into her lap and starts purring noisily. Scully laughs and runs her hand from Priscilla’s head down to her tail, smiling as the cat closes her eyes contentedly and drool drips from the corner of her mouth.

“She missed you,” Mulder says as he looks on, smiling with his hands crossed over his chest. “She doesn’t drool for just anyone.”

“I missed her too,” Scully says to Priscilla, then turns to look at Mulder with a soft smile. “I missed both of you.”

They hold eye contact for a beat, then he looks away, walking towards the kitchen. “I was just going to order pizza, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds perfect,” she replies, looking around. Not much has changed since she was last here, though he’s hung a couple new things up on the walls.

“What do you like on your pizza?” he calls from the kitchen.

“Surprise me,” she replies. She’s not a very picky eater and can’t think of any topping that would be a dealbreaker.

“I like your style,” he says in response, and she can hear the smile in his voice.

There is the muffled sound of him calling the order in, then he returns with a beer in each hand.

“I rented two movies,” he says as he sits down close beside her, their thighs touching. “Take your pick between Twister, or Mars Attacks.”

“I saw Twister in the theater when it came out, but I can’t say that I’ve seen, nor did I ever intend to see, Mars Attacks,” she replies with a knowing smile, taking the open beer he holds out to her.

“You gotta see it, Scully, it’s an instant classic,” he says with a tone that she can’t pin down as facetious or not.

“I guess we better watch it then,” she says with an equally ambiguous tone.

———

Six empty beer bottles are lined up along the far end of the coffee table, a pizza box sitting open in front of them. Mulder is lying with his head propped up on the arm rest of the couch, one foot on the floor and the other stretched out in front of him. Scully is lying on her stomach against his chest, her cheek resting on his pectoral and her arms wrapped around his rib cage. It was a slow progression towards them ending up fully entwined like this, her belly pressed against his groin, and he has one eye on the TV and the rest of his attention concentrated on not getting hard.

The movie, which is even more campy and stupid than he remembered, is nearly over, and he hopes she doesn’t hop up and leave right away. Looking down over the crown of her autumnal head and along the narrow expanse of her back, he sees a sliver of skin exposed between her jeans and T-shirt and his cock stirs. He slides the hand that had been resting in the middle of her back lower until his fingertips meet with her bare skin and she shifts a tiny bit, but not uncomfortably. Slowly, causally, while keeping his eyes on the screen, he begins to trace his fingers in slow circles on her lower back. Her skin is unbelievably soft, supple and warm. As his movements continue, he increases the size of his circles, inching her T-shirt up higher to expose more skin, and she pulls in a deep breath and holds it for a moment before she lets it out slowly, concluding with a sound that’s almost like a hiss. She shifts again and her stomach rubs against the swelling lump of his erection, pronounced enough now that she may be able to feel it. He dips the tips of his fingers under the waist of her jeans, running them from one hip to the other, and she lifts her head, propping her chin on his chest and looking up at him. Her expression is unreadable; she definitely isn’t upset, but she���s not smiling, either.

“Your skin is so soft,” he offers, as though it were an excuse for why he’s touching her, as though it would not be enough to say he’s doing it simply because he wants to.

She shimmies up until they’re nose to nose, the friction sending a jolt to his groin, and he resists the urge to thrust up against her.

“I moisturize,” she says plainly, her breath hot against his lips smelling like hops and garlic.

She drags her lips over his softly, side to side, then kisses him fully with a contented sigh. His hands find the small of her back and push up underneath her T-shirt, sliding over more of that silky softness, and he does thrust up against her, though gently.

They kiss slowly, in no rush, his hands cupping her ass and gliding down her sides, up into her hair and then back again. Her own arms are tucked up underneath her, propping her up as she kisses him, though she shifts her pelvis against his erection gratuitously, not in any way pretending that it’s not intentional.

“Mmmmm, Mulder,” she hums into his mouth, flicking at his tongue with her own and then sucking on his lower lip.

“Hmm?” he asks in response, gripping her ass and pulling her firmly against his groin as he pushes it against her.

“I don’t think we should have sex. Not yet,” she croons into his ear, pulling the lobe between her teeth gently.

“Okay, of course, whatever you’re comfortable with,” he answers back with a pained groan, his body not on the same page as his brain. “If you want to stop, let’s stop.”

“I didn’t say I wanted to stop,” she replies, kissing down the side of his neck until she comes to the place where it meets his shoulder. “I just said I don’t want to have sex. There are a lot of things we can do that aren’t sex.” She slips her arm free from beneath her torso, snaking it down between them and rubbing it firmly over his aching hard-on.

“Jesus Christ,” he hisses, flexing his hips wildly as he seeks more contact.

She brings her lips back to meet his, peppering small kisses as she strokes him over his jeans.

“How about,” she begins breathily, “one of us keeps our clothes on.”

“Okay,” he responds, sliding his hands around her hips to find the button of her jeans.

She laughs a little and sits up on her knees between his thighs, just out of reach.

“I was thinking maybe I would keep my clothes on,” she says in a playful tone, though her expression is bashful.

“Oh,” he answers dumbly, trying to piece together what she’s saying. When her hands go to the fly of his jeans he sits up. “Wait, one second, why me?”

She tilts her head with a curious furrowed brow. “This may be the first time in recorded history that a man has objected to receiving rather than giving.”

He cocks his own head at her, mirroring her confusion. “I think you’ve been hanging around the wrong men.”

After a beat, they both break out into ironic smiles, realizing what they are arguing over. She leans forward, crawling up to kiss him.

“If we were keeping score, which we are not, I would say I owe you one, Mulder.”

No matter that it was nine months ago, she’s referring to the one and only other time they’ve done more than kiss. She’s not wrong, but he doesn’t care. He loves making women come; it’s practically a hobby.

He wants to object, but she already has his fly open, her tiny hand slipping underneath his boxers and gliding down the length of him. He groans and she kisses him again, stroking him slowly in the narrow space beneath his stiff jeans. She sits up and tugs at the waistband and he lifts his hips to help her before pulling his T-Shirt off over his head. Within fifteen seconds he’s naked, his ass sinking into the warmed leather of the couch and Scully’s hot little hand cradling his balls.

“Can you take your shirt off?” he asks hopefully, “is that allowed?”

She smiles at him. “Let me consult the commissioner,” she says, then glances up and to the side. “Commissioner says yes,” she finishes, pulling her shirt over her head and revealing a black lace bra, her modest breasts pushed up deliciously within its cups. He feels his cock lurch in response and he reaches up to pull her on top of him, deftly unhooking the clasp and chucking the bra across the room.

She sits up again, perched between his thighs topless, and lazily slides her hand up and down over his length. He stares slack jawed at her pale pink nipples, hardened into rose buds in the cool air of the room, and she gives him a devilish little grin before bending at the waist and taking him in her mouth. The wet heat of her is sudden and jarring, so overwhelming that he closes his eyes against the flashes of white hot pleasure as his hips buck uncontrollably.

She plants her palms on his hip bones to hold him steady and moves up and down at a slow pace, her tongue sliding along the underside of his cock until the head is at her lips, where she swirls it around in a circular motion that makes him see stars. He opens his eyes, watching her through the curtain of her hair as his shaft disappears into her hot little mouth, the pink peaks of her nipples becoming visible at regular intervals. She tilts her chin up slightly and looks at him, meeting his eye before she lowers herself further than she had before, and he feels his head hit the soft flesh at the back of her throat before he slips just a little further, pressing into her pharynx. He stiffens and groans, the sensation different and somehow explicit, like he’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be. His hands hover near the sides of her head, gripping at air as he resists the urge to touch her, to control her movements. When one of them brushes against her scalp, she reaches up and takes it, pressing it into her hair and granting permission. He threads his other hand into her tresses and lets them glide with her as she moves up and down. Her fingernails scrape gently over the papery skin of his scrotum and he feels a tightening, coiling sensation that means he’s close. He lets his head fall back and enjoys the incredible feeling of her tongue hot and wet, her lips firm, her hands gentle. When he’s approaching the point of release, he lifts his head and whispers hoarsely, “Scully, I’m gonna come,” and removes his hands from her head so she can pull away.

She does not pull away.

Instead, she doubles her efforts, sliding up and down fast and firm, squeezing his balls gently and sucking hard on the upstrokes. Wanting to make sure she still has the opportunity to pull away, he tells her again, “fuck, I’m coming,” and she keeps right on pace as an explosion echoes from his balls through his cock, waves of release stealing his breath as he goes rigid and then falls apart in a cascade of expletives, returning his hands to grab a fistful of her hair as she swallows him down, slowing but continuing her movements until he’s soft and no longer throbbing.

She crawls up his body, gently resting against him with her chin on his chest, her breasts pressed against his bare skin, and waits for him to return to Earth. Finally, he settles his gaze on her, on those earnest blue eyes and that pink mouth that he now knows holds the secrets of the universe. He feels like he could cry, so instead he makes a lame joke.

“Did it hurt?” he asks, running his hands over her bare back.

She gives him a quizzical but amused expression. “The blow job?” she asks incredulously.

“No, when you fell from Heaven.”

She rolls her eyes and suppresses a smile as Priscilla springs unannounced from the floor and lands right on Scully’s jeans-clad ass, kneading the flesh a little before curling up for a snooze.

Scully laughs gently, not wanting to disturb the cat. “Is this a thing cats do?” she asks amusedly.

“Not really, you just have a great ass, I can’t hardly blame her,” he responds, and she smiles at the compliment. “You can’t leave now, we’re stuck like this,” he adds. “Priscilla can sleep forever, we may die here.”

Scully shrugs, sighing contentedly. “But what a way to go.”