#ly suspicious but incredibly endearing all the same

[skelecentral]

Wasn’t gonna post this because it’s only semi-UT related, but. I really wanted to lmaooo— here’s my faeu self insert (post-turned-fae!)

Faeu is by @/antlered-prince

[yupuffin]

Aside from anticipating getting my heart ripped out and stomped on during the dramatic developments that were teased in the upcoming quests, I'm also intrigued to learn more about Neuvillette because, despite apparently being notoriously impartial and proper as the Chief Justice, he does seem to have something going on: I can't tell yet if it's

a) a sense of doing things "for the greater good" b) naiveté regarding human emotional/thought processes, including his own, or c) active inconsistency/cognitive dissonance.

Or perhaps a combination of multiple factors.

He was completely unbothered by Navia lying to get into his office without an appointment (bypassing standard procedure), and now, according to the 4.1 trailer, he's apparently going to submit false charges against the Traveler to get them into the Fortress of Meropide--something that he stated earlier was taken very seriously and is itself potentially subject to criminal charges should it fail.

I'd attribute these with relative certainty to a) (possibly/partially b)) if it wasn't for one more inconsistency I noticed:

During Lyney's trial, discovering the true culprit was sufficient to acquit him without an additional verdict from the Oratrice.

However, when charges where pressed against Childe, after incriminating Marcel as the true culprit, Neuvillette subjects Childe to another round of judgment by the Oratrice, insisting that "This has always been the rule."

(Clearly not, because it apparently wasn't 'the rule' one Archon Quest ago...)

I realize that brings into consideration the additional factor of the Oratrice and how it operates, about which we still know essentially nothing--although Neuvillette apparently has a hypothesis and has previously considered the possibility of the Oratrice delivering an illogical verdict, so it's possible that I'm overthinking things, and this could simply be a subtle or backhanded way for him to produce a specific reaction from the Oratrice and hence kick-start the investigation, so to speak.

I'd hate to consider Neuvillette suspicious at all because he's so sensitive and kind on the inside that I want to believe he has nothing but good intentions, but I'm not good at speculating--I don't know enough about the story yet to draw any solid conclusions, even though some things just don't seem to add up. I think the same emotional naiveté that makes him so endearing as a character is probably a significant factor--that said, given that he's allegedly a very capable Chief Justice and has been around for hundreds of years, it's not unreasonable to believe that, in some regards, he very much knows what he's doing.

I find it especially intriguing in my particular thought process juxtaposing him with Alhaitham (my other favorite who, indeed, lives in my head rent-free), because... from a narrative standpoint, they're similar in that that they're both stoic as to be enigmatic, they both hold positions that grant them considerable autonomy, and they utilize said autonomy--as well as the abundant resources at their disposal--to assist the Traveler.

...But Alhaitham, on top of being incredibly perceptive rather than naive, is also incredibly consistent. Many players found find Alhaitham untrustworthy because he's highly self-assured and only agrees to collaborate with the Traveler under very specific conditions, with very little flexibility, refusing to bend to anyone else's will solely to appease them. As the Traveler later states, though, this actually makes him extremely reliable as an ally, because Alhaitham is candid about being primarily motivated by a strong sense of self-preservation. He's incredibly selective about how he expends his effort; he's unlikely to flat-out betray an ally because it would simply be too much work for him to set up a genuine, trusting, mutually beneficial relationship with someone, only to jeopardize it later. If he doesn't intend to cooperate, he just says so. ("Until you complete this task, you don't have question privileges" etc.)

Personally, I was inclined to wholly trust Alhaitham from the beginning due to this consistency.

Neuvillette, on the other hand, despite holding position as the Chief Justice, doesn't seem to invariably follow the rules and laws to the letter as one would expect.

As I've already stated, I do want to trust him--and indeed, he's open with the Traveler about the fact that he is actively in the process of investigating the Oratrice, and, even to him, there's just not enough information to draw any conclusions. Factoring in all of the above inconsistencies, though, I think it's as unfair to conclude that Neuvillette is downright nefarious as it is to assume, on the other extreme, that he's wholly benevolent, so I'm going to remain cautiously optimistic while I anticipate further developments from the Fontaine story in the upcoming version. 😆

[oumakokichi]

hello! could you talk a bit more about the original (as in jp, not localization) ouma's personality and speech patterns? you've mentioned that he tends to trail off or speak more softly when it is implied he is speaking the truth, etc. and how he is not so loud/intentionally obnoxious. //btw when does he call himself a fairy? that's so cute

I got a couple of questions asking about the fairy line Ouma has, so I don’t mind sort of rolling them both into one! And I’m more than happy to talk a little more in-depth about Ouma’s speech patterns and personality in the original game, too!

Since I’ll be covering some late-game spoilers, I’ll put the bulk of this under the cut, so be careful when reading!

First off, I cannot stress how much I recommed playing ndrv3 with the Japanese voices enabled. If you’ve already played through the English dub but never experiened the original voice acting cast, I promise you won’t be disappointed. The Japanese cast are all fantastic, incredibly talented VAs who, unlike the dub, were hired specifically for these roles and not just re-casted from previous DR games.

Hiro Shimono as Ouma gives an absolutely incredible performance. The localization might still have many flaws in its translation and omission of certain lines or punctuation, but you can still very much get a feel for how Ouma’s character was intended by listening to Shimono’s performance. Re-playing the game with the Japanese voices will definitely let you hear how soft and tonally different Shimono’s performance is in places from the English dub, and compare it to the way in which many lines are written and punctuated as if Ouma’s yelling at everyone.

That isn’t to say that Shimono’s Ouma is never loud or excited: Ouma is a character whose moods and façades are all over the place, and therefore his performance requires a voice actor who can similarly change moods and intonation on a dime. Ouma is very much loud and haughty and deliberately annoying when he’s supposed to be, but his voice is also low and ominous at other points when he’s trying to be scary. And again, it’s soft and hesitant in places where he’s considering divulging some of his information, or when he’s insisting that all the things he does are for everyone’s sake, because he cares about them and doesn’t want anyone to die.

These moments feel so much more genuine in the Japanese version of the game--because they’re meant to be. As fantastic of a liar as Ouma is, it’s much easier for us, the player, to tell when he’s lying on a re-play, knowing the information from chapters 5 and 6 that we do, and looking at cues like his sprites (often his blank-faced ones) and, yes, his delivery of certain lines.

This probably sounds like me just gushing about what a fantastic voice actor Hiro Shimono is, and in part that’s exactly what it is, but I want to stress that pretty much every single voice actor in the Japanese cast is just as fantastic and that they all do their jobs incredibly well. With all that gushing out of the way, I’ll move on to talking about some of Ouma’s actual speech tics and the way he refers to other characters.

Like most things about him, Ouma’s speech patterns are sort of an interesting mix and even seem a little contradictory at times. He uses the very masculine pronoun “ore” (オレ), but he also refers to nearly everyone (with only a handful of exceptions) by their surnames and the much more childish honorific “-chan” (i.e. “Saihara-chan,” “Akamatsu-chan,” “Amami-chan,” etc.)

The use of “-chan” is very interesting. Honorifics in Japan are extremely complicated and tend to mean different things depending on who is using them. Typically, “-chan” is seen as a very feminine way to refer to someone else, commonly used in close-knit friend groups among school girls.

There are, of course, a few notable exceptions to this however: often times, middle-aged or elderly people will call a child “-chan” regardless of gender, as a way of showing they find them cute and endearing. And sometimes, people will use “-chan” to refer to other things they find cute, such as pets, or even to refer to themselves in a sort of informal, tongue-in-cheek way.

The fact that Ouma uses “-chan” as an honorific to refer to nearly everyone in the game stands out quite a lot: by and large, boys don’t use this term to refer to other boys. Using “-chan” to refer to anyone you’ve just met or don’t know very well is already somewhat frowned upon, but a boy using it to refer to other boys is especially rare. This helps set Ouma’s character up as someone who is both incredibly casual and informal with others (not to mention, you know, quite coded). Considering childishness and lightheartedness are traits Ouma values, and how much emphasis is put on him having “a very innocent, childish streak that’s hard to hate,” it makes sense then that he would talk like this.

Not counting Monokuma and the Monokubs, the only characters who Ouma doesn’t refer to with “-chan” are Gonta and Kiibo, who he simply calls by name. This also says some interesting things about his character.

Gonta is easily the character who Ouma interacts with the most often, as well as the charater he hurts the most in the end. Ouma’s choice to exclude Gonta from his usual way of calling people is, I think, a testament to how much Gonta really wanted to be friends with him, even if their friendship was never exactly on equal footing.

Meanwhile with Kiibo, I feel the choice to exclude him from his usual way of addressing others is indicative of how much Ouma tried to remind himself that Kiibo “wasn’t human,” and therefore how suspicious he found his presence in the killing game. We know Ouma suspected Kiibo and likely even had an inkling of his role as the audience proxy/camera in the game, due to how Kiibo’s picture is one of the only others set aside on his whiteboard besides Saihara’s, with the word “weird” written next to it (he also clearly guessed about the cameras after Gonta’s line in chapter 2, as we see from how he commissioned Miu for the bug-vac).

Ouma clearly enjoys teasing Kiibo a lot, and their banter reads very much like a manzai comedy duo; I feel like Ouma often tried pushing himself to remember that Kiibo “wasn’t human” on purpose in order to not get too attached to him or too distracted from his goal of ending the killing game. I don’t think Ouma’s decision to exclude Kiibo from the way that he very particularly referred to most of the rest of the group was just an accident or a coincidence.

Honorifics aside, Ouma also refers to several characters in interesting ways. He often uses “daisuki na ___-chan” (大好きな) to refer to some of the other characters, a phrase which more or less equates to “my beloved.” He uses this phrase with Saihara more than any other character of the game, but there are a few other instances where he does use it with Amami, Momota, and (if I’m remembering correctly) Kaede. Pretty much every single instance where the localization put, “because I love you” or “because you’re my favorite” whenever Ouma was talking to Saihara was usually a point where he would specifically call him “my beloved Saihara-chan.”

In chapter 4 during the scene where Ouma is alone in the parlor of the VR world, he also specifically, exclusively refers to Saihara as “suki ni natta hito” (好きになった人), literally: “the person I fell in love with.” This line was changed in the localization to, “when there’s a person I like,” which is more or less literally correct--however, the phrase “suki ni natta” is much heavier and more loaded with explicitly romantic implications than “suki” would be on its own, as it’s often used in Japanese love songs and shoujo manga love confessions.

Worth noting in my opinion is the fact that this is the exact same phrasing Maki uses to describe her romantic feelings for Momota. Since Maki’s feelings for Momota are considered canonically confirmed because of this, Ouma’s feelings should be considered equally canon, but a lot of people don’t know this because, well, it’s sort of been lost in translation.

And now, on to the fairy line! Ouma calls himself a fairy in chapter 3, when he pops up in the middle of Saihara and Korekiyo’s discussion of the katana in Korekiyo’s lab. Full of enthusiasm, he decides to touch the sword and examine it for himself; Korekiyo starts to object, but Ouma interrupts and says:

“Come on, it’s not a big deal! I’m like a fairy, so it’ll be fine!”

I’ve always really loved this line and thought it was super adorable, both as a nod to how fairies aren’t supposed to be able to touch steel in most fae mythos, as well as the fact that fairies tend to also have a love for mischief and pranks and lies. The localization apparently didn’t like it so much though, because this line is simply changed to, “Come on, would I lie to you?” instead.

One final thing I can think of as far as Ouma’s speech tics go is that his laugh in Japanese is romanized as “nishishi” instead of “neeheehee,” as this is closer to the Japanese onomatopoeia for the sound horses make--but I actually don’t mind this localization change at all! “Neeheehee” definitely looks a lot closer to the word “neigh” and helps capture that horse joke in a way that I feel like western players can more easily understand.

All in all, while I still definitely feel people can like and enjoy Ouma’s character from playing the localization alone, I still stand by my opinion that listening to the original Japanese voices helps give a much better picture of how the character was intended to come across, and really shows how much depth Hiro Shimono put into his performance. He’s quoted in the official ndrv3 artbook as saying that he believes Ouma is someone who’s actually “really meek if you take away his strong wish to outwit everyone” (credit to @kaibutsushidousha for the art book translation), and I think this interpretation of Ouma really shows through in so many of his lines.

Thank you both for the really fun questions! I hope I could provide some more interesting information about Ouma and the translation!

[nonbinaryeye]

Rainy Evening

Written for @lonelyeyesweek

Day 4 - Humanity

When Peter comes home he finds his husband engaging in highly suspicious activity. Does he see well or is Elias really... resting?

Read on AO3

…

Elias Bouchard likes routine. All of his days play out by the same script. It could be summed up shortly as spending the day running his institute and spending the evening by Watching. It could be described in great detail as every task, even as little as a cup of coffee is tied to a concrete time. 

There are not many things that could make him interrupt it. Usually only his Archivist keeps ruining his day. Even on occasions he happens to be married his routine stays almost unchanged (yet Peter complains he pays him way too much attention anyway.)

Yes, Elias likes familiarity with the same tasks repeated every day. So, even as he is leaving Institute precisely at five o’clock he is already planning his time of rest. First he will make himself a cup of coffee. Then he will dive into the bath. He will Look how Gertrude is doing on her trip to Pu Songling Research Centre. Hopefully he will also manage his skin care routine before his husband returns from whatever he is usually doing the whole day when he happens to stay in London. He smiles and opens his umbrella as the rain finally starts to drop from the cloudy sky which has been hovering over London the whole day.

And he indeed manages to prepare himself a double shot of espresso but then he makes the mistake of sitting on a couch. It should have been just a quick rest to drink his coffee but the cushion seems even more comfortable than usual. Also there is a warm blanket lying right next to him from two days ago when he threw Peter out of their bedroom because he was snoring too loudly.

So what if he postpones his plans just for a minute or two as the rain keeps knocking on his windows and instead of Watching he decides to let his eyes rest.

He is half asleep when a sound of keys in the lock brings him back to reality. It takes the intruder too many tries before he finally finds the one that fits and he manages to open the door. Elias does not bother to Look nor look nor open his eyes all together. If the inability to remember the key to his house is not a clear giveaway he is still able to recognize Peter by footsteps – much louder than one would expect from the servant of the Lonely.

“Good evening my dearest voyeur; what are you watching tonight?” Peter announces himself as always way too cheerfully. He is asking him that every time and most of them Elias does not bother to answer as he would usually be preoccupied with Watching his Archivist, some other employee or even spy on servants of other entities.

“I thought I have already told you I am not very fond of your attempts to use endearment.” Elias turns his gaze towards his husband – both his coat and hair soaking wet as he has been avoiding society enough to never learn about umbrellas. He seems to be caught off guard for a second as he did not expect to get any answer. Unfortunately he regains his ‘wits’ very quickly.

“Oh but why, I wonder, oh, siren of my sea, light in my lighthouse, seashell on my beach, barnacle on my ship…”

Elias rolls his eyes. This is not even worthy of his answer. He rather waves at his tiny cup. “Be useful and make me one more cup of coffee.”

“No one interesting to stalk tonight?” Peter inquires and it is the closest he can get to ask his husband whether he is alright since it is very strange to find him just relaxing.

“Maybe I am just already done with watching. Do you wish to hear about it, husband dear?”

“Depends whether you want the coffee now or in a few months after I return recovering from all the unwanted information…”

Elias for once is not in a mood for their bickering so he only shrugs and rolls more into the blanket. For lack of other things to do now Peter picks up his cup and heads to the kitchen where the coffeemaker is. The silence in the flat misses its usual tension and is surprisingly comfortable.

“Here you go.” Peter puts in front of Elias his fourth attempt (not that Peter would ever admit that) which almost looks drinkable.

“Took you long enough.” Elias takes a sip. It tastes acceptable.

“No words of thanks?

“I would offer a kiss but I do not want you anywhere close. You are cold.” Peter is incredibly easy to manipulate sometimes. There is no more certain way to make him do something than request the exact opposite of him. Elias does not even finish a sentence and his husband is already next to him pulling him into a hug and trying to get his share of the blanket.

Then again maybe his husband might know very well what he is doing and just taking the offered excuse. Elias chooses not to think about it too much. He rather puts some effort into his scheme in the form of a very light push against Peter. He naturally hugs him even tighter. He is a bit too cold for his taste actually…

“Is your body giving up and dying again? Or are you getting that old that you forgot your own schedule?”

“I am fine Peter. It’s just the weather probably. You don’t have to worry.”

“I don’t.”

“Of course you don’t.”

Peter scoffs and Elias smiles, closing his eyes. He is not completely done seeing yet. He cannot help himself but Look through one of the paintings on the wall curious what facial expression Peter has. He is not surprised to witness one of his soft looks. They are not as rare as his husband would claim. Then again Elias himself has not realized he is smiling till now. Cuddled together like this they cut quite a lovely image of domestic bliss…

He closes his Eyes as well. The rain is still dripping on the windows and Peter finally pulls him for his promised kiss. Yes this all feels so awfully and unnaturally human for them. But maybe a glimpse of humanity once in a while will not kill them…

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Congratulations

F/M Pairing: Fem!Reader x Kim Seungmin

Warnings: minor smut scene; language; lots of alcohol (the reader and Seungmin are wine aficionados)

Word Count: 8K

Genre: Married AU!!

Summary: It’s with great reluctance that you leave behind the tropical paradise that you had been sharing with Seungmin for your honeymoon of pure bliss. It’s time to return to the real world with your husband and finally finish renovating your new home. Unfortunately, the real world is never ideal, and you can’t help but feel immensely jealous when Seungmin’s secretary (and ex-girlfriend) temporarily shares your apartment after a break-up with her previous boyfriend. 

A/N: I've done it, everyone! So, like, happy Seungmin day! As you can probably tell, the title was inspired by Seungmin and Han’s Day6 cover!

For two luxurious weeks, you were allowed to partake in a celebration of perfection. 

It all started with your grand arrival, checking in to a Five-Star hotel that included access to an enormous wave pool, complimentary refreshments, and an alcohol selection that sent your liver into a frenzy. But neither you nor Seungmin were that interested in the hotel amenities because you had both resigned yourselves to the comfort of a glorious king-sized bed. Of course, the prospect of a bed had never restricted Seungmin from testing the limits of your coupling, and you were certain that he had bent you over every piece of furniture in the hotel room at this point.

There was even one occasion when he pressed your body up against the cool glass of the sliding door that lead out to the balcony - allowing anyone who was so inclined to simply look up and discover the unforgettable image of your new husband fucking you in plain sight. But you were both insatiable - taking advantage of your ample free time to thoroughly map out each other’s bodies. Testing your desire to experiment with new things while taking full advantage of Seungmin’s rather impressive recovery time.

But in between passionate rounds of lovemaking, you also found the time to eat gourmet dinners at the finest restaurants while also pulling away from one another long enough to explore the warm beaches downtown. Your vacation resort was a total dream, and it was the greatest 336 hours of your life. Everything had been perfect, and maybe that’s why you were feeling rather downcast on the final morning of your honeymoon together, glancing at the alarm clock which informed you that it was already mid-afternoon.

But you struggled to move your sore limbs, wincing at the dull ache between your thighs. Last night had been the culmination of Seungmin’s uncanny ability to leave you thoroughly shaken after sex. And tt had involved an entire bottle of whipped cream that was brought with your room service request and a messy combination of fruit and chocolate. 

You shivered just thinking about it, stretching out your legs beneath the sheets, and you looked over at Seungmin who was still lying face-down in the pillows while snoring softly. His appearance was entirely innocent (unlike the previous evening), and it reflected the youthful features that had drawn you to him in the first place. 

Seungmin was several years younger than you - a recent college graduate who had attained his veterinary license. He worked as an assistant at the same place where you had once been forced to interview because of an assignment from your company - a piece your head writer was working on that involved pet safety and the 10 warning signs that your dog might be suffering from an allergic itch. 

But since the actual vet refused to meet with you (time constraints or whatever), the office secretary called out Seungmin who answered all of your questions with admirable patience and an attitude that immediately attracted your attention. He was just so good, hands folded neatly in his lap, and his smile was nothing short of professional as he spoke with you about anything your heart desired. Of course, you were intrigued - curious because you wondered if someone could really be that sweet and naive, or maybe it was just his general work attitude which he had learned to perfect during his residency.

Regardless, you were incredibly grateful that he had agreed to go on a date with you since the circumstances surrounding your meeting were entirely coincidental. From there, your relational was inevitable, and you learned that Seungmin was the epitome of the perfect student who never drank on the weekends and spent any free time with a book in hand. And it was around your third or fourth date when he had shyly admitted to you that he was very inexperienced when it came to dating. 

“Seungmin,” you remembered saying to him. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a virgin?”

His entire face turned as red as a tomato, spluttering around his words as he tried to justify his status, but you quickly assured him that it was perfectly fine. After all, one of the things that you liked best about Seungmin was his lack of a exhaustive dating profile. Because it told you that he was responsible, and he knew when to prioritize what really mattered to him. You also had a very small corruption kink, and the idea of teaching Seungmin everything that you knew about sex was exhilarating.  

Of course, not everyone in your lives agreed with your relationship. For example, when you met his parents for the first time, you could tell that they disapproved of you and your work habits. Despite your attempts at conversation, you were met with short replies or dismissive rebuttals. But maybe it was because, at least according to Seungmin, they had initially tried to set him up with the daughter of one of their friends who Seungmin had met in grade school. And you were as far from that idealized persona as one could get.

But you also knew that his parents could never send you away because you had slowly fallen in love with Seungmin. Likewise, you were certain that nothing would ever pull the two of you apart, especially after he asked you to marry him - eager to start your new life together. Of course, you never expected for someone like Seungmin (normally patient to a fault) to immediately jump into wedding planning and do his very best to fast-track your ceremony date. He even put down a deposit on a new house in the suburbs. Plus, you knew that things had gotten serious when you both adopted a dog together....

You chuckled at the memory, rising from the comfortable bed in your hotel room to walk into the adjoining en-suite and assess last night’s damage. In the full-length mirror, you winced at the scattered bruises on your neck and shoulders (courtesy of a very eager Seungmin), and hissed when you pressed down too hard against a rather scandalous love-bite on your collarbone. It was safe to say that Seungmin was certainly no longer the innocent virgin you had met almost an entire year ago - he probably loved sex just as much as you did. Plus, his alcohol tolerance was almost as good as your own. 

Still, it was almost amusing to watch him learn during your time together - like you were the hot teacher that he lusted after - listening with wide eye when you described some of your more explicit fantasies to him. After a while, Seungmin was no longer hesitant to reveal his own desires to you - including the food disaster from the previous evening. 

But in the meantime, you tried to run a wet cloth along your exposed chest where there was a suspicious chocolate stain, catching sight of Seungmin in the mirror when the bathroom door reopened. “There you are,” you said, turning around to savor the image of a sleepy Seungmin walking inside wearing nothing but boxer shorts and a tired smile. You immediately walked up to him, quietly attempting to make some sort of style out of his messy bed-hair. “Hmmm, maybe we should just shower instead,” you suggested, taking his hand to guide him closer to the luxurious walk-in bath. “Would you like that, baby? I can wash your hair for you.”

Seungmin nodded eagerly, and you were perfectly endeared as the two of you enjoyed your final day together away from the real world.

Consequently, it was both a jarring, and deeply unappreciated, wake-up call to return to work the following Monday morning. You could barely pull yourself out of bed, and the only reason you managed to retain some semblance of sanity was because of the breakfast that Seungmin had prepared for you. But you were also slightly envious that he was handling everything in stride while you could barely lift your fork.

“Don’t forget that you’re meeting with the architect after work,” Seungmin reminded you as he sipped at his coffee.

“Oh, right,” you muttered. “Him.”

“Yes, him,” Seungmin concurred with a touch of amusement.

But who could blame you for harboring those feelings of resentment towards the arrogant and conceited man in charge of planning the infrastructure for your new house? He was constantly bothering you on the phone with the most trivial of details, and you were tired of hearing him describe the reasons why all of your ideas could never work with his grand scheme.

Sadly, it was tragically much too late to change your plans, and you and Seungmin were stuck with the pretentious prick until everything was done. Which might be next year if you’re lucky at the pace in which the whole project was progressing. It was slow-motion at best, like these men were trying to drain your savings account for the outrageous hourly rate they expected you to pay for them to stand around outside your house and joke about their wives.

It was one of the things that you hated the most about returning from your honeymoon, but the prospect of your office job was just as unappealing. Especially when you walked inside the newspaper’s main building and greeted your boss as he hovered near your desk - ready to hand out your first assignment without even giving you a moment to breathe.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Chan said. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled while moving around Chan to sit down behind your desk. “What do you want?”

“Is that the way to greet your boss?” Chan asked. “You’ve been gone for two weeks!”

“I know,” you retorted. “And I wish it had lasted even longer.”

“Well,” Chan huffed. “I need you to have a better attitude.”

“I’ll do my best, sir,” you snarked, and Chan rolled his eyes.

“I’ve prepared several assignments,” Chan said. “But you need to go out with Minho and Hyunjin this afternoon because the mayor’s delivering a speech today concerning his resignation.”

“I have to go to City Hall!” you complained because you knew that there would be thousands of journalists and reporters waiting to hear from the mayor, and you hated dealing with crowds. 

“You can handle it,” Chan said, and he was already slinking away to bother your neighbor in the next cubicle.

Honestly speaking, it shouldn’t have been surprising because Chan often entrusted you with these more important pieces since you had worked at the paper for a long time, but since he already had Hyunjin and Minho working on the assignment, why was it also necessary to include you? Because maybe Chan had forgotten that this year marked your 10th anniversary with the newspaper, and perhaps you deserved a bit more leniency in regard to the assignments you chose for yourself. Especially after returning from a two-week vacation! 

Unfortunately, your brain wasn’t quite in work-mode, and it had taken you half an hour just to remember all of your passwords!

“This isn’t fair,” you muttered to yourself as you smashed the elevator button.

Hyunjin had already sent you an email detailing information regarding the Uber that he had reserved to drive the three of you down to City Hall. Of course, why you couldn’t just use one of your cars was a mystery for another time, but Hyunjin often went above and beyond when he thought too deeply about a situation.

“There you are!” Minho said when you found them waiting together in the main lobby.

“Let’s get this over with,” you said. “Don’t forget your camera!”

“We’ve organized everything, Y/N,” Hyunjin reassured you as he threw a casual arm over your shoulders before you stepped outside together.

“What’s the big deal with this story?” you griped. “The mayor cheated on his wife with an intern and he’s being forced to resign. It’s not like he’s gonna come out and talk about it in front of the whole city!”

“But we’re still prepared for that!” Hyunjin said, and he waited until you were situated in the backseat of the Uber, squashed between him and Minho, before revealing his tape recorder. “Isn’t it great?”

“You could just whip out your cell phone,” you said, and Hyunjin paused for a moment as he considered your response.

“But this is a throwback, Y/N!”

“Save it for your Instagram stories, Hyunjin,” you said while scrolling through the home feed of your Twitter account. “Look at these videos! There’s already like a whole mob outside the building.”

“It won’t last very long, Y/N,” Minho said. “I’ll even treat everyone to some coffee when we’re finished.”

You tried to find some solace from Minho’s words, but your mind was wiped clean when the Uber paused at the edge of the sidewalk because the entire road was blocked by traffic. “Great, we’ll have to walk,” you said, and you should’ve known better than to expect anything less than optimal.

But it was still unnecessarily difficult to find a good spot when it seemed like the entire population had showed up to this press conference. “I’ll get some shots from the side,” Minho said, and you nodded while glancing back at Hyunjin.

“You’re tall enough to see over everybody,” you said. “Can you tell what’s happening?”

Hyunjin shrugged, and he attempted to balance himself on the very edge of his toes as he perused the crowd of onlookers. “I’m not sure...”

You sighed in frustration.

But what else should you expect?

“Welcome back to the real world, Y/N,” you grumbled, wincing when someone’s elbow connected with the back of your head.

It was already 6:00 by the time you arrived at the construction site of your future home, and you groaned when you realized that the front lawn was still nothing but mud and several piles of dirt. 

For whatever reason, the project continued to encounter numerous and unanticipated obstacles that constantly delayed everything. You had seen setbacks from natural disasters to plumbing issues that forced you to reconsider the idea of renovating a dream home. But the biggest issue was definitely the architect in charge of the renovations, and he barely glanced up at you from over his stupid clipboard when you found him in the backyard.

“Mr. Park,” you greeted him, grimacing because you could’ve never imagined that the genteel man you had met several months ago, who seemed to understand everything you wanted, could be this foul person screaming at the workers. “Do you have an update?”

“Oh, Y/N,” Mr. Park grumbled. “How was your vacation?”

“Fine,” you said. “So nice of you to ask, but what about my house?”

“There’s been some issues with the foundation,” Mr. Park replied, and you could feel your patience thinning. “You might want to consider another delay in the schedule.”

“We’re supposed to move in at the end of the month,” you growled.

“Yeah, I know,” Mr. Park responded while scrolling through his phone - not even bothering to look at you. “But I think we need to check on some things, and the extra time would help..”

“Again!” you exclaimed because this would make the third instance of having to deal with another push-back.

“These things happen,” Mr. Park replied - like it wasn’t a big deal and you were the one who was overreacting!

But you didn’t quite see it as a minor inconvenience that everyone might face now and then. What you saw was a blatant misuse of the budget that you had set for the project, and you were certain that nobody else on the planet had ever suffered this much over simple renovations.

“We gave you several extensions,” you pointed out. “What’s wrong with the foundation?”

“It needs an inspection,” Mr. Park replied.

“We have someone coming over tomorrow,” you said.

“Good! They can see exactly what I’m talking about,” Mr. Park said. “But if you;ll excuse me for one moment...”

You groaned when Mr. Park walked around you to speak with the same electrician who had refused to return your greeting when you first walked onto the premises. 

But maybe there was some kind of conspiracy against you?

In the meantime, you were relieved when your phone started ringing and you instantly recognized Seungmin’s number. “Hey,” you said into the receiver, turning around to glare at one of the construction workers.

“Y/N,” Seungmin said from the other end. “How's it going?”

“Horrible,” you muttered, and you took another step away when you realized that someone was actually working for once, but making far too much noise.

“Why?” Seungmin asked.

“They said we’ll need to expect another delay,” you said. “But I’m about to lose my mind, Seungmin. These guys are clearly taking advantage of us!”

“Y/N,” Seungmin said. “I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? I’ll come by in the morning and talk to everyone.”

“It’s not enough,” you retorted. “We’re obviously dealing with amateurs!”

“Y/N, darling,” Seungmin chuckled. “Can you just come home for me? I bought us a bottle of wine.”

You paused for a second, looking around before clearing your throat. “What kind?”

“The kind where you can get shitfaced if you want and forget about the project,” Seungmin said. “I’ll deal with everything from now on.”

It was too good of an offer to pass up, and you found yourself nodding enthusiastically even though holograms hadn’t been invented yet and Seungmin couldn’t possibly see you. 

But those rude construction workers were observing every motion, and you resisted the urge to throw up your hands at them while you returned to your car. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

There were no feelings to describe your relief upon shaking off your heels and skipping into the kitchen where you found Seungmin attempting to balance two of your finest wine glasses and a bottle of pinot-noir between his hands.

“Let me help,” you said, taking the glasses from him as he shot you a grateful smile. “We can sit in the living room.

It was a fairly modest space, but you liked how cozy it felt during the winter - snuggling up next to Seungmin as the faux fireplace provided some semblance of the real thing. The decorations were also to your taste, and the deceiving simplicity served as a reminder of your personality itself. Someone who looked like an average reporter, but was full of surprises and ample fondness for her husband and alcohol. 

You removed the cork on the bottle with care before pouring both yourself and Seungmin a glass. “Here,” you said, and he took it from you as your fingers brushed together.

“It had a good year on it,” Seungmin remarked, and you brought the rim of your own glass to your lips as you observed him from the corner of your eye. “Tell me about the renovations? What’s causing us so much trouble?”

“It’s not so much the problems, but the ones who need to fix them,” you said, and you grimaced at the reminder of the electrician’s attitude and Mr. Park’s dismissive tone.

“The inspector should be checking on things soon,” Seungmin said, and he quietly moved closer to you on the couch. “Are you excited?”

“Of course I am,” you said, and it was a true statement in spite of the issues you had with the construction men.

“I can’t wait to end our lease with his place,” Seungmin said, and you were amused when he finished off the remainder of his glass. “Lyric will be happier in a bigger space.”

You glanced over at your Pomeranian as she raised her head at the sound of her name. “Can we get a cat too?”

Seungmin grinned as he poured himself another glass of wine - he was well on his way to becoming the version of Seungmin who was extremely affectionate after a few too many glasses. “Whatever you want.”

“I’m holding you accountable for what you just said,” you remarked - noting how his eyes had grown glossy from the wine. “You look like you’re having a good time, darling.”

Seungmin grinned, and you reached out to take his glass before setting it aside on the coffee table. Because there was something else that you wanted, and it was far sweeter than your alcoholic selection. “Y/N,” Seungmin groaned once you settled in his lap - thighs spreading on either side of his own. His hands instantly found your waist, and you shivered at his touch before connecting your lips in a sloppy kiss.

But this was more than acceptable to you - settled on Seungmin’s lap as you made-out and savored the feeling of his tongue wrestling with yours as you exchanged heavy breaths. And in-between long, sensual kisses, the two of you took enough breaks to recover your lungs while finishing he entire bottle of wine. 

The atmosphere between you was much more relaxed, but there was a slight tension that only heightened when Seungmin started brazenly touching every inch of bare skin that his fingers could find. But you didn’t mind his touchiness, and you welcomed an easy conversation as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

“You know my secretary at work?” Seungmin asked, holding you close as he fingered the edges of your shorts.

“Hmmm,” you acknowledged him vacantly, but you were far too busy marking colorful bruises along his collarbones.

“She broke up with her boyfriend,” Seungmin said, and he moaned when you rolled your tongue across a sensitive spot. 

“Oh? Weren’t they together for a while?” you asked.

“Three years,” Seungmin confirmed. “They had even moved in together, but now she doesn’t have anywhere to stay.”

“Really?” you questioned, and Seungmin chuckled because it was obvious that you weren’t really listening to him.

“Y/N, I thought she could stay with us for a while,” Seungmin continued, and this time you did freeze in the middle of grazing your teeth along his collarbone - jerking back away from him in alarm.

“You want her to stay with us?”

“Just until she finds a new place,” Seungmin said, and he tried to pull you back closer to him, but you had been effectively pulled out of your prior ministrations. 

“This is the same secretary that your parents tried to hook you up with, right?” you asked him, and Seungmin rolled his eyes.

“Claire’s always been a good friend,” Seungmin said. “My parents weren’t expecting us to get together.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you said, and you frowned at the empty bottle of wine because you could really use some more alcohol for this conversation. “Were you ever going to talk to me about this?”

Seungmin narrowed his eyes, clearly taking offense at the accusation. “Aren’t we talking right now?”

“Yeah,” you said with a firm nod. “I guess we are talking about it, and I’m not comfortable with the idea of Claire staying with us.”

“She’s my friend, Y/N,” Seungmin insisted, and you knew that you had already lost this fight because Seungmin could never turn down someone in need. It’s why he made such an empathetic caregiver while you were sometimes considered the cold and abrasive type who fought large crowds at press conferences and wrote scolding reviews in the newspaper.

“Fine,” you huffed, and you stood up from Seungmin’s lap. “She can stay here since you insist.”

“Y/N-” Seungmin sighed, but you were already marching towards the bedroom where you intended to sleep off your hangover headache.

Nevertheless, you still woke-up with a start the following Saturday morning while a feeling of dread settled into the pit of your empty stomach. 

There was every opportunity for you to throw the world’s biggest tantrum and refuse to leave your bed, but you were nearly 30-years-old and that sort of behavior was reprehensible. But you allowed yourself another moment or two while stewing over the argument that you had with Seungmin before you forced yourself to confront the inevitable.

Because Claire was moving in today, and she was lucky that you had a soft spot for Seungmin and hated to fight with him. Otherwise, she would still be in-between places, and you would still be staring at your husband’s back while he refused to cuddle with you in bed. It was nightmarish concept, and you shivered at the mere idea of furthering any sort of argument with Seungmin to the point where intimacy and affection were thrown out the back door.

But you also had to remind yourself that it was a good thing to be the bigger person when your husband felt like he was doing something nice for someone else, and you were still older and more mature than him under most circumstances. Even if you both agreed that the age-gap separating the two of you was nothing insurmountable.

You sighed as you dressed yourself in jeans and a t-shirt before following the familiar smell of coffee into the kitchen where Seungmin was already sitting at the table while reading the newspaper. He watched you carefully as you moved around the kitchen to fill up your coffee mug with the delicious-smelling beverage. It was a necessity when you first woke-up, and if you were going to get through this day, then plenty of coffee would need to remain in your system.

“You don’t have to stare,” you said after taking your first sip. “I’m not going to argue with you anymore.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to argue with me,” Seungmin said, and you heard the sound of his chair scraping against the floor as he moved it back.

And his arms felt nice around your waist, fitting his face between your neck and shoulder. “She’s your friend,” you said. “And it’s only temporary.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Seungmin said, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your temple.

“Should I keep Lyric in our room?” you asked while finishing the remainder of your coffee.

“Claire won’t mind,” Seungmin said as he stepped away from you to check his phone. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Is the guestroom ready?”

“I made sure there were fresh linens last night,” Seungmin said. “She’ll be comfortable.”

“Well,” you chirped while placing your empty mug in the sink. “This should be interesting.”

“Claire is really grateful,” Seungmin said. “And she’s glad that you agreed.”

“After some convincing,” you murmured, but Seungmin hadn’t heard your unnecessary comment. Instead, he was busy talking about some of his next appointments, perching himself on the edge of the counter to talk while you cleaned the rest of the dishes. 

These were the moments that you cherished the most, but extraneous circumstances were against you on this particular day, and you couldn’t help the way your heart sunk when the doorbell rang. “Oh?” Seungmin said, hopping down from the counter. “She’s early.”

“I noticed,” you remarked, and you followed Seungmin into the next room as he opened the door and smiled when Claire popped her head inside.

“Minnie!” she squealed, and you held your tongue when Claire pulled Seungmin into a close embrace.

Weren’t her arms just a little too low around his waist?

“How are you, Claire?” Seungmin asked as they pulled apart.

“Oh, I’m better with you here,” Claire said, and her smile wavered when she spotted you standing off to the side. “It’s great to see you, Y/N.”

“You too, Claire,” you said with a forced smile as Seungmin reached down to take her bags like the gentleman that he insisted on being.

“You can just take the guest room,” Seungmin said, and you watched as they retreated further into the house as you shut the door behind them, breathing out a sigh as you prayed for the strength to endure whatever might happen next.

It was hardly tolerable, watching Claire move about the house as if she had been living here for her entire life. 

She never asked permission to take food from the kitchen, and she deleted several episodes of your favorite show to make rooms for hers. Plus, she was unusually messy, and Seungmin insisted that the two of you should become glorified maids and pick up after her. But you could not afford to argue over this girl again, and you tried so hard to be on your best behavior, even when Claire insisted in sitting next to Seungmin when the three of you ate dinner or watched Netflix.

But the last thing in the world that you needed to add to your existing pressures was a phone call from Seungmin’s mother (who hated you with unprecedented distaste) telling you that she and Seungmin’s father would be joining you for dinner. “You should think about letting Claire take over in the kitchen,” she had said. “The potatoes last time were atrocious.”

In return, you gritted your teeth together and promised to do better before hanging up the phone. Then, you stormed off into your bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, burying your face against the pillows and trying your hardest not to scream. And it was where Seungmin found you when he got home from an emergency appointment - sprawled across the bed like you had given up on the world.

“Y/N,” Seungmin said, and he sat down at the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?”

“Stressed,” you muttered. “And I have a deadline tomorrow night for the stupid mayor article.”

“Darling,” Seungmin said, and you felt his fingers smooth across the bare skin of your thigh. “Isn’t it too early to start planning another vacation?”

“I wish we had never left the hotel,” you groaned. “Tropical paradise is a lot better than whatever the hell is going on in this apartment.”

Seungmin chuckled at your complaints. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Now I feel bad for inviting my parents over for dinner. Because I know that you and my mother have your...disagreements.”

“That’s an understatement,” you said, lifting your head from the pillow to look back over your shoulder at Seungmin. “Tell her I'm sick, and I have strict orders to stay in here all night.”

Seungmin scoffed at my appeal. “It’s only one dinner, Y/N,” Seungmin said. “I won’t even make you cook. Claire and I can take care of everything.”

But despite his polite sentiment, you recoiled at the idea of Seungmin and Claire cooking together - like a domestic scene out of a Hallmark film. That was supposed to be your job! Cooking with Seungmin while singing his favorite Day6 songs was a privilege that was only reserved for you!

“Okay,” you reluctantly agreed because you hated to sound petty.

But Seungmin still made you greet his parents at the door after nearly two hours of listening to him and Claire giggling together in the kitchen while making so much noise that your headache only worsened.

“Coming,” you shouted, and you reached over to take another Advil before forcing yourself to answer the insistent knocking.

Seungmin met you at the door with a smile, offering you a gentle kiss and a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder before you allowed the devil incarnate herself to walk inside with an exaggerated scream.

“SEUNGMIN!” his mother exploded, and you smirked when Seungmin ducked his head in embarrassment while his mother made a whole ordeal about fixing his hair and squeezing the plump arches of his cheekbones. “You look too skinny,” she said, frowning as she gave her son a quick once-over.

“Mom, I’m fine,” Seungmin said, and he gently pushed her hands away. “Was the traffic bad on the way over?”

“Oh, the usual,” his mother said, glancing back over her shoulder. “Your father is being unusually slow!”

Mr. Kim rolled his eyes, releasing a grunt as some kind of greeting before pushing his way inside the apartment. “Dad’s in a good mood,” Seungmin remarked, taking a step back while his mother made a big show of removing her outrageously enormous coat.

“Y/N, you can handle this right?” his mother asked while shoving her coat in your direction.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered, watching as Seungmin’s mother squealed when she saw Claire coming out of the kitchen.

“What a delight!” Mrs. Kim said, and she embraced Claire like she was her long-lost daughter who had finally returned home. “You look ravishing, dear!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Kim,” Claire said with a smile. “Dinner should be ready soon.”

You swallowed hard around the bitter taste of jealousy as you hung up the coat in your hands. 

“How are you, Claire?” Mr. Kim asked as he offered an affectionate squeeze to Claire’s arm - a complete 180 from his earlier attitude. “Seungmin told us you were having problems.”

“Oh, yeah,” Claire said with a sigh. “Boyfriend troubles.”

“Again?” Mrs. Kim asked with a sympathetic frown. “Poor dear.”

Yeah, she just has the worst life! Feeling up your husband all the time while taking advantage of your hospitality!

“We’ll have lots of time to talk over dinner,” Mrs. Kim said, and she followed Claire into the kitchen while chatting away about something that probably wasn’t even that important.

“I’m sorry,” Seungmin whispered to you, but you simply shook your head.

“I know how to handle your mother,” you said. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

Seungmin chuckled as he brushed his nose against yours. “I told them we have plans after dinner, so hopefully they won’t stay long.”

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “Let me set the table.”

Seungmin nodded and allowed you to leave the safety of his arms for the perilous Lion’s Den of the kitchen. Thankfully, both Claire and Mrs. Kim were far too occupied with themselves to notice while you gathered a stack of plates and silverware for the table. But it wasn’t necessarily Mrs. Kim’s dismissal that bothered you because the woman had been your biggest detractor ever since you had first met. 

Instead, you were bothered by her seemingly endless affection for Claire. Especially when you remembered an occasion where you had overheard a conversation between Seungmin and his mother that wasn’t meant for your ears. Because the older woman had the audacity to ask her son why he couldn’t have settled for Claire. “She’d be so much better for you, Seungmin,” Mrs. Kim had said, and somehow you managed to hold it together because the last thing you had wanted was to have some kind of breakdown and expose yourself.

But you had never forgotten the encounter, and you could feel yourself growing more and more irritated as you watched Mrs. Kim stumble into the dining room with Claire who dropped down an enormous pot at the center of the table. “Enjoy!” Claire said. “I made Seungmin’s favorite”

And despite the presence of your husband’s hand on your thigh, you couldn’t help the stirrings of genuine anger ruining whatever appetite you might’ve had. “It looks amazing!” Mrs. Kim said. “What do you think, honey?”

Mr. Kim nodded while loading his plate with enough food to feed everyone sitting around the table. “Eat as much as you want!” Claire said.

“Especially you, Seungmin,” Mrs. Kim said. “Why, you’re just skin and bones these days! Is Y/N not taking care of my son?”

“Mom!” Seungmin grimaced, and he shot me a worried look. “It’s my fault! I’ve been really busy with work.”

“Well, Y/N should make sure that you don’t overwork yourself,” Mrs. Kim remarked. “Claire was just telling me how she had to drag Seungmin out of his office for lunch the other day.”

Your fingers tightened around your fork, and there was a sharp retort waiting on the edge of your tongue, but marriage must’ve taught you a great deal about patience because you managed to exhale and smile. “I’m glad someone can look out for Seungmin while I’m not around,” you said, and there was subtle twitch in Mrs. Kim’s eye that told you she wasn’t happy that you were still in control.

“Y/N always takes care of me,” Seungmin said, and you practically preened under his touch as his fingers started to lightly massage the back of your neck.

“Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Mrs. Kim said. “What do you think, Mr. Kim?”

But Seungmins’ father merely grunted around his food again, clearly disinterested in the conversation, and your husband leaned in to press a sweet kiss to your lips that you returned with as much passion as possible to remind everyone at the table that you weren’t going anywhere.

But once Seungmin’s parents had left, you trudged into your bathroom to take a much-needed shower, savoring the scalding water on your skin.

It was everything you needed, and you were so lost in your own mind that you barely heard the sound of the door opening. In fact, the husk trill of Seungmin’s voice startled you when he raised his voice to be heard over the noise: “Do you mind if I join?”

“Like, without your clothes on?!”

“That’s the idea,” Seungmin said with a laugh, and you were groaning because your husband always had an uncanny ability to discombobulate you.

“Okay,” you eventually said, and you could hear him shuffling around from behind the curtain before he was moving himself in behind you while running his fingers against your sides.

“This is better,” Seungmin said, and his lips mimicked the effects of the water droplets as he pressed dozens of kisses against your shoulder. “I’m sorry about my parents.”

“Well, I’m used to it,” you said, moaning around the words when his teeth dug into the flesh of your neck.

“You’re so good to me,” Seungmin said. “Should I reward you?”

“I don’t know... you trailed off, turning around in his arms to press your lips together. “I kinda feel like rewarding you instead.”

Seungmin’s cock hardened in interest against your thigh, and you reached down between your bodies to give his erection several strokes of your hand. “What kind of reward?” Seungmin asked, and you took your lower lip between your teeth as you concentrated on digging your thumb into the sensitive slit of his cock.

“I really want this in my mouth,” you said, and Seungmin groaned while his gaze grew darker.

“What are you waiting for?”

His voice was several octaves deeper, and you felt the heavy rumbles against your chest as you lowered yourself onto your knees. Your hands reached out to grab his thighs as support, leaning in close to leave a gentle kiss to the base of his cock. “Is this what you want?”

“Do it before I lose my patience,” Seungmin said, and his fingers quickly tangled themselves in your hair.

“Oh, really?” you smirked - leaning in close to run your tongue along the prominent vein of his erection. 

“Please,” Seungmin added, almost as an afterthought when the warm cavern of your mouth enveloped his cock, taking in as much as you could until you felt him at the back of your throat.

“Shit, Y/N,” Seungmin gasped, and his fingers kept a harsh hold in your hair as you bobbed your head up and down his length.

For the most part, you allowed him to control the pace, letting him take over your movements and roughly thrust his hips while forcing his cock down further into the back of your throat. Thankfully, you never had much of a gag reflex, and Seungmin took full advantage of this as he all but fucked your mouth with barely restrained grinds of his hips.

You were on cloud nine, lost in a submissive head-space, until the sudden entrance of an unexpected visitor had you choking around his erection. “Excuse, me!” Claire said, and she was shameless as she strolled inside. “Don’t mind my intrusion!” Claire exclaimed, and you sat back on your ass with a disgruntled sigh. “I didn’t have enough shampoo in the other bathroom.”

“You’re fine,” Seungmin said, and he gave you an apologetic stare that you ignored with a frown.

“Oh, Seungmin!” Claire giggled. “I thought Y/N was in here?”

“Did you find what you needed?” Seungmin grimaced, and Claire had enough decency to respond with an affirmative before closing the door again. “Y/N,” Seungmin said, and he looked mortified even though his cock was still hard. “Darling, I-”

“Save it,” you snapped, standing up from the shower while slapping away his outstretched hand. “You can take care of that yourself!”

“Y/N,” Seungmin tried again, but you were fed up with this entire night, wrapping a towel around your body as you left him behind for the familiar darkness of your bedroom.

You could barely concentrate the next day at work, and you were starting to grow annoyed with your colleagues. For whatever reason, everyone needed your help, and you were beyond annoyed with the situation. But you reached your tipping point in the middle of the afternoon, and you surrendered the metaphorical white flag to leave work early after experiencing one of the worst headaches known to mankind.

“You’re leaving?” Chan had exclaimed while messing around with a bunch of files on his desk. “But the deadlines-”

“Chan,” you interrupted him with a scowl. “Everything’s taken care of, okay? Please let me go before I fall over in the middle of your office.”

“Fine, but it’s coming out of your paycheck,” Chan grumbled, and you shook your head because he was an asshole sometimes.

Originally, you thought to have lunch with Seungmin in your newfound spare time, but when you arrived at the vet’s office, you were informed that Seungmin was in the middle of an emergency surgery. 

“Do you want have lunch together instead?” Claire asked with a pleasant smile.

“Uh, sure,” you said, even though you weren’t exactly thrilled by the idea.

But you were trying to be nice for the sake of your husband, and it was with great reluctance that you trailed after Claire into a small diner near the main office where you perused the menu with a disinterested sigh.

“Everything is fresh here,” Claire informed you.

“Oh, good,” you said in a half-hearted effort at conversation. 

But Claire must’ve caught on to your bad mood because she suddenly put down her menu and regarded you with a curious look. “Is something wrong?”

“Not really,” you said. “I actually have no reason to be unhappy.”

“It’s because of me, isn’t it?”

You froze when she posed the question, refusing to look up from the table. “What do you mean?”

“Y/N, I’m not blind,” Claire said. “I know you aren’t entirely accepting of me barging in your domestic life with Seungmin and ruining everything.”

“T-that’s not true,” you spluttered.

“I’m not offended,” Claire assured you. “But after what Mrs. Kim said last night, you deserve to feel pissed off or upset or whatever you want because that woman is a lot to handle.”

You were stunned by her casual words because this was the last thing you expected to hear from Claire. “I guess all mothers are overbearing.”

“But Seungmin’s is the worst,” Claire said. “When we were in college, Seungmin’s mother forced him to come home every weekend just to make sure he wasn’t involved with any parties.”

“Really?”

“But she’s done much worse,” Claire said, and her gaze shifted. “It must make you uncomfortable to hear her talking about me and Seungmin, but I want you to know that you have no reason to worry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, there was a time when I did have a crush on Seungmin, and his parents were always encouraging me to take him out,” Claire said. “But then he told me about this mystery girl he met at the office...”

Claire broke off with a sigh, and you swallowed hard. “Claire...”

But she fixed you a meaningful look. “Y/N, I knew I was a goner when I took Seungmin out for lunch and all he talked about was you.”

It was a powerful statement, even if you hadn’t been expecting the confession, and there was a lightness somewhere inside of you that was comparable to the delicate feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach. “I didn’t know about that.”

“Yeah, well, I was the only one treating it like a date,” Claire said. “But, seriously, Y/N, you make Seungmin incredibly happy, and I support you guys 100% because he’ll always be the friend I want to protect.”

She offered your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you, Claire.”

“I meant every word,” she said. “And please don’t trouble yourself anymore because I have plans to move out with some friends in the near future. You and Seungmin can have as much shower sex as you want after I’m gone.”

You immediately started choking on the very oxygen that you needed to breath, and Claire laughed at the predicament before flagging down your waiter for a necessary glass of water.

It was late when Seungmin came home from work, and Claire had already slipped out to be with some friends for the evening.

“Y/N?”

“Bathroom,” you called back to him, checking over your surprise with a satisfied nod.

“Y/N,” Seungmin said, and he smiled at you as he walked inside before widening his eyes in surprise. “Did you do this?”

“Of course,” you said, and you walked over to close the door before cornering him against the sink, fingers working rapidly over his buttons. “It’s necessary for your clothes to be off, darling.”

It was a cheeky call-back to his comment from your intimate moment the night before, and Seungmin smirked before taking over from you. “Handle yourself,” he said, and you reached down for the hem of your t-shirt while the both of you worked to remove all your layers.  

“Better,” you said, leaning against him as you allowed one hand to trail all the way down from his chest before skimming his cock which twitched in interest at your familiar touch. “So handsome,” you assured him, connecting your lips in a passionate kiss while reaching around to give his ass a little squeeze. “Get in the water,” you said, and he obeyed while a trail of saliva fell between your swollen lips.

And once Seungmin was settled beneath the steaming surface, you lowered yourself down in front of him, leaning back against his chest with a pleasant sigh. “This is perfect, Y/N,” Seungmin said while his arms wrapped around you.

“We have wine as well,” you said, reaching over for the bottle. 

“God, you’re amazing,” Seungmin said, and he took a glass from you once you managed to pour the sparkling alcohol without spilling it all over the floor.

“But what’s this all about?” Seungmin asked, tipping back his wine glass while his other hand trailed across your stomach.

“I thought I would spoil you.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” Seungmin said. “I love doing these things with you.”

“Mhmm,” you agreed while drinking your wine. “It’s been a hectic week.”

“It’ll be over soon,” Seungmin said, and he set aside his wine glass to free his hands so that his fingers could massage across your breasts. “I also spoke to Mr. Park about the house, and I think I convinced him to see reason with our original deadline.”

“Really?” you questioned. “How did you manage that?”

“I may have raised my voice,” Seungmin said. “There were also some unpleasant words exchanged.”

“Seungmin!” you gasped, and he scoffed at your mock sarcasm.

“Not even a thank you?” Seungmin pouted, and you made sure to whisper one against his lips.

“I’m gonna treat you in return later on, darling,” Seungmin said, and you shivered when one of his fingers delicately penetrated the tight walls of your cunt while his erection dug into your lower back.

“I love you so much,” you moaned, leaning your head back even further to accept another passionate kiss.

[imagine-loki]

Blushing in His Colours, Chapter 12

TITLE: Blushing in His Colours CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 12 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki being a Daddy Dom, his adores and loves his little, worships the ground she walks on. She has vaginismus, but he couldn’t be more supportive with her. RATING: M

Loki watched the team carefully as they lounged around. Mia was lying on the sofa next to him, with her head on his lap. He was stroking her hair gently while she watched TV, but he was too occupied. He was trying to figure out who would be best to talk to about his… problem.

Thor would be of no use, he didn’t want to go to Tony or Clint, knowing they would likely blab to the rest of the team and take the piss out of him. Vision especially would likely spill the beans.

He didn’t want to ask any of the girls, it would likely get back to Mia that way.

So that left either Bruce or Steve as the best candidate…

When Mia went to bed, Loki managed to get Steve alone in the kitchen. Steve looked at Loki suspiciously as he was hovering around.

‘Alright, Loki?’

‘I… need your advice on something.’ Loki said, slightly irritated he was actually asking a mortal for help.

Steve looked surprised. ‘Uh, sure. What is it?’ Steve sat down with a drink and Loki swiftly sat down opposite him, tapping the table.

‘You do not tell anyone else of this conversation.’ Loki said firmly, glaring over at him.

Steve raised an eyebrow and shrugged. ‘Ok…’

‘I mean it, this does not reach anyone else’s ears.’

‘Alright, alright. What is it?’ Steve thought it must be important if a God was coming to him for advice. He had never seen him looking so… uncertain.

Loki looked away for a moment and then back to Steve. ‘I have an issue, with Mia. Sexually… Whenever she uses her mouth on me, I can barely last ten seconds. I never used to have an issue with blowjobs, but with Mia I can’t seem to control myself.’ Loki blurted out.

Steve smirked, holding back a chuckle. Loki glared at him across the table.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have come to you.’ Loki sneered and stood up abruptly.

‘No, no, Loki. I’m sorry. It’s just, I never thought I would have a God coming to me for advice about sex.’ Steve said apologetically.

Loki sighed angrily and sat down again, arms over his chest.

‘So… You just lose control, find her too sexy to last around her?’ Steve asked.

‘Seems so.’ Loki nodded.

‘Well, what does she say about it? Does it bother her that you can’t last long?’

‘No, she says she rather likes it.’

‘So what’s the problem?’ Steve leaned back in his chair as he waited for Loki to answer.

‘I want to last longer. It’s ridiculous that I can’t!’

‘Well… have you tried thinking about something not sexy?’

‘Tried that.’ Loki huffed.

‘I really don’t see the problem, Loki. If she doesn’t mind it happening and likes it, why worry about it? Maybe she finds it endearing, that you find her so sexy you can’t control yourself. I think it just bothers you that this is something you don’t seem to have impeccable control and self-restraint over.’ Steve shrugged.

Loki’s jaw clenched and he wasn’t happy with that suggestion. But when he actually thought about it, he realised that Steve was right. It was annoying him because it was something he couldn’t control. He ran his hand down his face and groaned.

‘So, what… I should just accept it?’

Steve nodded. ‘I’d say so. It might get easier over time, but just enjoy each other and have fun. Surely if you make sure she gets plenty of pleasure too, it doesn’t really matter. You do make sure she has fun too, right?’

‘Of course I do! How dare you think otherwise.’

‘Ok, ok.’ Steve put his hands up in defence. ‘Well there you go, there’s no problem if you’re both enjoying it. I used to have that problem when I was younger with a girl I dated for a while, couldn’t last long at all during intercourse.’ He shrugged.

‘During intercourse?’ Loki questioned, raising an eyebrow.

‘Yep. I’m sure a blowjob from her would’ve been the same, I just couldn’t control myself.’

Loki swallowed hard. ‘Thanks for your help, Steve.’ He nodded at him, then swiftly left the room.

‘Just talk to her!’ Steve shouted just before he disappeared.

Steve was slightly bewildered at the conversation, unable to believe it had happened, but at the same time he felt a little honoured that Loki chose to go to him for advice.

Loki lay in bed and his mind was racing. He had never even thought about when they were to have intercourse when she was ready. If he came so fast in her mouth, he knew he would have no chance inside her… Especially with how tight she would be.

‘Oh, what am I going to do?’ He ran his hand down his face.

-

A few days later, Loki went back to his room after a small mission with the team. As soon as he walked in, he could sense that she was here…

Smirking to himself, he looked around the room carefully. ‘Where oh where is my little Mia?’ He cooed, starting to wander around.

He managed to zone in pretty quickly to where she was, listening carefully for her breathing. She was hiding underneath his bed. But he decided to tease her, looking elsewhere first.

‘Hmm, is she in the wardrobe?’ Loki hummed as he wandered over to said wardrobe and opened it, pretending to look inside. ‘Nope… she’s not in here. Where else could she be?’

Mia could see his boots as he walked around his room, looking for her. She put her hand over her mouth to stop herself from giggling.

She looked round over her shoulder when she saw him walking around the bed to the other side, behind her. Before she could turn around, Loki reached under and grabbed her ankle. She screeched and laughed as he carefully dragged her out from underneath the bed.

Loki chuckled when she turned around to look up at him, she was about to try scrambling away but was stunned. She had never seen him in his full armour with the helmet and cape included. But as he towered over her now, she felt intimidated by his presence, remembering he was a God, but mainly, extremely turned on.

Loki noticed her eyes widen as she froze, staring up at him. He smirked and leaned down to scoop her up into his arms, tickling her a little as he then cradled her to him. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

‘You look stunned, sweetling?’ He grinned, his hand slipping to her bottom to support her and the other came up to smooth her hair back from her face so he could see her properly.

‘Just… uhm… never seen you… wearing all this before.’ She said quietly, cheeks bright red as she looked up at his helmet.

‘You’ve seen me in my armour before.’ Loki chuckled.

‘Yeah… but not with… helmet… and… cape… too.’ She nibbled her lower lip slightly nervously.

Loki raised an eyebrow at her and cupped her cheek. ‘Am I making you nervous, sweetling?’

‘Not… not nervous, per say… but just…’ She shrugged, unsure of where she was going with it. Loki chuckled again when she then decided to hide her face in against his neck. He rubbed her back and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

‘You know… This helmet would make for good handles for you to hold on to.’ He purred, moving slowly towards the bed.

He heard a small gasp from her, making him grin.

Mia found herself swiftly placed down on his bed, with him looming over her as he removed her jeans and knickers in one. Winking up at her playfully, he moved straight in and draped her legs over his shoulders.

She let out a moan as he started feasting upon her. She did exactly as he had suggested and reached down to grab hold of his horns tightly. It was nice having something so sturdy to hold, and the sight of the God between her thighs like that was the most arousing sight she had ever seen.

After Loki had bestowed multiple orgasms upon her, and Mia had gone down on Loki too, making him cum embarrassingly quick as usual, the two lay together in one another’s arms. Completely naked, aside from Loki’s cape that was wrapped snugly around Mia. The soft velvet felt so good against her bare skin.

‘So uhm… I ordered some dilators…’ Mia said quietly, glancing up to him.

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. I thought they might be… useful to try. You know… expand myself a bit.’ She said shyly. ‘But I… was wondering if you would help me with them, when they arrive?’

Loki smiled and stoked her back lazily. ‘Of course I will, my little sweetling. We could have a lot of fun with them.’ He wiggled his eyebrows, making her giggle. ‘But I hope you aren’t rushing yourself, you know there is no rush at all.’ He said softly.

‘I know… But I do want to be able to have sex, sooner than later. Do you not want to?’ She asked, concerned.

Loki frowned. ‘Of course I do, darling. Why would you think I don’t?’

‘It’s just… I thought men were… well, often thinking of the main goal at the end. But you don’t…’ Mia said honestly.

‘Oh baby girl.’ Loki sat up more and cupped her face, keeping her eyes on him. ‘Of course having sex with you would be incredible and it is something I very much look forward to. But I am having so much fun with you as we are, and we haven’t even gotten started yet! Look, I will be honest with you… I’m struggling to come to terms with the fact I can’t last ten seconds in your mouth, I know it will be even worse when I do get inside of you.’

Mia was slightly stunned to hear that confession. ‘Really?’

‘Mmhmm. You’re just far too gorgeous, I can’t handle you.’ Loki smirked.

Mia giggled and put her face down against his chest. ‘So… Going slow is for both of us? Not just me?’ She asked as she raised her head to look at him again.

‘It is.’ Loki nodded, tracing his fingers down the side of her face. ‘I need to learn to control myself better around you. And you need to learn to just enjoy the fun, to not put pressure on yourself.’

Mia nodded in agreement. ‘I uhm… I hope you know I truly don’t mind, that you cum so quickly. I really like it actually. I…’ She paused, looking a bit embarrassed.

‘Tell me, sweetling. What is it?’

‘I think I have a weird obsession with cum…’ She blurted out, laughing and hiding her face again.

Loki laughed with her and tickled her sides, making her squeal and reveal her face. He rolled them over so she was underneath him and he cupped her chin. ‘That is a wonderful obsession. What is it about it, hmm? Do you enjoy swallowing it?’ Loki hummed.

Mia nodded. ‘It… it’s kind of… like… well… having something from inside you, inside me excites me… If that doesn’t sound stupid or weird.’

‘Not at all. Rather erotic I’d say.’ He purred and kissed her. ‘And if I keep going at the rate I am, cumming every ten seconds, your stomach will soon be full of me.’ 

Loki started kissing all over her face, making her laugh hysterically. 

-

As Loki lay there later that night, with Mia tucked under his arm and her head on his chest as she slept soundly, he realised that Steve was right. Just talking to her, even if he was a little embarrassed, was the solution.

He realised that it wasn’t just Mia that had to be open and honest. It was him too.

[cedricstower]

Hear me out but poly relationship of Cedric x Reader x Greylock?

oh ABSOLUTELY! 

~gender neutral reader~

Poly Relationship between Cedric x Greylock x Reader

how all three of you end up together is beyond me or anyone else in Enchancia 

at first it was just you and Cedric, you guys had been incredibly committed to each other albeit for a short while, but you guys seemed to have something really special between the two of you

the day you meet Greylock is when you two cross paths at a Conjurer’s Conference (if you’re magical, it’s probably your first time going together, but if you’re not, Cedric probably offered to show you around and you’re beyond excited), much to Cedric’s confusion because he thought Greylock would’ve been exiled by now 

“All I had to do was use the ol’ charm on them and I got re-instated in three years time!”

“Of course” Cedric grumbles, annoyed beyond belief

you however are fascinated, taken with this jester-esc wizard. You begin to ask him a multitude of questions, annoying and confusing Cedric even further. 

“So what did you tell the guards?” “What did you do?” “Are you a royal sorcerer too?” 

Greylock was more than happy to answer all your questions, quite endeared by your wide-eyedness 

Cedric’s probably standing there like “what is happening????”

You get distracted by a booth that catches your eye, give Cedric a kiss on the cheek and tell him you’ll be right back after checking it out while he catches up with his friend

You run off, and a smug looking Greylock walks up beside a still grumpy but slightly softer Cedric

“Well, they’re quite a catch, aren’t they, Cedric old chum?” He says, giving his comrade a wink

“I will fucking stab you” is what Cedric wish he could’ve said, however he settled for crossing his arms and grumbling something incoherent, good call, Ceddy. 

over time the more you and Greylock cross paths, the more you guys get to know and enjoy each others company. Much to Cedric’s distaste. 

You really don’t understand what Cedric doesn’t like about Greylock, but you decide not to push any questions on him for now

every time you two hang out, Greylock dazzles you with magic tricks, humors you with harmless pranks on the villagers, and occasionally attempts to woo you say via conjuring a lovely pink tulip for you.

You always have so much fun with Greylock. He was charming, witty, and smarter than people gave him credit for... sort of like your Ceddy. They didn’t see it, but they have a lot more in common then they both think

it’s not like Cedric stops you from hanging out with Greylock, god forbid he let himself be one of those boyfriends. He’d sooner throw himself back in the dungeon than control any aspect of your life (unless of course you were cheating on him or harming yourself in any way shape or form, stuff like that, but those aren’t relevant here so we’re not gonna unpack all of that)

however he starts getting suspicious when you two act a little more than friendly around him...

you were bidding Greylock goodbye when you gave him a small kiss on his cheek, to which he smiled and told you he’d keep it there forever. 

this made you laugh, he always did

heading back to give Cedric a hug, he continued to stare off in the direction that his “old friend” had taken off to

“what was that about?” he asks

“huh?” 

“Th-that, that kiss you just gave to him.”

You wave your hand. “Aw, hun, don’t worry about it. It was just a friendly little kiss.” You said, gently and playfully pinching his cheek which always caused the blood to rush to his face from embarrassment.

Cedric trusts you, he always has. It’s Greylock he doesn’t trust. They way that man looks at you... he knows what it means because he’s had to give you the exact same look for a whole year before you realized he liked you. However Cedric was much less crude about it. 

he’s not proud to say it’s something he thinks and worries about a lot, his own insecurities of not being good enough slipping in every now and again, not that he’d tell you though

but he’s shockingly unsurprised when you and Greylock, as gently as possible, approach him about a relationship.

“All three of us, together! I think... I think it can really work out.”

“And I concur! Whadaya say, Cedric old chum?”

Immediately Cedric’s first thought was “No. Absolutely not.” No way was he willing to let you go about gallivanting with this jester of a sorcerer in a romantic sense. 

It’s not that he didn’t want you to be happy, he really did, but it was Cedric who wholeheartedly denied he and Greylock could ever get along in a romantic sense, they were barely able to stay cordial for Merlin’s sake!

he’s shaking a little, but gulps down his internal thoughts and sighs. “I’ll think about it.” 

the following week is a bit awkward for you two, every time you touch Cedric’s shoulder, it’s the lightest of feather touches and you speak to him extra carefully and softly, because you know this sort of proposal is telling him one thing

that he isn’t good enough for you 

it comes to a point when you’re both lying in bed, and he’s finally ready to talk about it with you. He takes both your hands in his and locks his hazel eyes onto yours. 

“Y/n, I-I really want you to be happy and... and have a fulfilling relationship but... before I continue, I need you to promise that... that it isn’t me. Is it?”

you know exactly what he means by that. And how could it be him? He was looking at you with wide eyes glossy on the verge of tears, it made your heart shatter and those tiny pieces melt. 

“Oh, Cedric...” you brought a hand to his cheek, softly caressing him. You never used his full name unless you were being completely serious. It was always either ‘Ceddy’ or one of the various sweet pet names you had for him. “Of course it’s not you. You’re perfect.” 

He’s hesitant at first, but he felt the honesty drip from your tone and radiating from your soul. Softening, he smiled. “Well, in that case, I suppose I don’t see the harm in you two having a relationship.” 

You are beyond excited and leap into his arms for a hug, blurting out a thousand ‘thank you’s’ while feverishly kissing him up and down the side of his face, sending Cedric into a giggling mess. 

Goodness gracious you were adorable, if he caught Greylock treating you with even the slightest bit of mistreatment, he’d be sure to cut all ties between you two and that monocle-wearing warlock immediately

as time went on, you and Greylock became inseparable. Prompting you to always convince Cedric to join in on your dates.

at first he’d only come along for you, and any time Greylock attempted to put the moves on him Cedric swerved that bitch.

 but the more those two are forced to spend time together for your sake, the more they actually start to bond

at first, it’s mostly over their adoration for you

“Isn’t y/n just the cutest little crum, Cedric ol’ pal?”

“I suppose I can’t argue with you there, but do be careful with the “cute” word around them, they absolutely hate it.”

“Oh? I bet they’re adorable when they’re mad~”

Cedric rolls his eyes playfully. “Oh on the contrary, they’re horrifying. But... their cheeks do puff up and get red and it’s admittedly endearing.” 

this was the start of a beautiful... romance? friendship? nobody really knows, least of all Cedric and Greylock

you notice how much more Cedric starts to loosen up around Greylock, he actually laughed at one of his jokes for the first time! It made your stomach do flips and your heart squeeze itself in your chest.

it makes you so happy to see your boys getting along <3

and it’s only a matter of time until Greylock had successfully won Cedric over, and he needs to announce it in the most dramatic way possible

he storms into the workshop one day, where you waited for Cedric because he “had a surprise” for you

Greylock kicks down the door with Cedric being carried in his arms (much to his embarrassment, his arms crossed and his face on fire) and loudly proclaims that he had finally “claimed Cedric’s ass”

this causes Cedric to yell out a surprised, “WHAT?” and push Greylocks face away while he stumbles out of his arms. “I did not agree to you saying that!”

too bad, it got you laughing and Cedric blushing, which is all Greylock wanted out of this to be honest

from then on, you three are the most chaotic polyamory in Enchanica

Greylock’s always trying to get you both to laugh, thought it’s easier for you then Cedric

yes, he occasionally resorts to tickling him, and Cedric is extremely ticklish 

they still bicker a lot though, and you’re typically the peace-keeper. Though luckily none of you actually argue.

it’s usually over petty things, like how the bed shouldn't be used as a cracker platter Greylock 

“Well then why is it called a spread sheet, Cedric?”

yeah this is usually how mornings go. 

obviously they’ve calmed down a lot since dating though, knowing if they wanted this relationship to work, they’d have to be more level-headed with each other

dates are always super fun though! You guys alternate between your interests and even have a whole weekly date-night chart (courtesy of Cedric)

Greylock, because he’s a clown at heart, really likes the stereotypical “fun” dates like amusement parks, carnivals, swimming, dancing, bars, ect. 

Cedric is partial staying inside because at heart, he’s an introvert and an old soul, so a day inside the workshop with the two of you, some tea, snacks, and a game of chess is more than enough for him (in a modern AU he’d enjoy movie nights at home and cuddling on the couch, fantasy/fantastical being his favorite genre)

you’re a little more adventurous than Cedric, but not quite as outgoing as Greylock, so you enjoy outdoor dates like festivals, nature walks, concerts, picnics, all that Fun Summer jazz. 

however if you guys literally have no idea what else to do, going out for dinner is your go-to.

Cuddle-piles that turn into naps??? 100%

Cedric clings onto you and Greylock while Greylock has you in his lap, and his arm around Cedric while you three are lying down

Greylock is one for giving you both creative surprise smooches. Once he gave Cedric one of those squirt flowers but instead of spraying him with water a pair of comically puckered lips jumped out and planted one right on Cedric’s mouth. 

Of course what he thought was gonna be a sweet gift turned into a gag, but Greylock made it up by giving him a real peck on the lips after

he tried the same thing on you after, but you were smart and declined, even after Greylock pretending to pout and beg you to take it lest he die from your lack of love, but you weren’t having it and laughed while tapping his nose

“Nice try, hunny bun.”

you know that meme that’s like “What if I put the oven to 40000000 degrees and baked the cookies for 1 second?” and one friend on the line is like “no wtf you’ll burn your house” and the other is like “lmao do it”? Yeah, that’s Greylock, Cedric, and you, in that order. 

[onemilliongoldstars]

better to be fake - chapter two

Since she started at St Anne’s private prep school, Lexa has prided herself on her ability to fly below the radar, even if she sometimes is forced to waitress her classmates’ socialite events. That all changes the moment she comes to the attention of Clarke Griffin, the princess of the upper east side, as wealthy as she is beautiful and used to getting her own way.

Determined to shake off the hold of her over bearing mother, Clarke presents Lexa with a proposal that she can’t turn down: pretend to date her and she will make sure Lexa never has to waitress again.

–

please note the tags and warnings on ao3.

read on ao3.

clexa high society au.

2/13

--

She feels out of place from the moment she steps out of the elevator and into the Griffin home.

It's the maid that greets her at the door and leads her through into the living room to wait while she hurries away to fetch Clarke. Lexa stands, her hands deep in the pockets of her jeans and inspects the wide, open space with interest. There's a broad archway that leads into a dining room at the far end of the long room, but the living room itself is probably big enough to fit most of her apartment in. It's decorated in light creams, yellows and reds and it feels cleaner than any room Lexa has ever been in before. There are several slim, comfortable couches and a glass coffee table with magazines arranged artfully across the surface. The whole apartment is quiet. In her own home there is a constant buzz of noise, the traffic from the street outside or music from the bar at the end of the block or their neighbours passing the door and it's almost unnerving to be so surrounded by silence.

Her gaze is caught by the fireplace, all dark stone and marble and she wanders slowly towards it, taking a moment to inspect the childhood photos on the mantelpiece before her attention is drawn down to a large vase of flowers in the empty space where flames would flicker in winter. They're bright and beautiful and she lets herself reach out and run a thumb over the petal of a lily.

Thunderous footsteps racing down the stairs draw her attention and she darts away from the flowers guiltily, looking up in time to see Clarke, breathless and beaming in the doorway.

She feels immediately underdressed, but it's not a new feeling. Clarke's text had told her this was just a family brunch, nothing formal and so she'd pulled on her best jeans and a light blue shirt, a thin sweater thrown over the top to ward off the autumn chill. Clarke, however, is wearing a light dress and a pair of dark heels, her hair thrown into some complicated twist of braids that is artfully arranged to look casual. There are even fresh flowers woven between her golden strands and Lexa can't help but stare.

"What?" Clarke falters in the doorway, looking down at herself. "Is something wrong? Do I look bad?"

"No, you look..." she fumbles to find the right word, "wonderful. I just thought you said this was casual."

"It is." Clarke quirks her eyebrow, quizzically and Lexa looks pointedly down at her own outfit. "Oh don't be silly," Clarke rolls her eyes, stepping fully into the room to grab her by the hand and tug her away into the corridor again. "You look perfect."

“Your kind of perfect?” She asks wryly as she is led up the curving staircase, surrounded by more cut flowers and large landscapes. “Or the good kind?”

At the top of the staircase Clarke turns and Lexa has to come to an abrupt halt to stop from running into her. “My kind is the good kind.” She tells her and Clarke sounds so certain, so firm and resolute that Lexa’s eyes widen even as the girl turns around and continues on through the long corridors.

She follows her silently, but she takes in the many doors that sit off the corridor. She counts five before Clarke pushes one open and she can’t help but wonder what could possibly be behind them, Clarke lives with only her mother, who is barely ever home and yet their apartment is like a labyrinth.

Clarke pauses in the doorway, turning to look at her and she sees, to her surprise, a glimmer of nervousness in her eyes. “This is my room,” she tells her, quietly and Lexa nods once.

Her stare is curious when Clarke steps aside and lets her inside, roving around the room to take in everything that fills it. It isn’t a small space by any means, but it’s so filled with stuff that it feels… not small, but cosy.

The large double bed is covered in a light blue coverlet and an array of cushions and one of the bedside tables is piled high with books. Some of them- the ones at the bottom- are school books, but the rest are books on mythology and art and paperbacks with creased spines and curled pages. The bed is covered with bits of paper and a few clothes and as she steps further in she notices that the high mirror is surrounded by pictures of people that Lexa recognises from school, selfies with Octavia and Raven, their faces creased with laughter; pictures of Clarke on Bellamy’s back, her tongue out; laughing snapshots of she and her friends on vacation; even pencil sketches of friends and families.

The click of the door shutting behind her draws her eyes away and she turns to see Clarke watching her carefully, lingering near the door.

"Do you like it?" She sounds oddly vulnerable and open, and Lexa tries to put her at ease, nodding with a small smile, hand reaching out to trail across the soft coverlet as she speaks.

"Yeah, it's beautiful." Fingers brush against the fur of a small stuffed rabbit, sat against the pillows looking slightly ragged and limp and she turns, cocking an eyebrow teasingly at the blonde. "Friend of yours?"

Clarke's slight flush is almost endearing and she hurries forward, grabbing the rabbit and hugging it to her chest even as she smiles. "Hey, lay off Peter."

"Peter?" Lexa echoes, laughter in her voice and Clarke rolls her eyes, dropping the rabbit back onto the bed and following it with a slight humph, kicking up her heeled shoes onto the bed, ignoring the clothes she is crushing beneath her body.

"Quit it, my dad read me Peter Rabbit when I was a kid and I got hooked. I used to make the nanny read it to me every day, twice."

"Twice?" She almost chokes on the word, shaking her head as she wanders closer towards the head of the bed. "Wow, you weren't kidding around."

"I never kid about rabbits, Lexa." She's so serious, so deadpan that for a second Lexa is stumped, hesitating where she stands, but Clarke's mask cracks and she giggles, patting the space beside her invitingly. "Joke. Sit down, you don't always have to stand on ceremony."

"You sure about that?" She sits regardless, perching on the edge of the bed and leaning down to tug off her boots before propping her feet up on the bed, reclining back against the multitude of cushions and turning so that she can look at Clarke.

"What do you mean?" Clarke shifts, turning so that she can lean on her elbow and look at Lexa through eyes that are so blue they remind Lexa of the pictures of tropical seas she's seen in National Geographic.

"Well your apartment is kind of like a museum," She stares at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of the intricate plasterwork and hoping that Clarke doesn't take offence.

Beside her the girl sighs and nods, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Not here though," Lexa can't resist turning again to look at her, watching the way that blue eyes flicker away before venturing up to meet hers again from under long eyelashes. Clarke is unimaginably different here, lying against her bed and murmuring childhood stories to Lexa. She is open and innocent and incredibly vulnerable, as far from the high heeled girl who strides down the corridors of St Anne's as it's possible to be, and Lexa struggles for a moment to find what to say. "This room is different, more alive than the rest of the house."

"Thanks," Clarke's smile is small but genuine and a twinkle flashes in her eye, a return to the confidence that Lexa knows when she asks, teasingly. "And what's your room like?" She wiggles her eyebrows and Lexa guffaws so loudly that it makes Clarke snort inelegantly.

"Easy there," she returns, playfully, "it's our first date. I normally wait until at least date two to take a girl to my room."

"Well I guess I'll just have to pray for a second date then," Clarke's smile is slight and coy, tweaking at the corners of her lips teasingly and Lexa is momentarily entranced, eyes fixed to the plump and roll of her pink lips before a knock on the door cracks through the room like a whip.

They both turn, startled and flushing, to see the maid sticking her head around the door. She eyes them both suspiciously, before finally settling her gaze on Clarke and saying, haughtily, "Miss Clarke, your mother is here and brunch will be served soon."

"Thank you Martha," Clarke swings her feet off the bed, standing easily and striding over to mirror to fluff at her hair.

"Should we go?" Lexa pulls on her boots again, trepidation creeping up from her stomach. Clarke shakes her head, leaning in close to the mirror to check her makeup.

"No, let her wait. I'm forever waiting for her."

It doesn't seem like the healthiest of relationships, but Lexa lets it pass anyway, shrugging and shaking her head as she settles back to sit on the bed again. Her gaze is caught by a picture on Clarke's bedside table, beside a glass of water and a small, retro style radio; caught in a frame, the image that stares out at her is bright and colourful and Lexa is momentarily captured by it. Clarke is obviously young, maybe nine or ten, and sat on a bench beside a man who has the same eyes as her. They are both laughing, caught in a candid because Clarke is pointing at her father and he has ice cream from the cone in his hands smeared against the tip of his nose. Clarke looks younger, hair braided down her back simply, in shorts and a pink shirt and there is a carefree joy in her eyes that Lexa has never seen before.

"Is this your dad?"

Clarke freezes, halfway through applying her lip gloss and slowly screws the cap back on before she paces round to her side of the bed, peering down at the picture though it is clear that she knows what Lexa is talking about.

"Yeah, that's him." Her voice is soft and quiet and when Lexa turns to look back at her she is running the ear of the rabbit between her thumb and fingers, a subconscious, comforting habit.

"What happened to him?" She speaks lowly, afraid to break the quiet between them.

"He died." She sounds curt and matter of fact and the rabbit falls back onto the bed as she stands a little straighter, staring down at Lexa with regal expectancy. "Ready? We have to scar my mother, remember?"

"Of course.”

At her bedroom door Clarke turns, holding out an expectant hand, and when their fingers twine together Lexa feels a flush run through her at the sight of Clarke's thumb curled possessively atop her own.

Abby Griffin looks Lexa up and down when she walks down the stairs beside her daughter. She stands imperiously, in heels so high that she towers over them both when they reach the bottom. Her skirt suit is all sharp edges, a dark blue that is almost feminine, but not quite, and long brown hair is curled gently to fall over her shoulders, softening the whole look just slightly.

She smiles - a small, thin affair that seems as forced as it is fake - and looks to Clarke.

"Hello, darling," there's a very faint twang in her voice, an accent that Lexa thinks could be from New England.

"Mother," Clarke leans forward and places a Hollywood style kiss against her mother's cheek, backing away quickly to stand beside Lexa again. She is slightly taller in her heels and when her hand comes to rest on the small of Lexa's back she almost does a double take, blinking when she is nudged forwards. "This is Lexa, my girlfriend."

Abby's brows quirk, just briefly and she enquires, lightly, "Girlfriend?"

"Yes," Clarke squares her shoulders, head held high, clearly ready for battle but Abby just eyes them both for a moment before smiling wanly and holding out a hand in Lexa's direction.

"I see. It’s nice to meet you, Lexa." There's an amused glint in her eyes and her manicured nails press against Lexa's skin when her hand clasps around Lexa's; it doesn't hurt but Lexa is startled by the feeling and her eyes dart up to meet Abby's.

"You too, Mrs Griffin."

"Please, Abby." She steps back, looking to the side and holding out a hand invitingly to someone. "This is Marcus Kane, my partner."

"Her boyfriend," Clarke inputs, bluntly as a man emerges from the closet, smiling at them openly and taking the hand that Abby has outstretched.

Abby shoots her an irritated glance and Lexa watches from the corner of her eye as Clarke crosses her arms with a slight huff. Marcus doesn't seem bothered however and for a moment Lexa wonders if he is simply an idiot who didn't pick up on Clarke's blatant dislike for him, but she catches sight of his amused eyes as he speaks. "Good to see you too, Clarke."

They stand there quietly, waiting for a moment, before Abby gestures towards the rest of the apartment with a polite smile. "Shall we? I've been informed that brunch will be served momentarily."

Marcus and Abby precede them and she feels the breath rush out of her body when they turn away. A hand clasps hers and when she turns Clarke's face is set with determination.

"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" She mutters, quietly as Clarke begins to lead her through the apartment.

Clarke's eyes flicker to hers and she raises an eyebrow, "When do I ever?"

----

Her mother seems to have brought her A-game today.

Clarke stirs her spoon around the combination of yogurt and berries in her crystal bowl, pushing the morsels of food back and forth until the yogurt is pink and the berries are nothing more than a crushed mess. She watches resentfully from the other side of Lexa as her mother spoons fruit into her own bowl, piercing pieces of pineapple and peach with a silver fork as Lexa picks at her parfait anxiously.

"And you're going to college, Lexa?" Abby asks, smoothly and Clarke notices Lexa swallow nervously, hands reaching out for her glass of water.

"Yes, I'm actually hoping to go to Yale." Clarke tries not to seem too surprised, schooling her expression quickly though Abby's eyes dart to her rapidly. "I've applied for early admittance, hopefully into one of the scholarship programmes."

"Wonderful," Her mother gushes and Lexa shifts uncomfortably on the chair beside her, shrugging awkwardly. "And what will you study?"

"I'm hoping to major in poli  science." Lexa replies, fingers running around the rim of her glass.

"Very good," Abby seems impressed, nodding and her eyes flicker over to Clarke. "Any way that you could persuade my daughter to sort out her admissions forms? I've been asking her for weeks."

"You've had an answer," Clarke snaps, abruptly, dropping her spoon so that it rattles against the bowl loudly.

"Not one that I'll accept, dear." Abby answers mildly, smiling wanly at her but there's a fierce glint in her eyes that Clarke recognises well.

"I'm sure that Clarke will make the decision that's right for her soon enough," Lexa puts in, after a moment of tense silence. "It normally takes a while to choose, I was just lucky that I knew what I wanted from freshman year."

"Are you going to change the world, Lexa?" Marcus asks and though he's clearly well meaning, there's a patronising edge to his voice that makes Clarke bristle.

When she opens her mouth to bite back, however, Lexa cuts through her. "I'm pretty sure that everybody who goes to college wants to change the world."

"Very true.”

"Who are your parents, Lexa?" Abby cuts the fruit in her bowl into smaller pieces. "Are you new to the area? I don't think we've ever seen you at any of the society gatherings?"

"No," Lexa hesitates, "you wouldn't have. I live in Brooklyn with my mom, she works as a secretary for a small, local building firm and I waitress part time."

Abby blinks at her, clearly startled and for a moment the silence returns, blanketing them like fresh snow before her mother finally unfreezes and says, voice stilted. "I see."

Clarke can't help but smile when she cuts a glance at Lexa and sees while  her eyes downcast a satisfied smirk is lingering at the edges of her lips.

----

At the door, her mother turns to Lexa with a raised eyebrow and says, amusement lacing through her voice. "Well then Lexa, I expect we won't be seeing you again?"

"Oh, why not?" Lexa frowns, perplexed as she takes her coat from Martha, wrapping it over her arm.

"Well," Abby glances at Clarke, smiling slightly, "Clarke has made her point now."

"My point?" Her voice raises high as she echoes her mother's words, furious and outraged. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Language," Abby reprimands Clarke offhandedly, "Please, darling, you and I both know that Lexa is not really your girlfriend. You just brought her here to upset me, no offence meant Lexa."

Clarke gapes, flabbergasted by her mother's calm acknowledgement and she fumbles for her words, stuttering to try to find a way to salvage the situation when a hand slides around Clarke's waist and pulls her abruptly closer, until she is pressed against Lexa's side, flush with her body.

"Excuse me Mrs Griffin, but I happen to like your daughter very much," Lexa's eyes flicker to hers for a moment, creased with irritation. "I don't appreciate your implication that we are anything but real. We've been together for a few weeks now."

"Really, dear if you expect me to believe that-"

Her mother's voice falls flat when Lexa spins her around to press their lips together, hands tightening around her waist. Clarke gasps in surprise into the touch, before her hands snake up around Lexa's neck, touch hesitant and uncertain, the soft press to her mouth taking her breath away as a tongue brushes against her lips teasingly for a moment, before they break away, and she is immensely glad for Lexa's arm around her waist, holding her up.

Abby blinks at them, looking between them with growing alarm, and Clarke smiles in satisfaction before stepping away from Lexa, their hands still intertwined as she tugs gently. "Come on, Lex, let me show you out."

They retreat to the elevator together and it's only when the door slides shut on the frozen figure of her mother that Clarke lets out a snort of laughter, shaking her head.

"Oh god, that was genius Lexa." Leaning up onto her toes, shoes long abandoned- much to her mother’s chagrin- she presses a kiss to Lexa's cheek and the girl smiles, clearly pleased with herself. "That was brilliant, did you see her face? She's was so mad!"

"Your mother is a piece of work," Lexa raises an eyebrow as the elevator doors slide open for them and they step out into the foyer.

"Tell me about it." She slides her hand into Lexa's, pulling her to a stop before she can head for the door, lowering her voice so that the doorman can't hear. "So, do you mind doing this for a little while longer?"

"Did it seem like I minded?" Lexa smirks at her and Clarke rolls her eyes, slapping lightly at her arm.

"I can compensate you for your time, if you’re passing up on shifts or anything. And for travelling into the city.” She reassures her and Lexa stiffens, frowning.

"No, no it's fine." She laughs awkwardly, the sound forced and stilted. "I think your earlier payment covered at least two dates, anyway."

"Okay," She draws the word out uncertainly, watching Lexa with confused eyes before shrugging, "Well listen, my mom will ask around at school so as far as anyone knows we're together, okay?"

"Sounds good," Lexa pulls on her coat, digging her hands deeply into the pockets, "I should go, I have a shift that starts at one."

"Okay, I'll see you on Monday then?" At Lexa's nod she smiles and presses another kiss to her cheek, hands curling around her arm and squeezing again before she steps back, waving once as Lexa makes her way towards the door.

It's only in the elevator that she checks her phone and realises that it's not even midday yet.

----

The hairs on the back of her neck are prickling. Beneath her clammy fingers the spines of her books feel strange and slick and Lexa huddles into her locker, hoping to avoid the eyes that she can feel fixed on her. She’s not used to attention from her classmates, has happily flown under the radar for as long as she’s been going to this school, but now her uniform feels suddenly itchy and starched and she’s distinctly aware that she didn’t put on any eyeliner today.

People’s gazes have been following her all day. The moment she stepped through the wrought iron gates, only a few minutes before the bell, she felt eyes on her. In algebra Matthew Conrad had stared at her through most of the class and she’d caught Cathy Redbred actually craning her neck from the first row to gape at her during second period philosophy class. Her cheeks are pink from the attention and she bundles her books into her arms in an effort to appear invisible.

She only barely makes it to history in time, even with the clearer corridors and she’s halfway to her seat when an all too familiar voice calls out her name.

“Lexa!”

It pulls her to a stop as surely as a tether and she stumbles to a halt, lifting her head from her books to blink at Clarke owlishly. She’s managed to avoid the blonde all day, up until now, and she’s frustrated to see that Clarke looks as beautiful as ever: all sparkling eyes and ringleted hair, accompanied by the effortless confidence of someone who knows that they can have whatever they want.

Clarke is patting the space beside her, which has been suddenly and conveniently cleared. Lexa takes a moment to look at her old spot near the back of the class, but it’s now occupied by Clarke’s old desk mate and Lexa has too many eyes on her throughout the day to start picking a fight. Besides, Clarke’s desk is next to the window, so Lexa sinks reluctantly into the space.

“Hey,” Clarke leans her head against her elbow, watching Lexa as she unloads her things neatly across the desk. “I haven’t seen you all day.”

“It’s barely midday,” Lexa desperately avoids her gaze, even though Clarke’s eyes on her feel distinctly different to the whispered glances that have been following her all day.

“You didn’t text me over the weekend, kind of thought you might be mad.”

Clarke doesn’t mince her words at least and Lexa’s distinctly grateful for that even as she carefully straightens her pencils.

“Not mad, just busy sorry.”

“Busy?” Lexa’s eyes are finally drawn to Clarke’s and she startles to see the blonde’s eyes fixed on her still, her voice carefully light.

“I was working,” Now that she has met Clarke’s eyes she can’t quite bring herself to look away.

“Oh, cool.” Clarke hesitates for a moment and Lexa uses the respite to drag her eyes away. She takes her pen and writes the date in the margin of her notebook. “Are you working tonight?”

She feels as if she knows what’s coming, but Lexa shakes her head quietly.

“Well…” Clarke sounds strangely nervous, “Do you want to get together tonight?”

“I have to study,” Lexa glances at her from beneath her eyelashes. It feels terribly tentative between them, as if at any moment they could shatter apart and she isn’t quite sure whether she wants it to or not.

“That’s okay,” Clarke brightens, “So do I, want to have a study date?”

Lexa fumbles over her words, distracted by the light of Clarke’s happy smile and the softness in her eyes. “I um… I guess.”

“Come on babe,” Clarke’s hand settles over hers on the desk and Lexa’s breath stutters from her throat. “I miss you.”

“I, um…” The door swings open to reveal Mr Walding and as the class falls into an expectant, respectful hush, Lexa is only able to nod. Clarke’s fingers tighten around hers briefly, before she pulls her hand away to start writing.

---

She shouldn’t really be surprised that a study date at Clarke’s penthouse apartment consists of luxurious cushions laid out over her bed, bowls of snacks peppered across the room and two tall glasses of iced tea, the condensation gathering to drip down the outside of the glass. Clarke is already studying, laid out across the bed on her stomach, with a pillow shoved beneath her and an open book, upon which sits her phone, when the housekeeper shows Lexa in.

Clarke perks up when the door swings open, beaming at Lexa as she hitches herself further up on the bed.

“Hi! You came!”

“You asked me to,” Lexa smiles weakly, hesitating in the doorway as her eyes swing from the desk- upon which are piles of books, basically unused- and the bed. “Sorry, lacrosse took longer than usual.”

“It’s okay,” Clarke lounges across the bed, pushing her hair out of her eyes and patting the bed. “I didn’t even know you played until you mentioned practice.”

Taking her cue, Lexa pads over and toes off her shoes at the bottom of the bed, gathering a few books into her hands and setting onto the mattress uncertainly as she says. “It looks good on college applications.”

“So you don’t like it?” Clarke twirls her pen in her hands, watching her with blue eyes wide with curiosity.

“No,” Lexa glances down at her binders, blushing a little, “I like it. It’s fun and I’m good, plus it’s nice to feel involved in something at school.”

“Wow, so you’re telling me the great Lexa Woods actually has something she enjoys?” Lexa opens her mouth to protest but when she sees Clarke’s teasing eyes and half smile, she snaps her mouth shut, gathering her hands in her lap and replying primly.

“I like things.”

“Really, like what?” Clarke rolls her eyes, “Studying?”

“Clearly more than you,” Lexa glances pointedly down to the phone placed between her pages and Clarke’s cheeks colour delightfully in response.

“I- I was looking something up.” At Lexa’s grin she relaxes just slightly, tugging on her arm to encourage her further onto the bed. “Maybe you should teach me how to study.”

“Clarke you’re not an idiot, it’s clear that you know how to study.” Lexa arches an eyebrow, settling back into the cushioned bedhead and Clarke wriggles up to join her,

“You don’t know that, I might be in great need of a tutor.”

“You get excellent grades,” Lexa opens her books in her lap, glancing down at the page of algebra questions with distaste before uncapping her pen.

“Oh god, you’re doing the algebra homework. I was hoping to pretend that wasn’t happening.” Clarke groans loudly, resting her head so carelessly against Lexa’s shoulder that Lexa hopes she doesn’t feel how she tenses up.

“The earlier we get it done the better,” Lexa fidgets with her pencil, staring at the questions intently and trying to ignore the hot tickles of Clarke’s breath against her neck.

“You know,” Clarke is still unnecessarily close to her, and her voice is suddenly low and slightly husky. “When you proposed a study date I didn’t think there would actually be any studying.” Her lips brush against Lexa’s neck and Lexa freezes beneath her, her eyes widening and her heart rabbiting in her chest.

“I don’t… that’s not why I came here.” She speaks in a rush, her cheeks hot and embarrassment curling in her stomach. “I just thought we could study together.”

Clarke pulls back to look at her and Lexa tries not to squirm under her intense gaze. Her eyes travel across Lexa’s face slowly and thoughtfully, trying to read how serious she is and what she sees must satisfy her because she finally nods.

“Okay Lex, we can study.” To Lexa’s relief she pulls away until their arms only brush when they both go to write. Clarke adds a few numbers to her sheet and then glances at Lexa from below her lashes, “but if anyone asks we made out violently.”

Lexa can’t help the grin that pulls at her lips, “Violently?”

“Mmhm,” Clarke spins her pencil again. “I fell off the bed.”

---

The housekeeper calls upstairs once Abby arrives home, but at the sight of Clarke’s pursed lips and determinedly uninterested expression, Lexa stays quiet and goes back to explaining equations to the blonde leaning against her side. When Abby appears a few minutes later, giving the door a cursory knock before pushing it open to come to a stop in the doorway, Clarke leans closer to her.

“Oh, Lexa, I didn’t know you were here.�� Abby’s mask of politeness slams immediately into place, but Lexa can’t help the thrill of satisfaction she feels at the sight of shock that precedes it.

“We’re studying mom,” Clarke supplies, chin tilting up stubbornly, “What do you want?”

Abby arches an eyebrow, “Only to pop by and remind you that we have to be at the Blake’s for six thirty tonight. You should probably start to get ready.”

“You’re going out?” Lexa’s eyes dart to Clarke and she begins to swing her legs over the side of the bed. “I’ll go.”

“No,” Clarke’s hand against her arm stops her and Lexa is surprised to find that her gaze is soft, “I want you to stay,” expression hardening, she turns back to her mother. “Can’t you make my excuses at the Blake’s? We go there every week, they won’t mind if I miss one.”

Abby’s lips press into a thin line, “No Clarke, that’s rude.”

“But-”

“Don’t argue with me Clarke,” Abby sneaks an anxious look at Lexa, who reaches out to take Clarke’s hand and squeeze it gently, drawing her attention back down.

“It’s okay,” Lexa tells her earnestly, “I need to get home and start on dinner anyway.” Clarke’s face falls and Lexa sees Abby’s lips draw up into a slight victorious smile from the corner of her eyes. She feels irritation curl in her belly, the only real explanation for why she leans forward and catches Clarke’s lips in a soft, tender kiss.

The blonde surrenders immediately into her embrace, fingers tightening around hers and Lexa allows herself the briefest of moments to enjoy the innocence of warm lips moving against her own, the intimate brush of cheeks and floral scent of Clarke’s perfume before finally breaking away.

She’s aware that Abby is watching them, but doesn’t tear her eyes away from Clarke as she speaks. “Have fun tonight, I’ll talk to you later.”

She slides her feet into her school shoes as Clarke seems to find her breath again, her cheeks dusted with a dusky rose.

“Text me when you get home?” Clarke calls after her as she starts out of the room and Lexa nods over her shoulder, slipping awkwardly past Abby in the door.

“See you again Mrs Griffin.”

“I’m sure I will Lexa.”

---

[robotslenderman]

How Rowan/Rose met Ilias

Oof so I had some headcanon on how Rowan (AKA Rose) (I’ve been fiddling with her, sorry, hence the messing around with the name) ran into Ilias

and that was BEFORE I found out who Ilias USED TO BE INVOLVED WITH HOLY SHIT and now this encounter looks a whole lot more terrifying yikes.

But here it is -- what happened to Rowan after leaving the Tremere, and how she ran into Ilias and started crushing on him.

So -- Rowan was the name of the Tremere whose identity my Salubri took on when she went to the New World. Obviously, that identity’s last name is not Elensdottir, but I had to differentiate her from ESO!Rowan as they’ve become two entirely different characters. After a while Rowan was tired of lying to herself about her ability to one day bring back the Salubri, and had learned -- she felt -- everything she could learn with the Tremere without risking exposure by using her abilities.

So she left. She wrote a letter to Strauss and left it in her room in the Chantry, telling him the truth of who she was and what she’d uncovered about her clan in the process of being with the Tremere, and left it behind. She wasn’t going to risk telling him in person. She hoped that maybe Strauss wouldn’t bear her such ill-will he’d kill her on sight, and that maybe she’d plant a little seed of doubt regarding the reputation of the Salubri in his mind...

... but she didn’t hold her breath. And that was why she left a letter instead of telling him in person.

Once she’d vanished from LA, she took on the name Rose d’Eleanor. Rose was the name she was born with, and d’Eleanor was in honour of her mother, with whom she’d been very close -- “of Eleanor.” She traveled around using various names and posing as a different clan here and there, but as a Salubri she was always Rose.

It was good to be Rose again.

(I like to think she met Matthew from Beckett’s Jyhad Diary. That they’d met at Castle Hunedoara, or however you spell it, and both had survived and promised to meet again. The first other Salubri she ever met, well over a century after her own Embrace. I like to think they were brother and sister.)

She traveled. She didn’t want to stay in one place too long in case she got revealed or had trouble maintaining an identity. Travel was very hard, since she couldn’t use Disciplines around other Kindred, money was very difficult to come by, and she couldn’t exactly use Protean like Elisa did whenever the sun was getting awful close to rising. She had a much harder time than Elisa did, and she had many mornings where she regretted leaving the Chantry at all and wishing she’d just kept on lying to her friends and family there because it’d mean shelter and relative safety.

But she’d burned that bridge by telling them what she was, so she couldn’t go back.

In New York she heard about Elias Athanasios’s collection of art and historical artefacts.

She didn’t have an invitation, so she broke in.

She used what Tremere magic she knew and broke into the gallery one night when it was closed to other Kindred, and used that blood magic to get around the wards.

Not all of them. Only the ones she knew how to find. Ilias noticed there was an intruder immediately and found her. I mean, dude’s nine hundred years old, he probably has a shitton of tricks Rose has never even heard of.

Now, Rose immediately went oh SHIT because she’d tried so hard to avoid pissing off other Kindred, and she just got caught by the gallery’s fucking owner no less, breaking into his gallery. Expecting her ass to get curbstomped, she stutters her apologies and promises to leave without any drama.

Ilias calmly asked Rose who she was and what she was doing there.

Rose introduced herself with one of her identities -- Jane the Caitiff. She said, she badly wanted to see the exhibition but as a Caitiff who was just passing through she could never hope to secure an invitation, so she just... thought she’d have a look herself. And again, she apologised profusely and said she never wanted to cause any trouble or conflict, she only wanted to have a look and then leave.

(She didn’t quite get to the point of begging for her life, because that would just piss off a lot of Kindred and disgust them, but it was heavily implied.)

Now, this could be totally out of character because I don’t know Ilias from anywhere other than BJD.

But in my head, Ilias offered her a tour.

I don’t know if he believed her. I’m pretty sure he would have been suspicious about her story -- what Caitiff introduces themself as Caitiff, let alone without being asked? What kindred gets confronted by another and immediately backs down and rolls over like Rose did? And he must have been certain she was breaking in to steal the artefacts, not actually look at them.

But in my head he still offered her his arm, and said he’d give her a tour.

And Rose is like... if I accept this I am TOTALLY going to get destroyed.

But, well, she thought Ilias was a Toreador who could easily outrun her if she tried to bolt (yay Celerity), and she really did want to see the historic artefacts... so she accepted. Fully accepting that yeah, he’s probably going to try and kill her at some point.

He was probably going to destroy her whether she ran or not, may as well have the tour first.

So he showed her around. Showed her the art and the historic artefacts -- noticed that she seemed most interested in the history than the art, so he directed most of his attention there, and noticed that she actually had more knowledge of history than the average Kindred. She seemed to be very well-educated, especially for a Caitiff (not that he asked, because that would be Rude and Tzimisce do not DO Rude*), so I think he quite enjoyed talking to her and teaching her -- filling in little gaps in her knowledge.

* I mean, nobody ever described torture as rude now, did they?

I think he actually found her quite fascinating. She’s allegedly a Caitiff who, for some reason, was apparently open about her identity as one (immediate thought: “she’s actually from a clan worse than Caitiff”) and has a lot of education. And when she admitted she got that education from rifling through Tremere libraries (an apparent Caitiff) that just fascinated him even more because holy shit, you broke into Tremere libraries??? (not that he said that, rather subtly encouraging her to elaborate. She didn’t.) And he found it endearing that she was quick to assure him she always put the books back in the same condition as she found them, because most Kindred wouldn’t specify that.

“Jane” clearly was on her own and valued knowledge highly. Any suspicion he had of her at first that she was incredibly dangerous ended up ebbing because she was just so sincere.

Rowan/Rose was absolutely delighted by this tour and what he taught her, and let down her guard a bit because “well he’s going to kill me anyway.”

And then he didn’t.

When the tour was over and they’d had a good long chat afterwards about his exhibition, he just took her to the door and let her out.

And she was like, “What, you’re not going to destroy me?”

And he was like, no, you’ve given me no reason to.

“I broke into your gallery. Isn’t that enough reason?”

And he points out she was quite gracious and polite, trespass notwithstanding.

So she’s... really touched. And she thanks him, and leaves.

And develops a monster crush on him whoops.

A while later she writes him a letter -- apologises about lying to him about being a Caitiff called Jane, but that it was for her own safety and that given how kindly he treated her, she honestly does truly regret lying to him. She doesn’t regret hiding the truth, because she has to for her own survival, but she does regret lying to him.

She thanks him sincerely and from the bottom of her heart for the kindness he showed her, explains her interest in history (the Salubri, especially) and gives him the letter her sire gave her. It’s old, it’s yellowed and almost falling apart, and the ink has faded quite a bit -- but it’s still legible.

Part of Rose’s letter is this part:

It’s nothing, compared to the artefacts you have. It’s just a letter from one Salubri to his orphaned childe, and isn’t important at all in a historic context.

But you thought I was Caitiff. You thought I was a clan lower than dirt, and I’d broken into your gallery, and you still showed me a tremendous amount of kindness that I’ve never, ever seen from any Kindred.

I’m giving this to you because I can never repay your kindness. I’m a Salubri constantly on the run from those who think I want to devour their souls, from those who’d kill me on sight the second they saw my third eye. I have nothing to give you. I will never be able to repay you. I will always have nothing.

But I do have this. And this means everything to me, just as your kindness did -- and so I repay you the best way I can. The only way I can.

I know it must be worthless to you, but it means the world to me. So please take care of it. It’s falling apart because over the years, there have been periods where I haven’t been able to preserve it properly, preserve it as it deserves, but if you decide to keep it I know you can treat it right.

Thank you, Elias. For everything.

Rose d’Eleanor

Clan Salubri

(childe of etc etc etc)

Again, dunno if it’s in or out of character... but in my head Ilias was actually deeply touched that she gave it to him, because even though it’s no magical artefact it was obviously such a personal thing, and also a little disturbed and sad that she’s so unused to kindness that her first response to being shown any is to throw at him the thing that means most to her in the entire world.

And in my head he preserves it in glass and puts it in his gallery, along with the letter she wrote him. Strauss will see it one day and be like “hang on a sec, I know that name...”

also it pisses off Aisling Sturbridge so that’s just another bonus of putting it in his gallery

Again, I’m probably taking liberties with his character, but I think it inspires Ilias to start looking at historical artefacts from a personal perspective, afterwards. Like instead of just collecting art and the Big Important Artefacts, he starts collecting things like letters and keepsakes of Kindred who are long gone, making history a little more personal.

and I like to think that having those letters in his gallery plants a bit of a dormant seed in the Kindred community. A seed that says “maybe the Salubri aren’t what the Tremere made them out to be.” A seed that says, “hey, you guys, remember how the Tremere are utter bastards? Maybe they’re the bastards here yet again!”

anyway that was BEFORE I found out that he was Sascha’s lover and that he’s probably just as fucking evil deep down, at which point I peed a little on Rose’s behalf. WOO. BECAUSE THE ONLY THING ALMOST AS TERRIFYING AS BEING STUCK IN A ROOM WITH SASCHA VYKOS IS BEING STUCK IN A ROOM WITH SOMEONE WHO WAS IN LOVE WITH THEM YIIIKES.

Oh Rose, of course you fucking glommed onto someone who might be genuinely horrible because they were nice to you.

and now I’ve made myself really really sad, because the whole Salubri lot in unlife is sad. :(

[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 16

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___

Remus had researched PTSD, ADHD, depression and anxiety. He had started doing so a few months after the car crash, when he had noticed the changes in Roman’s behaviour. And as he did so he had seen the changes within himself as well. He had noticed patterns which were new, feelings that started to disappear.

Quite honestly, Logan was impressed. Impressed by Remus’s sharp perception. By his own introspection and his findings. And the fact that he was critical of his own analysis and tried to not be too wrapped up in them.

What had Logan worried though was how often Remus mentioned his fear and worries about Roman. How much seemed to be focused on him and not on Remus himself. And while Remus’s worries might have been warranted, Logan knew that he could not only focus on Roman. That he needed to look after himself.

Carefully, Logan tried to steer the conversation in a direction, where he could talk about Remus’s fixation on Roman. As Remus mentioned once more how long it took Roman to even mention the accident after it had happened, Logan took his chance and said: “I understand Roman is important to you, but he is not the only person to worry about.”

“It’s hard not to worry about him… He – He struggles a lot and he doesn’t admit most of it. I know I’m not one to talk about my mental health either but he’s in deep denial and-” Remus said but was interrupted by Logan.

“I understand your concerns, Remus,” Logan reassured Remus not wanting to talk his worries down, “I truly do. And I know your brother is fighting with a lot as well but maybe you might need to stand back a bit from him. Not abandon or leave him. But you need to take care of yourself first and you cannot do so if you are constantly worrying and playing therapist for Roman as well. You can only do so much for him. And he is a grown-up too. You need to trust him and make the right decisions for himself.”

Logan watched Remus run his fingers through his hair. He was thinking of a fitting retort but Logan knew he was right and that Remus was indeed smart enough to know that too. He just had to admit it to himself.

“Yes, right but I don’t think he always makes the right decisions for himself…” Remus argued weakly.

“That might be true but it is not your responsibility to fix that. You cannot support him so much that it exhausts you, Remus. You need to learn to have boundaries and let other people take over.”

Logan knew that his advice was a lot harder to follow through than it sounded. He knew Remus would struggle. He knew he would not know what healthy boundaries felt like at the beginning of all of it. He knew he would not trust anybody to take care of his brother at first.

“… then would you help me get him into therapy, if I were to go to therapy?”

Not the offer Logan had expected. Not at all. But it was quite welcome.

“If you go, I certainly would try and help you convince him,” Logan said carefully watching Remus’s reaction.

He was tense. His shoulders stiff and his hands twitching minimally, almost too unremarkably to notice. But as he was breathing in and out his eyes began to focus. Began to focus on Logan he met Logan’s eyes evenly with a gulp. There was something so incredibly intense and real about him in that very moment. So much energy and force just peeking out for the fraction of a second and Logan did not know what to think of it.

“Thank you. You’re a really good man.”

Remus’s voice was warm and far more trusting than it was ought to be. But Logan did not get to muse about that. Remus was taking his phone and checked the time, making a surprised expression for a moment. Then he shot shy look to Logan.

“Would you mind us checking in on Ro and the J-man? We’ve been talking for a good hour or so and I think I want to make sure how they are doing. There’s only so much they can be doing in a greenhouse for so long and I don’t think they’ll start fucking anytime soon,” Remus finished with a shrug.

Logan let out a huff and answered with an eyeroll: “Don’t underestimate Janus’s ‘seducing’ skills.”

“Don’t underestimate my Roman’s need for a slow burn romance. This kind of fuckery isn’t up to his standards, trust me, bicho.”

Logan tried to overhear the nickname once more by steering the conversation into a new direction: “Where exactly do you have a greenhouse? I was not aware that you had one on the lot.”

“Backyard. It was already part of the building and we have a small collection of flowers there. Actually, do you think Patton would like to see that? Like, he loves colourful stuff, right? Do you think he would - would like to check it out with us?”

Adorable.

Wait. No. Remus was not adorable. The way he asked Logan if they should invite Patton to see the greenhouse was maybe a little endearing. But not cute. Decidedly not adorable.

Clearing his throat, Logan got up from his chair and said: “I think he would appreciate the invitation. I can text him and he might join us downstairs?”

Remus smiled wildly and nodded as he got up himself. Logan put on a forced smile and sent Patton a text, while he and Remus started to get out of the flat climbing down the stairs. Logan was lucky, for once in his life Patton had already seen his text and answered quickly that he would be outside in a minute. Logan told Remus so much and both men got outside to wait for the third one to join them.

___

Roman had not been kidding when he told Janus that he had a very low alcohol tolerance. The small amount of rest alcohol in one can of alcohol-free beer had been enough to get him tipsy. Which was why Janus now knew that Roman got giggly and rather affectionate while slightly inebriated. The tall man was laying to his feet, constantly reaching for the seams of Janus’s pants and mumbling little nothings to himself.

It was somehow endearing seeing him so soft and unapologetically warm hearted. At the same time Janus did not feel entitled to see him like this. To see him in such a moment of vulnerability despite Roman having chosen to drink in his presence. It just rubbed him the wrong way.

Janus’s phone buzzed and he quickly took it out to see a message from Virgil where he was at.

“Who’s it? You’re frowning.”

Janus looked down to Roman who was holding onto the bottom of his pant leg after having asked his question.

Janus couldn’t help himself but answered gently as he would to one of his younger nephews or nieces when they asked him things: “Virgil wants to know where I am. He probably wants me to come home soon.”

“Tell him he can come over. Wait, I’ll write him myself,” Roman promptly replied and took out his phone from one of his pockets.

Janus wanted to intervene when just then the backdoor to the store opened and Remus, Logan and Patton emerged. Both Logan and Patton were rather taken aback by the amazing visuals of the greenhouse while Remus obviously looked around for Roman. They entered the greenhouse and Janus waved at Patton, who waved back happily before his eyes fell down on Roman lying on the floor.

“Did you have to?” Remus moaned as he saw the beer cans and walked up to Roman.

Softly Remus kicked Roman into the side, to which Roman barely reacted as he was still focused on his phone.

“Roman!” Remus said with more emphasis and Roman finally put his phone down and looked up to Remus.

“I only had one. And I’m not taking more. Just one. I swear!” he defended himself and Remus rolled his eyes.

Begrudged Remus stretched his hand out to Roman, as offer to help him up. Yet Roman did not budge and Remus sighed. He could be such a little shit when he wanted to. Annoyed Remus turned away and threw his hands in the air while mumbling something under his breath.

Meanwhile Patton and Logan came further inside the greenhouse and Patton steered towards Janus. They exchanged a look and wordlessly Patton motioned towards Roman to which Janus only shrugged and then looked back down to Roman, who was putting away his phone.

“Virgil’s coming over by the way,” Roman declared and turned a little to face Remus more clearly.

Remus just groaned and scratched his forehead while Roman giggled a little. Janus was simply amazed. By the fact that Roman had managed to convince Virgil to come over and by the fact that he was so nonchalant and carefree about it. It was so strange seeing the otherwise so prideful man present himself so silly and undignified.

“Okay, please stand up because we have guests. Can we do that?” Remus tried once more to get Roman to stand up.

With a frown Roman finally sat up and looked over to Patton and Logan with a wide grin. Patton gave him a confused wave while Logan just furrowed his brows and looked over to Remus in slight confusion. Remus just massaged his temples and shot Janus a venomous look before suddenly a thought crossed his mind.

“I didn’t do anything to deserve that look!” Janus shortly interrupted Remus’s thought process.

Remus just shot him a look and waved him off with a quick: “Well, you don’t have to deal with him tonight when he needs to go to bed. Do you know how energized he’s now? He’s got the idiocy and determination to try and walk up walls! But that probably doesn’t matter to Jazz Daddy.”

Hearing the nick name Janus scrunched his nose in disgust to which Remus just retorted with a little giggle and shifted his attention back to Roman. Quickly Remus crouched down a bit to get on Roman’s eye level, who now suspiciously stared at him. Roman could almost sense his brother’s inpatient energy and felt himself starting to fumble with the seams of his pants.

“So, I need you to tire yourself out. Otherwise I’ll lose my mind trying to get you to bed tonight,” Remus started while watching his brother making the most offended pouty face he could. “So, I thought you might wanna sing? Disney?”

There was a visible shot of energy rushing through Roman’s eyes before something clouded the sudden excitement and the man looked down to the floor. Remus put his hand on Romans shoulder and he glanced up at him again.

“My voice is shitty right now. After crying and all,” Roman meekly said while holding his hand against his throat.

Remus raised an eyebrow.

“Look at me and tell me that you actually care enough to not sing right now.”

“… I kinda don’t care…”

Remus nodded and stood back up with a grin. He chuckled a bit and said to Roman: “That’s what I thought. Go and let Virgil inside, while I get the speaker.”

Just a second after Roman agilely jumped onto his feet and patted down his pants before marching outside the greenhouse into to the store to open the door for Virgil when he came. Remus just shook his head and then walked to the other side of the greenhouse where they had a different gardening tools stored in a wooden box.

Quietly Remus began to rummage through the box and turned back to the three other men after a while. He held a little green Bluetooth speaker in his hands and turned it on to connect it with his phone. Staring down on the screen he sighed and walked over them.

“Sorry, for the accusation Jan,” Remus said at once while the speaker beeped signalling it had connected to the phone. “I know you’re not responsible, he’s his own man and all. I’m just. I’m very exhausted.”

Remus lifted his gaze from the phone and shot Janus a look before he sat down on the chair next to Janus. Quickly he waved for Logan and Patton to take a seat as well, Logan taking the last chair while Patton sat down on a wooden crate. All three watched Remus and when he sat his elbow down on the little table and laid his head in his hand Patton leaned over to him and softly patted his back.

A shudder ran down Remus’s spine and he hastily looked up to Patton. Patton looked like he wanted to pull back but Remus held onto his arm before he could do so and looked back down to the floor. Patton watched him and continued to draw circles on Remus’s back. It was a little concerning how stiff he felt and how much he leaned into the contact. But Patton was considerate enough to not mention it.

“He just gets a little much when he’s drunk,” Remus said suddenly and looked straight forward not focusing on anyone next to him. “And loud. And it’s nothing bad or horrible but I’m just worn out. By – by feeling so much. So fucking much. I don’t know how he can do it all day everyday…”

What to say to a statement like that? What to say to a man like Remus after such a long day? Neither knew and somehow, they all felt relieved when he exhaled and straightened his back, lips slowly forming a smirk. Mischievously, he glanced over to Janus who felt a sense of threat overcome him.

“You didn’t hear him sing before, right?”

Janus furrowed his brows and said cautiously: “No, when would I have had the chance?”

Remus chuckled and rolled his shoulders amused.

“Boy you’re in for a ride then!” Remus laughed and before the others could ask what he meant Roman came back with Virgil in tow.

The two came inside the greenhouse and a few words were exchanged before Virgil settled down on the box beside Patton and Remus and Roman had a small dispute about which Disney playlist Remus should put on, after which the discussion about which language Roman should sing them in followed. The choice fell on the Happy-Go-Lucky playlist in English and Roman walked a little away from the table to have more room to move around. Then looked back to the group and shot Janus a short glance before he batted his lashes and gave Remus the thumbs up for him to press the play button.

And with that the music began to play. A soft melody started and just a few moments in Roman began to beam. A second after he began to sing:

“I have often dreamed, of a far-off place Where a hero's welcome, would be waiting for me Where the crowds will cheer, when they see my face And a voice keeps saying, ‘This is where I'm meant to be’”

Roman continued, eyes closed, feet moving softly to the words and hands following the picture he painted with his voice flawlessly. It wasn’t perfect by any means, on some notes he let himself linger a little too long, some of the higher notes scratched a little as he sang them but watching him perform, watching Roman engulf himself completely in this song was quite spectacular. Spectacular in a way that one forgot that they sat in a greenhouse. Spectacular in a way that one forgot that the singer was florist. Spectacular in a way that one forgot that their nephew had a phone with which he could make pictures to bribe one later on.

Remus leaned back enjoying his brother’s little show. He watched how Logan’s surprise slowly ebbed away and how he watched his brother quite interested. Patton was bobbing his head along with a big smile and Virgil did so as well after he had taken a picture of Janus.

Janus who was completely thrown off guard by Roman’s flair and stage presence. Well, greenhouse presence but Remus believed that Janus didn’t care that much about it, not when he sometimes got to look at Romans wide grin and almost glowing eyes from all the excitement and joy just to be able to performing in front of a few people.

The song ended and Roman gave a little bow to which Patton clapped enthusiastically, making the others join him out of amusement. The next song started just right after and after a few beats the all recognized “A Spoonful of Sugar”. With just as much enthusiasm Roman began to sing the song, while his mimic and movements adjusted to the mood of the song.

Halfway in, Remus heard a second voice slightly humming and mouthing the words. Unsure where it came from, he looked into the round and found that it was Patton who slowly began to join Roman in his singing to the amusement of Virgil next to him. Remus couldn’t help himself but smiled at Patton’s happy face while more and more joining the song despite missing a few words then and when.

Remus found himself admiring the small singing attempts and didn’t notice how Roman as well caught onto Patton’s singing and walked towards him before the song ended. As it did Roman stretched his hand out for Patton and asked with a wide smile: “Wanna join me? You seem to have fun.”

“Oh gosh,” Patton said flustered and rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m by far not as good as you. I don’t want to ruin your singing.”

“Not good? How does that matter now! This is just for us and singing with people is awesome! Just join me!”

Roman was energetic and optimistic and despite Patton’s reservations he got up and joined Roman reluctantly beginning to sing as “Bare Necessities” began to play.

Remus was amazed. Patton was not one for showmanship but he adapted and matched Roman’s energy with seemingly no effort. His voice was raspier than Roman’s, some notes he sang sounded scruffy but the joy he found after getting over the first inhibitions was mesmerizing to him. The way he giggled over the words he missed or when he forgot to join Roman in a line because he got distracted watching him, was just too admirable to not smile at.

The next song that came was “Under the Sea”. And it was the song where Roman decided Patton should dance with him. After a short-lived protest of Patton Roman took him by the hands and began leading Patton a little. It took them a moment to figure out what worked with the music and their skills but then they somehow fell into a rhythm and Roman even managed to spin Patton around once, which led to the latter having a laughing fit.

Logan smiled at Patton’s blush and Roman’s childish excitement. Patton was not one to move around often and his dancing was a little stiff while Roman made quite a good figure in the whole process. He moved in steady flow, quick, charming and joyful. And in a way Patton’s clumsiness but genuine effort complimented the impromptu dancing session.

They continued dancing when the next song began, “Be Our Guest”, and Logan thought about the chubby boy, always wearing light blue polo shirts and trying to not stand out too much back from high school. Young Patton would never have dared to stand out like this. To dance and sing like this. To have cyan hair and colourful tattoos. To be amongst other queer people and be proud of it.

Roman might have had similar fears and reservations, Logan assumed concluding from what Remus had told him, but right in this setting it seemed as if they did not matter to him that much. It seemed he was quite content and happy with himself and this kind of confidence helped Patton relax as well.

It truly was endearing, Logan admitted to himself and looked to the others. Remus and Janus were very obviously love-struck by Patton and Roman respectively and Logan just rolled his eyes at that. What was to expect from two dramatic queer men in love? Lastly his look landed on Virgil, who amused raised his eyebrows at his uncle to which Logan responded with a mocking eye roll.

More songs came; “Almost There”, “Friend Like Me”, “Hakuna Matata” and “You’re Welcome”. The mood was light but the evening got older and they had to get to bed for tomorrow. To open their respective stores and a Goodbyes were exchanged.

It wasn’t lost on Logan how reluctantly Janus parted from Roman, how soft his otherwise ever so cool look was. Neither was it lost on him how surprised Remus was when Patton hugged him as a goodbye, and how grateful he looked at Logan when he wished him a good night.

It had been a heavy evening but the end was rather sweet. Especially considering why everything had started so solemnly. Nevertheless, Logan found himself cautiously optimistic when he wished Patton a good night as he walked up the stairs into his own apartment. Hopefully, Remus could take the advice he had given him and hopefully this would not be the last night they had had fun together.

___

It was almost an hour later, Roman had showered while Remus would do so in the morning. Both had put on their pyjamas and were now laying in Remus’s bed. Roman had offered to leave him alone, had said that his ask from before was not fair and that he trusted Remus enough to stay in his bed alone overnight. But Remus let him come into his room and sleep beside him. It was less lonely and somehow, he felt saver with Roman around. And he knew that Roman shared the sentiment.

They turned of the light and Remus laid there between the wall and Roman’s back staring at the ceiling. He was unsure what today had been. He was unsure how he should sleep.

The light was flicked on and Remus blinked against the sudden brightness. Roman moved and turned to face him already signing.

“So, why are you not sleeping?” Roman signed

With a sigh Remus retorted: “Why are you not sleeping is the better question. You can always sleep.”

I can. But I’m keeping myself awake to figure out why you’re not sleeping yet. ‘Cause I’m a good brother.”

“Sure-” Remus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest – “You won’t turn off the light until I answer right?”

“Correct,” Roman signed with a fat smile on his face.

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed. What is it?”

After a moment of hesitation Remus said: “You know Pat.”

“In fact, I do. I sang and danced with him like not even an hour ago.”

“Yeah. Right. You were doing that.”

Remus noisily gulped and felt himself already getting flustered.

Roman sat up and wiggled his eyebrows teasingly while signing: “Oh?”

Desperately Remus buried his face in his hands and moaned: “Yes, oh. Like fuck-me-he-is-so-adorable-and-wonderful-and-in-need-to-fucking-hold-him-in-my-arms-in-this-very-instance oh. The kind of oh like, like in the stupid love-on-the-first-sight looks! The ultimate fucking I’ve fallen far too quickly for this adorable, kind, wonderful and stupidly caring pastel punk oh!”

Roman shook him at the arm and Remus glanced through his fingers to see him smiling widely while once again sighing: “Oh!”

“And to make it even worse-” Remus gave up trying to protect his dignity – “The nerd is just as bad! Like, he is very awkward but I totally get it and know what he means and now I have the feeling that he’s, he’s kinda impressed with the things I know and fucking- fucking cares about what I say? And it’s confusing and stupid and so freaking HOt, Roman! He’s so hot and I don’t know what to do with that!”

Roman laughed a bit and then laid back down.

Gently he signed then: “Well, I don’t know either but for the first time in ages I think your crushes are not the shadiest people I’ve ever met in my life so you have my blessing! I’ve you’re in need of a wingman, or best man, I’ll be your man!”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Thanks, oh most gracious Roman.”

“You’re welcome my trashy brother dearest,” Roman retorted with a triumphant smile.

At once Remus had a thought and began to grin. That might be a good way to get a payback from his far too cocky brother.

“Talking of shady people though…” Remus began and watched the unsuspecting face of Roman.

“Yeah?”

“Janus is possibly the shadiest man you’ve ever fallen for, you know?”

Now it was Roman’s time to fluster. Defensively he sat up again and signed agitatedly: “Hey! He’s not that shady! He just – just looks a little shady. But he’s, he’s very cute. And patient. And being around him is very easy, you know? Like he just accepts what I throw at him and goes with it. Just. Just takes me as I come. It’s nice. Really nice.”

Remus smiled a little and let out a soft laugh as he glanced at Roman smiling and clearly thinking about the Jazz man.

“… You know what?” Remus said eventually.

“What?”

“He has my blessing. If you wanna fuck him you might continue. I won’t threaten him or cockblock you again.”

“You’re stupid,” Roman said and shoved him with a half-hearted offence.

“You’re welcome.”

“… Thank you. I really like him.”

“I get it. He’s classy.”

“Yeah, and Pat’s fun. And Lo might actually be able to match your fucking intellect. He’s smart.”

“Mhm.”

“Yeah… Ready to sleep now?”

“I’ll try. Te quiero.”

“También te quiero. Sleep well.”

Remus made an agreeing noise and Roman turned the light back off. After a few minutes Remus felt how Roman put his arm around him and how the weight and warmth slowly lulled him to sleep. Surprisingly he would have a rather regenerating nights rest for once.

___

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

Tagged for this fic:

@frawkeye

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@croftersjam15

[theraputicfluff]

Medicine

Hi friends! I’ve been a long-time lurker here on the tickly side of Tumblr (and of the Sander’s Sides fandom).  You guys are all so great! *fangirls*

I’ve finally mustered up the courage to make a contribution of my own. Any feedback would be much appreciated!

Pairings: (Platonic) Logan x Dr. Emile Picani Words: 1,186 Warnings: tickle fic, doctors, extensive use of artistic license when it comes to medical protocol. SFW.

[This is my first fic, so apologies if I’ve left anything out of this section - kindly let me know and I’ll be sure to fix it :) ]

Ever since Thomas started seeing Dr. Picani, the sides had been surprised to find his imaginary counterpart making occasional appearances in the mindscape. Usually there were just little echoes of encouragement from the background, springing to Thomas' mind throughout the day - things like "watch that self-talk, kiddo!" or "do I smell a cognitive distortion?"

But behind the scenes, deep in Thomas' subconscious, Picani found himself acting almost like the friendly family doctor. After all, as a therapist, Dr. Picani dealt specifically with the health of Thomas' inner world - a mental doctor. So it was only natural that his mental counterpart would serve as a sort of informal physician for the sides.

So when Logan came to him complaining of a vague, intermittent stomach pain, he was more than happy to take a look.

"I just want to make sure there’s no cause for concern."

"Of course, Logan my lovely lad. If you'll kindly lay back and relax..." Logan suppressed an eyeroll at the alliterative nickname and did as he was told. "...I'll just poke around a bit, and see if I feel anything unusual."

Kneeling beside him on the carpet of his room, Picani carefully slipped his hands under the logical aspect's shirt. Almost immediately, he felt Logan seize up.

"Sorry - my hands are always cold," Picani remarked breezily.

Logan gave a stiff nod, grateful for this innocent - if inaccurate - explanation. His relief didn't last long; as Picani began pressing gently into the soft pudge of his belly, he had to dig his fingers into the carpet to keep his hands from flying up in defense.

"Does that hurt?" Picani looked concerned.

"N-no."

"Good. Just try to relax," Picani said soothingly. It was nearly impossible to feel anything when he was so tense...

"I'm trying, I-" Logan broke off. His breathing hitched every time Picani shifted position.

"You sure I'm not hurting you?" Glancing over, Picani noticed Logan was biting the inside of his cheek, as if he were struggling to suppress something suspiciously close to... was that a smile?

"...No- keh!-" Logan was definitely suppressing a smile.

An flash of amusement crossed Picani's face. "Hang in there, I'm almost finished-" In truth, Logan was so tense Picani still couldn't feel a thing. He tried pressing deeper. 

"Ack- wahait!" Logan brought a knee up, squirming. His serious demeanor was slipping fast. Picani did his best to keep a straight face himself as he began experimenting with alternative methods - lighter touch, firmer touch, slower touch - trying to find something wouldn't feel so ticklish. This only seemed to make matters worse; when the doctor glanced back at his patient's face, poor Logan's shoulders were visibly shaking, eyes squeezed shut as he pressed his sleeve against his mouth.

"Logan, I need you to relax, my friend. Just breathe."

Logan managed half a deep breath... and finally succumbed fully to his own quiet giggles. Picani felt them more than heard them, his diaphragm quivering up and down under his fingers.

"I'm sohorry, I can't- I can't help-" Logan's voice cracked uncontrollably as he fought (and failed) to pull himself together.

"Nothing to be sorry about! This is a very common reaction." Less common was the intensity of the patient's effort to suppress said reaction - which, ironically, was dragging out the procedure in the first place.

It occurred to Picani that he had never actually seen Logan laugh before. He couldn't the same of any other side - even Virgil had his little lopsided smirk when he thought nobody was looking. But Logan was always resolutely deadpan, as if a stray giggle would render his entire identity void.

"You know, having a functioning nervous system is not a cause for concern," Picani said gently, pausing to give the logical side a little break. "Is there a reason you're trying so darn hard to hide it?"

"It’s against - heh- my nature." Even with the reprieve, Logan found himself struggling to regain his composure. He just was glad it was only Picani seeing him in this state - the therapist's disarming manner made him a relatively safe witness.

"You mean it's illogical?"

"It's emotional," Logan replied derisively. "So, yes."

Picani had to bite his tongue to keep from scoffing. "On the contrary, my dear Logan, laughter has been scientifically proven to supply the blood with additional oxygen, increase dopamine levels, release endorphins and oxytocin which relieve stress and tension, and promote cardiovascular health. In my professional opinion, letting yourself have a good chuckle once in awhile is very logical."

"But-"

"You laughed because it tickled. Simple as that."

Logan flinched, just barely, at that word. "Yes, well. Everyone has their... weakness."

With a quick eye roll, Picani chose that moment to pick up where he'd left off, catching his patient off-guard. Logan's soft, nearly silent giggles escalated into full-out cackles when Picani hit a particularly sensitive region just below his ribs. Unable to withstand it for more than a few seconds, he finally curled sideways, clutching his arms around himself as tightly as a turtle in his shell.

"Logan, ya know, most of your vital organs are right where you're..."

"IknowIknow- I-" Just the thought of the doctor's continued probing produced such an intense flutter of anticipatory ticklishness that it nearly undid him. "Please dohon't!"

"I have to!"

"Haven't you poked me enough?"

"Well, it's rather difficult to get an accurate feel when you're so tense."

Logan groaned. "Some physician you are..."

That was very much the wrong thing to say.

With surprising strength, the doctor swiftly returned the logical aspect to his back and forced his way right through his defenses. "Ohoo-kay, Smart One, you asked for it."

"Nahaha- Emile-!" The rest of the rational side's sentence was rendered incoherent.

Picani grinned inwardly - up to that point, he'd been convinced Logan thought his first name was Doctor.

"Some physician I am?!" he growled in mock indignance.

"I didn't mean- AHaha! Cutitout!"

"Some physician I am?"

"No I'm sorry! I take ihit back..." 

"I'm givin' you the best medicine, Logan Sanders!"

The wave of helpless, stuttering cackles that followed were incredibly endearing, not to mention contagious - Picani was unable to suppress his own chuckle at the sound. He'd long given up on any further medical assessment at this point, figuring his therapeutic duty was now just to provide an opportunity for Logan to laugh his heart out.

And Logan had to admit - if only to himself - he'd be lying if he said he didn't appreciate it.

He hadn't lost his composure like this since Thomas was a little kid, and he took a lot of pride in his ability to keep it that way. But now... it suddenly occurred to him just how much he'd missed this feeling.

Maybe a little levity once in awhile wasn't so "illogical" after all.

Finally, Picani withdrew his hands and let Logan catch his breath.

"...Was ... that... completely necessary?" The logical side muttered, still shaking with residual giggles.

"Yes," came Picani's blunt reply.

That got a quiet chuckle from Logan - this time, completely of his own volition.

As he sat up, still weak from laughter, he realized the stomachache was no longer there - it seemed to have vanished with his tension.

Interesting.

[oforamuse]

i had a dream (i got everything i wanted) chapter 2/?

mickey milkovich hasn’t seen ian gallagher in over 9 years, not since the day he broke his heart and they shipped him off to prison for a crime he didn’t technically commit.

the last place he expects to bump into him is new york fucking city.

or, the one where two broken puzzle pieces find a way to fit themselves back together.

au from 5x12/6x01 onwards.

read and comment on ao3 / CHAPTER ONE 

Living with Mandy definitely isn’t like the fucking Brady Bunch, or whatever you’d expect between two siblings. They get by mainly because they stay out of each other’s crap and each other’s way. Mickey will go out if Mandy brings home some guy she wants to fuck (and vice versa), Mandy will leave Mickey dinner if she’s cooked enough and he’s getting in late from work, and they both surprisingly take turns in the cleaning jobs - it’s simple and it works. They operate more like convenient roommates than two people from the same childhood home and bloodline. They’ve never been particularly close and they don’t really pretend to be. Sure, they have their moments where they laugh and crack open a beer a few nights a week but they don’t come crying to each other about their problems. Mickey can count the number of times Mandy visited him over 6 years on one hand, which he pretends doesn’t hurt, but it does.

He knows he could've been a more supportive brother when he was younger too. They both kind of failed each other in that respect.

By the time Mickey pulls himself off the floor, the kitchen is dark, and he must’ve been lying on the floor hours. He thinks he fell asleep at some point but he can’t be sure, everything is confusing and everything aches.

He stumbles into his room and switches on the light, his eyes taking a moment to adjust. He finds his phone on the side, still plugged in where he’d left it this morning on what he thought was a quick grocery store trip. His stomach swirls at the memory, which is quickly followed by an angry growl and Mickey remembers he hasn’t eaten anything all day. He checks his phone to see the time and there’s a text on the screen from an unknown number a few hours ago.

4:41pm: from UNKNOWN SENDER

‘Mandy gave me your number, I just want to talk.’

‘Fuckin’ traitor.’ Mickey mutters, weighing up whether or not to respond or to throw his phone into the East River. He can claim that on insurance, right?

His stomach growls again and his fingers itch to type out a reply.

Ian’s always been a persistent fucker. Unfortunately for Mickey, he's always ended up giving in to the younger boy. Whether it was putting up with him even when Mickey tried his hardest in the beginning to act like he didn’t want him around or suggesting community college or pushing and pushing and pushing until Mickey grew a pair and came out, Ian always seemed to be nagging about something. Up until those last few months where his mania was getting out of hand, he’d always been the one with the steady plan and expectations, or so Mickey thought. Reluctantly, he knows Ian won’t give up until Mickey gives him a straight answer or hears him out properly, his persistence used to be endearing but now it’s just fucking inconvenient. He sighs, the phone as heavy in his hand as the feelings in his chest and suddenly he feels 19 years old again.

They agree to meet an hour or so later at a bar Mickey frequents a few blocks down, a smaller slightly less sticky version of The Alibi run single handedly by this woman born and raised from Brooklyn. Mickey spent an embarrassingly long time choosing an outfit to wear (which he'd argue was because of having not done his laundry), swapping his shirts multiple times before he just gave up and chose something random. Heck, he even put some cologne on, though he’d never actually admit it.

When he leaves his apartment is tension is palpable and he's somewhat worried he might even break a sweat. Mandy didn't show her face for the rest of the evening, hr door remaining firmly closed, so luckily he didn't have to avoid any suspicious questions.

As soon as Mickey turns the corner and the bar comes into sight, his hands uncharacteristically clam up, instantly regrets giving into the Gallagher’s request. He stops underneath the Heineken sign in the window, basking in the green neon glow as he fishes out a cigarette. He’s already a few minutes late and he figures Ian can live with waiting an extra few minutes whilst he has a smoke to calm his nerves. Mickey had to wait 9 fucking years, the guy can deal with Mickey taking a minute. The smoke fills his lungs, warm and familiar, it’s the only thing normal about this weird fucking day. When Mickey Milkovich woke up this morning he did not expect to come face to face with the guy he’s spent so fucking long trying to move on from, it was absolutely at the bottom of the list of possibilities for the day. He smokes right up to the end of the filter, squeezing out every last moment of peace he can before he flicks it to the ground and stomps on it.

It’s now or never, Milkovich.

He takes a deep breath and pushes the wooden door open, stepping into the busy dimly lit bar.

‘Mickey!’ Rosa calls from behind the bar when she sees him, her smile huge and her hand is already pulling down a pint of Mickey’s usual beer.

Great, announce my fucking presence to the whole room.

He winces, maybe he does come here a little too regularly.

Mickey throws her a forced smile and scans the room for Ian, spotting him sitting in a back corner booth looking at his phone. As if he'd called his name, Ian's eyes flicker up just as Mickey catches him and they meet, Ian holding his hand up awkwardly in greeting. He takes a deep breath and goes over to the bar to get his drink, Rosa throws him a questioning look.

She gestures her head towards Ian’s table. ‘First date?’ She asks innocently, handing him his pint, ‘You meet him online? He’s hot.’ She wriggles her eyebrows suggestively and Mickey wants this all to be over.

‘Stick it on my tab.’ Mickey says steadily, swallowing down a biting response. He ignores her prying questions and chooses to flip her off as a thank you instead. He walks over to Ian’s table, his eyes pinned to a point on the wall above his head so he conveniently doesn’t actually have to look at the guy on his journey over.

His heart thumps. Thump, thump, thump.

He gulps.

There's a moment of blink and you'll miss it hesitation before he slumps down into the booth opposite, then Ian looks up from where he’s been fiddling with the label on his beer. His eyes get drawn to Ian’s slender fingers picking at the paper and he notes that the beer has an incredibly low alcohol percentage, barely even being able to call itself beer.

‘The fuck you drinking that piss for?’ He asks, unable to let the opportunity to poke at the other man pass him by. It's a good icebreaker apparently, because Ian smiles shyly. Mickey's never been one for small talk, especially not when he’s nervous.

‘My meds.’ Ian says simply, his forehead creasing ever so slightly, ‘It took a while getting used to it, but it basically tastes the same.’

He remembers the conversation they had with the doctor, Ian sitting opposite him with dead eyes and not saying a word. Falling further and further away from him with every single description of meds he had to take, or things he couldn’t drink or do because of his diagnosis.

‘Fuckin’ doubt that.’ Mickey grunts casually, taking a swig of his very alcoholic beer. He stares at Ian from over the glass. The other man shifts and reaches a tentative hand out on the table between them. There's a beat.

‘I-, uh, I’ve missed you.’ Ian offers hesitantly, his voice low and uncertain.

‘No you haven’t.’ Mickey says bluntly, his right hand gripping his glass tightly. Ian sighs, sitting up properly from where he’d been slouched over.

‘I have, Mick.’ Ian replies, and there it is again, that fucking nickname.

‘Miss me enough to come visit me, yeah? Or how about even a fuckin’ call?’ Mickey says bitterly, running a hand through his hair. ‘Miss me fuckin’ enough to leave me high and dry for 6 years?’

Ian scrubs his hands over his face, ‘I’m sorry’ he offers. ‘I shouldn’t have done that to you. I shouldn’t have left you there.’

‘Why did you?’ Mickey asks, and it falls out awkwardly. He's got to know. He's got to know why he wasn't enough.

‘I was a kid and I was fucked up.’ Ian says, pulling his arm back into his lap. Mickey is momentarily shocked at the honesty - he thought Ian would’ve put up more of a fight like he did when he was younger. ‘I was a kid in over his head and I thought I knew best…I thought you were better off without having to deal with me.’

‘Bullshit.’ Mickey spits, anger and hurt beginning to simmer in his belly. Nothing about what he had to go through left him better off.

‘I know that now.’ Ian says, meeting Mickey’s eyes. There isn’t a hint of blame in Ian’s eyes, but his face is held tight with regret. ‘It was bullshit.’

His words rolls over him like a cascading landslide.

God, Mickey can’t even count the amount of time he spent wishing those first few years of being locked up that he’d hear Ian say those words. Mickey rubs at his eyes, breaking their eye contact. He sits there for a second, letting his vision go black and spotty. It kinda looks how he feels. He wishes he could fall right into that dark pit and blink out of existence.

Ian pulls him back.

‘I wanted to come see you.’ Ian confesses and Mickey drops his hands. ‘I really did.’

‘Why didn’t you?’ He asks and Ian looks away, ashamed.

‘I figured you didn’t want to see me.’ He says, quietly, his fingers going back down the ripped up label. ‘It was hard picturing you there…’

‘Bullshit.’ Mickey repeats, this time with more obvious anger. Ian looks up at him, pained.

‘No, Mick, I-’ He stops and swallows. ‘By the time I had managed to sort my shit out, it had been a while. I figured you must’ve hated me.’

‘I didn’t.’ Mickey says firmly, his eyes threatening to well up with unwanted tears. He scrubs them furiously away.

The silence hangs between them, only broken by a bar full of bustling noise.

At least everyone else was having a normal night, Mickey thinks, at least everyone else doesn't have to deal with their entire everything being turned upside down and thrown out for the entire world to see-

‘You should’ve.’ Ian says, finally, breaking Mickey's internal dialogue.

‘Yeah.’ Mickey says, not meeting Ian’s gaze. ‘I probably should’ve.’

He’s exhausted, this is exhausting. He wants to tell Ian that he hated him, that he still hates him. Mickey knows it would be a lie. He wants to tell Ian to fuck off, to get the fuck out of New York and leave him alone.

He can’t. He won’t.

Because try as he might, and he’s tried so fucking hard, everything always comes back to Ian.

‘I’ve never hated you.’ Mickey says subconsciously, finally bringing his eyes up to meet Ian's desperate gaze, ‘Could never hate you.’

And it's true. He never could, never in a million years.

They look at each other. Their years and years of history spread on the table between them. Souls bared and vulnerable.

‘Why didn’t you come find me?’ Ian asks, so quiet Mickey almost misses it. Ian’s gaze shifts awkwardly as he explains as Mickey can feel himself scowl. ‘When you got out?’ Why didn’t you come find me?’

Ian looks at him so earnestly and Mickey almost bowls right over. He can’t fucking believe what he’s hearing.

‘Are you- are you fucking kidding me?’ He bites, jaw clenched so tightly he thinks he might break a tooth. ‘Are you seriously asking me right now, why I didn’t come find you after waiting six motherfuckin’ years for you to come find me?’

Ian shrinks back, ashamed and wounded. He doesn't even try to fight it. ‘I guess I deserve that.’ He says after a while and Mickey raises his eyebrows, surprised once again at Ian’s lack of self defence. ‘I know I fucked things up.’

‘Yeah.’ Mickey breathes, ‘You did.’

He puts his beer to his lips and drinks. It stings.

‘I’m on meds, have been for the last few years.’ Ian confesses. ‘It took awhile to sort out, I, uh, had a rough time at first, but I’m good now.’

Mickey’s heart twinges. He remembers Ian’s mania, him bringing in all kinds of shit into their home, running miles every morning and fucking Mickey long into the night. Fucking other guys between that too. He aches at the thought of Ian barely wanting to get out of bed, going days without food or showering. Not saying a word to anyone for hours.

Mickey runs a hand through his hair, unsure of what to say. He wants to take Ian by the shoulders and apologise for how he acted back then, he wants to slip his arms around his neck and breath him in, pull him close. He settles for a small smile.

‘Good.’ He offers, ‘Better than havin’ your crazy ass running around.’ and Ian laughs weakly.

There’s a bitter taste in his mouth that’s not from his beer. It’s the realisation that Ian got himself better without Mickey’s help, that perhaps Ian was right after all and that one of them was better off without the other.

Fuck, he needs a smoke. His hand comes down to feel the packet in his pocket and he lets it ground him. He'll get through this, he'll get through this and go to the bodega and get his pack of smokes. He just needs to make it through this conversation without completely breaking down.

There’s a pregnant pause, neither man sure of where to step next. He takes a sharp breath and jumps.

‘What the hell are you doing here anyway? Didn’t think they let Gallaghers leave the fuckin’ state.’ Mickey says plainly, shifting the subject. It's been nagging on his mind since their first encounter - what the fuck is Ian doing in New York City of all places?

‘Didn’t think they let Milkovichs either.’ Ian quips back, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

Mickey rolls his eyes, ‘Fair enough.’

‘Fiona’s, uh, Fiona’s actually getting married here.’ Ian explains, ‘She met some rich guy from upstate a year ago and they’re tying the knot.’ Mickey snorts, remembering the string of guys Fiona would always have trailing after her like lost fucking dogs, it’s surprising that one has finally managed to pin her down.

‘She pregnant?’ He asks, both as a genuine question and a jab. Given the Gallagher parent’s rep for popping out a kid every other year or so, he wouldn’t be surprised.

‘Nah.’ Ian replies, ‘In love apparently.’ He chuckles wistfully before his eyes catch Mickey’s for a moment and they shift pointedly away.

‘Good for her.’ He says uncomfortably, and he somewhat means it. There’s a pause and Mickey wonders if it’s time to call it a night because he can not deal with this right now because God. fuckin’. damn. he needs a smoke. Apparently his mouth hasn't caught up with his nicotine addiction, ‘How’d she meet the dude?’ He finds himself asking.

‘He’s some business man or something, he was in town on some job and I dunno, they hit it off.’ Ian shrugs, ‘Lip’s got a kid now, though.’ Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up in genuine surprise. He knows that Lip used to be an important part of the Gallagher household but fuck, Mickey would never give that man a kid of his own.

‘Who the fuck gave him a kid?’

‘A broken condom.’ Ian says bluntly, ‘Debbie’s got one too.’

‘A broken condom?’ Mickey quips back, somewhere between confused and somewhat disgusted at the idea of Debbie actually having sex considering the last time he saw her she was practically an infant.

Okay, like 14, but whatever.

‘A kid.’ Ian rolls his eyes almost fondly and it throws Mickey back ten years, as if they were back underneath the bleachers at the dugouts. It’s easy to forget that literal years have passed between them.

‘Jesus Christ , you Gallaghers have been fuckin’ reproducing like rabbits. There’s enough of you in the world as it is.’ He swallows uncomfortably before continuing, ‘You got a kid hiding somewhere?’

‘Fuck no.’ Ian laughs and something uneven in Mickey’s gut he didn’t even know was there settles pleasantly.

He glances quickly down to Ian’s left hand, no ring.  

Interesting.

No kid, check. No ring, check. Boyfriend?

‘So the entire clan is back in town then?’ Mickey asks in an attempt to distract his thoughts away from Ian and other people.

‘Yeah, we’re all here.’ Ian replies.

‘Fuck, I’m not gonna be able to leave my apartment without bumping into one of you goddamn Gallaghers.’ Mickey jokes, taking a swig of his beer. There’s a beat and Mickey takes a moment to simply enjoy being back in Ian's company. He's missed him so fucking much he feels like he could drown in it, it rolls over him like waves. Over the years he's barely let himself admit it - he's always gotta be the cool and unbothered one, never the one to harp on the past. He doesn't think he's even mentioned Ian to anyone except Mandy since moving to New York, his name always painful and heavy whenever he does rarely come up. Neither one of them mention the Gallaghers or Chicago really, for that matter. They both silently agreed to leave it behind them.

‘Come to the wedding.’ Ian blurts out. It slams Mickey right back into reality harshly and he almost falls out of his seat, his beer spilling everywhere. Ian looks at him uncomfortably, painstakingly waiting for a response. Neither man moves to grab a napkin.

Is he about to vomit? Are they both about to vomit?

‘What?’ He mutters, Mickey must’ve heard him wrong cause there’s no fuckin’ chance he just asked him to-

‘Come with me to the wedding.’ Ian breathes, offering a hand out on the table. ‘I can have a plus one, I mean it’s Fiona.’ He shrugs self consciously.

Mickey can’t actually believe the words coming out of Ian’s mouth right now. He just told Mickey that he’s on his meds right now, his mania should be under control, did he fucking lie?

He must be on crack, he’s drunk, he’s high out of his fucking mind. That’s the only explanation.

‘Are you-’ Mickey starts, but Ian stops him with a protesting hand. Mickey swallows hard, what the fuck is going on?, ‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘Hear me out, I know it sounds fuckin’ insane.’ He levels, his eyes pleading and is face so fucking earnest and open.

‘Yeah, it fucking does.’ Mickey says incredulously, really hoping that Ian his catching his clear message of what the FUCK.  

‘It’s been years, Mick.’ Ian presses, ‘I’m sure everyone would be surprised- love to see you.’ He corrects himself.

Mickey literally has to hold himself back from laughing in Ian’s face, he barely succeeds and he knows his face must be a picture of absolute surprise. He takes a moment and regroups himself, all the humour gone. He knows why they'd be surprised to see him.

‘Years because I was in fuckin’ prison and none of those bastards came to see me.’ He bites, and Ian looks like he’s been slapped.

‘Mickey…’

‘Your family fuckin’ hated me.’ He states plainly, and it’s true, he knows they weren’t his number one fans. In their defence, Mickey found them fucking annoying too. ‘I ain’t wasting my time in a place where I ain’t wanted.’

‘That’s a lie!’ Ian protests, ‘Carl has always liked you, Debbie too, I know Lip can be a dick- and Liam you have to see Liam-’

‘You’re crazy.’ Mickey mutters in disbelief, but Ian holds up a hand in protest. The idea of being thrown back into that... It makes him feel sick.

‘I want you there.’ Ian admits, and it hangs there heavily as he tries to gage Mickey’s reaction. Mickey’s heart pounds inside his chest and he feels like he might vomit on the table between them. ‘I just want to spend some time with you Mick, it’s been…’

‘I want you there.’ Ian repeats, holding his uncomfortable gaze and Mickey really thinks he’s going to vomit this time.

‘You don’t owe me anything, Gallagher.’ He bites back stiffly, attempting to swallow down the lump that’s building slowly in his throat. His hands start to slightly shake and he wraps them around his empty glass to steady them. Ian’s eyes catch onto the quick movement. ‘And I sure as hell don’t owe nothin’ to you.’

This is too much, this is all too much.

‘I want you there.’ Ian says for a third time, his fingers coming to rest hesitantly on top of Mickey’s hands and Mickey surprises himself by not instantly pulling away. The touch blazes like fire, sending sparks through his hand and up his arm.

‘Heard you the fuckin’ first time.’ Mickey mutters, ‘Like a goddamn broken record.’

His gaze shifts down and fixes on their point of contact. Ian’s slim fingers lightly tracing the dark angry ink on his knuckles. He can feel his resolve chipping away, years and years of shutting everything out comes falling to the floor, like his heart is a fucking piñata. He always found it difficult to say no to Ian, even when he was a closeted asshole kid it didn’t come as easy as it must’ve seemed. Even in the most terrifying moment of his life, when Ian asked him to put everything on the line and jump quite literally headfirst out of the closet, he couldn’t say no.

‘Mickey.’

‘I, I just don’t know, okay?’ He pulls his hand away and pinches the bridge of his nose. He really should fucking run, go back to his apartment and book a flight to somewhere fucking far away. His breath hitches. ‘It’s been nine fuckin’ years, I can’t just…’

‘I know.’ Ian breathes, ‘and that’s why I want you there.’ Mickey looks up at him and his eyes are sad, his eyes are so so beautifully sad. ‘Please give me the chance to make it up to you.’

The brick fortress around his heart crumbles around him and comes tumbling to the floor.

‘When is it?’ He sighs, exasperated, and Ian’s eyes light up in disbelief, like he’s just handed the guy a million bucks.

‘Tuesday.’ Ian answers, grinning that same fucking smile. His fist bumps the air playfully, and Mickey’s heart clenches because he looks so young.

‘Tuesday? Tuesday like two days from now?’ Mickey says, scowling and he cannot actually believe he is buying into this shit. ‘You are giving me two days to prepare to see your fuckin’ family? I’m gonna need at least another five years.’ And he’s being 100% serious.

Ian laughs and something warm in Mickey stirs. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

‘It’s gonna be fine.’ Ian says, ‘once they get over the shock of seeing you again.’ He takes a swig of his piss beer and grins at Mickey from over the bottle.

‘Fuck off.’ Mickey says, but there’s zero bite behind it. It's casual and warm, like the old days. He flips him off, ‘I’m gonna get so fucking drunk.’

‘What else is there to do at a wedding?’ Ian says breathlessly, ‘You’re gonna get to meet all the kids!’

‘Whoop di fuckin’ do.’ Mickey sing-songs unenthusiastically, raising his eyebrows at the other man. ‘You’re supposed to be sellin’ this shit to me Gallagher, not makin’ me want to run for the hills.’

Ian laughs, throwing his head back which exposes his pale neck and Mickey gulps. The amount of kisses he has pressed into that very skin, he knows the exact point that drives Ian crazy. They used to spend hours just going at it, Mickey going to town on his neck, licking and biting. His hand comes down to shift himself uncomfortably in his pants as his crotch responds like an inexperienced teenage boy. He can’t fucking believe this is happening.

‘Fiona won’t mind?’ He asks, trying unsuccessfully to shift his focus away from the blood stirring in his groin. Thinking about Fiona Gallagher should definitely make him go soft. It works.

‘Nah’ Ian dismisses easily, ‘I’ll tell her beforehand, so there are no surprises.’

‘Good.’ Mickey finds himself saying, the last thing he wants to be is an unwanted surprise - much like the ones the Gallaghers have apparently been racking up. They find themselves, for the first time since they bumped into each other earlier, in a comfortable silence which neither one of them know what to do with.

‘I’ve missed you.’ Ian admits again, just as Mickey is about to open his mouth to say how he should go get more beer. He tenses, pressing his back into the booth. ‘I- I know I don’t get to say that.’

‘You don’t.’ Mickey mutters, his fingers reaching down to trace the seam of the booth’s fabric. Ian winces, but nods sadly.

‘I’m sorry.’ Ian whispers, ‘I-’

‘Ian.’ Mickey says firmly, and he takes a deep breath, he feels like he’s on the edge of a cliffside about to jump, ‘I’ve missed you too.’

They hold each other’s gaze. Now that’s out in the open. It’s heavy, daunting and too much to handle. His breath hitches and he feels like he could scream. Or cry. Or both.

‘I should go.’ Mickey says, cutting off their eye contact by moving to shift out from their table. Ian’s shoulders drop down.

‘Yeah.’ He says, bringing his hands down to wipe his palms on his thighs.

Is that disappointment Mickey can sense in his voice? Is Ian allowed to be disappointed?

Ian pulls himself out of his seat to meet Mickey standing, making them much closer now than they had been with the table between them. Without that safety distance, Mickey can smell his cologne, it’s not too strong and smells delicious. Mickey wants to bury his face into it.

Fuck.

‘Thanks.’ Ian says, awkwardly bringing up an unsure hand before deciding to place it on Mickey’s shoulder.

‘Yeah, whatever.’ Mickey says as he shakes it off, unable to deal with the closeness right now. ‘Text me the wedding details, if you still want me there.’ He waves his hand dismissively, unable to look Ian in the eye. His throat constricts at the thought of Ian changing his mind on him, again , and Mickey needs to get out of there before he really does scream.

‘Yeah, Mick.’ Ian breathes, ‘I do.’

Mickey nods, and steps backwards, ‘I’ll see you then, I guess.’ He says awkwardly, turning away quickly before Ian can respond. He walks straight out of the bar, onto the sidewalk and right around the block before he doubles over, attempting to get his wrecked breathing under control. He feels like he just ran a marathon or hiked up fucking Everest.

His breath comes out in shaky stutters, his chest hurts. He just wants to go to sleep, or drink, or find some twink to fuck. Anything to get his fucking mind off of the last hour’s conversation. He spits onto the sidewalk then leans his full weight against the brick wall as he pulls out a cigarette and lights it.

A shaky hand brings it to his lips, and he breathes it in.

[romantic-reveries]

So, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that this probably isn’t real, and probably won’t happen for me. I’m enjoying the last couple days of blissful ignorance and possibility until Tuesday comes and it hits like a bucket of ice water. I’m sure he’ll feed me some excuse, and probably still plan to come up Friday, and I’ll let it drag out in a restless sort of haze—talk to this person on the phone that I’ve grown more fond of than I had a right to, and soak in the voice I’ve become so familiar with, and pretend for just a while longer, before he inevitably lets me down and I have to question him. Before I have to issue an ultimatum that will ultimately not matter, because the choice has probably already been made.

I just wish I knew the why. What he’s hiding, or why he’s so strange. He doesn’t fit the usual catfish MO, and that’s what’s throwing me off. He didn‘t get defensive or ghost me when I basically accused him of not being who he says he is. He’s fed me no sob stories of childhood trauma--even said that he’s been lucky and had a pretty good life. And even current issues he’s told me about, he sort of glosses over—tells me about it, moves right along. He doesn’t dwell. He seemed off the other day, and when I asked him about it later, he said it was family stuff. I asked him about it on the phone the next day, and he said he didn’t want to talk about it--a perfect opportunity to snake me in, right? And he passes it up? I mull over possibilities in my head, and none of them fit. I know at least some of it must be true—he does seem to live where he says he does, which is a decently expensive two bed, two bath apartment. Which means he probably does the job he claims to and is pretty financially comfortable. I chip away at the theories, and am left with… Maybe not the person in the photos he sent me? But… why? The only thing with that is, he even sent me photos of his family. He talks about them; about his sisters. That would mean he’d had to have created a whole narrative around this person who’s in the photos—or maybe he knows that guy, and that’s how he stays so consistent? But he’d have to be consistently lying about everything about himself when we’re on the phone, and we’ve talked so much. I don’t think his memory is even necessarily that good, because sometimes he does that thing where he’ll tell me something he’s already told me, and ask if he did. Lying over text would be easy enough, but on the phone? This boy who referenced The Princess Diaries leg pop the first day we met, and regularly references old Disney things like Lizzie McGuire, and That’s So Raven, and Toy Story, and likes Hallmark so much he bought their new Monopoly game? Who watches the fucking Bachelor? He seems so considerate--whenever we’re on the phone for awhile, he’ll check in to make sure he‘s not keeping me from anything. If I seem off, he asks me if I’m okay. He asked me if he has any ‘competition’ since he still hasn’t come to see me, and tells me that like, he’d totally understand if I was seeing other people, that he wouldn’t love it, but I’m perfectly within my rights (which, not that I need his permission, obviously, but the fact that he acknowledges that and is okay with it is telling, I feel like?) He talks about the future, but he’s also so sensitive about it--about wanting to make sure he isn’t freaking me out with it. I feel like most catfish stories I’ve read, they don’t care--they like, lovebomb you, and don’t second-guess it. Hope you’re desperate enough to believe it, I guess. I know people are capable of lying and faking things, but most people aren’t honestly all that good at it, even when they think they are. Even pathological liars aren’t thorough enough to never slip up, especially when you talk to them for long periods of time, and regularly.  I’ve read story after story of catfish situations—from minor to outlandish. It seems like the most predominant form of catfishing on dating sites is more likely to be people using old photos, or maybe even photos of someone else, but still actually showing up to meet with you. Or planning a date then ghosting you and never speaking to you again. This is… wholly different. From what I’ve gathered, the most common reasons people catfish are: money, sex (potentially cheating on a partner), loneliness/insecurity, or like... the thrill of it. So, those are my options and none of them really fit. I’m pretty sure it isn’t the first two, and if it is, he sure is playing the long game. If he is cheating on someone, that’d be strange since he’s not incredibly sexual with me. Every time he makes some mildly sexual comment and I think, ah, here it comes, it doesn’t. He flows right along from it. Sure, emotional cheating is a thing, but... I definitely wouldn’t say it’s what men go on dating apps for. Catfish don’t usually talk about themselves much--too hard to keep track of the lies--and instead focus on you. He tells me plenty about himself, and doesn’t probe me with too-personal questions. His stories stay the same.  Maybe he’s actually some fifty year old dad. His voice sounds young, but I suppose that doesn’t mean anything. But then, he makes too many references of our generation, in a way that only someone intimately acquainted would. Or he could be... a she? With a very androgynous voice? But honestly, none of the options make sense. I don’t understand the angle, what he’s getting out of it. Especially since I was suspicious so early on—it would’ve been easier to just move on to someone more gullible. I even told him, like, even if he was a catfish, I enjoyed talking to him, even if we couldn’t ever meet up. That’d be no different than an internet friend, really. I was like, “’it’s okay if you are, you can just tell me.” He just laughed and was like “I’m not!” and I made some kind of comment about how I liked who I was talking to, even if he wasn’t the guy in the pictures, and he was like “well I am that guy, so win win!” I mean... most people who are catfishing would give up the ghost, knowing someone was suspicious of them so early on. And then there’s the fact that really, he probably could’ve let this drag out far longer, if he’d wanted, if he’d never asked me out. It’s perfectly common to meet on a dating app, text for a while, and it peter out without so much as a date. Especially since he lives two hours from me. If he hadn’t asked me out, I likely wouldn’t have mentioned it, for awhile, anyway.  Like, Is he just weirdly quirky? I don’t know. I don’t know, and I think the best I could hope for now would be honesty so I’m not always left wondering.

He’s just so fucking attractive on every level, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like, he’s kind, he’s emotionally stable, he has a good family, he’s confident and capable, but also can be shy in a really endearing way. He’s intelligent. He’s financially secure. He likes so many things that seem unusual for a guy to be so into, but a lot of those things are things I like, too. He isn’t pushy. We share the same values on every level, which seems impossible, but it wasn’t just him agreeing with everything I said, and I made sure of that. And he’s absurdly fucking hot on top of all of that??? Come ON. My hopes aren’t high and I kind of just want this week to play out and know whether I should let this go or not. If there’s one thing I learned from the last sorry idiot I liked, it’s to not waste time on someone who won’t put in effort. If he’s not putting in effort, he has something to hide, or some kind of issues, and isn’t worth my time or energy anyway. It’s actually almost laughable how this is never, ever easy for me. There are only a handful of people I’ve met on an app, and felt like, “yeah, this is someone who seems easygoing and not like a sleaze or clingy and creepy, and I’d actually feel comfortable meeting up with!” and literally every single one of them has backed out or ghosted me, and now I’m potentially being catfished. I love that for me.

[starswornoaths]

Dogged Loyalty

“Can you...can you tell him he’s a good boy?” 

Or:

Lucia is asked whether the Warrior of Light is to be trusted. She draws her own conclusion.

“What do you make of the Warrior of Light?” Lucia looked up at the Aymeric’s question, surprised.

“I have regrettably only seen her a handful of times, Lord Commander,” she said, setting her report down. “And spoken to her even less. I hardly have enough to draw any conclusion about her.” She arched a brow. “You have reservations in regards to her?”

Now that would have genuinely surprised Lucia; long before they had ever met face to face with the now infamous Serella Arcbane, she’d witnessed him pour over recounts of her exploits. She would watch the way he drank in every detail, how he always strived to hear what it was she had done next. As if hearing what the woman was capable of made the gears in his mind whir with possibilities he had never considered before.

“I know not what to make of her.” Aymeric admitted with a frown. “Though she and hers have only recently gained entry into the city, I have asked after her to report to me when she returns from her expeditions.” He paused, his frown deepening.

“To my recollection, she has answered that request every time.” Lucia said when he did not continue for a moment.

“Aye, she has.” He confirmed with he nod. “But that is all that she does— she reports to me what she has recently done, asks if there is aught else to do, and then simply,” he gestured with a hand. “Leaves.”

“And that is so strange, Lord Commander?” Lucia asked with a frown of her own.

To her, that seemed a reasonably professional level of conduct— and more than she had initially been expecting from someone with such weight behind their title.

“It is strange in what she does not do.” He said, crossing his arms. “She makes no effort to curry favor— no attempt to try and gain a greater foothold in the politics of it all. She simply works.”

“I would think that welcome, my lord.” Lucia said, at a loss— for if that was his issue, how was that wrong?

“Were it not so suspicious, aye.” Aymeric agreed with a nod. “But I cannot make sense of it— a woman in her position would do well to try and gain influence the second she was through the gates— more influence would shield her and hers more than merely being a ward of a high house. If she did not know that, then Master Alphinaud would have informed her at the very least.” He shrugged. “But by all accounts, she has thus far avoided speaking to anyone she need not speak with.” He shook his head and let his arms fall back to his sides. “I cannot make sense of her intent.”

“Intent, my lord?”

“Is this merely a ruse?” Aymeric finally asked her directly. “Is she attempting to endear herself by demuring at the chance to obtain power— or is her disinterest in gaining influence genuine?” He sighed, exasperated. “I have attempted to speak with her, that I might gain better understanding of what her aim is, but she is always a step removed and leaves before I get the chance.” He shook his head. “I had hoped she might have confided something in you.”

“She has not, Lord Commander.” Lucia answered regrettably.

For she did want to know more about the vaunted Warrior or Light— level headed as she was, even Lucia could admit that she had a profound respect for the accomplishments on Serella’s resume. Seeing her in action at the Steps of Faith had been what had prompted her to reassure the Lord Commander that she could be approached to discuss his goals of reformation, perhaps once they had worked together more. She would be lying if she said she was not interested in getting to know the fellow woman warrior better, if only to satisfy her spymaster’s curiosity.

“Perhaps trying to reach out informally would be better? To simply ask after her yourself?” She offered.

“I had that thought as well,” Aymeric agreed. “Thus did I request she come to the Seat of the Lord Commander.” He frowned and stole a glance at the chronometer. “But the hour has arrived— and she has not. She has ever, if nothing else, been punctual.” He turned to look at her directly. “I know not what has waylaid her, but I would ask you to seek her out.” He asked.

“Of course, Lord Commander.” She said with a nod, standing and snapping a salute. “I shall find her.”

“My thanks, Ser Lucia,” he said with a polite smile.

Lucia did not linger after that— she was given orders, after all— and stepped out into the cold outside the Congregation. It would not have surprised her to find that the Free Paladin had gotten herself lost; Master Alphinaud had warned her that Serella had a hard time making her way around major cities, a claim that Haurchefant confirmed with her later after finding Serella utterly lost in the Jeweled Crozier on her way back to the Fortemps Manor her first night in the city.

She had the errant thought to simply start in the Pillars and work her way down, but disregarded it; it was far more likely that Serella was somewhere in Foundation, as it was her regular haunt. With that thought in mind, she made her way toward the aetheryte plaza— perhaps she was in the Brume, or the Forgotten Knight— when she spied the Warrior of Light knelt just outside the Skysteel Manufactory.

Her back was to Lucia, who had begun to step purposefully toward the kneeling hero. She did not break into a run, but she couldn’t help the spike of worry that had pierced her— had Serella been attacked? Was she injured earlier and simply hadn’t sought treatment? What had brought the woman to her knees?

“Mistress Arcbane?” Lucia called to her when she neared.

“Hmm?” Serella looked over her shoulder. “Oh! Ser Lucia!” She greeted, inclining her head in a bow.

“Is aught amiss?” She asked, though the nearer she came, the more she realized Serella was kneeling in front of something— something furry.

“Not...not wrong, per se, but,” Serella’s expression was distressed— more so than Lucia had ever seen it, and her worry only grew. “But I do need help.”

“Is it something I could assist with?” She asked hesitantly, craning her neck to see what was in front of Serella.

It was a dog, Lucia realized when she saw big, dark eyes blinking back at her through the soft gray fur of the animal. Ah— she’d found a stray, then.

“I just,” Serella bit her lip and turned her torso to face Lucia better. “Can you...can you tell him he’s a good boy?” She asked in an almost sheepish voice. “In Ishgardian?”

Well now, that was certainly not what she was expecting— and she could not mask her surprise quick enough. Seeing Serella knelt there, looking up at her with wide, anxious eyes reminded her of the bright eyed and idealistic look on the Lord Commander’s face as he spoke of his dreams for reformation, back when her loyalty to Garlemald had first crumbled, and felt the same spear of warm earnestness lance through her heart in the same way it had so long ago. Fury preserve her, not another one…

But if she supposedly didn’t know Ishgardian, that begged the question—

“I was under the impression you knew Ishgardian?” Lucia asked with a frown. “You have shown understanding of what people have said around you before now.”

“When I hear it, yeah.” Serella winced. “The Echo...it translates things so I only hear them in Common.” She explained. “But it doesn’t give me the words to say back to anyone.” She looked back at the dog, her hand coming up and scritching it behind the ears. “I’ve been studying languages— so I can speak the words back, but,” she lowered her head. “I never thought I’d have to learn Ishgardian— so I’m only just starting to pick up the language.”

Well, that would certainly explain things, Lucia surmised, still somewhat flabbergasted by this turn of events.

“I see,” she said simply, arms coming behind her into a parade rest more out of habit than anything.

“I asked Estinien to tell him for me when he was here.” Serella grumbled, her hand still lightly stroking the dog’s soft fur. The dog’s tail thumped against the cobblestone road happily. “I think he pulled a muscle in his side from laughing at me for it.” She pursed her lips and added, “Kind of hope he did, the asshole.”

Lucia let out a surprised chuckle at that, unable to find it in her to hold that against the Warrior of Light.

“He’s a touch...difficult.” Lucia said diplomatically. “I am sorry you were made to feel the brunt of his harshness.”

“Oh, I’m not that offended.” Serella said, though her expression was no less strained. “But I still can’t tell this little fella what a good boy he is— I tried in Common, but he doesn’t respond to it.” She sighed. “And he needs to know. I don’t know if he gets told otherwise.”

The scene before Lucia was incredibly absurd and part of her wondered if she simply hadn’t gone mad and was imagining that the Warrior of Light was kneeling in front of a dog, distressed over not being able to give it praise. And yet...seeing this woman in such a moment of vulnerability, something she had been laboring to hide from anyone that was not from her initial group, made Lucia’s heart soften just enough that she couldn’t help but feel the need to throw Serella a bone, as it were.

Oof, she fought a grimace. The Warrior of Light’s poor humor was beginning to infect her mind. Unfortunate.

She let out a short, sharp whistle, bringing the dog’s attention to her rather than the Paladin stroking his fur. He stood somewhat taller at the call— so he’s trained, at least.

If anyone, for the remainder of her days, would ever approach Lucia and ask her if she did, in fact, tell that dog that he was a good boy, she would vehemently deny it— her reputation as a hard and uncompromising woman would never recover— but she decided such a secret was worth it for the way Serella’s eyes lit up at the way the dog gave out a happy bark and hopped from one foot to the other, obviously pleased with being told something it understood.

“Ohh, what a sweetie!” Serella cooed, eagerly giving the dog a few more pats before standing. “Once things settle down, if you still don’t have a home, I’m adopting you, buddy.” She beamed at the dog. “And I’ll learn how to talk with you properly, yes I will!”

“...Would you like that translated?” Lucia asked softly, her chest feeling unusually warm for the weather.

“Oh, you’ve done more than enough already, Ser Lucia.” Serella said, sighing. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

And once more, Lucia most certainly did not translate this for the Warrior of Light, for she was a strong and formidable and unflinchingly stoic woman who did not do those things… but Paladin and dog both walked away from the moment infinitely happier than they had been before.

“Thank you,” Serella said, a warm smile spreading on her face— the friendliest expression she’d given to anyone within the city since she first arrived not so long ago. Her hand splayed over her heart, and it was clear that the Paladin was touched by Lucia’s actions. “Truly, that’s so kind of you.”

“I admit, I came in search of you anyhow.” Lucia said, clearing her throat. “Ser Aymeric was concerned when you did not arrive at the appointed hour for your report.”

“Ah— shite, I was on my way when I spotted the dog!” Serella’s eyes widened in horror. “Ahh, that’s fucking rude of me, shit, shit, I’ll go now!” She gave a wave as she started to run. “Thank you— for everything, Ser Lucia!”

By the time Lucia returned to the Congregation, Serella had been let up to the Seat of the Lord Commander. A glance at the chronometer revealed they had only been gone for a few minutes— certainly not long enough that it would be inappropriate for her to arrive, Lucia noted with a sigh of relief.

Serella did not leave for almost an hour— something that had never happened in the few times she had gone to speak with Ser Aymeric in the past— and when she left, she looked almost happy. Lucia wondered if it was still because of the dog— or if that incident had made her more amenable to speaking with the Lord Commander. Either way, Lucia felt she could certainly consider this meeting a step in the right direction, even if hardly anything of consequence was discussed.

The Lord Commander emerged from his office some time after that, and seeing that he clearly wished to speak with her, she followed him at his silent request into an empty office.

“I hope your talks with Mistress Arcbane were productive this eve, Lord Commander?” Lucia asked.

“Certainly better than they have been,” Aymeric said, nodding. He crossed his arms, his expression pensive. “She was open to talking of our backgrounds, to a point.” He turned to face her fully. “She also spoke of her work with the Scions, and answered near any question I had.” He clearly didn’t look satisfied.

“However…?” Lucia pressed gently.

“I still feel as though I only barely understand her motives.” Aymeric admitted, frowning deeply. “I still cannot understand why she is not seeking influence within Ishgard, but I at least feel a step closer to understanding her.” He looked up at Lucia after a moment. “I want to trust her— you know as well as I they will doubtless be instrumental in aiding us in our endeavors.”

Though he spoke vaguely for fear of being overheard, Lucia understood what he meant— his dreams of a reformed Ishgard were held close to his chest, but the Warrior of Light posed the first real opportunity to try and set those ideals into motion. It was the best shot they had— provided she was amenable to the same ideals.

She thought of the Warrior of Light, kneeling in front of a dog, stressed to her wits end because she couldn’t tell him what a good boy he was, and suddenly found the possibility that she was not as much of an idealistic fool as the Lord Commander nothing short of absurd.

“I believe we can trust her.” Lucia spoke up.

“Truly?” Aymeric asked, his surprise evident. “Before I asked you to seek her out, you had your own doubts— what has prompted such a change of heart?”

Lucia floundered for a moment for what to say— because she absolutely could not tell him the real reason why she thought Serella could be trusted. It was not an option.

“You have never doubted my judgement before now, Lord Commander.” She said instead, tilting her chin up. “I assure you that you need not now.” She reflected a moment before adding, “She has not played us false to now. I do not believe that she intends to.” She crossed her arms. “I shall continue to watch her— ‘tis better to be safe than sorry— but I stand by my assessment.”

Aymeric seemed to mull her words over for a moment before nodding his head slowly.

“Aye,” he finally said. “You speak true.” He seemed to have decided something and nodded again, mostly to himself. “I do still wish to know more of her— if she is trustworthy, then it would behoove us to befriend her.”

“It would, Lord Commander.” Lucia agreed.

“I confess, I do feel better about things now.” Aymeric smiled earnestly at her. “My thanks, Ser Lucia, for everything.”

The Lord Commander echoing what Serella called over her shoulder to her only further cemented in her mind that Serella would fit in just fine, once she opened up a bit—

Idealistic fools, the both of them. She thought, pursing her lips as the Lord Commander bid her good night and returned to his office. Though, given that she had pledged her shield to his service...she supposed that she was hardly any better. Rather than annoy her, she found the thought oddly warming.

[oflovesandlikes]

1988 prompt: "I didn't want to tell my friend who was my real date from last night because he turned out to be an asshole so i just pointed at a random stranger (you) but now they're storming over to interrogate you and you're playing along??? Okay!"

“Are you really sure?” Sharpy asks him for the 11th time and it was endearing and sweet the first couple but it’s now grating on Patrick’s nerves.”Like, really?”

Patrick can’t help the eye roll. “For fuck’s sake Sharpy I already told you. Yes, I’m sure. One hundred percent.”

“But- we don’t know him…” Sharpy whines. In Sharpy speech that means Sharpy himself hasn’t seen him and hasn’t given his approval.

“He’s perfectly fine,Sharpy, shut up. He’s nice and hot and he’s really into me,ok?” 

“Why?” Sharpy asks because he is a fucking tool. 

“Fuck off! I’m a great catch!”

“Just because your mom told you that…”

Patrick looks him dead in the eyes with the most self-satisfying smirk he can muster. “Well, your mom said the same thing.”

Sharpy opens his mouth to retort but closes it immediately, full knowing he was beaten. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but don’t come crying to me when he ends up being an asshole.”

“I’ll just come gloating then, because I’m gonna land myself the hottest, most awesome boyfriend, Just wait.”

————————————————————– 

In retrospect, he should have kept his big mouth shut. His mom had told him it’d get him in trouble one day. But did he listen? NO.

That’s how he finds himself the next day, having brunch and trying to avoid answering Sharpy’s questions about his date. Because what can he really say? That the guy was an entitled, rude, self absorbed douche that forced Patrick to use the fake call app on his phone?

“So I was right, wasn’t I?” Sharpy asks smugly.

“What? No!” His eyes wander around because he is a crappy liar but he is not about to give his friend the satisfaction.

“Then why are you not answering any of my questions?” Sharpy is naturally suspicious, probably because he himself is up to no good.

“Everything was great, Sharpy. I already told you. We had a great time. He even bought me ice cream down the pier.” That would make him a great catch since everyone knows his affinity to ice cream.

“Then why are you sitting here looking like that?” Sharpy questions again.

“Like what?”Patrick asks, gaze following the waitress on the way to serving the table in the far right.

“Like you did when you let your turtle die.” That’s a sure way to rile him up and Sharpy, the stupid jerk, knows it all too well.  “ And what the fuck is so interesting over there that you can’t even look at me for a whole minute?”

“One, I didn’t let Stanley die, Ok? His passing was due to natural causes and two…”, he’s not so sure what to reply to that. Thankfully, Sharpy is too determined to chirp him to let him finish his sentence.

“Is that what they’re calling you these days?”

“Fuck off, Sharpy.”

He spaces out for a minute, intrigued by the waitress’ blushed cheeks and shy smile. He angles his head a bit to get a clearer view but his whole body freezes, apart from his heart that beats wildly in his chest, when he makes eye contact with the guy on the table.

He’s not sure why, he barely even had enough time to realise he is a dude but for some unknown, stupid reason he’s feeling like the guy is boring into the depths of his soul. Which, rude. You don’t go about drilling into people’s most private parts uninvited.

Fortunately for him, Sharpy decides for once to be helpful and knocks him out of his trance by nearly knocking him over his seat.

“Hey, I’m talking to you asshole.”

“Yeah,yeah, sorry, I kind of… Whatever. Are we going to eat or what?”

“Not before you tell me about the guy.” Sharpy raises his voice, clearly frustrated that he is not the centre of attention.

Patrick can feel the hair on the back of his neck stand attention and he doesn’t know how but he’s one hundred percent sure that shark-eyed dude is looking at them.

“Can you keep it down?” He hisses, glaring daggers at his friend, while feeling his ears burn. It’s a matter of minutes before his whole face flushes. He kind of really hates his pale complexion.

He lowers his gaze once more, mortified and fumbles with the cutlery, trying to be as inconspicuously as possible.

He’s aware of Sharpy babbling his mouth but he’s not really paying attention. He catches the last of the sentence.

“right?”

“Yeah.” he whispers not sure what he agreed with but not composed enough to care.

“So who is he?” Sharpy asks with such glee that’s enough to knock Patrick out of his trance.

“What? Who?”

“You know, the guy.” he stresses the word like it’s supposed to mean something to Patrick. “Your date, Kaner. You said he’s here. So who. is. he?”

Patrick is sure his eyes budge out as if he were a cartoon. “What? No. Why- he’s not, ok?”

“You just said he is.” Sharpy raises his eyebrow again and Patrick really hates that. “Are you lying to me?”

Patrick wishes the floor would just open and swallow him whole. He doesn’t know why he does it. Maybe it’s because he feels cornered; being stared at from both ends with no escaping route. Maybe he’s just incredibly stupid.”Over there.” He mumbles tilting his head to the far right.

It’s vague enough he thinks he can get away with it.

“Oh,” Sharpy exclaims in glee, making Patrick’s insides fill with dread, “Uh, not too shabby. Not as hot as me though.” says the vain asshole. “Hey, he’s looking our way.”

He feels more than sees Sharpy get off his seat. He grabs Patrick’s hand with such force that knocks him off balance. “I want to meet him. Let’s say hello.”

——————————————————————

Patrick’s first instinct is to flee; instead he finds himself running after Sharpy in a vain attempt to minimize the damage. 

He feels so humiliated even before his little lie is exposed. He doesn’t want to think how it’s going to be after. He’ll probably have to grovel a lot for his friend to forgive him and definitely give up entirely on ever eating in this place again. 

He’s also kind of scared of the shark-eyed guy’s judgemental look he’s sure is coming his way but he doesn’t have enough time to wonder why that would bother him.

Due to probably dumb luck, because he has the dumb part covered already, he catches Sharpy as he’s introducing himself to the guy.

“…the better Patrick”,” he hears his friend say.

As if things couldn’t get worse, he miscalculates his speed to table proximity and goes crashing into it thighs first. 

Shark Eyes is quick with his hands and catches the glass before it goes spilling everywhere. Patrick flushes an embarrassing shade of deep red. “I- Sorry.” 

The guy just stares at him, face blank. It makes Patrick even more uneasy. 

“Yeah, ‘m - Sorry to bother you,” he says grabbing Sharpy’s arm more as a life line and a little less to drag him away, “we’re leaving now, Sorry again.”

“Oh, come on, Kaner,” Sharpy whines “I didn’t even get the chance to ask him his name yet. If you’re going to date him don’t you think I should know that?”

Patrick winces and hopes that shark eyes is not some hot blooded homophob because the last thing he needs right now is a punch to the face.

“Jonathan.” A deep, grovelly voice that could only have come from shark eyes answers.

Sharpy must have taken it as an invitation because he plops himself to the empty sit near him. “So, Jonathan,”he rests his chin on his palm “I heard from our little Patrick here that your date last night was a success.”

Patrick closes his eyes, unable to face the guy. He bites his trembling bottom lip so hard it’s probably going to start bleeding soon.

“Did you now?” shark eyes -Jonathan- says, tone void of any emotion. 

Patrick braces himself. After a beat all he hears is a soft, “I thought so, too.”

That makes Patrick’s eyes open wide. He’s staring at the guy with disbelief, jaw slacked and everything. 

“Huh” Sharpy mutters at the same time as Patrick squeals an questioning “What?”

Those intense, dark eyes turn to him and once again Patrick feels like he’s being under a microscope. “It was fun, right?” Jonathan asks him, him, and Patrick thinks he’s just entered the twilight zone,

“Fun.” He says dumbly. 

“I’m a fun guy.” Jonathan deadpans, face serious, as if he’s daring Patrick to disagree.

“I– yeah, yeah- fun, sure. Lots.” He doesn’t even know what he’s saying but Jonathan beams at him and for some weird reason it makes Patrick feel like he did something great. Which is stupid. But what else is new? It’s pretty much established by now that Patrick is both dumb and dumber all wrapped up in one. 

That’s why he finds himself involuntarily smiling back at this complete and utter, though totally hot (because Patrick may be stupid but not blind) stranger.

Sharpy clears his throat loudly and obnoxiously. “If you’re quite finished.”

If Jonathan falters even a bit Patrick doesn’t catch it. When he speaks to Sharp he’s completely composed.”Sorry,” he offers politely, “you were saying?”

That seems to appease Sharpy momentarily. When he squares his shoulders and puffs out his chest Patrick knows what’s coming. “Sharpy, no.” Patrick growls. “Let’s just go.” 

Sharpy doesn’t bulge though. He ignores him in favour of staring down at Jonathan as if he’s issuing a challenge with his eyes. “So, let’s get down to business. What are your intentions towards our little Pat here?” 

Patrick looks Jonathan’s way to plead forgiveness with his eyes but the other man’s gaze is solely focused on Sharpy. He doesn’t know much about animals but he had seen a documentary once on Animal Planet and Jonathan kind of reminds him of that tiger on alert right before an attack.

“I don’t want to sound rude, “ Jonathan says in a tone that suggest he’s going to anyway,”but how is that any of your business?”

Sharpy is the first to blink and Patrick would lie if he’d say he isn’t a little too pleased about that. His friend recovers fast though. “Tell me something, Jonathan? You have any siblings?”

The question clearly throws Jonathan off. “I- yes, a younger brother.” By the end of the sentence Jonathan is perfectly composed and alert once again.

Sharpy nods “He-” he starts tilting his head towards Patrick “went off last night to have a date with an apparently great dude. Proper excited he was, babbling about all your fine qualities. Then today, he comes here with a tale of a date right out of a rom-com but he looks like he let his pet turtle die once more.”

Patrick groans. As if this whole thing wasn’t embarrassing enough, “Then his date happens to eat at the same restaurant, yet doesn’t even come by to say hello, as if he was a total stranger. Do you understand now how this is my business?”

Jonathan glances up at him but Patrick is too much of a coward to return the look. He shuts his eyes tight, trying to keep the tears from spilling, He doesn’t think he has been more humiliated his whole life. 

Jonathan clears his throat and Patrick draws in a sharp breath waiting for the final nail on his coffin. He deserves this for being a coward. He will bear it resignedly.

“Though I find it to be bad form to spill the beans on your friend,” Jonathan says sternly, “I’m pleased that Patrick thinks highly of me. I assure you I return the sentiment from the little I have known him.”

Something unknots inside Patrick. “I also didn’t want to rudely interrupt your brunch that’s why I haven’t approached your table.” His jabs are a gift that keeps on giving. “As for the rest, I believe that we can pump the breaks on the ‘break his heart and I’ll break your face’ talk. Give us at least a couple more dates.”

Patrick isn’t sure who is more shocked, him or Sharpy. His friend is looking at Jonathan calculatingly while Patrick is staring at him in awe.

Jonathan on his part looks like he has the best poker face in the entire planer. Or maybe he has had so many Botox done his face is incapable of any expression.

“Fair enough.” Sharp concedes.

Jonathan nods. “Would you mind if I had a moment alone with Patrick?”

Sharpy narrows his eyes but quickly gives up. He shrugs “Sure. You kids take your time. Our food is probably ruined by now anyway.”

He stands up and straightens his shirt. He puts his hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “I’ll be right there on our table when you’re finished.”

In Sharp speech that means “I have your back”

Patrick just nods affirmatively. “And for Christ’s sake sit the fuck down. Your legs must be killing you.” He says running his fingers through his hair. 

As soon as he does, Sharp takes a last quick glance and walks away.

—————————————————–

No one talks for a while and normally Patrick is fine with the silence but there are words pushing violently at his mouth trying to find their way out. So he lets the dam break. “That- that was awesome!” 

That gets him a tentative smile from Jonathan but not a whole more. Patrick’s own smile falters.

Then Jonathan surprises him once more by burying his face in his palms with a loud groan. “That was terrifying.” He admits peeking at Patrick through his slightly open fingers. “Your friend is -” he pauses. He settles for “intense.”

Patrick bites the corner of his bottom lip. “Yeah, that’s - kind of my fault really. I’m – I’ve made some really bad choices in the past,” he admits “and he kind of blames himself for not– He really means well.” he stops himself mid-explanation. He hopes it’s enough to excuse Sharp’s behaviour without having to say exactly how much of a fuck up Patrick has been in the past. He doesn’t know why this stranger’s opinion matters to him. It just does.

“Anyway, sorry for all this.” He waves his hand around hoping it conveys that he means the whole mess. “And thank you for playing along. I don’t know why you would. My date was horrible. The guy wasn’t exactly nice and I- yes, just thanks. And sorry. Again.” he mumbles. His eyes land on Jonathan’s half-eaten plate and he feels even worse. “And sorry about your-” he gestures towards his food. “I can pay for that,”

Jonathan’s  eerie silence is deafening. He has but a second to wonder how in the hell absolutely no noise can be that but quickly catches himself. He knows he can easily get lost in his own thoughts and the last thing he wants is to impose further on the poor dude.  “Yeah, just. I’m gonna go now. Thanks. And sorry.” He groans internally at how dumb he sounds.

Mid-way standing up from his chair Jonathan’s voice has him petrified. “You lisp when you prattle. It’s cute.”

Patrick manages to lose his footing and bang his elbow against the corner of the table. He sits back down with a curse. Jonathan chuckles.

“You making fun of me?” he asks, squinting his eyes.

Jonathan’s face does an 180 and he’s dead serious when he shakes his head. His flushed cheeks make Patrick wonder if it’s because of the admission or the laughter. The way he looks at Patrick makes him think it’s not the latter. It also makes something inside him flatter. “Oh.” he says dumbly.

Jonathan’s ears pink. “Yeah.”

“So-” Patrick is unsure of what to do next. Jonathan appears to have lost all the confidence he had while battling it out with Sharpy as well.

“Yeah, I- Thanks for covering for me. and all – it was nice meeting you Jonathan I think I’ll-” 

“Jon.” Jonathan interrupts. “Jonny, if you want.” He rubs his neck nervously and Patrick finds it endearing.

“Jonny.” He tests it and likes the way it feels on his tongue.

Jonny smiles at him softly and nods. He takes a deep breath making Patrick catch his in anticipation. “I- I’m Jonny. I’m 28. I teach elementary PE and coach a pewee hockey team. I’m from Canada but I’ve been to Chicago for the last eleven years and I’m nice. I think.”

“I - what?” Patrick blinks, utterly confused.

“And apparently I’m a great date?” Jonny adds timidly. “Not that I – Your friend said-” 

Patrick bites the inside of his cheek. He hopes he sounds more confident than he feels. “I’m Patrick.I’m 28. I’m a Sports Research Analyst, originally from Buffalo but almost 10 years in Chicago and I think you’re nice, too. You’re also the best fake date I’ve ever had.”

“Have you been in many?” Jonny asks.

“Huh?”

“Fake dates. - You said-”

Patrick chuckles. “Nah, you’re my first.”

Jonny scrunches his nose. “That’s not much of a compliment then.”

Patrick can spot a competitive nature. It’s like seeing his reflection in the mirror. He bites the bullet and fake-bravely asks. “How about a real one? I’ve been to a few good ones. Are you up for it?”

That seems to shake Jonny, even for a second. He composes himself quickly though and Patrick can’t help but admire that. Jonny smirks up at him. “Challenge accepted.”

Patrick beams. He instinctively raises his arm to fistbump in the air but luckily he catches himself at the last minute and offers it to Jonny so they can shake on it.

Jonny’s phone beeps with some kind of notification if the way he glances at the clock is anything to go by. “I have to cut this short,” he offers, standing up and throwing a few bills on the table.

“Oh, no” Patrick objects, tucking his arm safely back on his lap. trying to hide the fact that he’s a little disappointed. “I said I’d pay for that. It’s the least I can do.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jonny says from somewhere near him that is definitely not the other end of the table. He was apparently too busy protesting to notice their now close proximity. 

Even with him sitting down, Patrick could tell their height difference but up close is more evident. Enough to send a thrill down Patrick’s spine. He’s a guy with more that a few kinks, ok? Sue him.

An image of Jonny’s form looming over him on a totally different setting almost makes him miss the fact that he’s asking for his number.

He spews the ten digits in a hurry, not wanting to give Jonny a reason to change his mind. 

Jonny’s deft fingers work quickly and Patrick’s mind drops right in the gutter until he hears his own phone ring in his pocket.

“Now you have mine too.”Jonny says, a hint of amusement in his tone as if he knows what Patrick was thinking.

He doesn’t know why that’s what makes him stand up hastily, determined to wipe that smugness off of Jonny.

He inches closer “It’s a date.” It’s more challenging than affirmative.

Jonny doesn’t back down. He leans closer “Best you’ll ever have.” He whispers right on Patrick’s ear, making his shiver.

And because he’s a filthy cheater he walks away before Patrick has the chance to retaliate.

For some reason, Patrick isn’t bothered much. Jonny may have won this round but Patrick will get him on the next one.

In the meantime, he can go be smug at Sharpy.

———————————–

[alocalband]

There are roses on Derek’s doorstep.

 No note. No scent trail. After determining that there is nothing inherently magical or deadly about them, he spends the entire rest of the day researching symbolism and archaic demon customs, trying to figure out what kind of death threat he’s just been handed.

 It doesn’t occur to him until nightfall, when the neighbors start discussing their romantic dinner plans at a decibel he has trouble tuning out, that he realizes the flowers might not have been delivered with malicious intent.

 Because, apparently, today is Valentine’s Day. And apparently someone decided that Derek should receive flowers to celebrate the occasion.

 Derek Hale has a secret admirer.

 He honestly would have preferred the death threat.

He finally picks the flowers up and carries them into the loft several hours after having discovered them. The side of the bouquet that was on the floor is now flat, petals hanging limply when they’re moved. Three of the oldest blooms have completely wilted from lack of water. It’s the saddest looking flower arrangement he’s ever seen, though he knows that’s mostly his own fault.

 He has no idea what to do with it.

 That is until Scott calls him, out of the blue, with a suspiciously chipper tone of voice. “Hey, man! How are you?”

 Derek rolls his eyes and sighs. “So you know about the flowers,” he accuses.

 Scott doesn’t sound very accused. “Did you like them? I mean, fifty bucks in roses, that says something, right?”

 Derek glances at the wilting bouquet where it’s lying across his cutting board by the sink. He clears his throat and looks away. “What exactly is it supposed to say? There wasn’t a card.”

 “Like werewolves need cards,” Scott snorts.

 “There was no scent trail.”

 “...Oh.” Scott audibly swallows. “So you... haven’t gone to see him yet.”

 “See who?”

 “Right. Okay. Shit. Hey, Derek, I gotta call you back.” He hangs up without waiting for Derek’s response.

 Derek is by no means an idiot, and he knows there’s only one person Scott could possibly be talking about with such oblivious loyalty and affection. Even if the idea of Stiles purchasing fifty dollars in flowers on Valentine’s Day for anyone other than Lydia is completely absurd.

 It would be easier to just forget the whole mess ever happened, but he’s already scaling up the back of the Stilinski residence before he realizes that. Something about Stiles will always and forever make Derek react before he thinks, and he suspects he incites the same in Stiles as well.

 “Your attempts at humor, as usual, have fallen flat,” he intones from his spot perched on Stiles’ bedroom windowsill, once Stiles has opened it up for him. Derek tosses the remains of the bouquet in before himself, and it hits the floor in a shower of decaying petals.

 The only word to describe Stiles’ resulting facial expression is, well, tragic. He looked queasy at Derek’s arrival, and was definitely holding back something sour in the twist of his mouth as he opened the window, but now he looks like he might start crying. Or yelling. Or both.

 “I’m sorry,” Stiles says, monotone, staring resolutely at the wall over Derek’s shoulder. His hands are held in tight fists at his sides. “I won’t do it again.”

 Derek frowns. This is... not what he expected.

 He crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “It’s fine. I just... As far as pranks go, it wasn’t very funny. Or original.”

 Stiles turns his head sharply and his eyes finally land on Derek. “Prank?”

 “Oh, so it’s not a prank then? You were genuinely trying to, what, ask me to be your Valentine?” Derek scoffs and looks away so he doesn’t have to see whatever Stiles’ expression is doing now. If Stiles would just admit to this poor excuse for a joke and start laughing at Derek already this would all be a lot easier.

 “Well... yeah. Kinda.”

 Derek does a double take. “What.”

 Stiles hunches his shoulders, a light blush spreading across his fair cheeks as he grabs the back of his neck and shuffles his feet awkwardly. “Listen, man, I thought we were on the same page about all this. I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to woo you on freaking Valentine’s Day if I thought we weren’t.”

 Derek blinks dumbly. “On the same page about what, Stiles?”

 “About us,” Stiles says it like it’s obvious, and makes a face like he’s wondering if Derek hit his head on the way over here.

 “What about us?” Derek asks warily.

 Stiles throws his arms out wide in exasperation. “Are you kidding me right now? We’ve been practically living in each other’s pockets for months now, Derek. We have weekly movie nights. You cook dinner for me practically daily. Hell, you fell asleep on my shoulder last Thursday and when I woke you up to go to bed you kissed me goodnight.”

 “I did not kiss you, Stiles.”

 “There were lips against my temple, big guy. And you smelled my hair.”

 “I was half asleep,” Derek defends lamely, and can feel the tips of his ears heat up. Strictly speaking, everything Stiles is saying is true, but said out loud like this finally makes Derek look at the last few months since he’s been back in Beacon Hills in an entirely new light.

 Maybe there was a scent trail from the flowers after all. Maybe it’s just that Stiles’ scent now permeates so much of Derek’s life that Derek didn’t notice it.

 “I’m an asshole,” Derek realizes out loud, and it startles a laugh out of Stiles.

 “No argument from me on that one.” Stiles shakes his head, the laughter still shining in his eyes, which is a million times better than the emotion he’d been holding back when Derek first got here. Something in Derek’s chest clenches at the sight of the genuine smile on Stiles’ face, however small, and, damn it, he’s not only an asshole but an idiot not to have recognized that feeling for what it was the first time it happened, not to mention every time it’s happened since.

 “I’m sorry,” Derek says, suddenly hoarse. “I didn’t realize...”

 “Don’t worry about it.” Stiles waves him off. “I, too, am a huge fan of intense denial. So, like, I get it, alright? We can just keep doing what we’ve been doing and forget this whole thing ever happened if it makes you more comfortable. Though you totally owe my fifty bucks for the flowers.”

 Derek looks down at said flowers and cringes internally at the sad mess he’s made of them. This kind of romantic gesture deserves far more than Derek has given it. Stiles deserves far more than Derek has given.

 “I don’t want to forget it.”

 Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, alright, nice try. You’re not getting out of coughing up the money that easy, dude.”

 “No, I mean...” Derek draws in a deep breath. “Go to dinner with me.”

 Stiles stares at him like he just suggested they go jump off a cliff together.

 “Please,” Derek adds belatedly into the ensuing awkward silence.

 “...I already ate,” Stiles finally responds.

 “Oh.” Is this a rejection? Derek doesn’t entirely know how to process just about everything that’s happened today, but he’s pretty sure that was a rejection.

 That is, until Stiles steps forward into Derek’s personal space with a tiny smirk. “But maybe we could do movie night a few days early? I’ll even let you pick the movie this time, so long as any kissing that happens leaves no room for debate about what’s actually going on here. You, me, in a tree. No plausible deniability allowed.”

 Derek ignores the rapid fire beating of his heart and the heat still burning red at the tips of his ears and now also across the apples of his cheeks just above his beard. He smirks right back at Stiles, instead, like it’s easy. Like it didn’t take him an entire lifetime to get here, and what feels like a whole other lifetime to learn how to recognize and appreciate it.

 “Done,” he whispers, and then kisses Stiles for all he’s worth.

 It’s a little bit incredible. A lot incredible. Derek’s never bothered to keep track of the people he’s kissed, or to compare them to each other. He knows what his body is capable of and what it’s good at and what kind of intimate physical contact it can stomach anymore without needing to shut down entirely. Kissing has generally existed in the grey area of his emotions about his physical interactions. Not bad, not good, not anything other than what’s expected of him.

 This, though. This is nothing like grey.

 Stiles sighs happily, eyes closed and smiling against Derek’s own smile. “You’re still an asshole.”

 Derek kisses him again.

 “And you still owe my fifty bucks,” Stiles whispers when they pause to catch their breaths.

 “I’ll give you a hundred if you just shut up about it already.”

 “Double that and I’ll take off my shirt.” Stiles pulls back just enough to wink at him. And dear lord, why does Derek find that so endearing?

 By the time they’re both falling asleep, tangled around each other in Stiles’ bed so closely it’s hard to tell whose limbs are whose, there’s nothing about the situation that could be mistaken for anything other than what it is. Even by Derek.