#maybe someday french numbers will not hurt me. but for now ..!!!!!!!!!

[misterradio]

can the organisation nationale de la francophonie come up with a,better numbering system for french cuz i cant handle this shit 💥

[sacredstarcatcher]

Cruel Summer - Part 10

Jake x Reader x Sam

Warnings: Phone sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, tourism.

A/N: Thank you for being along for the ride as I published my first ever fic. I love all of you who enjoyed my silly garbage story and look forward to someday writing more for you, if you'll have me. (Please send requests lol) Again, thank you to my inspiring best friends who fed me ideas and and answered all my silly "what if?" questions. Also, thank you for giving me grace and extra time on this last one, it's twice as long as all the other chapters! :P

The morning comes sooner than anticipated. When you wake up, Sam is no longer in his bed, but you hear the faint sound of his voice as he mumbles to Rosie flowing into the bedroom. You stretch and yawn, getting up to brush your teeth and wash your face. It’s hard not to think of Jake, how he’s feeling, what he might be doing, how he’s processing all of this… but you decide to push it aside. There’s seemingly nothing else you can do for him. 

You pad across Sam’s wooden floors barefoot, back into the bedroom. You take your phone off the charger and unlock it, wondering if Jake had maybe reached out overnight. Not thinking of him is obviously not going well.

What you’re met with when you open your phone and switch off the Do Not Disturb setting is not Jake. It’s an influx of notifications for likes and comments on “a post you’re tagged in”, the red number on the instagram icon growing every few seconds. You panic, opening the app to see what the hell is going on.

As it opens, you see a photo of the waterfall you visited with Sam two weeks ago. You swipe left and the next photo is a picture of Danny, Sam holding out his beer bottle from behind the camera to clink against Danny’s glass of beer mid-spill. You swipe again, and it’s a photo of the pickles you made together, Sam’s big hand wrapped around the jar, the sunlight reflecting off of it. Then, you swipe once more, and it all becomes clear.

The last slide is a photo of you and Rosie. You’re in the #1 Dad shirt Sam thrifted for you, tucked into your silly vintage elastic denim shorts. You’re kneeling in the garden next to her, your hair in two french braids. Your eyes are hidden behind your heart shaped glasses but your smile conveys more than enough emotion. It’s candid; you’re looking down at her and her tongue sticking out as she pants in the summer sun, her eyes on Sam as always. It looks like she’s posing for the picture, and you’re completely unaware, your hand on her affectionately, mid-scratch.

He took it that day… The day you had first kissed, the day you had come to terms with your developing feelings for him and were met with rejection. You had spent that day together, a seemingly boring day running errands and chores, but he spent every second trying to cheer you up, trying to get you to forget all the stress you were under, between the loneliness you felt from Jake’s absence and the pressures of your job. You stare at the photo, remembering the day, remembering the feeling.

Your memory flashes to the way he rejected you. The way he told you he was just leaning on you for emotional fulfillment his girlfriend at the time wasn’t giving him. It hurt you for days; you thought you had spent that entire day imagining the chemistry and connection between the two of you like a delusional, love-sick teenager. 

Seeing this photo now, from the perspective that shows exactly how he saw you as the sun shone down on your funky outfit and smiling face, the way he saw you and thought you were so perfect he needed a picture to remember the moment… it seems to heal a part of you that was hurt or doubting.

Then, you come back to the present. Hundreds, no, thousands of people now know who you are. It’s a good thing your profile was already private, because he was generous enough to tag you in the photo. Maybe you wouldn’t let him out the door last night to wallop his older brother, so he did this to get back at him the best way he could without putting you through too much turmoil. You scurry out of the bedroom, stopping to stand in front of the breakfast bar where Sam is sitting.

“Good morning!” he says, taking a bite of a banana.

“What did you do?” you ask with a laugh, your eyes going back and forth between his face and the comments on your screen.

“Oh fuck, did you want the last banana?” he asks as he chews nonchalantly, but there’s a small, dignified smile on his face as he holds it out to you. “You can have the other half.”

“I’m talking about your 4am instagram post, actually. You can have the banana.” You stroll to the counter to grab the coffee pot, but he stops you.

“Hey wait.” His voice is boyish and light. “I already made you some.” He slides the mug across the counter to you gently. “Heard you were up a little while ago.” His gentle smile and his sweet voice are a soothing balm to any and all of your anxieties.

“Thank you, Sammy.” 

You smile at him over the rim of your mug. It’s not just a thank you for the coffee. The sweetness of his very public gesture, even if it may have been powered by possessiveness after everything that happened last night, was special to you. 

He stands to toss his banana peel in the trash, then comes around to pull you in closer around your shoulders. There’s a content smile on your face and an indescribable warmth in your heart as he kisses the top of your head.  

-oOo-

When the dreaded day you have to say goodbye to Sam comes, you find yourself sitting on top of his suitcase in protest as he stands behind you, arms around your shoulders. Rosie is sniffing around the yard, unphased.

“Gonna miss you, pretty girl.” He mumbles into your hair, and you lean your head against him and nod, your hands coming up to hold his arms. “You better take good care of all my plants. Gotta sing to them. It’s important.”

Even though you’re sad, you can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Inside and outside? The neighbors will call a wellness check if they hear me.” 

Before he can answer and tell you your singing voice is beautiful to him, the van rolls up. You sigh, knowing this is it. Danny hops out of the driver’s seat and both twins emerge from the back. It’s a tense moment as Jake locks eyes with you, but he quickly averts his gaze.

“Please tell me you’re going to visit us,” Josh says as Sam walks off to put his luggage into the back. You smile, nodding. 

“I will, I will. I’ll come out and see you at a few dates, probably.” You’re not lying, but you don’t exactly have anything planned. “It’s only two months. You’ll survive without me.”  Josh laughs, looking into your eyes with a raised brow. 

“You severely underestimate the manner in which multiple members of this godforsaken band rely on you. Myself included, dearest.” He smirks and pulls you in for a hug, squeezing tightly. 

Danny and Jake stand in the grass a few feet away, chatting and playing with Rosie. Your heart hurts just a little.

“I’ll come see you. I promise.” You smile at him, pulling away from the hug. It’s quiet for a second. “Is he in a good mood today? Should I go say goodbye?”

Josh smirks, tilting his head. He knows exactly who you’re talking about. 

“I’m not qualified to answer. You’re on your own there.” He laughs a little loudly as he walks away and it catches Jake’s attention. It wouldn’t be right if you didn’t say goodbye, so you put on a brave face and approach Danny first to say goodbye. He immediately offers you a hug.

“Please make sure Sam behaves,” you say over his shoulder as you squeeze each other tightly in a hug. “He’s trying to quit smoking for good this time. I know he’s not going to tell you so I am.” 

Danny laughs as you pull back from the hug, giving you a salute. “I’ll hold him to it.” 

He knows what’s coming, so he takes his leave, walking over to the van. He starts trying to usher Rosie into the back.

A sigh leaves your chest, turning to look at Jake. He’s got his sunglasses on, his hands in his pockets. You’ve seen each other a few times since that fateful night, but it’s been tense. He and Sam are still avoiding each other for the most part. You meet his eyes over the rim of his dark, round sunglasses, and he’s raising his eyebrows, as if he’s waiting for you to speak first. 

“Did you remember to pack your phone charger this time?” you ask. He chuckles, looking down, nodding. 

“Yeah. Trying to avoid buying a fifth one.” You smile at that, feeling just a little of the tension release. The silence reemerges though, the two of you avoiding each other’s stare as you look at the grass below or the happenings behind you. You sigh, knowing it can’t be like this forever. 

You say his name quietly in an attempt to focus him. He doesn’t lift his head, but his eyes flick up quickly to meet yours.

“You don’t have to forgive me. But you have to forgive Sam.” You pause, your voice a little quieter before you continue. “He’s your brother.”

Jake’s lingering smile fades and he chews on his cheek. “I know he is.” His tone is a little smarmy, as if he’s twisting the knife.

Okay, you deserved that. 

“Just.. Please. I want you guys to enjoy yourselves. Go back to the way things were. Like I never existed.” 

Jake nods, lifting his head from the grass. “Tall order. But I’ll work on it.”

It’s taking everything in you not to word vomit another ten apologies, but you know it won’t help, so you don’t. Instead, you give him a sincere smile and wish him well. Genuinely.

“I hope you have a good time. I know you’ll be great.” Your voice is weak and your heart is heavy. 

Before you have a chance to see his face or feel any worse, you step off, heading towards Sam and interrupting his conversation with Danny. It looks like Sam intervened and got Rosie inside the van and she’s sitting contently in her seat.

“Sorry for holding you guys up,” you say as Sam wraps his arm around your waist and kisses your temple.

“Not a problem, pretty girl. We’re still running on schedule, surprisingly enough.” Danny breaks off, getting the keys back out and heading to start the car. Sam squeezes gently at the flesh of your side, urging you to turn into his arms. “Now kiss me like you’ll miss me.” 

You say your goodbyes and watch the van pull away, leaving you in front of Sam’s house alone. 

-oOo-

The first week flies by. You start back at work, decorating your classroom. You Facetime Sam as much as his schedule allows. Sometimes that looks like you eating dinner across from a phone propped up against a wine glass. Sometimes it’s folding laundry while you peek down at him in the corner of the screen. Sometimes it’s propping your phone up on the white board in your classroom as you hop up on desks and hang bulletin board borders and bubble letters, fastening the alphabet to run along the top of the walls. He never runs out of things to talk about- he constantly chats on about what he’s up to, what they’re doing on their time off, and of course, Rosie. When he’s not asking about you, of course. 

It’s lonely at night, and you realize that about 5 days in. You stand in the kitchen of Sam’s empty home and it’s eerily silent. You’ve watered all of his plants for the evening, and it’s still neat and tidy the way he left it. An urge comes over you to step into his bedroom, and when you do, it physically hurts your heart.

It smells like him. Just a little. Like when he’s in the shower and the smell of his soap is sneaking out of the crack beneath the bedroom door. Like a diluted version of what you experience when you hug him close and breathe him in. There’s nothing in the world that could stop you as you fall into his bed, holding tight to his pillow. Sam is thousands of miles away. It’s almost midnight where he is, and here you are, about to cry in his bed at 7pm. 

As your phone starts to vibrate, you scramble and answer, relieved to see Sam’s name on your screen.

“Hey.” Your voice immediately conveys that you’re feeling a little down.

“Hey you. What’s up?” he asks, his voice taking on a sympathetic tone.

“Oh, nothing. I just finished watering your plants. Your house is lonely without you.” You send a big sigh through the receiver. “Somehow I ended up in your bed. It smells like you.”

“Oh, just break my heart, why don’t you?!” he says. You can’t see him, but he’s clutching his heart and playing dead. Your laugh in response is half hearted, but genuine. 

“Sorry, sorry. I had every intention of getting up, drying my tears, remaking your bed, and watering your Japanese money plant on the way out. You would have never known if you didn’t call me.” You make light of the situation, getting cozy under his blankets as you chat to him.

“Hey, you can stay. You know, you should actually. My bed probably misses you as much as I do.” You hear him rustling around in his hotel bed halfway around the world. You hug the pillow tight, the smell of him making your heart swell.

“Maybe just for a little while.” The tone of your voice conveys that you’re planning to be wrapped in his sheets for the foreseeable future. You sit in comfortable silence for a few moments before he speaks. “It’s lonely without you, though.” 

“You know if I could, I’d be your big spoon until the sunrise.” His voice is a little quieter, a little lower now. He’s alone, but he’s making sure you know his words are only for you. “Miss being able to wake up and just feel you next to me.” He sighs, and your heart starts to pound a little.

“Yeah?” You’re not sure why, but the tone of his voice, despite his mostly innocent words, has flipped a switch in you. He can tell- the way you subtly ask him to continue is laced with the slightest bit of want and he picks up on it immediately.

“Oh, you really miss me.” A self-satisfied chuckle comes through the phone. You feel your cheeks get hot when he calls you out. 

“I do.” It comes out like more of a whine. 

“What do you miss, pretty girl?” He’s baiting you, and it’s impossible to resist. You respond immediately.

“Your hands, your fingers,” you let out, a little breathless. 

He responds with a pleased hum. “Laying in my bed, thinking about how it feels when I sneak my hands into your panties late at night?” As you exhale sharply, a moan escapes you. He hears it and it’s off to the races. “Touch yourself. Go ahead. I know you want to imagine it’s me.”

Your next words come out a little choppy and there’s a bit of a laugh laced between them. “Not as good. Not the same.” You touch yourself teasingly, imagining exactly what he suspected. You fantasize that it’s him, touching you after he’s finally come to bed after you, gently slipping into bed and pulling your back tight to his chest, his hands wandering. You moan a little louder now, letting him hear what the thought of him does to you.

“Fuck,” he groans, and you know that the movement you hear now is him repositioning himself so he can do exactly what you are, thousands of miles away.

“Do you miss me?” you ask, prodding, needing to hear more of the deliciously dirty thoughts in his head. You know the answer but you’re not quite ready to be that direct.

“Do I miss you? I think about you every minute of the fucking day, pretty girl. God, I’d give anything to fuck you right now. Just the way you like.” You hear a muffled groan on the other end and it sends a wave of pleasure through you, the thought of him wanting you that badly. 

“The way I like?” You ask, wanting him to tell you. He’s onto your game and he gives you a dirty chuckle in response. 

“You know what I mean,” he drawls, voice laced with mischief. “When I push your leg back juuuust right and get ahold of your sweet spot,” he continues, panting a little. 

“Mhm,” you respond, touching yourself more urgently now, encouraging him to keep going. He swallows thickly and you hear a moan escape him as if he’s losing control. “I- I do like that..” you confess.

“I know you do. It makes you so wet I can hear it, every time,” he divulges. “Music to my fucking ears.” 

“Oh,” you let out in a high pitched whine, knowing exactly what he’s talking about, but still a little shocked at his words. It makes your stomach flip as you recall the sight of him up on his knees looking down at you, pressing your leg back into your chest as he fucks into you slow and deep. 

“Miss those little fucked out sounds you make,” he says through his teeth. “When you say my name.” 

“Sammy,” you pant out immediately, your breathing ragged, giving you away.

“Are you gonna come for me?” he asks, and you know he’s getting close. “I can hear it in your voice, pretty girl.”

His use of your pet name combined with the filth dripping from his voice is the only push you need, sending you over the edge. Your orgasm pulls a raunchy moan from your chest, the drag of it past the back of your throat will make you hoarse tomorrow as a reminder. 

“There we go,” he praises from the other side of the Earth. “Oh, fuck.” Muffled moans and gasps come across the line into your ear, making your heart nearly stop. 

“Oh my god,” you say, breathless. “That was…”

“Yeah.” His voice is quiet and playful again as he giggles quietly.  “Jesus.” He clears his throat, his voice now a little raspy and laced with sleep. “Surprisingly enough, that is not why I called.” His laugh is contagious as you come down slowly, the fog clearing from your mind. “I was wondering if you’d come out here next weekend. Catch up with us in Paris.” 

“Oh, wow. I… I think I could make that work.” You’re sure he can hear your smile through the line.

“Good. Great. Amazing! I’ll have someone get in touch with you about details?” He groans a little, and you know the sound so well, it’s clear he’s stretching.

“I can’t wait.” You pause for a moment. “It’s so late where you are. You should get some rest.”

“I know, I know. I’m gonna go try. You sleeping at my place tonight?”

“I think I might.” There’s no chance you’re leaving now.

“Sleep well, pretty girl. I love you.”

-oOo-

You watch out the window of the car as it drives through the streets of Paris, marveling at the beauty before you. It’s not lost on you how special it is that Sam made arrangements to bring you all the way out here to see him for two days in the middle of their European leg. 

He’s standing outside of the hotel when you pull up; he’s in a low cut leopard print shirt, his black pants tied with a shoelace belt he’s probably using because he didn’t pack a real one. You smile, hopping out of the back seat and charging towards him. Sammy squats down, catching you around your thighs, lifting you up as he giggles.

“Hi, handsome,” you mumble with a smile, pushing his hair behind his ear. He grins up at you, holding you tightly. It’s seconds before you lean down and kiss his lips a little forcefully, cupping his cheek in your hand. He puts you down, looking you over in front of him. Your yellow sundress and sneakers make his heart jump. 

“Look at you.” He pulls you in under his arm, kissing the top of your head. “You get prettier while I was away?” he says, giving you a faux scrutinous glare. You can’t help but blush, rolling your eyes and shaking your head.

“I could say the same to you..” He’s tan and glowing, the European sun clearly being kind to him. His hair is shining in the sunlight and his facial hair is fuller, neater than it was as you were enjoying time off in the summer. 

“You flatter me, gorgeous.” He releases you, grinning. “They’ll take your bags upstairs. We have plans today, so we gotta go.” 

“I’m following you,” you say, smiling as you tilt your chin up, wanting just one more kiss. 

The first stop is lunch. It’s straight out of a movie, the sight before you. Sam sits in a wrought iron chair across the table, sipping a fruity drink, the view behind him almost as breathtaking as he is. You snap a picture of him after he hands his camera across the table. You know how to use it now- he’s carefully instructed you enough times that you’re comfortable enough. 

You eat more than you should and indulge in a few drinks. The two of you are somehow more flushed and smiley as you leave than you were when you arrived. He holds your hand in the back of the car as you make your way to the next stop.

As you exit the car, he laces his fingers with yours as you walk, sunglasses on, camera around his neck. You look like two tourists straight out of a Sky Mall catalog. 

“So, this isn’t the Eifell tower, but I think you’re going to like this view better. We can still go there if you want, but… You’ll see. ” It’s sweet, the way he’s showing you around the city he’s already seen, carefully considering what you would like, not just checking off all the traditional visitor boxes. 

“This is the Sacre-Coeur Basilica,” he says, trudging up the steps. “Means Sacred Heart. It’s built on the highest hill in Paris.” You reach the top, turning around to see a wide, panoramic view of the city. It’s beautiful- the sun behind you allowing you to stare without squinting. 

“If you want, we can go inside and climb up the dome to see even more.” He smiles, pointing up to the top. 

“Seriously?” you ask, grinning. He doesn’t need to hear anything else- he pulls you closer and leads you inside. 

The afternoon turns into evening, Golden Hour fast approaching. You meander through the Musee d’Orsay together, cracking silly jokes about some of the more interesting art. You scan the walls with wide eyes, taking in real life Monet and Van Gogh, holding Sam close by the waist as he leads you around under his arm. 

The two of you scale the upper level of the museum, looking at the sunset through the giant clocks. You can’t help but take in the sight of him as you snap a few pictures, the orange sun just driving home the fact that you find him more beautiful than any of the art you’ve laid eyes on today. He catches you raking your eyes over him and gives you a sly smile. He comes behind you, leaning you against the balcony that overlooks the view, a hand on either side of you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks, kissing the shell of your ear. You blush, tilting your head closer to him.

“Can’t say. I’ll get arrested.” You lean back with a little giggle, not so subtly pushing your ass against him. He lets out a sharp exhale at the contact, his hand shooting to your hip to steady you, pulling himself back.

“You better not.” His warning goes for the way you’re touching him and for the potential arrest. “We have dinner plans. And I like these pants.” You laugh, feeling mischievous. 

“Well you’re no fun,” you answer, turning around, his arms still trapping you in place. You hook your fingers into his shoelace belt, pulling him closer. “I thought you said you missed me.” You ghost your lips over his, tempting him. 

He lets out a playful growl, his hand cupping your ass and pulling you flush against him. He uses the other to hold your neck and pull you in for a deep, passionate kiss. You let out a tiny squeak, hands moving to his waist to pull him closer. 

As he breaks the kiss, he lets go of you, mumbling under his breath with a smirk. “Jesus christ. Tightest fucking pants in the world.” He pulls at them, laughing. You can’t help but giggle along, flattening your dress. “You’re gonna kill me.” 

You leave the museum, both of you a little flustered and more than ready for a glass of wine. It’s a short drive to the restaurant Sam’s chosen, a wonderful spot along the Seine river. As it gets darker, the lights along the river and through the city are gorgeous and create the most romantic atmosphere. It’s impossible for you to stop smiling as you sit across from Sam, still reeling from the perfect day spent together.

“So, I was doing some thinking the other day.” Sam sips his wine and looks across the table, reaching for your hand. You look at him with attentive eyes, taking his hand, resting your chin in your other palm. 

“The day after you spent the night at my place.” You remember, nodding. He seems serious. Immediately, worry floods into the cracks in your brain. He speaks again, squeezing your hand, as if he can sense it. “I was just thinking that maybe it would make more sense if… you moved in with me. It feels like we’re keeping up with two separate, shared places… spending every night together at either one of them…” He’s a little nervous now, as if he’s not sure how you’re going to react. “I don’t know, I just thought maybe it was worth talking about.” 

You grin at him, waiting for him to finish. He leans back in his chair, looking at you. “What do you think?

“I think that makes a lot of sense.” It’s hard to hide your smile- not that you have to. “Then I don’t have to water 900 plants over two different places of residence.” 

Sam’s eyes soften, his slightly crooked smile on full display. “I want you to know,” he begins, the sincerity in his eyes almost pleading. “I’m serious. About us, about being together. About everything. I know my past doesn’t really help plead my case,” he says, rolling his eyes, “but I mean it. There’s no other girl like you. You’re it for me. And I mean that.”

It never ceases to amaze you, the way it feels like he can read your mind. Any anxiety, any worry, any doubt you have, he will eventually sniff out and eradicate it. He knows the deepest parts of you without having to ask, without you having to offer them up to him. Sam is in touch with every part of you, mind, body, and soul, and there’s nothing left for you to doubt about him now.

“Sammy,” you say, touched by his words. You tilt your head and smile, pulling his hand up to your face, holding it in both of your own. “You’re everything to me.” 

His eyes light up as he leans forward, grinning. There hasn’t been a single moment in your entire life where your heart has felt more full than this very second.

“I love you, my pretty girl. My forever girl.” You place a kiss to the back of his hand, cheeks pink and glowing. 

“I love you, Sammy.” 

-oOo-

The two of you enjoy a celebratory dinner and a bottle and a half of wine. It’s all giggles and stumbles as you head back to the car, the driver waiting patiently as you said you would be done with dinner and drinks 45 minutes prior.

The second you step into the elevator of the hotel, it’s all hands and kisses and giggles. The door slides open and Sam laughs, trying to wrangle you. “Alright, alright,” he says, scrunching his neck up with a laugh as you place kisses on his warm, tan skin. He pulls you out of the elevator and you follow, giggling all the way down the hall. 

When you reach the door, he pins you up against it while he fishes the key card out of his pocket. “Don’t think I forgot about the stunt you pulled up in the clock tower,” he whispers into your ear, his voice low, just for you. You reply with a fake gasp, feigning innocence.

“I didn’t pull any stunts, Sammy.” You do the exact thing you did in the clock tower and press yourself against him again. He groans, finally getting the door open. He hugs you tightly around your waist so you don’t fall forward before corralling you inside. 

“You’re a shitty liar.” He leads you to the bed, tossing you backwards and you land with a giggle. He stands over you, quickly unlacing your hightops and tossing them across the room. He wastes no time pulling up your sundress, stealing your panties and sliding them down your legs. “You’re lucky I don’t feel like arguing.”

You watch him as he pulls his shirt, the buttons barely putting up a fight. He tosses it to the side, then immediately descends between your legs. You can’t even get a word out- the first stroke of his tongue against you emptying your head of any thought you might have had. It’s long, languid, and slow, as if he’s savoring the taste of you.

Soon enough, he finds his footing and re-centers himself, picking up the pace. You cry out at the feeling and it causes him to flick his eyes up to you, watching through his dark lashes as you completely surrender to his mercy. He’s staring in awe, his hazy eyes making him look almost drunk on the taste of you. His hands are under your thighs, holding your hips tightly, the tip of his perfect upturned nose moving in and out of sight as he tastes every inch of you. He pulls one hand away, deciding to slip two fingers into you with ease. You gasp, letting a wanton moan fly from your lips. 

Your hand travels to his hair and gives a gentle tug. The action pulls a low rumble from him, the feeling against you pulling you closer and closer.

It’s probably the fastest he’s ever brought you to your end- he’s determined. Every lick, every movement, perfectly calculated and all for you. You’re so close, arching your back with a hand tightly in his hair, when he releases, pulling back from you with a lewd pop and smack of his lips. 

You look up at him, brow knitted up, cheeks hot as you catch your breath. Before you have a chance to complain, he leans over you, his lips crashing into yours. It’s not a chaste kiss by any means. He slips his tongue against your lips and into your mouth. The taste of him and the taste of yourself concocting something so sinful you can’t help but savor it.

“You taste how sweet you are, pretty girl?” he asks, panting as he breaks from you. He looks down at you with dark eyes before he slides his two fingers into your mouth. Without question, you clean them off. “That’s my girl,” he praises as you bat your eyelashes up at him, making a display of yourself as you suck on as much of his long fingers as you can fit in your mouth. He groans at the feeling, then takes them back, replacing them with his tongue as he kisses you again. Your hands sneak down to his shoelace belt and start to mess with it, but he pulls away, opting to do it himself. You move to pull your dress off, but he stops you with a single sentence.

“Leave it on.” 

You pant as you look up at him. He pulls his pants off, looking down at you with a smirk.

“You teased me in that little dress all day. Now I’m gonna fuck you in it.” He descends upon you again, pressing himself against your core, but not pushing inside just yet. “...If you ask nicely.”

“Sammy, please,” you whine, squirming beneath him. He pulls at the top of your dress, which luckily has some stretch, and it’s seconds before your nipple is in his mouth. He smiles against you, starting to push inside, the feeling of him filling you so deliciously sending your brain into overdrive.

“God, I missed this tight little pussy. Fuck.” He pushes halfway in and sees your face- just a flicker of a wince, and he retreats, giving you a second to relax. “Gotta breathe for me, baby.” His thumb brushes against your clit, helping you along. He pushes in again, the feeling almost too much for him. You watch as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to keep himself in check.

He sighs once he’s fully inside you, pushing up to kneel over you. The angle presses him upwards and you cry out, walls fluttering around him. He had edged you earlier and you’re still close now. He feels it and a smug smile crosses his face. 

“I think she missed me too,” he says, starting to move. You pant, hands fisting in the skirt of your yellow dress as you try and grapple for some sort of control or release. Either would be fine. “You think she did?” he asks, his hand grabbing onto your leg, thumb running circles against your calf. “Let’s see,” he says, making good on his word, pressing it backwards, his next stroke so deep and perfect it makes you see stars. He breathes raggedly as he fucks into you, watching your face contort.

It’s even better than you remember, the way he drags against the most sensitive, delicious spot deep inside you. He lets out a small chuckle and you look at him, wondering why. He shushes you gently, but keeps moving. You quiet your breathing and you hear it, exactly like he said you would. It’s vulgar, enough to make your cheeks turn pink. The sound of how you’re practically dripping around him, making an absolute mess of him. Your face is guilty and slightly embarrassed, but he doesn’t pay any mind. He laughs once more before he pulls your face gently to look at him. “Come on, baby. Let go for me.”

He knows exactly what he does to you- he pulls up on your hips, intensifying the angle that’s already driving you mad. He presses his hand down on your abdomen, not saying anything, but you know he’s feeling himself in the deepest part of you. You can’t help the way you whine, gasping for air as if there’s so much of him inside you there’s not enough room for a breath. He picks up the pace just slightly and that’s all it takes for the heat in your belly to spread, your climax taking you and dragging you under. You’re not sure how long it lasts or what comes out of your mouth, but you’re sure he’s pleased with himself based on the way he’s looking down at you, slowing his pace. He leans down, releasing your leg, and kisses you gently as he slowly thrusts into you, seeming to want to savor the feeling. He peppers your jaw and cheeks with kisses, petting your hair as you come down. 

“Where’d rough Sammy go?” you ask, catching your breath.

“He’s on break.” He laughs quietly, kissing you gently on your lips. You giggle back, and he freezes, as if the muscles contracting as you laugh are bringing him dangerously close. “Want me to go get him?” he jokes, but his voice is strained. 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice a little sluttier than you’d like to admit. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pulls out of you quickly, pulling you up from where you are. “On your knees,” he says, and you listen, your hair falling down your back as you push it all out of your face. You look up at him with bright eyes, waiting. It’s seconds before he fists himself and pushes his cock into your mouth, the tip tasting of precum, the rest coated in you.

He’s not gentle- he’s immediately got a fist in your hair, and once you’re able, you’re taking as much of him as deep as you can. He hits the back of your throat repeatedly, your eyes squeezing shut. He watches you, his eyes burning the image into his memory. He pulls your head down by your hair once, holding it there until you gag. He pulls you off of him, letting you breathe for just a moment before his thumb hooks your bottom teeth, holding your mouth open. You look up at him with wide, teary, mascara streaked eyes, seeing his devilish smirk. 

“You ready?” he asks, holding your mouth open. You nod to the best of your ability, keeping your mouth open as a small whimper escapes you. He leans down and spits into your mouth, making you flinch just a little, before letting go of your mouth and moving his fist to furiously stroke himself. It’s only moments before he’s spilling all over your tongue, pushing the tip of himself past your lips. A string of curses with your name tangled between leaves his parted lips as you close your own lips around him, swallowing every drop, rubbing your tongue against the underside of his cock. He whines, pulling away, feeling sensitive already. 

You stare up at him, smiling sheepishly, wiping the side of your mouth with your thumb. He wordlessly pulls you to your feet and ushers you to the extravagant Parisian hotel bathroom, drawing you a bath. 

-oOo-

While out visiting Sam, you didn’t see any of the other boys. As much as you hated to not visit Josh, you didn’t want to spare a second of your time for anyone but Sam. From what you could gather, things were getting better between him and Jake, so you didn’t want to cause a regression. It was a perfect weekend and you wouldn’t change a thing if you could. 

The holidays approach quickly. They fly home a few days before Thanksgiving and get settled. That Wednesday, it’s been decided, you’re all set to go out drinking. 

“Everyone goes out the night before Thanksgiving. Everyone.” Josh is explaining the lore behind the small town tradition of getting blackout drunk at bars in your home state the night before a family function. “You get to see all the fucks you knew in high school and get plastered, then eat your ass off the next day. It’s literally called Blackout Wednesday.” 

You widen your eyes, shaking your head. “Sounds terrible. Also, you didn’t go to highschool here.” 

Josh rolls his eyes, motioning with his hand. “Yes, smartass, but you get the point. That’s how the tradition started. Now let’s go. Daniel and Jake are meeting us there.” You nod, remembering you have to face Jake tonight. It’s been two months, and you’re praying he’s found it in his heart to at least forgive Sam.

You feel absolutely sick as you pull up to the bar, and it’s not because of the pre-game shots you took. The uber drops you off directly in front of a very familiar bar- the one where you met Jake months ago in the beginning of the summer. You feel the emotions wash over you as you step inside, the sticky floors and smell of industrial barkeeping cleaner flooding your senses and making you wonder if you’re going to survive the night.

It’s then that you realize you may stand a chance. Jake and Danny are across the bar, sitting at a long high top table. Jake’s smiling, legitimately smiling, teeth and all, as he waves you all down. They both get up, but Jake gets to you first, squeezing you tightly in a friendly hug over the top of your arms. 

“Hi,” you say, laughing, surprised when he backs away. “Welcome home!” you say, grinning.

“Thank you, thank you. Happy to be back.” He pushes his sunglasses up on the bridge of his nose and smirks. “Missed you, kid.” 

You smile and look over at Sam, who took the seat next to Jake’s and is smiling as he watches the interaction. You look back at Jake with a smile filled with a metric ton of emotion. “I missed you too.” 

You step backwards to hug Danny, and then get situated at the table. It feels right- it feels normal. It’s as if things have finally settled and you’re exactly where you need to be. You laugh as you watch them carry on, Jake and Sam sitting across from you, bickering and shouting and cracking jokes as they always do.

The server approaches with a round of beers, which of course prompts Josh into making a toast. He blathers on as you watch Jake and Sam out of the corner of your eye, smiling happily at the way they interact. 

As Josh finishes his toast, you all clink your glasses together and go to drink. Sam and Jake, however, link arms and start to chug their beers in a bout of brotherly competition. You can’t help but grin and snap a candid picture of the two of them, Sam’s eyes staring into his glass, Jake’s off to the side. Jake wins, letting out a loud burp and slamming his glass down. You smile at the both of them, feeling whole again.  

@reesetrippingthelight@samstopochico@jordie-gvf-admin@jakesgrapejuice@spark-my-nature@gvfcinema@joshysgirl@hellowgoodbye@ageofwagner@katelynn-gvf@ohgodthefeeling-gvf@fwzco

[ninyard]

Heeey what do you think was that made Kevin finally leave the nest?

I wrote like a 2k word fic-of-an-answer to this one my friend but I wasn’t vibing with it! So I’m starting again. But same thing as the last draft of this answer; I think about Kevin leaving the nest ALL THE TIME

~

(“Keep mouthing off like a pair of fucking frogs.” Riko spat in English to them both. When Jean shut the door, “Do you think you’re better than I am?”

“Your ego will kill you someday.” He looked Riko in the eye. “I think you care too much about other people’s success to make yourself look better. You’re building your Court,” Kevin swallowed hard, still trying to hold his head up, gravity failing him as he started to tremble. “But you think it’s just guaranteed you’ll be on it.”)

~

Mandatory CW for The Breaking Of A Hand and Kevin Has Nothing To Live For. See also: the foxes are foxes and their lives are Fucked Up (suicide mention, overdose mention, panic attacks & drug use)

Okay.

Let’s. Talk. About. Kevin.

Idk if I’m allowed to say that Kevin is an underrated character. I really don’t think I am. But if I was allowed to say that I WOULD. I am so very passionate about Kevin I would absolutely die for him and he’s not even real. So let’s talk about his hand.

Can you even begin to imagine what was going through Kevin’s head that night? It looked like practice, then The Master talking about potential, then Riko is mad, then pain and blood and how do I get out of here? Then is it worth it if my life is over?

I think there probably was a minute where Kevin sat alone, covered in his own blood, just thinking there was no point in being alive anymore. His playing hand didn’t really look like a hand anymore, his life and reputation and everything he had worked for just pumping out of his hand and staining his shirt. He didn’t remember passing out but when he came to Riko was gone, and his body was running on fumes trying to keep the pain from overwhelming his system. He probably threw up, all over the locker room, his blood trickling through the tiles, the echo of his own screams ringing through his ears like a non-stop siren. He probably couldn’t really see properly for a little bit and he probably couldn’t move for a while, either. Riko was a foot shorter than him, but he made up for that difference by channeling every ounce of anger and jealousy he felt for Kevin into his feet to stomp the shit out of Kevin’s hand until he knew he would never play again. Jean found Kevin not long later, maybe a couple minutes, or an hour. Kevin begged him to get Riko out of his room. Jean wrapped Kevin’s hand up as best he could, and promised him to deal with it as long as Kevin was there when he got back. Jean had figured he was a flight risk, and knew if Kevin left, Riko’s French personal punching bag would come in handy to take out all his egotistical frustration on. Kevin promised he’d be there when Jean came back. Jean came back to his jacket and wallet missing, a tiny scrap of paper left on the bed, an almost illegible ‘sorry’ scrawled across it. He burned it in the bathroom sink before Riko could find it.

So Kevin��s in his car, and he’s driving. He doesn’t know where yet, and man, is he a hazard. Twice on his journey he nearly knocked out behind the wheel, his head bobbing as the pain begged his body to sleep. He probably had to pull over a couple times to be sick, or to have a panic attack, or both. I know he went through the stages of grief on that drive to Virginia. He probably turned on his radio at some point and laughed, how ridiculous he looked, how dangerous it was to be driving one handed. It took him double the amount of time it would normally have because he just. Had to keep stopping. There’s no way he made that journey in a solid drive.

But also I think he probably didn’t have a plan before he was driving. He knew the Southeastern district were holding the Christmas banquet that night, but that was a secondary thought. His first worry was getting out of the nest. His second worry was whether he was going to kill himself or not. The reason he didn’t just do it? David. The thing that pulled Kevin back off that metaphorical ledge was Coach David Wymack. The only other people who knew about his moms letter were Tetsuji, Jean and Riko. Kevin knew well that none of them would be calling up to break the news to Wymack if he died, and David would grow old and die without ever having known that Kevin Day was his son. David was the reason he was risking everything on busy streets and highways and whatever roads he drove too fast or too slow on.

So, he’s in Virginia without a plan. He doesn’t know what hotel David’s in, if he’s even still in Virginia, if the foxes even bothered to show up. So he looks at as many hotels as he could find. He narrows down the list by looking at the ones he knew the Class I teams frequented, and he called the all pretending to be David, looking for his rooms number. After the fifth call he found it.

Think about Kevin’s anxiety in the elevator, hand throbbing, not profusely bleeding anymore, but every minute that passes is a percentage off the chances he has at keeping his hand and playing again. His heart is racing, his head heavy, every fibre in his being screaming.

David calls out a “Hold your fucking horses, give me a minute!” when Kevin knocks on his door a second time after his first knock received no answer. David opens the door with Abby just behind him, and his face falls so quickly it could’ve hit the floor.

“Kevin.” He looks him up and down, not yet noticing the t-shirt covered in blood he had wrapped around his hand. “Kevin Day. Mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

Abby pushes past him to unwrap Kevin’s hand. It must be some nurses instinct, to be instantly drawn to looking for an injury on a person. Kevin pulled it back as gently as he could, looking up and down the hall before asking so quietly it almost couldn’t be heard. “Can I come in?”

David makes small talk with Kevin as he shuts the hotel door behind him. What would he say? What could he possibly say to superstar Kevin Day, who he’d only officially met as a baby, when his mother was alive and he wasn’t destined for Court? He probably tried to make meaningless, awkward small talk until Abby shut him up to ask Kevin what happened. He just started to cry. Small whimpers into chesty, heaving, heavy cries, his body teetering on the edge of a panic attack. David had seen his foxes in bad ways before. He’d seen one of his kids convulsing on a stretcher after an accidental overdose, or a fox who’d choked on their own vomit after an intentional one. He’d seen his foxes in their worst moments, panic attacks and withdrawals, anger and sadness, pulling their hair out and on the brink of death. Something about this was the same but different. When Seth first overdosed on the team it was a cry for help, or when Janie admitted herself to the psych ward for a week, it was because she wanted to try. When Damien asked for a second, and third, and fourth chance David gave it to him because that was what Foxes deserved. It took him a moment of watching Kevin heave, snot and spit running down his chin, his hair falling over his face, his body shaking with anxiety, to remember that Kevin wasn’t a fox. Kevin was a Raven, and by god, that was so much worse.

I think we all know that Abby cares for her foxes like she’s their mother, but Kevin is just different. Abby had been seeing David long enough to know how much Kayleigh Day had really meant to him, and how much it hurt to watch Kevin do her proud. Now Kevin was sitting in front of her, his hand practically lifeless, his heart pouring out of every place it could. She tried not to look at David’s face as he paced the room, watching her patch up Kevin’s hand as best she could. Kevin only started to calm down when she handed him a bottle of Diazepam and some water.

And then Kevin whispers that Riko did it. David almost didn’t hear him. He nearly asked for him to repeat it until it hit him. Riko did it. Riko smashed the hand of his number two so badly it would take a long time for him to play again, if he even wanted to. Abby sent him a deathly glare when he mumbled to himself; “I’ll kill that little jumped up piece of shit”.

The rest is history; Kevin passes out not long after, David carries him to the bus, and they drive to the stadium to pick up the foxes. Kevin sleeps the rest of the way until the sun is starting to rise and they’re back in South Carolina. Kevin doesn’t stop crying on and off again for a couple days, and Abby had to hold him back from escaping more than once. After watching his anxiety consume him, and when he told her none of the Ravens were allowed to be medicated in any manner, she got him a script for some quick-acting anxiety meds for him to keep. It took him a week of energy-sapping panic attacks before she could convince him to actually take them as he needed them.

David took out a loan five days after Kevin had arrived into his care. He called Edgar Allan on the sixth, and the seventh, and the eighth day. By the ninth day Kevin was released from the grips of Ravens. By the tenth day they had started the process of making Kevin Day a fox. I suppose it’s for the best Riko fucked up his hand so badly, isn’t it? At least it gave him the ability to fit into the eligibility criteria for being a Fox. Welcome to the club, Kevin Day, and prepare to be gravely disappointed.

[crystalstar8]

Knights of the Night (ch 23)

Chapter 23

Ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12, ch 13, ch 14, ch 15, ch 16, ch 17, ch 18, ch 19, ch 20, ch 21, ch 22, ch 23

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139240/chapters/71536491

pairing: Jungkook x oc

genre: vampire au, college au, twilight, romance

word count: 3,393

warnings: blood (obviously), kidnapping, child kidnapping, needles, France, human trafficking

notes: vampires, vampire au, college, college au, so many twilight references, blood, needles, kidnapping, children, homelessness, dance, ballet, flashbacks, romance, slow burn, probably no smut, idk yet tho, France, French things, attempted genocide, inaccurate French history, bisexual main character, @strawberriewithchocolate-blog @mozy-j  @daechwitad-2​ @zobadak​ @fallenstar-7​​​

summary: Catalina starts college in a small town all the way across the country. She doesn’t know anyone and isn’t exactly looking for friends. She just wants to focus on dance. But when she meets fellow dance major, Jimin, and adventurous, fellow freshman, Jungkook, Catalina ends up discovering a whole new side to the small college town; one that is dangerous but oh so enticing...

The hallway was quiet outside Taehyung’s room, but she could hear voices downstairs. She couldn’t remember if she had her phone on her before she… well, before she died. But when she checked her pockets, it was right there, fully charged. She smiled.

               Her smile dropped when she tried to open her phone and it didn’t recognize her face, refusing to unlock without the number code.

               “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she mumbled. “I don’t look that different.”

               She had several missed calls and texts from her mom. It looked like her mom was keeping her eyes on the news and saw something about the raid at the abandoned hospital. She clearly panicked when she couldn’t get ahold of her. The last text told her to call when she woke up. She checked her calls. There was one outgoing call to her mom. One of the guys must have called her.

               She sat down against the wall in the hallway and tapped her mom’s contact. The phone didn’t even ring twice before she picked up.

               “Mi hija, is that you?” she answered, her voice frantic.

               “Yeah mom, it’s me,” said Catalina. “I’m okay, sorry I worried you.”

               “A young man named Hoseok called me and told me you were in the hospital?” Lucía asked. “I heard there was some sort of explosion downtown and you were nearby. I tried to fly over there but the city is in lockdown-“

               “Mom, slow down,” Catalina said with a laugh. “I promise I’m okay. I’m back home with the boys and honestly, I feel great.”

               “Were you unconscious all that time?” Lucía asked. “Did you have some kind of head injury? Those don’t just go away so easily.”

               “Yeah, I was asleep for a while, but my head is perfectly fine,” said Catalina. “I just got my phone charged up, that’s why I wasn’t able to call you until now.”

               She hated lying to her mom, but clearly the guys didn’t want her knowing the truth. Catalina knew that was for the best. They couldn’t just go around telling people about all this. She knew someday her mom would need to know, but now wasn’t the time.

               “Okay, I’m so happy you’re okay,” Lucía said. “Please call every day until your poor mom is satisfied.”

               Catalina laughed and said, “Sure mom. I can do that.”

               “The boys are taking care of you, right?” Lucía asked. “Is Jungkook there?”

               “Yeah, they’re taking good care of me,” said Catalina, her heart skipping a beat at the mention of her boyfriend. “Jungkook is here, he’s downstairs. I have to go now mom. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

               “Okay, cariña,” said Lucía. “I’ll let you go. I love you so much.”

               “I love you too, mom,” said Catalina. She hung up and looked down at her phone. She wondered how she’d be able to tell her mom about everything that happened. About what she was now.

               She sent a text to Hoseok, telling him to meet her by Taehyung’s room. He sent her back a thumbs up emoji and was there within a minute. Catalina stood up and looked at him. He didn’t look all that different. She wondered how badly he was hurt. But first…

               She pulled him into a tight hug.

               “Thank you,” she said. “For saving me.”

               “I did it without your consent,” he mumbled into her shoulder. “I thought you would hate me.”

               “I don’t hate you,” she said, pulling away to wipe away his gathering tears. “I wasn’t ready to go. I’m glad you did what you did.”

               He hugged her again, then Catalina said, “I heard you were hurt at the fight.”

               “It wasn’t that bad,” said Hoseok. “Tae tae likes to exaggerate.”

               Catalina laughed.

               “I can’t wait to hear the whole story,” she said. “But first, I wanna see my boyfriend. I was told I needed a chaperone.”

               Hoseok smiled and said, “I’ll be your chaperone! You look okay right now, but seriously, be careful getting close to him.”

               “I feel fine,” said Catalina. “I think I should be okay.”

               “Trust me, you will not feel that way when you get close to him,” said Hoseok, his face getting serious. “I remember what it was like to be new. It’s like, you can’t always control yourself. If you get really close to him, he’s gonna smell irresistible. Literally. It’s going to be really hard not to just bite into his pulse-“

               “That sounds sexy,” said Catalina.

               “It’s not,” said Hoseok. “You won’t be able to stop. Not when you’re this new. You could literally kill him in less than a minute.”

               “Yeah, that’s not sexy,” said Catalina.

               “I would suggest being…chaste for a while,” said Hoseok. “At least until you’re well fed for a few weeks.”

               “Weeks? In Twilight, it takes years,” said Catalina.

               “This is not Twilight,” Hoseok said, laughing. “The only vampires that sparkle like that are the ones at San Francisco pride.”

               Catalina laughed loudly at that, following him towards the stairs.

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

               Jungkook leapt from the couch as soon as Catalina came into the room. Namjoon, who was sitting next to him, was faster in pulling him back.

               “Guk,” Catalina said, itching to finally hold him. He was staring at her with wide eyes, taking in her face and hair and body.

               “Cat,” he whispered, slowly approaching. Namjoon and Hoseok watched them carefully as they met in the middle, enveloping each other in a tight hug. Too tight, if the pop Catalina felt in his back and the groan he let out was anything to go by. She quickly loosened her grip, adjusting herself so her face was buried in his chest instead of his neck. Hoseok was right. He did smell irresistible. His heartbeat and pulse were loud in her ears and the smell coming off of him was making her thirsty again. Before she knew it, she was no longer focusing on him. It would be so easy to just lean up and take…it’s right there…

Her thirst came back full force and it took everything in her to push him away before she lost control.

               She ignored the hurt that flashed in his eyes as she turned her back to him, looking at Hoseok with desperation. He pulled something from his back pocket and handed it to her. It was another blood bag. Her hands shook as she drank it, unsettled by the thoughts running through her head. She hated thinking about Jungkook like that.

               Catalina felt tears well up in her eyes.

               “Sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry Kookie. You just…you smell really good.”

               “Thanks?” he said. She turned to look at him with a smile.

               “By that I mean, I couldn’t stop thinking about biting into your neck and taking from you,” she said, feeling guilty.

               “That sounds sexy,” he said with a smirk.

               “It’s not. I wouldn’t be able to stop,” said Catalina. Behind her, she heard Hoseok chuckle and say under his breath, “No wonder they get along so well.”

               “Well, maybe when you think you could stop, we can test it out,” said Jungkook.

               “We’re still here,” Namjoon said, clearing his throat.

               “No, let them keep going, this is fascinating,” Hoseok said.

               “Okay, I promise I won’t do anything crazy, I just really want to sit down and hold my boyfriend’s hand and listen to everyone’s war stories,” said Catalina. “And maybe drink some more.”

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

               “Taehyung was a beast,” Hoseok said.

               Jin and Jimmy K were given the notice that it was safe to come over, so they did right away. Once everyone was settled into the couch in the lounge, they were all eager to share their stories. Catalina and Jimin were both sipping their way through a pile of blood bags on the coffee table, listening intently with wide eyes. Jungkook sat beside Catalina, an arm around her waist, sparkling eyes never leaving her.

               “Yeah, Taehyung was legendary,” said Jimmy K.

               Taehyung, who was sitting beside Jimin, blushed and waved a hand.

               “I’d say Jimmy K was more legendary,” said Taehyung. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

               “Well, let’s start at the beginning,” said Catalina. “I don’t even know how they got Jimin!”

               “They kidnapped me again,” said Jimin. “The day before the battle.”

               “Jimin, I’m so sorry,” said Catalina. “If we had known…”

               “It’s okay,” he said. “Better me than Caleb. I’m glad Makai assumed we didn’t know him.”

               “It’s true,” said Namjoon. “If it were Caleb, we wouldn’t have been able to save him the way we did with you. Turning children is illegal.”

               “Illegal?” Jungkook asked. “Would you get arrested? By the police?”

               “That’s a question for another time,” Catalina said impatiently. “So, what happened? Tell us from the beginning, from when you all went in.”

               “Well, it was pretty boring when we first got in,” said Namjoon.

               “Let me tell it,” said Hoseok. “You guys are bad at telling stories. Okay, so we went in and our backup is all there, and right away, we’re demanding to speak with Makai. There’s this lady there, was her name Mohati?”

               Namjoon nodded.

               “Right. Mohati tells us that Makai isn’t there, but Yoongi knows she’s lying,” said Hoseok. “And he says so, and then one of our guys tries to attack her and that’s when the fight started. A bunch of guys came out of nowhere and attacked us and it was just madness. Yoongi had his sword-“

               “It was my original sword,” Yoongi said with a grin. “From when I was a prince. I haven’t touched it in a good three hundred years, but it cleaned up pretty well.”

               “And he was cutting peoples heads off,” said Hoseok. “Which was gross and terrible to watch, but it was so awesome. He was like a master fighter. I got separated from them for a while, because I found someone I knew in the crowd. It was Jamie, the woman who kidnapped me back in the nineties. She recognized me and started taunting me and I couldn’t even focus on anything else at that point. My anger totally took over, but she was pretty strong. I didn’t last long in that battle. She hurt me pretty bad, I couldn’t fight after that.”

               “She broke his leg,” said Yoongi.

               Hoseok’s face looked pale. “You don’t have to tell them. It’s really gross.”

               “His bone was sticking out,” Yoongi said, chuckling. “It was magnificent.”

               Hoseok put his face in his hands and groaned. “Don’t make me think about it again. It was so awful. I’m gonna throw up.”

               Yoongi laughed and patted his back. “I helped set it. He did throw up.”

               Hoseok punched him in the arm.

               “He got her back though,” said Yoongi. “Once you could stand up, you killed her, didn’t you?”

               “I’m gonna be sick,” Hoseok said, standing up. Yoongi pulled him back down and rubbed his back.

               “Namjoon, tell us what you were doing,” said Yoongi.

               “I tried to control the crowd, but eventually I had to fight,” said Namjoon. “I mean, I held my own, but nothing crazy happened.”

               “Didn’t you blow up the wall?” asked Yoongi.

               “No, I didn’t blow up the wall,” Namjoon laughed. “Beck, one of the guys from up north, brought explosives. He was setting them up all over the place. I think he just wanted to come to blow stuff up. But I heard Jimmy K was pretty badass during the battle.”

               Jimmy K chuckled and said, “I was just doing my job.”

               “I saw Jimmy K swing over the crowd on a chain, shooting a crossbow,” said Taehyung.

               “I saw Jimmy K with a machete, fighting back-to-back with Yoongi,” said Namjoon.

               “I saw Jimmy K karate chop someone in the neck and they passed out,” said Hoseok. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

               “I saw Jimmy K run up a wall and do a backflip kick to one guy’s chest,” said Yoongi.

               “Was that before my shirt was ripped open, or after?” Jimmy K asked.

               “After,” said Yoongi. “You had a big gash across your chest.”

               “That was from someone’s nails,” said Jimmy K. “Can you believe that? They ruined my shirt. I might have a scar there!”

               “But what a great story it’ll come with!” said Jin.

               “That’s true,” said Jimmy K. “Women love scars. And they love the stories.”

               “What happened to you when you went missing?” Jungkook asked Catalina.

               “I was with Priya and we were going back in to evacuate more captives,” said Catalina. “Amanda came out of nowhere and Priya tried to defend me but she didn’t stand a chance. Amanda pounced on her and snapped her neck. I ran away, but I got lost. Amanda was following me, but I think she was just playing with me. She let me run until I couldn’t breathe anymore, and then she came out and grabbed me. She brought me to Makai’s office. Jimin was there. I don’t think Makai was expecting this attack.”

               “Really?” asked Namjoon. “Because there were way more enemies there than we expected.”

               “No, he told us that he knew we knew Jimin. He realized Jimin was part of our group when Yoongi went there to buy him, but he didn’t pay any mind to it,” said Catalina. “He basically said, he got paid either way. He didn’t think we’d do something like this.”

               “He said he wanted to try to make a deal with you,” Jimin said to Namjoon.

               “He tried to,” said Namjoon. “He wanted me to call this off and let him continue his business. He’d spare you if we did. I couldn’t let him continue his work, so I tried to reason with him to let you go, but then some idiot wanted to be a hero and tried to attack Makai. Obviously Mohati jumped in and killed him right away, but it was too late. Makai and Amanda panicked and took it as an attack.”

               “That’s when Taehyung went crazy,” said Hoseok. “He was legendary.

               “A beast,” said Jimmy K. “Absolutely fearsome.”

               “He was truly a formidable force,” said Namjoon.

               “Guys,” Taehyung whined, blushing and looking down.

               “His eyes were practically glowing when he attacked Makai,” said Jimmy K. “And Makai is a big man, way bigger than Taehyung, so I was sure he’d win. Not to mention, Amanda was also a part of his attack. But Taehyung let out a piercing battle cry and tackled Makai to the ground. He fought both of them like nothing I’ve ever seen before. He was like a wild animal.”

               “He was faster and stronger than I’ve ever seen him,” said Namjoon. “He killed Amanda right away and then tore Makai apart.”

               “Literally,” said Yoongi. “He literally tore the man limb from limb.”

               “Ew, please stop,” said Hoseok, looking pale again.

               “He didn’t waste any time biting you, Jimin,” said Jimmy K. Jimin looked at Taehyung, whose eyes were downcast. Jimin took his hand and rubbed a thumb over his knuckles. Catalina had to assume Jimin wasn’t too mad about being turned.

               “They formed a circle around us,” said Jungkook. He looked pale too as he told Catalina the next part. “Hoseok tried to hold your wound closed, but it wasn’t working. He said he was sorry before biting you.”

               “Once Makai was dead, most of his people started running away,” said Namjoon. “The battle ended quickly and then the police came down to sweep for any other survivors. We didn’t stay though. We had to get you two home.”

               Catalina stayed silent for a moment to take everything in. She couldn’t believe everything that happened, just within…

               “How long was I out?” she asked.

               “Just a day and a half,” said Namjoon.

               “Shit. No wonder my mom was panicking,” said Catalina.

               There was something else weighing on her mind. Something she wasn’t sure they’d have the answers for.

               “So, something strange has been happening with me, and I think I understand what it is, but I don’t know how it’s possible,” said Catalina. Everyone was listening intently. “About a week or so after I moved here, I started having these dreams. They would always start out chaotic, mostly me running from something. Then they would end in a library or den and Namjoon would be there, telling me about the book he read last.”

               Various faces of confusion stared back at her.

               “The weird part is, we hadn’t met any of you yet,” said Catalina. “I met Namjoon in my dreams before I met him in real life. But it didn’t stop there. The night after our bonfire at Jungkook’s house, I had a dream that I was being chased in a tunnel with a metal floor. And the person chasing me said something like, ‘Don’t you know girls like you get eaten…’, or, what was it? Like, ‘Here kitty kitty, don’t you know trespassers get eaten?’. And these dreams kept happening, the same one over and over again, me being chased in this tunnel and the person chasing me kept saying something similar to that, a little different each time. And then, the night before the battle, I had a dream that me and Jimin were being held captive and I woke up when our necks were slit.

               “When Amanda was chasing me the day of the battle, I was running through the same tunnel as the one in my dreams. But I didn’t think about it too much because she was following me and taunting me and she said those words. She said, ‘Here, kitty kitty. If you keep running, you’ll run into monsters down here. And pretty kitties like you will get eaten by the monsters’, something like that. And I realized that this was the moment I had been dreaming about all along. And I knew what happened next but I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

               Catalina felt a tear run down her face, which she wiped away quickly. She didn’t want to cry, she wanted to be mad. But there was no point in being mad at a dead woman. She supposed there was also no point in being mad at a situation that was meant to be anyway.

               “Fascinating,” Namjoon said after a long pause. “You’re a prophet.”

               “I thought you didn’t believe in stuff like that,” said Yoongi.

               “I don’t, I mean I didn’t,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter what I believe in. If she’s telling the truth, which she has no reason not to, then that’s proof. That implies that destiny is real, and we don’t truly have free will.”

               Namjoon rubbed his chin and looked off into space before continuing.

               “But not entirely,” said Namjoon. “If your dreams were a little bit different each time, that means that the future isn’t completely set in stone. It might still be possible to change it, especially if you know what to expect. It might be difficult though, since it sounded like all your dreams had about the same outcome.”

               “No, not all of them,” said Catalina. “Some of them ended with me finding you all and you protecting me from whatever was chasing me. One of them ended with Jungkook getting injured. He was unconscious and both of us were locked in one of those cells.”

               “So, it sounds like the future is changeable,” said Yoongi. “I bet your dreams were shifting every time someone made a decision.”

                “This isn’t unheard of, Catalina,” Namjoon said. “Lots of vampires have some sort of special ability. Usually it’s just things like hypnotism, or having an affinity for certain skills, but this could be very useful. And very interesting. The philosophical implications of this are well worth looking into.”

               “I don’t like it,” said Catalina.

               “You better get used to it,” said Yoongi. “There’s a lot of things about this life you won’t like.”

               “Well, vampires don’t need to sleep, right?” Jimin said. “If you don’t like it, just don’t sleep.”

               “Oh, that’s true,” said Hoseok.

               It was then that she remembered the last dream she had. The one on the beach. If that one came true, like the others did, then maybe this gift of hers wouldn’t be so bad.

               “What are you smiling about?” Jungkook asked.

               “The last dream I had, before I woke up today,” she said, her smile growing wider. “I hope it comes true.”

.

.

.

[shintorikhazumi]

Trope 2: Accidental Marriage

Trope 2: Accidental Marriage- From: No Please

A/N: I might do a part 2 to this, maybe. Also, Sorry to the one who requested something else first. Still looking for a trope to match your description :’<, but I will get to it!! Please do submit um, specific tropes. That will also make it kinda easier :)). Thank you!

Sorry if this isn’t quite what you had in mind? I had fun though. Will try to stick closer to the theme next time ;-;. Really need to practice. This feels more like… unintended? Marriage? Then Accidental? Yep. I might just need to redo this prompt someday huehuehue. I’ve been burnt out of good ideas lately so. This is ;-; sorry. Realized too late, and couldn’t retract, rip.

This is not a short, it seems. I have failed. Both the short, and the prompt. I’m sorry. ;-;

Enjoy?

~Shintori Khazumi

Trope 2: Accidental Marriage- From: No Please

“This… was not quite what I meant before when I said I needed a partner who could stand alongside me on stage forever.” Claudine muttered, still shocked as she played with the ring on her finger, beholding it with some sort of awe, and slight awkwardness.

“Is that so?” The question was followed by a thoughtful hum. “This was exactly what I had in mind, though.” Maya smiled flirtatiously across the table, act perfect as always as she pretended Claudine’s words and the migraine she currently sported did not hurt her as much as they actually did.

“Hmmm.” Claudine simply continued to scrutinize the jewelry that now adorned her finger, not sparing Maya a glance.

This made the latter deflate, confidence shrinking by the minute. Claudine… did she really dislike the situation all that much?

Maybe Maya should find this sudden, forced(?) romantic engagement weird as well. After all,

They were only best friends.

And best friends didn’t just wake up side-by-side, married, out of the blue.

-As much as Maya loved the mere idea of it.

The events of yesternight were surprisingly vivid and fresh in her mind; Claudine’s as well. This only served to feed the uncomfortable atmosphere and embarrassment between them as they tried to wrap their heads around the thought of them actually, legitimately, officially being married.

How had it even come to that point?

Well…

It all started with Maya’s celebratory party after a successful nation-wide tour for her new show. Claudine had come to watch the top star in all her glory on the closing night, and had gotten herself invited along with the cast afterwards while the pair had been exchanging pleasantries and the usual congratulations. Claudine had been pulled along so naturally, like she was meant to be with the group, and it wasn’t even on Maya’s request.

Maya was ever in awe of her former partner’s charisma, drawing her own cast to the French actress, as if she were their companion these past few months of dedicated rehearsals and shows.

She was happy, and just the slightest bit jealous. Of Claudine or her cast? Maya didn’t really know.

Another thing she did not know was that everyone knew something. That there was something different, different about Maya and Claudine, leading to this turn of events.

After months of dealing with a stoic Maya with minimal genuine emotions slipping by, they’d known in a heartbeat when things changed. Changed when Saijou Claudine, her best friend, was around. They’d have to be blind to not notice how Tendou Maya was always much more enthusiastic in practice whenever Claudine would drop by. Though of course, she was always perfect during any performance, whether in practice or the final thing.

But the troupe knew it was different. It just was. As unexplainable as it was.

There would be weeks when Claudine would never show up, and sometimes it felt like practice was a little tense. Maya was like a deprived pup, waiting on her owner, eyes darting to the door at the end of the practice hall any chance she’d get. She thought she was being discreet, but no. No, she was not.

By no means did her distraction ever weigh anyone down. Maya would die before letting something as trivial as feelings get to her. But… it was clear when her heart was in a place separate from the stage. It never did leave, but it occasionally wandered off, taking its steps farther and farther to where Claudine was as time went by.

Moments like those, the cast had learned to deal with. With how often Claudine came over, they’d all gotten to know each other enough to exchange numbers, and it was simply an easy matter of praying the woman wasn’t too busy for a quick video call, the troupe members shoving a smiling Claudine on their phone screen, the blonde tutting Maya and telling her to move her ass along and stop troubling the rest of the group.

They could just see the light beaming off of Maya even as she was being scolded; so happy, so pleased.

‘Best friends’ their ass.

She’d make a haughty, faux-prideful remark and Claudine would call her out on it, be her usual irritated self with the occasional “mechante va!” . Maya would laugh airily at her, before calming down and mumbling softly how she missed Claudine, how she wished she could pay her a visit- selfish as it sounded. Claudine would then apologize for being so busy, tell Maya that her schedule was hectic at the moment, but that she’d try to swing by one way or another soon. The cast would pretend they didn’t hear the longing in the pair’s tones over the phone, how Maya’s usually perfect posture would slip, frame slouching in poorly-hidden sorrow.

Being apart clearly tore at her. But what could anyone do? Maya had chosen the world of Takarazuka, and Claudine went to walk on broadway. It was surprising enough that they were able to still visit one another as often as they did, Maya surely having been on Claudine’s sets more than once, always welcome, and ever well-known.

They were inseparable, not only physically, but in public image and name as well.

And so with all this knowledge, it was only the obvious choice that Claudine would be invited as an honorary guest to the afterparty, right? No problems with that, right?

….right. Maybe.

Everything had been going swell at first. All was the norm when it came to these somewhat generic parties. There were the usual speeches, acknowledgements, some challenges, karaoke and games. Yes, games. And one game just so happened to swerve them completely off of the safe course.

Maya had been observing Claudine the whole night from where she was seated at the head of the table with important producers and guests. She tried her utmost to hide the annoyance at being interviewed after a long show, unable to enjoy the ambience of the festivities. Coupled with that were the people attempting to get with her, or at least suck up to her good graces. Albeit, she should be used to all this, with Claudine so near, yet so out of reach, it only served to tick her off each second that went by with these snakes of men and women coiling about her, choking her with their disingenuous praises.They were as acid in her ears, burning hot and unwelcomely painful.

The horrid collective concentration of their too-strong “fancy” perfumes with scents all jumbled and odd, along with all the alcohol they made her down (she willingly did so, if only to distract herself from all of them) made bile tickle the bottom of her throat, humiliation threatening to make its appearance.

‘Ah, how annoying.’

She’d much rather be next to one gorgeous French woman, standing alongside all her underrated castmates- these moneybags never gave their potentials a second glance, the idiots. She’d much prefer to be dancing the night away to the oddest of tunes, but enjoying each moment all the same with the rest of her new family, alongside one who had always been her family. And her home. And-... she would stop herself right there.

She hadn’t the right to claim Claudine like that. Not while she remained cowardly, concealing her affections each and every day. She shouldn’t. Not until she made the effort to be able to.

Maya sighed, downing another glass of beer. She was beginning to feel a migraine coming on. She needed a different distraction. One that hopefully did not involve her getting more drunk than she already was.

Who better a distraction than Saijou Claudine then? Beautiful, a sight for sore eyes, voice a pleasing timbre to the ears, aura radiant and warm. Maya sighed, feeling her stress melt away instantly the moment she’d placed her focus on her cherished partner. Now, if only she could call for her attention to save her, or maybe go to her and spend the rest of the night with- wait. Wait a second.

While observing Claudine intently, Maya had realized something. Maya, with all her competitive spirit, had taken note of the fact that Claudine had drunk one glass of alcohol more than Maya. How she knew this? Besides the number of empty glasses laid before the woman on a table as the troupe had currently advanced into a drinking competition, Maya had subconsciously been taking note of each time Claudine called for another drink when Maya managed to spare her a glance. And she always seemed to be taking in more and more!

Therefore, by her very sober mind’s standards, did this not mean that Claudine was trying- and actually being- superior? With the higher tolerance and capacity? Claudine was winning something! And that certainly wouldn’t do! For Maya was always the winner.

Yes! Maya now had the perfect reason to get out of this unwanted bind! She had to defend her honor! She had to maintain her winning streak! She had to best Claudine as she always did in any competition they had! It was tradition; everyone knew of their rivalry since the beginning of time. This was a valid excuse!

With not so much as a word of farewell to the blabbering buffoons she’d be leaving behind, Maya made her exit, stumbling momentarily- whoops, was that supposed to happen?- as she moved out of her seat towards where Claudine currently stood. She had left the drinking game she’d been a part of moments prior, now occupied in talking with one of the show’s directors who wasn’t the slightest bit interested in the affairs that Maya had been drowning in, it seemed. And he should have been the one to be receiving all these… those people. He made Maya his scapegoat, the damned old man.

“Tch.”

She observed for a moment as they continued chatting, one moment looking serious, then the next, laughing as if they were old time friends. Was their conversation of great significance at the moment? Maybe. Maybe Maya shouldn’t cut in. But Claudine was animatedly communicating with him, gestures and smiles and all, and something stirred within her at the thought of her best friend so close to this man. Claudine looked like she was having fun. Too much fun. So Maya thought it would be best to interrupt them. Right now.

“Ma Claudine!” She hiccuped, covering her mouth in surprise, and giggling a little ‘sorry’, very amused by the sound that had slipped from her own lips.

“Hmm?” The woman turned around before her eyes widened, moving forward just in time to catch Maya in her arms as she slumped forward. “Maya?! What are-” Her scent… though still as pleasant as always, was mixed with something Claudine didn’t quite fancy as much.

“Claudine? Oh! Claudine! Greetings, my lovely sta-”

Maya had leaned in closer to do who knows what, but Claudine was not having it. Not right now. She pushed her face away, still holding the girl up by the waist. “Maya! You’re drunk! So drunk!” She screeched, already requesting for a glass of water that the director went and fetched from a passing waiter, a glass of relief that Maya adamantly rejected, stomping her foot down with a little whine.

“No! Am not!” She slurred, giggling some more. “But maybe you are!” She poked at Claudine’s chest. “And so you won’t accept my challenge!”

“Challenge?” Claudine shook her head, not wanting to be distracted from the matter at hand. The matter in her hands being an incredibly wasted Maya. “Maya, I think you’ve had a little too much to-”

“You’ve had too much to drink? Haha, I thought so. You’re looking a little red, my dear.” Maya drawled, dragging a manicured nail along Claudine’s cheek, lightly scratching.

“No,” Claudine sighed. “I am very much sober, thank you.” She shook her head fondly. “Come on now, be a good girl for me and take this water.” She tipped the glass the director had passed her, getting Maya to drink somehow.

“I’d say thank you-” Maya exclaimed, pointing a finger into the air, still slumped against Claudine. “But times like these, I can’t be grateful to the enemy. Saijou Claudine!” She patted the said woman’s cheek, maybe a little too hard. It sounded like it would leave a mark.

“Maybe you need more water.” Claudine grit her teeth, very willing to douse Maya with a pitcher with the way she was acting at the moment.

“I challenge you-”

“Are you not listening?!”

“To a drinking contest!”

“I just told you you’ve had enough-”

“Scared?”

“Maya, if you drink any more, you’ll-”

“You’ll lose to me.” Maya grinned, evil and conniving. “Wouldn’t want that now would we? Haven’t won lately, dear Claudine.” Maya chuckled, lips leaning close to a now shaking Claudine, irritation and fury building. Maya just had to add the spark to the ready fuel. “- or at all.”

“You…. you… mechante va! ” Claudine grabbed Maya by the wrist, taking her to the drinking table, seating her opposite of herself. “I’ll make sure you eat your words. Or well… drink them bitterly. More bitter than any alcohol or your tears. Be prepared, Tendou Maya!”

“Always am, Saijou Claudine. ”

//-//-//-//-//

Ten mugs in and Maya was toeing the edge of consciousness. Or lack of it. Her mind was floaty, hazy, dull.

Still, she could not lose. Not to anyone. Especially not to Claudine. She had to always stay on her toes, and keep Claudine’s eyes on her… she’d also like it if they met her own and they’d stare into one another’s colored gems, the sunset’s rays hitting Claudine so perfectly as they had dinner by the beach, the sound of waves beating against the coast as Maya got down on one knee and- that was not important right now.

Maya had to get through one more drink. She shook irrelevant thoughts out of her head. She needed to focus. Focus.

Focus on… Claudine and her pretty pink eyes, almost identical to the flush of her face, lips parted slightly as she breathed gently over the chilled glass, droplets condensing on the outside and rolling down, and gently falling onto the waxed wood of the table.

‘ Ah… you’re just so… ‘

“Beautiful.”

“What was… that?” Claudine got out, tolerance slipping after so many rounds of drinking, including the ones from her previous match up.

“If I win this… there’s a reward, right?” Maya changed the subject, hoping Claudine was drunk enough to truly not have registered her little slip up. Now was not the time for her desires to be made known. She took in a deep breath of air while their drinks were being refilled. “There is. Right?” Violets pinned Claudine in place, daring her to say no.

“Mmph.” Claudine nodded sloppily, reaching for the full glass, bringing it closer and staring into liquid death. This little contest might just be going too far. Claudine still had work the next day. She knew this. Maya knew this too. Claudine knew that Maya knew this. And yet, here they were, probably way past midnight and into the early morning, drowned in intoxication and pride. And yet, “Whatever you want.”

Maya had never been so irresponsible in her life, to get this inebriated. She knew this was a first for Claudine as well. They were usually so careful and calculated, and just… not this pair of reckless drunkards, consuming glass after glass, staring into each other’s souls, no one willing to back down.

“Whatever… I w-want… you sh-say…” Maya drawled, tapping a finger against her cheek, looking to be in thought.

“Obvious-ugh-... obviously… within my power to give.” Claudine laid her head back against her seat, breathing heavily through her nose and huffing out strongly, hoping she wouldn’t just spill her guts right then and there.

She was going to fucking win this.

“And if you won? Whaateveeerr could Claudine Saijou even need, or want in this world?” Maya giggled, taunting. “I’ll give it to you. All of it. Even if it were to be the moon that you wanted, or a star.”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m not as unrealistic as you.” Claudine waved.

The twentieth glass glared at them through the table.

Maya could barely manage to read Claudine’s body language, but she knew the girl was at her limit. Well, she was too. Her beautiful best friend remained staring into the cup.

“Giving up?”

Claudine shot her a glare, one that sent electricity coursing all throughout Maya’s entire being. She loved it. She loved it so much. This feeling, that gaze, that Claudine. She loved her.

And all Maya wanted to do was be able to tell her without fearing rejection. Why she ever did was stupid. She knew Claudine, and Claudine knew her. They knew each other’s minds, almost as if they shared them. She knew Claudine’s kind and gentle heart. She would feel her affections, sweetness, and genuine thoughts in every action.

So why was she so hesitant?

Why did she still think that Claudine might not return her feelings?

Maybe it was because she knew she could be too egotistical and assuming; assuming that everyone loved her, and always would. Because they just did.

But Claudine wasn’t everyone.

Claudine didn’t fawn over her every gesture, or plaster her posters along her wall, or cry out for autographs, or send her billions of gifts and mails and extravagant whatevers.

Claudine just stayed by her side. Even after seeing how weak Maya truly was.

Even now, in her insecure, lowly, shameful state.

Claudine loved her.

Maybe.

Maya wasn’t brave enough to confirm that sober, so maybe this little contest reaped good benefits for her after all.

She had a chance if she won. Yes. She’d use the reward to request Claudine to go out on a date with her, then they’d go to this quaint little cafe, just like the ones Claudine loved in back in France, and Maya would get her a dress in a shop, and take her on a boat ride and-

“Maya.”

“Do you like the swan boats, or the wooden ones?”

“...huh?”

“O-oh.” Snapping out of her reverie, Maya asked Claudine to repeat her words, apologizing for being absent-minded.

“Iiit’s… it’s alright.” Claudine blinked, brow raised in question, before shaking her head in dismissal. “Anywaaay,” she sighed. “I… said I’ll sh-stop. Tch. I give in. You win.”

Claudine sounded a lot less drunk then Maya, but maybe the glass of water in her hand, as well as the lack of people around them explained that Maya had been out of it for a while. Really, Maya was so far gone from the world that she hadn’t noticed most of her troupe and guests had already headed on home. Even the bartender who had been serving them up to this point was already wiping down the far ends of the counter, preparing to close up.

She would have been concerned about all that, if not for one little detail...

“Araaaa~Ara, Shaijou-shaannn~” She grinned. “Admitting de-*hic*-feat is so unlike y- ack”

Claudine retracted the hand that had just chopped Maya on the head. “Quiet. Drink your water and let’s go home.”

“Eeehhh...”

Claudine sighed. She barely had enough of a mind to be thinking straight right now. She really should have stopped this stupid little thing sooner. She was lucky enough to notice that Maya had very much passed out seated, and she knew she was on the brink of losing her rationality as well. So she just wanted them both to get home in one piece before she lost all semblance of controlled thought. They needed to be home safe. Home separately, not together of course, not that they lived together. Not that Claudine minded , but… oh God. She was really getting there.

“You haven’t forgoootteeen about my… -eugh- ahh… reward though? Have you?” Maya managed, wiping the drool from her cheek as she asked for another glass of water.

“I’m starting... to think you’ll be the one t-to forget it very soon.” Claudine sighed, feeling her eyes begin to droop, rubbing her face with her palms. “Buuut... whatever.  Get it over with. What ish-is it that you want, insufferable woman?” She still tried to maintain her coherent speech, shamed enough for losing their little bet.

Through her exasperated tone, Maya still heard fondness and sprinkles of mirth, Claudine smiling at her gently, even if her brows were furrowed. Ever the good sport. Maya loved her like this too.

“Sooo? Hurry up? We don’t... have all the time in the world here?

Right. Maya’s reward. A response.

Drinking more of her water, she prepared her tongue to speak the necessary words.

‘I want to date you. I want to go out with you. Please go out with me. Please be my girlfriend, please be mine.’

“Maya?” Claudine was beginning to get worried as Maya just stared at her blankly.

‘I love you.’

“Oi. Tendou Maya!”

‘You’re beautiful, inspiring and amazing.’

“Maya? Ma Maya?”

‘I love you. I want to be with you. For a long long time. Please go out with me. Say it Maya. God damn, SAY IT!’

“Tendou Maya!” Claudine shook her by the shoulders, very concerned now by the lack of response, that concern quickly turned into surprised confusion as Maya blurted out her request.

“How about your hand in marriage?”

“...”

‘ What did she just…’

Claudine was in too much shock, too drunk to comprehend what the hell Maya had just asked. So just as stupidly, she replied,

“Sure whatever.”

Maya felt herself slightly sober up suddenly. Wait… didn’t she just say… and Claudine said... “Is… Is that…. Are you shue-su… sure?? Are you-”

Claudine sighed, headache coming on quick. She hoped she had aspirin in her bag. Or car. Or- ah gosh dang it, she wasn’t in the safest state to drive. “Go on ahead, you idiot.”

“But…” Maya tried to reach out for Claudine, still fairly surprised. “What about yoouur… feehlinshh-whoops.” She had stumbled forward again, Claudine catching her the same way she did earlier that night.

Just a lot less sober.

Claudine sighed, taking a sip from her water glass on the counter, hoping to keep her mind for moments longer. Downing one big gulp, she decided maybe it wasn’t so bad to be honest from time to time. Maya was a lot less sharp- scratch that. She was completely dense when it came to Claudine, it seemed. Or maybe she was pretending not to know of the blonde’s feelings for her. Whichever it was, Claudine had no better chance to tell Maya something she’d otherwise never allow the light of day to see.

The truth of her feelings. It was fine. Nothing would be amiss after this, even if Maya understood it now. Tomorrow would be a normal day. So Claudine just needed to tell her honestly, and wholeheartedly, try to make these feelings known tonight. Not that Maya would remember this in the morning. Not that Claudine wanted her to.

This water tasted funny.

But Claudine needed to confess first.

“Don’t you know I’ve…”

‘Huh? What is this… why is everything suddenly so hazy and…’

“likaefgfin you fer so”

“Whaaat was thaaat?” Maya replied a little too loud for Claudine’s eardrums to take.

She barely registered the bartender cursing under his breath, apologizing for leaving that drink on the counter fairly close to Claudine’s water. It was supposed to be his. A strong drink for him to unwind with.

“Ah, Fuck it.”

//-//-//-//-//

“I have to admit, as weird as it feels, I’m impressed.” Claudine whistled, still looking at the metal band wrapped about her finger, fitting perfectly, design simple, yet intricate- and how did that even work. A beautiful purple sapphire rested at the apex of its curve. Claudine admired it carefully. “I really am impressed. How you managed to arrange all this, drunk. Rings and all, even marriage papers.”

Claudine sorted through her memories of the day hours prior to their current afternoon meal time on Claudine’s apartment balcony, admiring the sunset that was closing in. Fragments of images of them walking up to an empty church with Maya shaking down a priest to marry them haunted her recall.

Claudine wasn't all that religious, but Dear Lord, forgive them both.

Claudine felt the intensity of second-hand embarrassment wash over her. Really. What had they been doing at six a.m.?

Right. They had been busy trying to get married.

They even sat in front of the supreme court, waiting for it to open come eight-thirty in the morning. How Maya convinced people there to get them to do the procedures that fast was a mystery in and of itself, but in barely two hours, they were walking onto the street, hand-in-hand, somehow still barely conscious and far from sober enough, with the sun blaring in their eyes, sleep-deprived, and now officially married.

“I still can’t believe your crazy amounts of luck, to have come across a travelling trader. And these rings…” Claudine stroked them gently. “Exotic and from a different country, huh…” She murmured. “Hope they aren’t fake.”

Maya choked on the tea she had been sipping, tongue burnt suddenly. “I-I’ll have you know I have a good eye for these kinds of things.”

Claudine merely hummed again, stirring Maya’s anxiousness up even worse. Maya thumbed the onyx on her own wedding ring, biting her lip nervously, a question on the tip of her tongue escaping after being held back since they’d regained consciousness.

“Do you mind it? Being married to me?” She whispered, hopefully loud enough for Claudine to hear. Or not in case she had an unfavorable answer for Maya that she didn’t know if she wanted to hear. “Does it bother you?”

Claudine’s eyes lifted up, a sparkle in them, and a few shadows swirling about. Maya read it as doubt, but with a conviction. Claudine had something planned. What it was waslost on Maya, but clearly she was about to say something important-

“I mean, I love you. So I hardly mind this arrangement, out of order as it is.” Claudine laughed. “And I’m fairly sure you feel the same way, considering you were the one to propose this. Quite literally propose. So,” She tried her best to offer a reassuring smile, finally looking Maya’s way to meet her eyes and tell her what they both thought about this- “Maya?”

The sight that greeted her was a flabbergasted Tendou Maya, mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“I… you… I- you- me, l-l”

Claudine blinked, taking Maya’s image all in. Before she broke,

“...pfft- Ahahahaha, you should see your face, Tendou Maya! You look like you can’t believe what I just said!”

“I… I-”

“If you say you actually can’t believe it, I’ll be incredibly heartbroken, you know?” Claudine wiped tears from her eyes; she propped her arm on the table, chin resting on an open palm. “I’d cry a river.” She giggled, but they both knew there was a truth to her words.

Maya was still at a loss. And Claudine was only teasing her more and more. It was frustrating that Maya couldn’t even manage a word out, she couldn’t even tease her back to regain the upper hand-

Wait… didn’t this mean…

“Oh my god.”

“Hmm?” Claudine cocked a brow. “Are you praying or something?”

“You’ve won.”

“Eh?”

“You’ve actually won.”

“Won? Won what, exactly?” Clearly, this victory wasn’t registering in Claudine’s mind, as she still gazed upon Maya tenderly, a soft blush on her face as she lovingly made fun of the girl. Her smile was of a maiden in love, happy and satisfied, and Maya…

“Or am I the one whose won?” A winner to be married to the most wonderful person in the world- unintentional as it was. Maya knew she’d do it all over again. Intentionally, this time.

“If you’re talking about winning me over, then isn’t it a little too late to realize it now, Tendou Maya?” She chuckled, taking a sip of her tea.

Maya blinked. “Maybe.”

“Eh? Not that?”

“But maybe you can take that as your first victory.” Maya’s usual flirtatious smile had returned, but there was a sincerity to it that made Claudine’s heart flutter in her chest, Maya’s eyes so warm adding to the butterflies within her.

“A-and what… what “reward” do I gain from all of this?” She stuttered, suddenly unable to keep her eyes locked with Maya’s.

“My, what a silly question, Ma Claudine.” Maya reached a hand over, taking Claudine’s ringed one in her own. “For haven’t you already won me?”

“...you really are infuriating.”

“Infuriatingly charming?”

“I should not be as calm and accepting as I am in-and-of this situation. I just got proposed to and married in the span of so few hours.” Claudine shook her head, almost in disbelief. Almost. There were too many things grounding her in this reality, proving to her that she indeed was bonded to Maya in sickness and in health.

“That wasn’t a no, and don’t change the subject like that.” Maya laughed, standing up from her seat and walking around the table, standing behind Claudine for a while, unsure if she should proceed with her actions.

“Quit being weird and standing behind me like a stalker. Just hug me if that’s what you were planning on doing. You already did it before all this, what’s stopping you now?”

“Th-things are different this time, clearly I’d be a little nervous!.”

“Wuss.” Claudine teased, but her heart was beating way too loudly in her chest.

“Ever the sharp tongue.” Maya sighed fondly, wrapping her arms around Claudine from behind, kissing her on the temple.

“You like it.”

“I do, Mrs. Tendou.”

“Hmm? Are you still drunk? You got a little confused there, Tendou Maya.” Claudine chuckled, a hand reaching for Maya’s left and kissing the back of it, before kissing the ring.

“Not at all? Are you forgetting something? Tendou Claudine?”

“Ten- ah…” Claudine’s face burst into flames, the realization finally sinking in. That she was actually married to the person she loved for so long. So unconventionally too. She would have been consumed by these emotions, but then again, there was something wrong about that statement that stirred up her competitive nature. “Why do I take your name?”

“Well, obviously, I-”

“Saijou Maya.”

Both their brows twitched.

“Yes, that just…”

“Doesn’t sound quite right.”

“Tendou Claudine does not work for me either.” Claudine huffed.

“Alright, alright.” Maya laughed. “Mrs. Saijou, would that work for you?”

Claudine turned to give her a bright smile, actually liking how that sounded. “Yes, it would, Mrs. Tendou.”

Staring into one another’s eyes, they felt that familiar magnetic pull they always seemed to have between them, drawing them ever closer. They had always tried to fight against it before, afraid of what the next moment would bring, but now… there was none of that fear. Only reassurance and love.

“May I kiss you, Saijou Claudine?” Maya whispered, softly against Claudine’s lips that were now barely touching her own, breaths mingling and warm.

“You’ve already married me. So why not?”

Soft and teasing, chasing and embracing, their first kiss was all sorts of wonder, and colorful in every way. Their first kiss, and it had happened after they had gotten married.

It truly was out of order, the way they did things. Odd and different, just as everyday was when they were together. Never dull, never getting old. Always something new and changing. Never ordinary. But really, when were they ever the ordinary pair, Maya and Claudine?

Pulling away, Maya laughed. Laughed so hard tears spilled from her eyes until her laughter turned to chuckles, and into sobs, all of joy.

“I love you.”

Claudine felt herself tear up as well, getting up from her seat to hug Maya in full, both of them holding onto one another, neither willing to let go. Whispered reassurances and small kisses brought them down from their emotional high, calming them both as they swayed about in a slow dance on the terrace. They shared words, not really meaning anything at the moment. A few jokes, a few feelings, a little love.

It truly was a wonder how perfect everything fit, and felt. Like it was all natural, the pair so easily getting used to this new lifestyle as sudden as it was.

The stars shone overhead as night fell upon the dancers, the cool breeze wrapping them in its refreshing embrace. Nature provided them their music to a well-practiced dance that only they knew, and Maya had never felt more content in a moment than now. Truly, it was a perfect end to their perfect wedding day. But something seemed to be missing...

“Honeymoon?”

“...”

“Not here, obviously. Bahamas?”

“...”

“Claudine?”

Face heated and hidden in Maya’s neck, Claudine mumbled, “You truly have no shame…” She groaned, but added, “...Only if you’re paying.”.

Maybe some things needed the normal getting used to, after all.

Notes:

A/N: Might make a part 2 if I feel like it. This one was fun! ~Shintori Khazumi

[girlsluvbot]

MATCHMAKER pt.1

pairing: roseanne park × fem! reader

genre: fluff, angst

about:

matchmaker /ˈmatʃmeɪkə/

noun

a person who arranges marriages or initiates romantic relationships between others.

"an enthusiastic matchmaker who continually tried to pair off the difficult bachelor with unattached ladies"

a/n: i'm back!!! hehe this goddamn thing took so long to write, i both despise and adore it with every fibre of my being. enjoy my blood, sweat and tears in the form of a fic.

You loved your job. Very few people are lucky enough to be able to relate to that statement, and you were thankfully one of them. Hell, not only did you love your job, you were extremely good at it.

Since you were a little kid, writing nas always been your biggest passion. Wether it was writing short stories, poems or essays about the french revolution, you were always happy when you were able to put your feelings and thoughts onto paper. This was the main reason why you became the manager of your local newspaper during middle school, high school and eventually even university.

You've won multiple writing contests and even people who had no idea what your name was knew one thing about you: you were an amazing writer.

Years of practice, your impeccable set of skills and a recommendation letter from your university professor secured you a job at Vogue almost immediately. After all this hard work, you finally achieved everything you were looking for. You were truly happy.

Until this very moment.

"Well, I don't know," the woman sitting in front of you made a disgusted grimace, "it just lacks any emotion whatsoever. I've quite literally never read something so stiff and akward."

And here they were. The first words of criticism you have ever recieved. You were so used to everyone praising your work, you didn't know how to react or respond.

Three months ago, you would have never gotten into a similar situation: simply because there was nothing about your work to critize. But a lot has changed in the past few weeks, and not exactly in the good kind of way.

When you first joined Vogue, you were the head editor and journalist of the spread dedicated almost entirely to interviews. Thats what you did, talked to celebrities and wrote about them. And that's what you were good at, almost too good.

Just a year after working in the magazine you got promoted. You were still the head editor, but now of a completely different part of the journal: one dedicated to a single topic. Love. This was bad news, very bad news.

Why, you ask? The reason was fairly simple but no less embarrassing. Even as the head editor of a spread all about love, you've never experienced it yourself. In other words, you've never been in love. And how are you supposed to write about something you know nothing about?

Your boss looks at you and shakes her head. She reaches for the stack of papers on the table in front of her and starts reading, "For example; 'His lips brushed against mine. They were soft. The kiss was short but sweet. I loved it.' What the actual heck? I kiss my cat more passionately than this." she took off her glasses and started massaging the crook of her nose.

"Listen, Y/N, I've read your previous pieces and they were simply wonderful. But this? I don't even know what else to say without hurting your feelings."

"I'm so sorry. I know, it's just that I dont have much experience in said area." you don't finish the sentence, hoping she somehow gets the memo. She doesn't.

"What area?"

"Love. I dont have much experience with love." you blurt out the words that have been on your mind nonstop since the day of your promotion.

"Oh, you poor thing" she leans back in her chair, her eyes scanning your every move, "Isn't that unfortunate."

You nod your head slowly, trying not to get offended at her words full of pity.

"How are you supposed to write romance stories then? This won't work." the woman grabs a post-it note

"Are," your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, "Are you firing me?"

"Are you crazy? Of course I'm not," she hands you the piece of paper with a phone number, "We just have to improvise for the time being. Do you know Roseanne Park? She's the manager of our Matchmaker spread. You can be her assistant for the next few months, help her around, learn a thing or two. Hopefully your writing wont be so...bland after."

To be completely honest, you didn't handle changes well. Maybe that's why you were standing in front of your new, and hopefully temporary, bosses office, trying to build up the courage to knock on her door.

One of the reasons why you were so nervous was that Roseanne Park, the manager of the Vogue Matchmaker was insanely attractive. Admittedly, you did some online stalking the night before- okay, a lot of it. Here's the thing; you were a planner. Whether it came to your career, writing or even relationships, you liked to beprepared.

That's why after a few hours spent on the internet, you knew everything. The name of her sister (Alice Park), if the had a pet (yes, a fish named Joohwangie) and who her favorite band was (The 1975).

You weren't usually like this, so head over heels for a girl you haven't even met. But your writing, the reason you were here in the first place, didn't usually suck so after all, some things really do change easily.

Just as you reached for the dark wooden door in front of you, it opened before your hand could even touch it's sleek surface.

"Oh!" the tall woman stopped in her tracks. Thanks to your thorough internet digging, you instantly recognized her. Roseanne Park. Your new boss. A 'matchmaker' if you will.

"You must be Y/N! I've heard that you're going to be my assistant for a bit." your cheeks heated up for no apparent reason. Did she know the reason why you got transferred here so quickly? Every molecule in your body wished and prayed to every possible god out there that she didn't.

"Yeah, that's me!" you finally composed yourself enough to speak, but that didn't mean your voice didn't sound like one of a twelve year old boy going through puberty- high pitched and squeaky.

You examined her face more in depth, and realized quite a few things:

She was somehow even prettier in real life. How? you had no idea. Some people just really won the genetics lottery, you thought.

Her hair was red. Like undeniably, undoubtedly red. In all of the pictures you found yesterday it was either brown or black, so this change caught you off guard. You couldn't complain though, because this girl looked like a hotter version of Ariel with a much better sense in fashion (and music).

"Have you been standing out here for too long?"

"Oh no, I just arrived." lying has never been so easy.

"Great! I'm gonna go downstairs to grab a package but you can look around the office while I'm gone," she opened the door a bit to let you walk in.

You did as she told you and entered the room. The door closed behind you without you noticing, the only thing you could focus on was this girl's office. It looked just like you would imagine heaven to look like- full of light, white furniture and expensive looking leather couches.

There were pictures everywhere: a dozen of four young girls (one of them being Roseanne), a few more of her with famous celebrities and one of a familiar looking face- her sister.

You carefully walked towards the table in the middle of the room, not wanting to damage anything. You noticed quite a bit of unexpected clutter, and above everything a print of the brand new Vogue issue. A woman on the cover flashed you a beautiful smile as you picked it up. The headline stated: Kim Jisoo talks acting, NYFW and love.

You flipped the glossy magazine pages to find the spread dedicated to said interview and noticed just what you were looking for: the author of the article. The credits at the bottom of the page revealed a nice surprise- Author; Roseanne Park.

"Well what do you think? Is it a good article?" your soul almost left your body when you realized who was standing next to you. You quickly put the magazine down, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to touch your stuff. I just saw the cover and..."

"Oh my gosh, are you kidding? That's completely okay, I don't mind." she pointed to the journal, "That interview is actually one of the favorite pieces I ever wrote, and not just because it's about Jisoo. Plus, my friend took the pictures, so it was extra fun." She opened the spread again and pointed to a name credited right next to hers, Photographer; Lalisa Manoban.

"Oh wow. I've seen her pictures before, they're really good. I with I could take photos like that. Seriously."

Here's one thing to note: when you're nervous, you ramble. Like a lot. Some people would say its better than staying silent, but let's be honest- it's like stepping into a puddle instead of mud. Not a disaster, but there's still plenty to complain about.

Thankfully, Roseanne only giggled, "I know exactly what you mean. I hope you'll get to work with her someday."

You both stared at the magazine spread for a second before Roseanne broke the silence.

"But now, let's get to bussines. Sit down please, this might take a while," she pointed tkwards one of the leather couches you noticed earlier and took a seat at the other side of the table.

"So, as you probably already know, my name is Roseanne Park. As a manager of Matchmaker, my job is to read these letters," she grabben a handful of papers for emphasis, "and respond to them, give advixe basically. The title 'Matchmaker' comes from the fact that the majority of the letters talk about love. Any questions so far?"

When you shook your head no, she continued, "As my assistant, your job is fairly simple. You're going to sort and read through the hundreds of letters I recieve weekly and pick the most interesting ones for me to feature. And occasionally, you might accompany me to a few interviews. Sounds good?"

You slowly nodded, processing all the new information. Letters, answers, interviews and a hot boss. That doesn't sound so bad.

"Great. So Y/N," she suddenly stood up, "Would you mind going with me to Subway? I'm starving."

By the time you were finished with lunch, you had a new point to add to your list of realizations about your new boss:

She loves food, and by loves I mean LOVES.

The moment you arrived at the restaurant, food was the only thing she would talk about. She told you about what she had for dinner and breakfast, what kind of snacks she hid in the office and what kind of salad she was getting alongside a baguette.

After she actually managed to get a bit of calories into her system (thanks to a foot-long chicken turkey sandwich) the conversation finally got more interesting.

Don't get me wrong, you could listen to this girl talk for hours, no matter the topic. But after listening to a thirty minute long monologue about why pineapple pizza is the best thing ever invented, even you have reached your limit.

"So," you start, in an effort to break the ice, "how long have you been working at Vogue?"

She squints at the toast in front of her, trying to remember, "About five years? Yeah, it's gonna be five years in May."

"Oh wow, that's impressive."

She tilts her head, "Is it? I mean, when you work as often as I do, time just goes by. I don't even remember the last time I went out with my friends to discuss something that wasn't work related."

You pout, regretting the choice to ask her about work.

"But at the same time, I love what I do so I can't really complain. What about you though? Why did you decide to become a journalist?"

"Oh, I started just a year ago. And I studied literature, so I guess becoming a journalist made sense."

"Why did you study literature then? There's so many other better paying jobs out there."

"I don't think anyone works in such a field for money, that's for sure," you try to lighten the atmosphere, "Well, my mom wanted to become a writer, but she got pregnant before she could finish her book and she's been pretty much busy ever since. I guess her love for books kind of rubbed off on me."

Roseanne nods, to let you know she's listening. "I'm glad you and your mom have such an important aspect of your lives in common. My mother wanted me to become a lawyer, I doubt she's ever read even a single fiction book in her entire life."

"What does she think about your job now?"

Her lips tighten and she crosses her arms. "I don't know. I haven't talked to her since," her eyes seem empty, their signature spark gone. You can tell you struck a nerve. "I haven't talked to her since I moved out."

"Well, I'm sure that she's proud of you," you can't help but add.

Rosie lets out a dry laugh, "You don't know my mother then," she slowly pushes her plate away, "I think I'm full so I'm gonna head back to the office."

Sometimes it's better to keep your mouth shut. You learned this the hard way.

You head back after your lunch break ends, alone. Even though Roseanne walked you through everything she expects you to help around with, you know that your job doesn't start and end with sorting through letters.

You softly knock on the office door before heading in. She's already sitting there, behind her desk. Without looking up from her laptop, she scoffs, "You're late."

"It's just five minutes," you shrug, not taking her tone seriously. Finally, she raises her sight to meet yours. Even without her saying anything, you understand. Do not play around with fire.

You mumble an apology and quickly run to the small hallway at the other side of the room which leads to your own (significantly smaller) office.

"What makes you think I'm done?" Turning around, you notice that her eyes are piercing through your back. Unsure of what she expects you to do, you walk back in front of her.

"While you were out there doing god knows what for two hours," you resist the urge to roll your eyes, "I already did your job and sorted through the letters. You're welcome."

She walks around the table and pushes a thick stack of papers against your chest, "That means you'll be doing my job and write replies to them. Can you handle that?"

You try not to show her how terrified you are. You? Giving relationship advice? Sounds like a recipe for a royal disaster. Instead, you rise your chin and smile, "Yes ma'am."

She visibly winces at the formal title, but still nods and returns to her seat. You take this as a sign to head back to your spot and do your job. Well, her job for now.

You sit down calmly and shuffle through the papers, trying not to look too freaked out. What the heck are you going to do now?

A quick peek at your boss reveals that she's either busy with work or just flat out ignoring you.

Trying to remain collected, you pick out the top letter from the pile. The first paragraph reads:

Hi Rosie! I'm a huge fan of your Matchmaker spread :) I never thought I'd be the one writing you a message but here we are hahaha. (Let's hope this gets featured!)

You roll your eyes but continue reading,

Me and my boyfriend have been dating for just about two months and I would describe our relationship as 'lowkey'. We first met at a bar a last year but we surprisingly didn't immediately hit it off.

With a raised eyebrow you skip over a page full of sappy descriptions and relationship stories, before getting to the end of the letter.

So what should I do? He's really sweet but I'm not sure if I'm ready to meet his family just yet.... please help! Love, Courtney.

You fold the paper back to it's original state with a quiet gulp. What on earth did you get yourself into?

[extremelynormalblog]

Okay so

Obviously Andy/Quynh is The Angst OTP of DOOM here, but also--Andy/the pharmacist! It could be a romance thing or maybe Andy could Make a Friend, or they could slowly develop a nice, simple friends-with-benefits thing on the side of whatever crazy thing Andy’s got going on.

[SPOILERS BELOW]

Or read it on AO3!

Like, imagine how many times Andy is going to visit that pharmacy now that she has to take care of her body/health for the first time in millenia. The last time she had to seek a cure for something, the prevailing medical theory was all about balancing the humours, and she hasn’t really kept track since. Other things were on her mind.

Also? Andy is OLD.

The first time she goes back, Andy wanders aimlessly in the aisles for a while because the pharmacist is busy with a client, and then she keeps idly browsing after the client leaves, glaring at the pharmacist until she FINALLY takes notice and comes over.

“Hi! I thought it was you, from the stab wound, no?”

Andy nods.

“Did it heal okay? Are you safe, do you need something?”

Andy mumbles something. She hasn’t been embarrassed for centuries, and she knows it’s idiotic, but. Nothing really *new* has happened in centuries for her to be embarrassed about, either.

“What?” the pharmacist asks.

“My back.”

“Oh! Did something happen? Should I take a look, are you bleeding, do you need me to call someone?”

She’s starting to look worried, so Andy has to swallow her pride and say: “Nobody hurt me, okay? I didn’t do anything. I just woke up like that, I don’t-- I don’t know what’s wrong.”

And then the pharmacist’s face relaxes and she nods understandingly, and guides Andy towards the anti-inflammatory creams and heated patches, and explains that she should try to get a physical therapy appointment perhaps and also think about doing regular stretches or taking up yoga.

“--back pain is very common at your age,” she’s saying, and Andy startles, but the woman continues, like, “--I mean, you must be, what, late thirties, early fourties? Oh god, I hope that wasn’t--I mean, not that you look--I mean, you look--really good, whatever your age is.”

Andy relaxes again -- as much as the twinge in her lower back allows her to, at least, and the pharmacist’s blush doesn’t escape her notice. Interesting.

And so she takes all the stuff the pharmacist recommends and leaves, but the next time something undignified happens to her body that isn’t caused by like, people trying to actively kill her, she goes back.

“I have this ringing in my ear.”

“Ah? That happens sometimes. Do you know what caused it?”

“C4.”

“Is that a band?” At Andy’s blank look, she continues: “Anyway, it’s probably tinnitus, it’s fairly common after being exposed to loud noises but it should go away on its own in a few days.”

Andy comes back a few more times with similarly mortifyingly mundane complaints -- she has a burn that blistered and she’s not sure what to do about it (”Here’s another cream for your collection! Just make sure it doesn’t start swelling and go see your doctor immediately if you get a fever!”); the back of her throat has been itchy for a week and she feels like she’s slowly going mad with it (”Pollen allergy, you too, huh?” the pharmacist says, pointing at her own face. Her nose is red and her eyes are slightly glassy. “Did your script expire? Here are some anti-histamines to tide you over until you can get it renewed! Or I could give your family doctor a call for you?”); she caught a cold, which was annoying enough but nothing she needed medical advice about, until she sneezed and now she can’t turn her head all the way (”All I can do is give you some more anti-inflammatories, I’m afraid,” the pharmacist--Celeste--says. Andy finally found out her name by accident when she overheard her make a phone call; she wouldn’t have asked, obviously. ”I can’t give out muscle relaxants over the counter anymore, but if it doesn’t go away...” “Yeah, see my doctor, I know.”)

Obviously Andy doesn’t have a doctor, or scripts, or a “Carte Vitale,” whatever that is.

(It’s the French insurance card, Celeste explains patiently, though she frowns a little the way she does whenever she says asks something and Andy blanks -- no, she doesn’t have a French social security number, or a European Health Insurance Card; yes, she knows she could get it all covered but she will pay it out of pocket, yes, in cash please, thank you.)

There’s something appealing about the way Celeste just listens to Andy talk about what’s bothering her this week, without judgement and without ever pushing for details.

(And there’s mostly always something, now, a pain somewhere or some bodily process that isn’t doing what it should, which is insufferable frankly, how do regular humans stand it?

“No choice, mostly,” Celeste says, matter-of-fact, the day Andy voices the thought half to herself as she pays for the latest haul of painkillers. “But as my grandfather used to say: if I wake up someday with nothing wrong with me, that’ll mean I’m dead.”

She shrugs, like pain and illness and death are just facts of life, which for her they probably are, Andy knows. She doesn’t know if she hopes to have time to get used to it, or not.)

And then one day Andy finds herself pushing the door of the pharmacy when nothing is wrong, just because she thinks it would be nice to have a chat with Celeste for a minute after the crazy month she’s had, just fifteen minutes of normalcy, and Celeste is about to finish her shift so she invites Andy for a drink, like “Oh hey, by the way,” smooth in a way that’s obviously taking effort on her part, and Andy sees right through it but it’s really quite cute.

Andy doesn’t find many things cute.

So they go for a drink, and then Celeste says, “Listen, you obviously have some--stuff going on with your life, but I thnk I’m reading this right, and so maybe you’d like to come home with me? It doesn’t have to be complicated.”

“Uncomplicated sounds really good right now,” Andy says.

She follows Celeste to her place, and just as Celeste is about to open the door, she turns and says: “Er, this is awkard but you’re not a serial killer, right?”

And Andy laughs, startled, and threads her hand into Celeste’s hair and kisses her, right there on the doorstep, and then she whispers “I promise” into Celeste’s ear, even though technically the definition probably suits her pretty well.

And after, once they’re both breathing hard from the fourth round and Celeste’s bed is a complete mess and Celeste’s eyeliner is smudged all over her face and also Andy’s, she looks to Andy for a second before bursting into laughter & wheezing out: “Now there’s an itch I can always take care off!”

And Andy went off puns somewhere in BC times so she just rolls her eyes, but once Celeste’s head is on her shoulder, she lets herself smile anyway, like, ugh, humans. They’re so dumb but sometimes they are quite good.

Hmpf.

The end!

[awesomehoggirl]

it’s wip wednesday so i thought i’d share a quick writing wip from my multi chapter fem howince fic which will maybe be done in 20 years ! it’s got 8 chapters and i am still on chapter 2 if this gets finished it’ll be a miracle. the fic is called eau d’bedroom dancing because i love le tigre and imagine how fantastic riot grrl vince would be ...

mentioning before hand that i write all my first drafts and oneshots with no capitals because i find it a lot easier but with this fic when i go back over i’ll put capitals in :) (also this is a section from chapter one not the opening)

—

her name is vincenzia mirabella lucie-marié le manteau rafflesia vaisseau-spatial noire (the longest name in the class, and the only one never written up on the ‘star student!’ chalkboard) but everyone refers to her as vince. she’s new to the school, and seemingly england, but her accent is pure south london. two teachers have quit because of her already. holly moon has never been so interested in a person in her entire tiny life.

oh, she’s read up on musicians, heard their stories, wished ever so slightly that her life would someday be just as interesting — did you know nina simone had seven siblings, that john coltrane was in the navy? but the weirdness that seems to just bounce off vince’s tongue beats every story she’s ever read hands down.

it quickly becomes apparent that she’s borderline feral: if the staff-room murmurs of the teachers are to be believed, she came from a ‘neglectful home’; if vince’s own word is to be accepted, she was raised in the jungle by a cast of rock stars, animals and french nobility. holly is sensible enough to doubt her at first, but before long (and after many demonstrations of her ability to talk to animals) she’s genuinely on board. they sit behind the ash tree at lunch time, out of sight from dribbling boys and disapproving teachers, and holly figures out that through half a chocolate bar vince can be coaxed into revealing all sorts about her unorthodox childhood.

‘dunno why you’re so desperate to know about my life,’ vince complains once, when asked again to tell the story about the great order of frogs and the backwards waterfall. ‘why can’t i hear stories about you for a change?’

‘all in good time,’ says holly, whose mother is a tax attorney married to a geography teacher. ‘plus, i know you love the attention.’

and so vince sits there and talks until she goes hoarse, or loses interest, or feels like changing the subject right at a crucial moment, or the school bell rings and they have to go inside. she talks about her house made of bus tickets and her animal friends, her french duke uncle who would come down on bank holidays and teach her table manners, about joining the jackals for hunts, about skimming the treetops in the claws of squabbling vultures, about the hoots and screeches of the monkeys as they chased her through the undergrowth on the back of a hippopotamus. and holly will listen breathlessly, trying to seem nonplussed when in reality she is clinging to every last word. (tell me again about the paper-mache tiger and the rhinoceros’ game nights. tell me again again again.)

because no matter how hard her sensible brain tries, she really can’t prove them wrong. vince is hopeless at all forms of spelling or arithmetic. she is genuinely flabbergasted when explained to that, in fact, biting and shoving are not always seen as ‘playful’ in the human world. she swears like a sailor (or perhaps a rockstar) would, until the little old lady vicar gasps, snaps her bible shut and refuses to read to the year six class ever again. idioms are beyond her, let alone algebra, and the teachers insist there’s no hope — but they can’t help liking her, despite it all. there’s something so genuine about her ever-present toothy grin, her bubbly demeanour, that they soon allow her to get away with anything.

and yet holly is her best friend. and the only person (maybe in the world) vince will tell her stories to.

‘once upon a time,’ she begins one lunch break, dipping holly’s generous sacrifice of a curly wurly into her pocket for later, ‘i was out with jahooli the leopard, who was my best friend — he’d give me rides on his back when i was really small, swattin’ the bloodsuckers away with his giant tail. he’d catch me fish in his big strong jaws, crush ‘em up so i could eat ‘em right, i was just a nipper, i’d not got all my teeth in yet, but he was a right sweetheart about that sort of thing. on the surface jahooli always seemed to be a reckless character, a real rough-and-tumble kind of cat, but i knew the reality: he’d lost his mate and his litter and he was gettin’ on a bit, i was all he had left in terms of fatherhood. it meant he did get a bit invasive at times, yeah, he could be real clingy. i didn’t mind though, see, i’m wise beyond my years, so i was quite good with all that stuff, i let him vent to me when it all got a bit too much for his poor leopard heart to handle. anyway, this one day he was lookin’ after me, on account of my foster father bryan ferry being away on tour. and it was a hot afternoon, this one. really hot.’ she sinks down on her heels. ‘the kinda hot that drenches you in sweat no matter how still you stand. the kinda humid that makes your palms slick and your eyelashes heavy. most of the animals were tucked away underground by midday, but the bigger sorts like me and jahooli, we couldn’t exactly join them. so jahooli said, why don’t we make our way down to the river?’

holly feels her spine prickle. it is eerie, the way her friend’s stories pull her in.

she follows vince along to said river, feels jahooli’s long speckled tail curling round her shoulders, bumping against her collarbones, keeping her close. feels the slick wetness of the air, feels the burn of her lungs as they work in shallow pumping gasps. breathes in the hot dark of the bush, the low chatter of the canopy. soon the lumbering gait of the leopard slows, the river is in sight — the banks are busy with boars, bucks and buffalo, sunning lizards and mice. slow-blinking crocodiles cruise in the shallows. vince is not afraid of them. (holly would be.)

‘is it true if you’re being chased by a crocodile you should run in a zig-zag pattern?’ she interrupts (not because the story is getting a little too tense for her or anything).

vince rolls her eyes, makes a face as if holly has asked her the stupidest question in the world (considering just yesterday she asked holly whether all numbers bite or if the three digit ones are just especially fiesty, they clearly have different opinions on what counts as a ‘stupid question’). ‘if a crocodile were to haul its fat arse out of the nice cool water just to give you a bit of trouble, you probably did something awful to deserve it. why? are you plannin’ to go pokin’ sticks at ‘em? cause if you are, insult their music taste, they’ll go absolutely mental. most crocodiles are obsessed with alice cooper, so there’s a good starting point, have that one on me.’

‘so what’s—‘

‘oi, hush! do you want this story or not?’

holly shuts up. vince lowers her voice.

the jungle is sweaty now, the riverbanks a dripping piccadilly circus. jahooli has left vince’s side, gone to make conversation with ranbir the great panther, so she ventures alone to the water’s edge (the animals watch over her, they all like her, tiny and pink and strange as she is) and dips her feet in. the water is so clear and cold it hurts, but soon the pain ebbs and gives way to a calm coolness. she sits down, slides in up to her knees, lies back against the soft mud

the jungle is treacle now, bubbling and pooling, thick. vince soon drifts off and the leaves behind her eyelids are red. the stars are wheeling gulls, the air is thick with salt-spit, her eyelashes tangle and she slips down into the mud. somewhere else, the dulcet waves begin to lap. the elephants have arrived. jahooli and ranbir share a look before they approach, hackles raised (they are not mean-spirited creatures, but they do like to play a prank).

the jungle is long gone now, and vince dreams of strawberry ice cream. somewhere else, jahooli and ranbir wind around each other dizzyingly, teeth flashing slick and sharp. somewhere else, the elephants are fussing, distressed by their feline dance, their ashy trunks whirling as they back up their feet. pelts twist and brush together before the big-cats turn, open their jaws and let out a combined roar that wakes vince, sends animals scattering, splits the sky in two —

and the jungle rumbles. and the elephants charge.

[afy2018]

Escape to a Memory

1976- Toronto, Canada

“Do you have everything you need, babe?” Danny asked.

“Almost. You have the camera?”

“No, check under the bed.”

“Thanks.” Carmilla smiled, going back to their bedroom. “Found it!”

“Good, was it under the bed?”

“No, on the nightstand.”

“Now are you ready?” Danny asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” She check all over again in her green suitcase, and closed it.

“Let’s load up the Chevy.”

Carmilla kissed Danny’s cheek, and picked up the suitcases as Danny held the door open. The gate was open, so she continued until she reached the garage. Carmilla set down the cases, and unlocked the door, opening it and throwing them in the back. Danny followed close behind, standing close to her girlfriend and wrapped her arms around Carmilla’s front. The vampire looked up and kissed the fiery haired girl.

She smiled and hopped into the bed of the chevy. Danny smiled, and got into the front, starting up the car. She drove to her friend’s house, who was going to drop them off at the airport. Once they arrived at the house, Danny went over to the bed, and picked Carmilla up, swooping her over her shoulder.

“Danny!” Carmilla laughed. “AH! Babe!”

Danny set her down, and walked to the front door, knocking. “Mark? You home?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Mark said opening the door, his boyfriend in the kitchen.

“It’s okay. Good morning Charlie.”

“Morning Danny, Carmilla! Have fun on your trip.” The Gym Rabbit said.

“Thanks.”

“Ready?” Mark asked.

“Yeah.” Carmilla answered.

“Okay.” He turned around, and said “Bye sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

As the three walked to the truck, Danny swooped Carmilla into a bridal carry. and asked Mark, “So how’s it going with you and your oracle?”

“Great. He sees everything, but he’s been acting strange for a while. I don’t know.”

“Well, I hope it’s nothing bad.”

“Aussi.”

Carmilla kissed Danny as she was set into the truck. She smiled and buckled her seat belt, watching Danny form into a wolf and climb into the bed of the truck. She laughed when Danny slipped. Mark laughed a bit, and got into the front seat.

“So has the feeding been kind?” Mark asked.

“Yeah.” Carmilla answered. “Thanks again Mark for driving us.”

“No prob. You know, you and Danny are such an adorable couple. how long have you two known each other?”

“Since about 1951. What about you and Charlie?”

“About 6 years now. We met in chess club.”

“Was he a good player?”

“The best.”

“How about you?”

“I was good, but I got some tips from Charlie to help me out.”

Carmilla looked back at Danny, and smiled. “What’s it like being normal?”

“Normal? I’m dating an oracle. He knows everything I do. It’s not that normal.”

“True, but what about before you met him?”

“Well, I slept in, played board games, and hung out with my friends. What do you miss?”

“Aging, my family, Austria. I don’t mean to be a downer.”

“No, it’s okay. I wanted to know. I asked.”

“But if I had died when I was supposed to, I wouldn’t have met my wolf.”

“I think that is adorable.” Mark said grinning. “You two are perfect for eachother.”

“Je peux dire la même chose pour toi et Charles.”

“Oh bon?”

“Oui.”

“Merci.”

“Merci aussi.”

“Carmilla, je vais soin pour sa voiture. D’accord?”

“D’accord, merci Mark.”

Carmilla slept in the front as Mark listened to the radio. Danny rested but didn’t sleep. Mark smiled at the thought of Carmilla and Danny together, maybe even married...someday. As he neared the airport, Mark woke Carmilla up, and parked the car to unpack. Carmilla struggled into the bed of the truck, and kissed Danny awake. The wolf morphed into a human, and kissed Carmilla back, laughing at the shocked vampire. Carmilla broke the kiss and grabbed the suitcases.

“Thanks Mark.” Danny said waving the human good bye.

“No problem girls. See you.”

Danny and Carmilla walked into the airport, bought their tickets, and headed for the plane. Once on the plane, Carmilla cuddled into Danny and slept. Danny smiled and brushed the hair out of the smaller girl’s eyes. The wolf slept, dreaming of their travel. ‘Her and the vampire had arrived to the port, it was dark, but there was a pungent scent in the air. Drunk Americans walked around like toddlers taking their first step. But they were able to get on board easily.’ Carmilla shift around. ‘Her and the girl got to their cabin, and set down their stuff. They walked out, hand in hand, onto the deck. There was Mark, Charlie, and some of her co-workers. They were having a party with a cake that had confetti like sprinkles on it. They greeted them, and they ate. Carmilla kissed Danny and Mark told jokes. Danny blinked, and the boat turned into-’

“Babe, wake up. We’re landing.” Carmilla whispered excitedly. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” Danny yawned in reply.

Danny cuddled into Carmilla who wrapped her arms around the tall girl. Once they landed, Carmilla woke Danny up again and they walked off the plane. The airport was large and loud. There were people yelling and talking. Danny winced at the noise and grabbed her girlfriend’s hand. They grabbed their bags quickly bypassing the people who stood like barriers. The two exited the airport and hailed a taxi. They climbed inside and told the driver where to go. Danny looked outside, there she saw hookers, police, and beggars as one large group. They seemed to act like friends. Danny looked away as one of the girls stared at the stopped car. Carmilla rested her head against the wolf’s shoulder and purred. They arrived at the boat about 3 minutes later. Danny grabbed the cases and waited for Carmilla.

“Can you get the tickets out of my jacket?” Dany asked.

“Yeah.” Carmilla reached into Danny’s jacket pocket and picked out the two tickets. “There.” “Thanks babe.”

“Ready?” Carmilla asked.

Danny nodded in response and they walked onto the boat, Carmilla right behind. She handed the tickets forward to a young man who wore a nice white suit. He smiled a toothy grin and greeted us, taking our tickets. He said something in a thick cajun accent.

Carmilla pulled ahead, and answered “Merci, garçon.”

The boy nodded and handed her a schedule. “Vous avez un bon voyage Madames.”

“Merci beaucoup.”

As they walked away, Danny asked Carmilla, “You speak french fluently?”

“Yeah, you didn’t know that?”

“No, you only speak english or german around me.”

“Let’s put our stuff away.”

Danny checked in, and got her key from the front desk. They looked back up to see the numbers on the door. When Danny found their suite, she unlocked the door. Carmilla rushed in and jumped onto their large bed. Danny smiled, and set her stuff down, closing and locking the door behind her. Carmilla motioned for the wolf to come closer. The ginger walked over and kissed her girlfriend. The vampire pulled Danny on top of her and unbuttoned her jeans. She kissed the wolf’s neck. Danny quickly rid of Carmilla’s clothes. She reached a hand into the vampire’s underwear, and rubbed her fingers through her slick folds. Continuing to tease and pleasure her girlfriend. Carmilla tore at the wolf, holding tight as she came. They kissed and held each other as the smaller girl fell down from her high.

“Danny.” Carmilla laughed. “I need a moment.”

Danny moved, away from Carmilla and grabbed the camera. She brought it up to her eye, and focused on her angel. Carmilla peaked over and smiled, taking one of the pillows and throwing it at her. They laughed as the vampire posed. Danny got about five pictures before Carmilla crawled over pulling the camera down, and kissed her. Danny broke the kiss and placed the camera back onto the nightstand. Carmilla backed off, and checked the paper given to her.

“There’s going to be a concert at 18:00.” Carmilla read slipping her glasses on.

“When’s the food served?”

“In 4 hours.”

“Okay, isn’t there a dance on the deck?”

“Yeah, it’s an hour before the concert.”

“We should go to that.”

“Yeah, that’d be fun.”

~

“Vous laissez cette salope blonde danser sur vous!” Carmilla yelled.

“Calm down babe.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down vous putain de gingembre!” She slapped the taller girl.

Danny grabbed her wrist and commanded, “Do not hit me again Mircalla.”

Carmilla hissed and pulled away. She walked to the bathroom and locked herself in. She sat up against the door and curled her fists up. The dark haired girl cried, pulling her legs up so she was in fetal position. Danny’s sharp ears heard the sobbing, and she hit the bed with fury. She was so enraged with herself. She walked out with one of the keys and walked to the bow of the boat. She cursed to herself and looked at the night sky. Her tears started rolling once she compared the sky to Carmilla’s eyes. When she returned, Carmilla was no longer in the bathroom. She was on the couch in her panther form, she was asleep. Danny clenched her jaw, and picked up the dark furred animal, setting her gently on the bed. Carmilla stirred and opened her eyes. Danny caught her glance, but laid down on the couch. ‘She’s so chivalrous.’ Carmilla though. ‘How could she hurt me like that? How?’ She turned her head away from Danny and slept on the bed. Danny, however, continued to look at the sleeping panther. She closed her eyes letting a single tear fall.

~ “Carmilla, they’re serving breakfast.” Danny whispered to the sleeping form.

The vampire murmured something but slowly got up.

“I’ll be there.”

The panther nodded, and started to shift back into a human. Carmilla walked over to her clothing and slipped them on. Danny walked out to the deck. She got a table and waited for Carmilla to arrive before she ate. The sleepy girl walked out and got her food. She found the wolf, and sat on the other side of the table.

“Sorry about hitting you Danny.” Carmilla said.

“Maybe not here, Carm.”

“Oh, yeah.”

They ate in silence, not really looking at each other. Danny was the first to leave, going back to their cabin. She went to go take a shower as she waited for Carmilla. The dark haired girl entered, sitting on the bed. When Danny got out, she only bothered to wear the towel. Carmilla smiled a bit as Danny sat next to her.

“It was my fault. I should have told the girl that I was already taken.”

“I over reacted though.”

“It was all on me, Carm.”

Carmilla looked away, glancing at the maroon shag carpet. “Pouvons-nous embrasser et le maquillage?”

“For now… the second part.”

Carmilla nodded and hugged Danny. The ginger held the black haired girl’s hips and the arm that was slung over her shoulder and around her neck. Carmilla nuzzled the ginger’s neck and smiled. Danny whispered a gaelic saying to Carmilla making the girl smile at the ancient language.

~

Carmilla opened her eyes, a film of tears still in her eyes even though she’d been here before. Many times before. The girl next to her put an arm around her shoulders She read the stone. ‘Danielle Lawrence ? - 2023: Tendre Mèrè, Copine, et Femme.’ The girl next to her rubbed the vampire’s back. A tiny girl in a black dress tugged at Carmilla’s skirt. Carmilla looked down and smiled, picking the girl up.

“Maman, pourquoi pleures-tu?” The little girl asked.

“Ma cherie, je me souviens. Je me souviens.” Carmilla answered

“Rentrons à la maison, maman.” The other girl said.

Carmilla nodded and walked to the black car.

[themurphyzone]

Dooferella Ch 2

Summary: Heinz has to read to children at the local library as community service, but things go awry when Heinz uses a Fairy Tale-inator to spice up the story of Cinderella. Unfortunately, something malfunctions and Heinz is transported into a strange fairy tale world! Now Dooferella, he’s stuck with a long list of chores for his parents and goody two shoes brother until a summons from the kingdom’s headquarters arrives….

Ch 2: Make the Fire, Fix the Breakfast, Wash the Dishes, Do the Mopping

“A little clumsy today, are we?”

Heinz groaned, which quickly turned into a cough that made his entire chest ache. That smug, self-assured voice was the absolute last thing he wanted to hear.

“Shut up, Roger. I’ll ask for your opinion when I want it. Which is usually never,” Heinz muttered, folding his arms across his chest petulantly. “Besides, you’re terrible at keeping your fireplace clean. It’s like you let five years of dust build up in there.”

“I believe that would be your duty. My job is to play the gracious host for the social gathering tonight. And I require this manor to be nice and tidy for my esteemed guests. You know how much Mother can’t tolerate filthiness. Now, when you’ve finished with the fireplace, sweep the parlor and dust the bannisters. There are plenty of other areas you’ve neglected for the past few days, but focus on the parlor for now, Dooferella,” Roger continued.

He checked the time with an expensive golden pocket watch, which Heinz rolled his eyes at. Digital watches were a thing now. There was no need to be so pretentiously old-fashioned. While Roger always wore nice suits in public, it was just weird to see him in a fancy green dinner jacket when nobody else was around.

Heinz scowled. “You’re not the boss of me. And my name’s not Dooferella!”

But Roger only raised an annoyingly perfect eyebrow, as if he were just observing a persistent fly. “You spend far too much time tinkering with your silly machines,” he chided. “Your head can only take so much damage.”

Roger clasped his white-gloved hands behind his back and left the room, leaving Heinz alone with a dusty fireplace, broom, and a pile of rags.

“Joke’s on you, Roger!” Heinz called, not caring if Roger heard him or not. “Someday I’m gonna overthrow you and order you around like a lowly servant! See how you like it! And guess what? I can leave whenever I want thanks to…the Fairy Tale-inator!”

He opened the flap of his lab coat, but his fingers brushed against his black turtleneck instead, which was somewhat ragged from the rough winds that had battered him around earlier.

His lab coat was gone. And so was the Fairy Tale-inator.

“Right, I put the Fairy Tale-inator on the chair. Which is back in the library. On the other side of the portal. Curse you, lack of foresight!” Heinz shook his fist in the air out of habit. “And curse the portal too for stealing my lab coat!”

He’d just have to build another Fairy Tale-inator.

“This shouldn’t be too hard. I can build another Fairy Tale-inator and get out of here in half an hour tops!” Heinz exclaimed. “Then actually make it home in time for my scheme. I don’t want Perry the Platypus to turn one of my complaints on his occasional non-punctuality back on me.”

                                                ----------------

Okay, so there was a flaw in his plan.

The Fairy Tale-inator was powered by a combination of batteries and spite.

While Heinz could easily provide the spite, there was a significant lack of batteries in the manor. Also, Roger’s not-so-humble abode seemed impractical to live in. Heinz got lost at least five times on the way to the kitchen, then broke an expensive Ming Dynasty vase when he tried to retrace his steps. He swept the broken pieces under a lush Persian rug and convinced himself that Roger probably had a ton of fancy vases and wouldn’t notice if he was down a fancy knickknack or two.

Heinz turned left on another long corridor, balling his fists when he came face to face with a painting of Roger playing kickball.

“Sure, he gets recognition for a sport nobody except Mother cares about, and I get nothing for cup stacking,” Heinz scowled. “There’s more practical applications for cup stacking than kickball. I can’t think of any right now, but I’m sure there’s something!”

As he walked down a flight of stairs, he smelled something delicious and rich, with just a hint of cinnamon and rosemary. His stomach rumbled.

“Alright, just a quick hunger detour,” Heinz conceded. “Then I’ll look for batteries. And possibly find a phone. Cause I don’t have my cell anymore. I’m cursing you a second time, portal!”

The kitchen was full of servants, each of them meticulously preparing various food dishes that Heinz didn’t recognize. He was pretty sure each dish would have some weird French name he’d never be able to pronounce.

Heinz reached for one of the pastries on a large platter, but something hard and flat smacked the back of his hand.

“That hurts!” Heinz protested, cradling his stinging hand against his body.

“Exactly why I did it,” the maid raised the spatula again. “If you hadn’t skipped lunch to work on another ridiculous doohickey, you would actually be focused on cleaning the parlor like Lord Roger ordered and not on causing trouble.”

“Lord Roger? What, being universally admired isn’t good enough for him anymore? Now he’s gotta be worshipped too?” Heinz complained.

The maid rolled her eyes. “I don’t like this job any more than you. I’m just the one who keeps everything organized so the other maids can have a place of employment and the socialites can flirt with the world’s handsomest bachelor at dinner parties.”

Given how the other maids were giggling over their handsome employer, Heinz was just glad he found the only other sane person in this stupid manor.

Besides, if Roger was so rich, he should at least give them better uniforms.

Like a lab coat, for instance.

“And no, none of us worship Lord Roger. It’s just a title. I can’t speak for the socialites though,” the maid shrugged. “Let me guess. You hit your head and need a brief refresher on stuff again.”

“Why does everyone think I hit my head?” Heinz scowled. “I’ve been concussion-free for the past month!”

The smell of the pastries was too delicious to resist, and Heinz reached for the platter again.

This time, the maid just sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. You can have two, on the condition that you clean the parlor afterwards. The dinner party starts at seven tonight, so make sure it’s done by then.”

Heinz snagged two pastries, which flaked in his hand as he bit down on them. He had to hand it to Roger. He definitely knew how to hire good cooks.

“I can do that,” Heinz agreed. “You got a phone? I gotta order some batteries for my Fairy Tale-inator because I couldn’t find any in this house. What’s up with that? Batteries are a lifesaver. It’s like you’re living in medieval Drusselstein! Though there really isn’t much of a difference between medieval and modern Drusselstein, since they’ve both never had the wonders of indoor plumbing. If I have time maybe I could rig up some Sweep-inator or Featherduster-inator up and have the parlor clean in a jiffy.”

“Okay, now you’re just making words up,” the maid sighed. “No idea what a phone is and I don’t really care.”

“You know, a phone! That thing you use to call people so you’re not an antisocial shut-in! It’s got a bunch of buttons with numbers?”

Heinz would’ve pulled out his own cell phone as a reference, but the jerk portal had stolen it too.

“Melanie, I’m almost done with the roast beef!” one of the maids shouted, grunting as she hefted a large pot onto the counter. “Leave the weirdo alone so you can make sure this can satisfy Lord Roger’s taste!”

“Alright, you’ve had your food,” Melanie snapped as she pushed him out of the kitchen. Heinz grabbed a muffin from a nearby counter, shoving it into his mouth before Melanie could force him to put it down. “Get to the parlor and let the rest of us work in peace.”

“Funny how your name is Melanie, cause Roger’s got a secretary with a name like yours. Though maybe it was Melody or Mariana in her case. I know it started with ‘M’,” Heinz said, his words somewhat garbled by the crumbs in his mouth.

Melanie shoved a broom into his hands and forcefully pointed upstairs, tapping the spatula against her thigh as if itching for an excuse to use it.

Heinz scurried back to the parlor, not wanting to be on the receiving end of Melanie’s spatula for a second time.

                                                       ----------

Half an hour later, Heinz developed a burning hatred for mahogany. The mantle was mahogany. The upholstery was mahogany. The bannisters were mahogany.

Everything seemed to be made of the luxurious, expensive wood.

Heinz sneezed as he wiped a thin layer of dust off a couch leg. “This isn’t gonna be good for my allergies,” he muttered. “Not to mention, Roger totally lied. I don’t know why he was saying this place was neglected. Looks fine to me. But I guess that’s the nice thing about being the boss. Make your underlings perform menial tasks. When I’m ruler of the Tri-State Area, I’m going to make Roger dust the inator room. Which is going to be huge. Probably gonna need another wing on City Hall for that.”

The repetitive work of dusting, polishing, and waxing the wood wouldn’t be as bad with the appropriate soundtrack. But since he couldn’t get cell service in this place to contact the Danville Chorus Girl Union, he’d just have to provide his own music.

Good thing he knew the Love Handel Reunion Album with Special Thanks to the Flynn-Fletcher Family by heart. The title was a bit long, but hey, it was the best album they put out since Albuquerque ’83.

He mopped the floor to the tune of You Snuck Your Way Right Into My Heart, making a mental note to hire the band for another musical number within a flashback. They did a good job with it the first time around, not even complaining about the copyright infringement.

Just as he finished the second verse, heavy footsteps thundered on the staircase, accompanied by loud barking.

Heinz knew that cold, unfeeling stomp, even if he hadn’t heard it since his teenage years.

He fumbled with the mop handle he’d been using as a microphone, his knuckles turning chalk-white from his tight grip. He could almost pretend that the mop handle would prevent his heart from leaping out of his throat.

Heinz was aware that he was just moving the mop in small, repetitive circles and not getting any actual cleaning done, but the motion prevented him from looking at the staircase.

It was bad enough that he was stuck as Roger’s servant, and now his father had to be here too.

This would definitely set him back on the whole ‘make my family respect me’ thing.

A small nose poked around the corner of a fancy cabinet, and a small mouse crawled away from its hiding spot, stopping occasionally to scent the air.

Then a dog growled, which sent the entire pack into a chorus of excited barking. The mouse scampered back to the cabinet.

For a brief moment, Heinz heard the scrabble of paws on the freshly mopped tile, then a white blur slammed into the bucket, splashing soap and water all over the floor and couch. The rest of the dogs gathered around the cabinet, sniffing around the empty space between the wood and floor and barking at the mouse as if that would somehow lure it out of hiding.

The entire pack of dogs were large, white spitzenhounds that looked exactly like Only Son.

“Whoa, how many games of Poke the Goozim with a Stick did you have to play to get all those dogs?” Heinz asked before he could stop himself.

“HALT!” Father roared.

Heinz stiffened, the mop falling to the floor with an echoing clatter. The dogs whined and curled their tails between their legs, slinking back to Father with their heads down. While the command didn’t seem directed at him, he still instinctively snapped upright into a militaristic stance, unable to control his body’s reaction from that primal fear of harsh punishment.

Father’s hair and beard were white from advanced age, but it didn’t relieve Heinz’s fear of his wrath. Father jabbed a bony finger into Heinz’s chest.

Heinz didn’t make eye contact. It would only make him angrier.

“Get rid of him, Dooferella,” Father pointed to the soaking wet dog that had knocked over the bucket. The wet dog nosed Father’s hand, but that only earned him a harsh slap to the nose.

The rest of the dogs gathered around Father as he marched out of the room, leaving a trail of muddy bootprints behind him.

“Disappointment,” Father sneered, the word echoing off the high walls. Roger’s manor had some really good acoustics.

Heinz wasn’t sure if the word was being directed at him or the dog.

A mess of muddy footprints, soap, and grimy water stained the parlor, erasing all of Heinz’s progress. The couch cushions were discolored, and the water and mud mixed to create an unsightly brown puddle.

So this is what Cinderella must’ve felt like.

It wasn’t a good feeling either.

[hazellvesque]

more thoughts about the lightning thief musical because I have the soundtrack on repeat and I can’t stop thinking about it

“yes the gods are real, and they have kids, and those kids have issues” well yeah that’s it that’s the whole series I’m glad we established this in the first 45 seconds of the show

Percy’s entrance is the greatest, most in-character thing I’ve ever seen he just slides across the stage and looks to the audience in his “paint me like one of your french girls” lounge pose and recites those ICONIC first lines of the book and it’s just fabulous

that moment in the opening number when riptide turns into a sword for the first time is just SO COOL because there’s strobe lights and so much is going on and you can’t really see how the effect happens all of a sudden Percy just starts swinging and it’s so satisfying

“This ain’t Odysseus’s Odyssey” that’s a really tough tongue twister but also just a really good line 

I love all the moments where Percy’s voice gets all quiet and gentle like in Strong when he’s asking all the questions about his dad the delivery of those lines adds so much to his character; sure, the whole show is written in the Rock genre and his big outbursts accompanied with loud guitar show his frustration and anger at the world but those times where everything is solemn and all you hear is the acoustic guitar and the sound of ocean waves crashing in the distance really keep him rounded out and I just love it a lot

“Normal is a myth” LIKE THE GREEK MYTHS GET IT 

“Is she real?/I must be dreaming/She's floating close to me like an angel....This is weird/But a good weird” wow Percy so eloquent you wanna quote that in your wedding vows? 

Chiron’s elegant prancing when he first gets up out of his wheelchair while Percy is just screaming in confusion is by far the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life

Clarisse’s vocals in Put You In Your Place are insane it feels so 80s and she’s violently swinging a spear the whole time and you don’t know whether to be attracted to her or terrified so you’re just both simultaneously

Percy just comes strolling across the stage on a toilet on wheels I love professional theatre 

I could write an essay on Good Kid but all I’ll say now is the line “I keep my head down, I keep my chin up, but it ends all the same/With ‘Pack your bags, Percy, you’re always to blame” just hurts my heart a lot, more than anything else in the song

and during Good Kid Percy is climbing all over the scaffolding like he’s in a DCOM and when he gets to the bridge and it slows down he just sits on the railing high up off the ground and is withdrawn and quiet and wow

Grover ‘baaaa’-ing throughout the whole show makes me really happy 

all of Lost has been stuck in my head for days and it condenses 50% of TLT’s plot into a single song that’s basically just like “yadda yadda yeah they took a week to travel and the goofed up a lot we don’t have time for this” and it’s done so well because they still manage to mention every significant stop in the story 

(except the scene in the waterpark and “You’re my friend, seaweed brain, any more stupid questions?” but I can forgive that)

“We’re lost and it’s dark and I thINK THAT SOMETHING’S MOVING” god you forget that they’re supposed to be children and then lines like this happen

Can we just talk about the Percabeth parallel in their lyrics “All I need is one last chance to prove I’m good enough for someone” vs. “And someday soon, I swear, I don't know how or when/But I promise you I'll never be invisible again; someone will notice me” their first someones end up being each other (and also Grover #1 MVP third wheel for life we love a supportive satyr) before the rest of the world recognizes them your OTP would never

Drive ends up becoming Grover’s recurring theme in the show and you almost forget how much he’s been through until he reprises it in the finale 

“I never dreamed that I could do this/Never felt like I was worth a damn” YEAH LETS TAKE A MOMENT FROM THIS SILLY ROAD TRIP SONG TO REMIND EVERYONE ABOUT PERCY’S INNER TURMOIL REAL QUICK ouch 

All of The Tree on the Hill is my favorite scene and I’m super biased but I don’t care

“And maybe if I'd been a little bit braver/Maybe if I stayed behind to fight/But ‘maybe’ doesn't let me go back and save her/’Maybe’ doesn't make it alright” and then “There’s a tree on the hill, up on half-blood hill/That protects us all, and always will/And it’s there reminding me of all I failed to be” WOW I MISS WHEN GROVER WAS A COMPLEX AND RELEVANT CHARACTER @rick riordan can we have that back please? 

Annabeth and Luke hugging each other and crying as Thalia makes her sacrifice hurt my heart a lot especially when you remember he’s about 14 and she’s supposed to be SEVEN they are babies my god

D.O.A. starts with Charon saying “sorry, I couldn’t hear you over that SWEET ASS RIFF” and she’s a sassy lady in a sparkly silver dress with big hair jamming to disco and it’s the biggest mood ever and the levity we all needed after the heartbreak

Percy and Sally’s harmony on “what belongs to the sea can always return” is just so pretty and there’s that return of the soft acoustics that I love so much in Strong ugh

When Percy and Poseidon would say “It’s a seashell” they’d say it like California surfer dudes and do the little surfs up motion with their hands and I laughed way too hard especially in the middle of Son of Poseidon where it’s supposed to kinda be serious 

Luke sings “it’s time someone put them [the gods] in their place” and he doesn’t riff all over the place like Clarisse but DAMN this whole scene is just so ominous it gives you the exact same vibes as when you first read it and realized what was happening except it’s worse because he just STABS PERCY in the end 

(and I totally don’t mean to undermine Luke’s Good Kid reprise because it’s fantastic but the chanting of “summer, summer, summer” in the background just makes me think of high school musical) 

“Are we ever gonna once have it easy?” “Nope!” again just sum up the entire series in two lines good job 

[harcove]

About the Author Tag Game

Rules of the Game: Answer these questions and tag 10 blogs you’d like to know better.

I was tagged by @come-get-yall-ochimizu thanks bb- i’m uhh late to doing this cause my ass got lazy ;))))

Nickname: Aim (literally just pronounced Aim lmao), Lonk but only by one person ever it’s a inside joke. But people usually just call me Amy cause my name is literally three letters bye.

Zodiac: Aries

Height: 5′1ft. Y’all i’m short-

Time: 3:43 PM (when I wrote this lololol)

Favourite Band/Artist: Muse, ONE OK ROCK, Thriving Ivory

Song stuck in my head: Hurt by Nine Inch Nails or the Johnny Cash Cover specifically LMAO

Last movie I saw: Uh... I watched the Hakuouki movies with my friend at her house like... 4 weeks ago. I don’t watch a lot of movies.

Last thing I googled: I was looking at Sen’s wikipedia page from Hakuouki lmao

Other Blogs: I have a side blog for the book/the movie The Outsiders

Do I get asks?: Sometimes. It depends on what stage I’m in on my blog. I’ve had this trash for like 8 years or something. Right now it’s mainly just match-up requests.

Why this username: It’s the name of Inuyasha’s mother from Inuyasha lmao. I loved/love Inuyasha and Izayoi but someone had “Izayoi” already so I just did “izayo-i” 

Following: 67. I feel weird/cluttered when I follow too many people? I think the most I had was like 120.

Average hours of sleep: Right now since I’m off university it’s like 7-10. But usually, like 4-6. 

Lucky number: 14

What am I wearing: my pajamas- aka a big Aerosmith t-shirt

Dream job: talking about this makes me nervous cause I hate thinking about my future but I’d love to be a primatologist or just an anthropologist. Maybe a historian. I wouldn’t mind doing translations too at some point.

Dream Trip: Ireland or Scotland. Maybe Japan someday if I can get the language down lmao.

Favourite food: Can I just say the entirety of like Chinese cuisine? 

Instruments I play: I used to be able to kind of play the clarinet but not anymore bih

Eye Colour: it’s weird. Blueish, grey? Sometimes it looks more blue, other times grey. I’m a demon.

Hair colour: Light brown/blondish

Aesthetic: Vintage, grunge? Idk I don’t think about it.

Languages I speak: English, some French, and I’m working on Japanese atm.

Most Iconic Song: Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana, or Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen ;))

Random Fact: I have a lot of animals and love animals a lot. I have 2 guinea pigs, 3 hamsters (used to be like 11 cause one had babies oof bih wtf) a gecko, and a dog, atm.

uhhh as for tagging I get awkward when I have to do this so uh some people who can do this if they want to- you don’t have to! @edomusings @k-chan95 @okie-ta-dokie-ta @rouge-heichou @fleeting-blossom-of-the-dawn

okay bye im weird and awkward 

[3laxx]

Cola Date 2 - Syrup Date

Here's chapter 2 because I couldn't wait I just couldn't! Also yes, again, all of this is kinda random x) I just wanted to go with the flow, without a goal, and let these two dorks find each other. Just a little everyday spontaneous fluff ;) Enjoy~

Ao3 / FF.net

Only as Alya exited the shower with a towel around her she realized what she was doing here.

She had taken a shower in a stranger’s home, had blindly trusted a waiter in the restaurant she’d escaped a date from.

Only now it came to her mind as maybe a little rash. She could’ve walked home, no problem.

A rumble rolled over the sky and she rolled her eyes as her heart sped up.

It had probably been the fear of a storm coming around, yeah. Or the embarrassment of having cola dumped all over her in the middle of a restaurant. Or the desperate longing to get out of the sticky clothes and into something clean again.

Whatever had gotten into her, she was here now. And the waiter had seemed nice. So, it wouldn’t be as bad, probably.

And hey, she’d definitely have a story to tell Marinette. Or her children and grandchildren, someday, to prove their ma and grandma had been one crazy girl in her time.

Alya chuckled, beginning to blow her long, wavy hair dry with the hairdryer she found next to the sink. This was definitely worth a story she wouldn’t forget in her lifetime. And honestly, she was an adventurous girl. Why not?

When she was done with her hair, or at least done enough since it was still damp, she put her glasses on and carefully opened the door, checking that the waiter hadn’t returned yet. But he had stayed true to his word and was probably waiting for her text before coming up here again.

She peeked out of the bathroom and carefully stepped into the hallway, looking around to search for the clothes he had hopefully prepared for her.

And there they were, neatly folded on a chair next to the door, as she found them. And as she lifted the pile she saw he had taken his phone with him again since she had put it back there after typing in his number, probably when he had left for downstairs again.

With a grin she took the small pile back into the bathroom with her and was about to grab her own underwear when she blushed. Her bra and panties were completely soaked in cola.

Alya groaned in annoyance, tossing both back on her own pile of dirty clothes.

But oh well, everything was better than having to continue her “date” for another hour. Especially when being able to have someone so sweet like the waiter at hand. No wait, his name was Nino, right?

She smiled to herself as she unfolded his shirt and the jeans he had given her. Both were way too big for her, even if she could see that he had picked the skinniest jeans he probably had. Though, her blush spread when something fell to the floor that she hadn’t seen yet.

It was a pair of boxers.

Her cheeks flamed up as she lifted them up, eyeing the simple black material with a flexible hem on top. They would reach own to her knees, probably. She chose to ignore her blush, though, as she turned them over, saw the front and held them on her hips. A little above the knees, at least.

With a little nervous giggle, she pulled them on, trying to ignore the very obvious cut for men on the front. But as she adjusted the hem, that surprisingly fit her around her hips, she found that it was actually pretty comfortable.

Slowly, her blush lessened as she grabbed his socks, pulling them over her feet. He had big feet, she noticed. His socks left a lot of room for her. His jeans weren’t much better, even if it was a pretty slim fit for him, probably. They didn’t fit in length, she had to fold them up on her ankles, but at least they weren’t too wide. They even held up on her hips, without a belt. At least that, she grinned to herself.

His shirt was a whole new adventure. It was an older shirt and as she remembered the build of the waiter it probably didn’t fit him anymore. Or at least not well.

It was of a faded blue color and on the chest was an eye like shape, the printed-on color almost completely scraped off already and only the shadow visible.

Plus, it only stopped mid-thigh for her. She almost had to laugh at herself in the mirror. It looked like she had raided her boyfriend’s closet. Immediately, the blush returned and she spluttered, turning away from the mirror.

With clumsy movements she pulled her clothes together, his shirt falling forward as she bent down because it was so loose on her. Immediately, his scent got stronger.

It was a different one, different than his shower gel or shampoo and the overall scent his apartment carried. The shirt, his clothes, it smelled just a bit, just a tad more like him.

She involuntarily paused and breathed in, tilting her head down to feel the fabric of the shirt grazing her nose, just slightly tickling her skin. It smelled nice, she decided. Very nice. She liked his scent.

Just as her mind got fuzzy, though, she snapped out of it, shaking her head.

No, no no, this was not happening.

She got her clothes together and frowned at herself, not knowing where to put them. Until she had a rustling noise from beside the toilet. He must’ve left a plastic bag or her dirty clothes as well, it had just fallen out from the pile of clothes he had given her while she had probably found the boxers.

With a smile she put all her sticky clothes into the bag, then she grabbed her phone from the sink and searched for the new contact. With swift movements of her thumbs she sent him a short text, saying she was finished. Almost immediately, a text came back that he was just finishing some things up, then he’d be upstairs.

She smiled at the hurried typos he had send with the text, then she thoughtlessly put her phone into the front pocket to maybe venture around a little. Halfway there she remembered she should maybe pull her phone out again because for one, that was not her jeans, and it probably wouldn’t fit anyway-

Her phone slipped right through her fingers and landed in the pocket, resulting in an indignant groan from her. Men jeans. Lucky bastards, had big enough pockets.

So, as a matter of principle, she left in there and began tapping out of the bathroom, following the hallway down to come to the first open door. A few stray toy cars and even a puppet were noticeable as she went, which made her question her host’s age, but she didn’t pay them too much mind. Maybe he had little siblings that sometimes came here and played. She continued down the hallway, lifting her eyebrow as she came to the door. If the doors were closed they were off limits, that was a thing of honor, but if they were open a little peek couldn’t hurt, right?

It was his kitchen.

Alya giggled at the dishes and the abandoned dishrag on top of it. As her gaze went up she saw a ton of strange spices, all foreign to her as she deciphered the names. Or, at least those which were labelled with French names afterwards. Others were, well-… Oriental, maybe? She shrugged and pushed herself off the doorframe, walking further. A buzz in her pocket lightly startled her but she didn’t mind it as her gaze fell upon the open space at the end of the hallway. It was his living room, as she realized when she stepped in, a smile sneaking on her lips.

It had a big wall of windows and was very brightly lit by the daylight alone, unlike her small apartment only facing the backyard, surrounded by very tall apartment buildings.

There even was a roof terrace with a lot of plants and a small seating area outside, accessible through a sliding glass door that was half opened to let in some of the fresh March air, pregnant with the heavy scent of rain.

She lightly swirled around on her heel, whistling as she saw that the kitchen and the living room even were connected which she hadn’t seen before. His apartment was really fancy. Like, really fancy.

A few more toys became visible the further she stepped in and she giggled at a stuffed toy that looked like it was 20 years old that sat on the couch.

With a light chuckle she came to a halt in front of the window and grinned at the Eiffel Tower in the distance, clouded by heavy strings of rain. She could get used to something like this, definitely. Not always the same, boring concrete backyard with the lady from across who always yelled at the children playing there, without the same grey puddles which never really vanished, not even in summer. Just the blue sky and a few roofs. She wouldn’t even need the terrace, she was more of an inside person, even if she enjoyed being outside. But she could just concentrate better on her reports when she was on her desk.

Her infatuation with the view sadly didn’t last for long.

“Like it?”, a smug voice behind her sounded up, startling her so that she jumped, whirling around to see the waiter, Nino, approaching her with a grin.

“Ah, uh-…”

“Don’t worry.”, he quietly replied, stepping next to her to look out of the window, “I mean, I knew you’d be busy when you didn’t see my text.”

She flushed as she pulled out her phone, seeing the text message from him that he’d be up in a minute. Next to her, she just heard him chuckling, shaking his head as she embarrassedly put her phone away.

“… You got a nice apartment.”, she finally pressed out, letting her phone slide back into the pocket in the jeans. He laughed at that, turning away from the heavy rain outside to look at her, his tanned skin dancing with the raindrops on the glass.

“Thanks. You got a nice outfit. Does it fit, by the way?”

She nodded, lightly grabbing the shirt.

“Oh, yeah, it’s really comfortable. Just the shirt, that’s a little too big.”, she joked, letting it fall back to its nightgown length as her gaze got caught by a clock hanging on the wall across from them, “But, uh, tell me… Which normal shift ends at almost four in the middle of an afternoon?”

His hand immediately flew up to his neck and he cleared his throat nervously, trying to find an excuse before she giggled, shaking her head.

“You got out of work?”

He mumbled a few intelligible things before he sighed, his shoulders slumping.

“… My mom whooped my butt, saying I shouldn’t leave a pretty girl on her own in my apartment.”, his blush that he wore since he had come in here deepened, “Th-These were her words!”

She smirked knowingly, nodding and turning back to the window, watching raindrops dribble down the glass, playing with the dim light from the heavily clouded sky.

“So, you think I’m pretty?”, his spluttering fueled her smile so she decided to make him a little more flustered, “Did your mom think I’d find embarrassing stuff?”

His eyebrows pulled together as he eyed her, her game suddenly plainly visible for him. His smirk that followed only made her grin, knowing she had found a partner to play on her level.

“No, I don’t think so.”, he slowly replied, “You know, just my insane music system, my awesome apartment, my wonderful roof terrace…”

She giggled again as he leaned against the frame of the windows, lifting an eyebrow.

“Oh, and now you’re boasting?”

“To impress the pretty girl? Anything.”, he shot right back, both of them grinning as she shifted her weight to one foot.

“Wasn’t there something about you driving me home?”, she questioned, her smile never leaving her lips as he leant his head against the frame now as well, looking at her smugly.

“Oh, you know, my Lamborghini doesn’t like bad weather.”

She laughed at that, burying her hands in her pockets.

“Oh yeah, your Lamborghini? Are we lying now, Mister waiter?”

He chuckled, pushing himself off the frame to walk into the kitchen, gesturing her to follow him.

“Well, it is a Lamborghini! About-… 12 years old… And a little sickly and slow-… And it’s also a Fiat but hey, I sprayed a few racing stripes across the sides and roof! That counts as a sports car!”

She sat down at the counter as he opened the fridge, bending down a little to see its contents.

“Oh, definitely a sports car. You’re driving a Fiat, for real?”

He just shrugged, his gaze still fixated on the fridge while his other hand searched for some glasses in a cupboard next to him.

“Somehow gotta make my living and a fancy car isn’t part of it. Want something to drink?”, he shot a gaze over his shoulder, “If you wanna stay at all. One word and I can drive you home, no problem.”

He got a brief smile back as she shook her head, leaning back a little.

“Oh no, you know, I got something against a Fiat in that weather.”, she joked, winking at him. He just chuckled and turned back before she added, “But a water would be nice.”

He finally found what he was searching for and proudly showed her a little bottle in his hands, filled with a kinda thick, yellow-ish golden fluid. She pulled her eyebrows up and looked at him.

“You gotta try this.”, he insisted, putting a bit of the fluid, syrup, as she now realized, into the glasses and filling them up with tap water, “It’s self-made, by me, and not to boast or something, but it tastes amazing. My best friend says it has something of the nectar the Greek gods must’ve drunk.”

She smirked as he slid her the glass, then took his own.

“A syrup from what?”, she asked, smelling on it first. It smelled pleasantly sweet, just faintly, not too much.

“Elderflowers, actually. Was easy to make and I really like how it turned out.”

She took a careful sip before drinking a big gulp. The faint sweetness that she had smelled before had so much more flavor than just plain sugary syrup from the supermarket. She wasn’t that much of a sweet tooth, in contrary to Marinette, but this was actually really tasty. It wasn’t too sweet or sour but just the right amount of rich flavor from the flowers and a natural sweetness.

She hummed as she put her glass down, licking her lips as she looked at him.

“It tastes amazing!”, she praised, grinning widely at his easing smile. His shoulders relaxed and he gave her a warm feeling in her stomach, “You’re full of surprises, Mister waiter.”

“… My name’s Nino.”, he corrected her but she laughed.

“I know, you told me before. But I wanna tease you a little.”

His grin that followed could light up the entire sky if the world lived after her heartbeat.

Wanna buy me a coffee?

[everythingbiggerincanada]

1. What is you middle name? Davis

2. How old are you? 26 turning 27 soon..

3. When is your birthday? Feb 4th

4. What is your zodiac sign? Not sure tbh I was told Aquarius

5. What is your favorite color? Purple

6. What’s your lucky number? Ummm 99 I think

7. Do you have any pets? No but im gonna get a dog

8. Where are you from? Scarborough Canada

9. How tall are you? 5'10/11

10. What shoe size are you? 12

11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 8 or 9

12. What was your last dream about? I dont dream but if I do its generally a nightmare. My last one though was about a girl I know and how we were playing cod and I tickled her. But thats super odd for me.

13. What talents do you have? I not sure. I like to game and sing, shoot guns and used to love jumping outta planes until my injury. But I can cook?

14. Are you psychic in any way? Nope

15. Favorite song? Right now its You Broke Me First

16. Favorite movie? I just watched a movie called The Hate U Get. That was incredible I also love Harry Potter

17. Who would be your ideal partner? Who, thats easy, but I keep fucking up good relationships. At least this past year so atm no idea.

18. Do you want children? I thought about it. And honestly not unless my wife did. I would want to be a dad maybe someday but only after I get my wife all to myself for a year lol..

19. Do you want a church wedding? Maybe. Honestly would like my wedding on my family estate

20. Are you religious? Used to be. Now I have a tenous relationship with God.. I used to believe but everytime I needed God he was no where to be found...

21. Have you ever been to the hospital? Yeah more times then I could count.

22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? When I was a kid like 5 I stole a candy bar and got caught. But no police just an ass whooping from hell

23. Have you ever met any celebrities? Yes I have. A few

24. Baths or showers? Both. I like to bath then shower

25. What color socks are you wearing? None atm

26. Have you ever been famous? I guess. Depends on how you define fame..

27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? No

28. What type of music do you like? Hip-hop, Rnb, Pop, some rap. Etc

29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? Yes

30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 4

31. What position do you usually sleep in? My side. I like to cuddle and its more comfortable. Hard for me to sleep any other way

32. How big is your house? Its not huge. Its enough for now

33. What do you typically have for breakfast? Oatmeal or eggs or bagels!!!

34. Have you ever fired a gun? Yes several and often. I was military

35. Have you ever tried archery? Yes and im no Robin hood

36. Favorite clean word? Eh

37. Favorite swear word? Fuck

38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 4 days I think

39. Do you have any scars? Yes several. My biggest one is on my leg. And I got one from being stabbed

40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? Yes

41. Are you a good liar? No.. It starts eating me away. I get sad after awhile. Its easy to tell

42. Are you a good judge of character? Yes for the most part

43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Lol no but I try anyways

44. Do you have a strong accent? I dont think so but some would say yes

45. What is your favorite accent? French

46. What is your personality type? I have no idea. I'm very domineering

47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? Umm my suits

48. Can you curl your tongue? Lol kinda?

49. Are you an innie or an outie? Ummm 🤷‍♂️

50. Left or right handed? Right

51. Are you scared of spiders? Not the small ones

52. Favorite food? Chicken 😂

53. Favorite foreign food? Popish

54. Are you a clean or messy person? Messy

55. Most used phrased? Get Fucked

56. Most used word? Umm

57. How long does it take for you to get ready? Not long

58. Do you have much of an ego? Yes

59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? Depends lol. Ill suck on it if I enjoy it

60. Do you talk to yourself? Yes

61. Do you sing to yourself? Yes

62. Are you a good singer? I've been told yes

63. Biggest Fear? Not being good enough. Not feeling ok

64. Are you a gossip? I tend to talk shit but im learning thats part of my bigger issues im working on 🤷‍♂️

65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? The Hate U Got

66. Do you like long or short hair? Both

67. Can you name all 50 states of America? Yed

68. Favorite school subject? History

69. Extrovert or Introvert? Extrovert I think. Well post covid

70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Yes

71. What makes you nervous? Large crowds. And certain ppl

72. Are you scared of the dark? Yes. Im afraid of what I cant see

73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Sometimes

74. Are you ticklish? Yes but if you try and tickle me ill probably lose it lol

75. Have you ever started a rumor? Yes

76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Yes alot

77. Have you ever drank underage? Yes

78. Have you ever done drugs? No except edibles

79. Who was your first real crush? Shekinah was I wanted to marry her

80. How many piercings do you have? Zero

81. Can you roll your Rs?“ lol not really

82. How fast can you type? Depends on if you want full complete sentences that makes senses or a bunch of bullshit lol..

83. How fast can you run? Pretty fast or i used to be able too

84. What color is your hair? Dark brown

85. What color is your eyes? Brown

86. What are you allergic to? Penicillin

87. Do you keep a journal? Actually I started writing on this site that allows for anonymous "stories" or just a place to express yourself. Its been really helpful. My doctor recommended writing out how I feel could help since I struggle with being honest about my struggles...

88. What do your parents do? My father passed away and my mom is retired

89. Do you like your age? No I feel old

90. What makes you angry? Depends. I dont often get angry but hurting people I care about will do it

91. Do you like your own name? Its ok. I prefer Davis over Connor but its who I am

92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? No not really.

93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? Girl

94. What are you strengths? Leadership, staying calm under pressure, being able to focus when its hard. Honestly their are a few things but right now I feel like I have alot more weakness...

95. What are your weaknesses? That would be way to long of a list and im not sure id want Tumblr to see it

96. How did you get your name? My momma named me after atv show...

97. Were your ancestors royalty? Yes

98. Do you have any scars? Yes several

99. Color of your bedspread? Grey and black

100. Color of your room? Off white

[it-is-reigning-men]

Something Worth Leaving Behind [Jeff Hardy x Reader Smut]

Request for @imaginelatenight​: Jeff always going in the same club when he is in town, because he has fallen for the barkeeper.

A/N: Made the club a normal bar but it’s basically the same lol! And this turned into sort of a song fic as well because when I started writing this I heard this song on Spotify and thought it just fit with the concept. Sooo, without further ado, please enjoy! No warnings, just plot with smut.

Jeff had always gone to the same bar downtown— whenever he was in town.

Rather than it being a rather weekly experience, it turned into a visit every month or so since he had began his wrestling career. He knew everyone there; from the quirky manager down to the bus boys who always seemed to be cleaning tables. It was a family business, so it wasn’t really surprising.

The place, called Willow’s, by the way, only hired a handful of people not related to them by blood.

One of the lucky few was Y/N.

Jeff remembered clearly the day he met you; it had been almost two months since his last visit (due to a busy schedule and not always having the time to fly all the way back home even on days off) and he’d just gotten out of an argument with Matt. He had been searching for familiar faces and a good couple rounds of beer, but instead, he was greeted by a brand new face — bright eyed and smiling at him.

“Hiya. Can I get you something, sir?”

“Jeff.”

You blinked, the bustle of the bar around you muffling his voice.

“Sorry?”

Jeff cleared his throat, flickering his eyes down at his intertwined hands before looking up again; he realized he was probably staring.

“Jeff, you can call me that.”

You smiled, setting down a couple of shot glasses behind the counter after you finished drying them off.

“Alrighty, Jeff. So how about that drink, huh?”

“Just the house beer, thanks.” He returned the smile.

“Sure thin—”

“Ahem, I’m gonna need to see some ID first.” A lower voice cut in, and the two of you jumped; it was the manager Mr. Willow, wearing one of his ‘boss’ faces.

You gulped, toying with the collar of your grey and black uniform.

“I was about to ask for that,” You squeaked, looking terribly embarrassed.

Mr. Willow narrowed his eyes down at you a moment, but quickly flipped his expression around to a blinding smile. He reached over and clapped Jeff on the shoulder, laughing at Jeff’s furrowed expression.

“Only a joke, only a joke! This is one of our long time customers, kiddo. You should get used to seeing him from time to time.” The taller man addressed you kindly, patting your back once before shaking his head and sauntering away.

A silence passed, odd, since the bar was it’s usual busy lil nook, but it was ended when you took a sharp breath and turned to grab a mug and fill it with beer. You set it down in front of Jeff, the liquid damn near overflowing over the rim.

“Here you are. I’m really sorry about that,” You blurted, unsure as to why you were such a mess tonight. You half hoped you’d never be working whenever Jeff came back, and half hoped you would be working- just so you could make it up to him for being so ditzy.

Your flushed face melted away, however, when Jeff just chuckled and took a sip of the amber liquid— his green eyes peeking over at you as he did. When he set down the glass he licked his lips clean and leaned on the counter.

“What’re you apologizin’ for?”

“Oh, I dunno,” You glanced down the bar to see if any other customers needed anything; they were all otherwise inclined. “It’s just my first week here and I’m already messing up with the simplest things.”

Suddenly the last thing on Jeff’s mind was that stupid argument with Matt; at that time he just wanted to talk to you— you weren’t the same old people he traveled with, you weren’t family, and you weren’t some bumbling fan trying to paw at him. You were terribly worried about tiny things, basically the polar opposite of his high-risk, live for the moment life style.

“Lucky I came into town then,” Jeff rang, taking a shorter swig of his drink.

“Why’s that?” You raised a brow, the subtle things in your facial expressions always the most significant.

“I only come around every few months, next time I come Willow will probably have kicked ya out.”

The shock on your face was straight comical, but Jeff couldn’t stand looking at the mix of concern and offense too long. He swallowed harshly then let out a laugh.

“I’m kidding. I know this place, the Willows hardly ever hire anyone new— if you ain’t family. If Mr. Willow is already making jokes with you, you must be somethin’ real special.”

Your wide eyes stared at him, parted mouth slowly closing. For a moment Jeff thought you were gonna be mad, but all you did was huff and cross your arms, a ghost of a smile reappearing.

“Seems he isn’t the only one making jokes with me, Mr. Jeff,” you sniped, using the name that way simply to drive home the comparison. Jeff decided he liked it when you smirked at him like that.

The rest of that night was sprinkled with the two of you talking whenever you weren’t busy actually doing your job. Since you were still a little on edge, you tried not to just stand around and chat for too long or too often, but nevertheless it was enough.

It was enough for Jeff not to forget about you, and enough for him to look forward to seeing you again.

…

It seemed each time Jeff came back down he found out something new about you that kept him coming back.

One visit he found out you and him had very similar tastes in music. It was during one of the late Saturday Nights in which the bar strayed away from the live music and went for playlists created by the staff (a mix of personal favorites and requests from regulars).

Jeff had already been there around an hour before the Bluesy mix switched into a rock set list— comprised of songs he could say he’d played on repeat on the road. He was unconsciously nodding his head to the beat, swirling his drink in one hand and tapping his fingers on his knee with the other.

“You like that?”

“Hell yeah,” By now he recognized your voice and spun around in his stool to face you. “You too?”

“Well, seeing as this is my playlist, I hope so.” You tightened your ponytail, looking out over the small crowd dancing about. It was your second break, so you had at least 20 minutes to burn, get a snack too.

Jeff seemed a little taken aback at first, setting down his cup and now using both his hands to follow the familiar drums with his palms on his jeans.

“Didn’t take you to be a rocker chick.”

You lolled your head to one side, giving Jeff a side glance.

“And what did you take me to be?”

Jeff shrugged, grinning. “Like, country maybe? Alternative at most.”

You rolled your eyes, getting tired of Jeff always finding a way to ridicule you. It was still a lighthearted conversation, mind you, and you felt more comfortable talking to him as of late.

“I do like country. Just not the twangy-banjo type stuff; and alternative, if you’d believe it.”

“Variety. That’s not a bad thing.” Jeff said, but felt his heart beat a little faster when he saw your eyes snap close and your fingers do a cute little air guitar when it got to the song’s iconic riff.

“Exactly.” You mumbled, smiling and giggling as you dropped your hands, torn between feeling brave and shy.

There was small bell from behind you, and one of your coworkers slid a basket of fries over the counter to you.

“Your usual, Y/N. Fries n’ ranch.”

The halt in your conversation didn’t bother you at all, and you didn’t hesitate taking a bite out of a couple fries after dipping them. Jeff’s eyes flickered between you and the dance floor, a new song just starting.

“So, since you’re into all that music, I’m guessin’ you got some dancing genes in there,” Jeff wagged his brows, shaking his shoulders.

You nearly choked, but managed the food down with some effort. As adorable as Jeff’s tiny preview was, you didn’t have such genes.

“Ahem, no. I’m more the singing in the shower, dance while I’m home alone, person.”

Jeff frowned, but didn’t let up. He swung onto his feet, holding out open palms and trying to beckon you away from your perch against the bar.

“Oh cmon. If you can do either of those things at all, you can do them in a room full of people who are probably too drunk to remember it anyway.”

You honest to god considered it - if only for a fleeting period - but rubbed your neck and crossed your feet.

“Maybe someday. But,” He started swaying his hips side to side, making some silly face. You snorted, but turned around and focused back on your French fries. As much as you liked seeing him around, he wasn’t going to go suckering you into doing stuff you weren’t comfortable with just because he made you laugh. “Not right now okay?”

Jeff had to say that one hurt more than he expected it to. But he wasn’t going to force you, so he sat back down, resting his chin on his arm.

“… Don’t be all depressed about it. Feel free to go dance if you want to dance. There are plenty of girls that would probably love to have a partner.” You felt almost guilty, seeing him suddenly looking bored.

“Not in the mood, you’re kind of a kill joy.”

Your jaw dropped, even if you could see it in his eyes that he was still messing with you.

“Alright, so you shouldn’t wanna dance with me anyway. I saved you a waste of time and it looks like my break’s about to be over anyway, Jeff.” You threw him some sass, and popped a fry into your mouth as you took the basket to walk away.

He further tilted his head, pouting his lips.

“I’m gonna hold you to that 'someday,’ ya know.”

You stopped just behind the counter, gifting him one last glance.

“I guess… I did say maybe.”

The night ended with you exchanging phone numbers.

…

You were sprawled across your bed, humming something to yourself when you heard your phone buzz. The noise not only startled you (more than it should’ve) but it also made you lose track of the tune in your head.

You sighed, rolling over and expecting the message to be from work.

From: Mr. Jeff [ I should be back in town in a couple weeks!]

So, not work.

… Just what you looked forward to seeing at work; even if you always had to wait for it.

You replied:

[ Y the heads up? Usually just come whenever u want to ]

Another buzz.

[ Not whenever I want to. Whenever I can :p ]

You smirked in amusement at the small emoticon. Why was it he sounded so cute in texts?

[ Ok. Cya soon.]

Buzz.

[ You ready for that dance yet? ]

You blushed, having hoped he would forget.

[ Nope, sorry :/ ]

Hopefully that wasn’t too bitchy.

[ Someday ;p what’re you doing ? Slacking off at work?]

[ It’s the weekend Jeff. ]

[ I’m working on some new ring moves w/ Matt. I can email a video later if u want ]

That made you pause. You glanced down at the mess of paper underneath your elbows before texting him back.

[ Don’t know how I’m gonna help with that? ]

[ Praise me. Or blackmail me if it’s terrible ]

You smiled widely, feeling happy enough to feel like you were actually talking to him in person. You really didn’t know much about wrestling, but you’d honestly only watched it whenever he was performing— and even then only on days when the bar happened to have it on the TVs.

You’d probably watch it more if you bothered paying for cable in your apartment, but that, you did not. Still, you supported Jeff doing anything that he loved.

[ Sounds like a plan my man lol ]

What the fuck ? You retyped.

[ Sounds like a plan. Better be good then c: ]

Some hours passed with him just throwing random thoughts your way, and the occasional long periods of silence in which he was back practicing. You wondered who else he texted like this; not in a jealous way, but more, curious.

The more you saw him or texted him, the more you were simultaneously accustomed to and unnerved by his presence in your life.

You had a crush, admittedly.

If only you knew.

…

Jeff had kept his promise of being back in town within the next week and a half— however, you never really had the specifics of when he’d appear in the bar, so you were never quite prepared.

You were on duty, having just served a nice Dirty Martini to one of the older women that came to the bar weekly. In the pocket of your waist apron, you had a small notebook that you only pulled out briefly to jot things down that popped into your head at the darndest of times. You had to, though, lest you forget and end up kicking yourself for it.

You were scribbling words down frantically, not wanting to have your attention off potential customers for more than thirty seconds. Clicking your blue pen, you flipped the notebook shut just as someone took a seat right in front of you.

“What’s up, buttercup? You writing down ya grocery list or somethin’?”

You flinched, pocketing the book.

“No.”

Wow, great comeback.

He raised his brows, staring only at you as if he expected more words to come.

“You’re really not gonna tell me what it is?”

“I have a right to secrets.”

Jeff had discovered somewhere down the line that he had a gift — at least one that came in handy when he was with you, in person. Countless times he’d wished he was able to utilize it via text, but sadly, it wasn’t so.

You would’ve been smart to scurry over to the next customer that had just taken a stool only a few spaces down from Jeff; however, one of the other bartenders was quick to their station and you were forced to shift your weight between your feet instead.

Upon glancing at Jeff, he was pulling a serious set of puppy dog eyes on you.

Sweet Jesus.

On top of that his soft-looking lips were slowly curling up at the corners, everything about him begging you to just let your whole soul out for the world to see.

And all he freakin’ wanted was to know what you wrote in your notebook.

It was a wonder how you didn’t turn into some kind of puddle right then and there.

Clenching your jaw, you puffed out a breath through your nose and felt your face warming before you even uttered the truth.

“Lyrics.” You murmured.

He leaned closer, internally feeling triumphant— but also,

“—What?”

“Song… stuff. Okay?”

Jeff’s suave demeanor flickered away, a look of childish excitement taking its place.  

“You said lyrics? I thought I heard that, but then I thought— Ms. Only-Sings-In-The-Shower would never—”

“I do only sing in the shower. You don’t have to sing for other people if you happen to write songs..”

“That’s true. But you do have to sing for me now.” Jeff beamed and the skin around his eyes crinkled from smiling so wide.

“I’m pretty sure I shall not.” You said incredulously.

“— Can I geh anothuh beer, shweet cheeks?” A rugged, slurred voice interrupted, and only then you realized you and Jeff had hardly broken eye contact this entire time.

You turned toward the man down the bar, his frame slumped partially over as he waved his empty mug. His bleary eyes glanced right back at you before bravely trailing down your body. Your mouth formed a straight line and you didn’t dare see what Jeff looked like at that moment; you grabbed another chilled mug and filled it an inch below the rim before walking it over to him.

“I really recommend this be your last one for the night.” And you forced a smile before pivoting and going back to somewhere near Jeff. Willow’s had no drink limit, customers drank at their own discretion— but if anyone ever got out of hand Mr. Willow himself always called he or she a cab and got them back wherever they had to be. Or he phoned up a relative if the trouble maker happened to be a local.

All the while, Jeff was clenching his fist under the wood of the bar surface, hardly holding back from getting up and whopping the man right across the jaw when he heard a sharp cat-call echo your way while you were walking. The drunkard’s eyes never left you as he drank and hiccuped.

Your knuckles slid across the polish of the bar edge and you narrowed your gaze at Jeff.

“I’m used to drunks like that. Their heads aren’t on right and they’re probably whistling at any girl they see,”

“Especially one that looks like you, Y/N.” Jeff said vehemently, his annoyance fully aimed at the man.

“He’s starin’ because you’re too nice to slap him like he deserves.”

You’d never seen him react like that before - not that he was usually around on the sparse occasions that this happened. He seemed genuinely furious, his green irises darkened under his hooded eyelids.

“Jeff, don’t do anything… stupid. Why’re you acting all jealous?” You rushed out, knitting your brows together. You understood a friend being protective, but you could see his arm tensed from making a fist.

He took a deep breath and locked eyes with you, voice calm…ish; never contradicting your accusation of jealousy.

“How’s this sound? You sing some of your song for me, I don’t punch that lard ass for eye-fuckin’ you? If not, I’m gonna go ahead,” He hitched up a biting smirk, his fisted hand tapping on the bar before releasing so he could push off of it to stand up.

With that ultimatum he seemed set on betting you weren’t gonna go serenading him this moment, or even any time soon, and over-eager to start a bar fight. It wasn’t a shot at you, it was just a more creative way of saying he didn’t want you to stop him (only because he was used to you being shy).

You reached over the bar, snatching a hold of his arm.

He’d just barely lifted off his bar stool when you did, sitting back down immediately at feeling your hand on him.

His brows were still arched, but his fiery eyes dampened when they swiveled back down to you, awkwardly pressed over the bar counter and still squeezing onto him like you thought you’d lose him to the void.

“I.. I uhm…”

His attention from his designated target was dwindling.

“Lean closer would you?” You mumbled, eyes locked on an old chip on the wooden surface between you.

Jeff didn’t exactly know what the point was, but set aside his agenda for the time being, thinking perhaps you’d even tell him to punch the guy extra hard cause he’d bothered you before or something.

You did no such thing.

Clearing your throat, you quietly hummed something to get your note, before whisper-singing a small bit of the song you’d been working on. You had fears, doubts, and that feeling this wasn’t actually happening, but it was. Your voice was small, almost cracking due to how low you were uttering it, but was pleasant nonetheless.

“… H-Hey Mozart, what kind of name is Amadeus? It’s kinda like Elvis… you gotta die to be famous.”

You breathed deeply, wondering whether to continue or not — your eyes saw Jeff was still rather tense, so you, hesitantly, continued.

“…I may not go down in history, I just want someone… to remember me,”

Your sweet rasp died off like a flame, and you swallowed thickly, hand flinching away from the bicep you had still been tethering yourself to.

Why did you just do that? That was painfully awkward, and you’d just latched onto him like some psychopath —

Head dipped, cheeks burning, you dared a peek at Jeff. His face was unreadable. Blank. But his body had gone completely lax, his arms draped over his legs and his frame rocked slightly toward you.

“You really can’t stand violence, can you,” he spoke, the question rhetorical. You bit your lip, wanting to laugh or something but not making a noise.

“Your voice is beautiful, Y/N.” He went on, eyes sparkling in the dim lighting.

You shook your head, knowing that especially singing that low almost nobody sounded very good. He thought otherwise, and was hell bent on spending the rest of his life convincing you of that if he had to. Jeff couldn’t have cared less about the drunkard anymore— couldn’t have cared less if everyone else in the room just up and left.

He wanted to hear you more.

Honestly, he sorta realized all at once that he wanted to hear you everyday, and not just singing — maybe it was because he’d realized you’d just done something you’d never done for anyone else (and for what? He didn’t get why you liked him, when you were so pure). It clicked for him that he’d been doing every single thing on the road just because he wanted to get it over with and get back home to see you every once and awhile. Jeff loved wrestling— but he was beginning to think something topped that.

You began to sweat it, feeling tinier under his unwavering gaze and silence.

“I should probably… get back to work before Mr. Willow sees me messin’ around. Just don’t start a fight, okay—?” You had no idea what was going through Jeff’s head, so you half expected this whole messy encounter to end with him bursting into laughter or something.

It didn’t, of course.

Jeff could feel the words 'I love you,’ on the tip of his tongue - just thinking them making him feel lightheaded and overwhelmed - but all that came out instead was a casual invitation.

“Alright. But, before you go… I was wonderin’ if you wanted to visit my house tomorrow? I have an extra day off this week,” He’d forgotten to mention that. “And after tonight I have to hear more of that song.”

You searched his eyes for humor, but there was none, only sincerity.

“If you want, I could even play some guitar for you, if you have a tune in mind—”

“I-I don’t really write instrumental, I just hear it in my head,” You stammered, operating on some sort of reflex; it wasn’t sinking in that he was actually inviting you to his h o m e.

Just you and him.

“That’s okay. I can play by ear if you hum it for me.”

Oh my god.

“Uhm… if it’s alright with you… I suppose?” What you were saying didn’t at all match the panic inside; you didn’t even think you could sing for him again - let alone have some jam session in his 'humble abode’.

Jeff was just smiling that subtle smile all the while, though, and it was like nothing could get you to come up with a miraculous excuse like you always had when he pushed your buttons.

“Course it’s alright with me, do you want my address or do you want me to pick you up?”

You blinked, feeling dumb.

“I can drive over, I’d feel bad otherwise,” you laughed nervously. It was too late to go back now, and hell, if you chickened out of singing (you thought you might) you’d at least have your car to run to.

Jeff felt truly surprised that he didn’t have to further convince you - not that he was complaining. He felt a wave of relief that you actually wanted to spend more time with him; after all, the two of you had never actually hung out outside of Willow’s.

That was a crime, in his book.

…

Early the next morning you awoke to the realization that you were supposed to meet at Jeff’s house in a little less than an hour.

The need to arrive on time surged through your veins; that was a trait since you’d had the responsibility to be punctual at all— and that alone was what was getting your limbs to get moving.

You had hardly gotten any sleep the night before due to livid thoughts that somehow you’d end up making a fool of yourself and never be able to face Jeff again.

God, the dramatics only made you annoyed with yourself.

It was a constant back and forth— and apparently the morning was no different, but you were still getting ready without fail. Brushed your teeth twice because you lost track of what you were doing, but you were getting there. You threw on a pair of soft shorts and short sleeve band-T, under no impression that your 'jam session’ would require any sort of dress up or fancy business.

You enjoyed being comfortable on weekends.

Also, maybe wearing your favorite band would serve as a good luck charm; so you jogged out to your car and headed on over to the so-called, Hardy compound.

…

Jeff hadn’t been pulling your leg when he said you might have trouble finding his house — thankfully, he’d provided good pointers and once you found the path it was easy breezing. You liked the sound of dirt under your wheels and the rustic scenery of the forest was unfamiliar, yet intriguing… even more so when you broke from the dense forest into the well groomed grasses of the front yard.

You wouldn’t think there would be such nice properties hidden back here.

Just as you twisted your key and turned off the car, the front door to the house swung open; you thought maybe Jeff had heard or seen you pull up, but the man you saw in the doorway was a vaguely-known face.

It was Matt, the brother you’d only seen on the TV’s; Jeff had said he was never around to be introduced at the bar because he was always at home with his kids. That put him in a good light, so you hopped out of your car and started walking up to the doorway.

“I’ll pick you up for the air port tomorrow then,” Matt said, turning around and smiling when he noticed you approaching. You returned it awkwardly, raising a hand to wave.

“Ah, you must be Y/N. Sorry this is the first time we’re meeting,” He held out a hand to shake, “Jeff’s talked about you a lot, so I kinda feel like I know you.”

You huffed a laugh, glad to take the firm hand shake.

“He talkin’ trash about me, I bet.” You jested, and Matt gave you a chuckle.

“Yeah, the most trash I’ve ever heard him talk about a gal.”

Jeff surfaced at the door then, slightly flustered as if he’d ran to the door and tried to slow himself right as he opened it.

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were here, you should'a rang,”

Matt gave you a pat on the shoulder, grinning back at his brother.

“My fault. I was just introducing myself, cause someone never got around to doing it.” Matt suggested that he wanted to have met you sooner— and supposing Jeff had so casually invited you over to his house, you almost wondered why you hadn’t.  

“We’ve been… busy,” Jeff dismissed, stepping out so he was a bit closer. He looked guilty.

“Yeah yeah, well, I hope to see more of you whenever we’re all in town, Y/N. Maybe then Jeff will talk less trash about you.” Matt still flashed his pearly whites and left you with a wink and a thumbs up, slightly jerked in Jeff’s direction. He knew something you didn’t.

Jeff gestured you into the house, trying his best to ignore whatever he could feel Matt teasing about.

(Jeff had spilled a lot of beans to his brother about his feelings for you, anyway.)

…

The inside of the house - or really - mansion, was just as grand as the outside. Nice, high ceilings, clean floors, staircases, and splashes of color from large, mounted paintings around the walls.

You approached one of the pieces without thinking, air-tracing along the thick black lines of what looked to be several faces melting together.

You were simultaneously fascinated and indifferent about the bright pink eyes staring back at you as you spoke.

“Where are these guys from?” You weren’t sure if you were referring to the faces in this one piece or to the many more on the various other paintings; Jeff answered both.

“My imag-i-nation, I'suppose.” Jeff rubbed his neck, unsure if you liked them or not.

“I paint in my spare time.” He extended.

Stepping back and gaping at him, you followed him into the next room, under the open archway.

“You did all these?”

“…Yep, I would explain what they all mean, but even I’m not sure about some of them,”

“Open for interpretation then.” You reassured, eyes trailing from his dashing smile to a half painted canvas leaning against the wall. “I’ve dabbled in art myself.”

Jeff tilted his head, grabbing at the neck of his guitar.

“Seriously?”

You paused.

“No. I’m a terrible artist. In like… every way.”

Jeff laughed and you did too, though your buzzing died off as Jeff took a seat on the couch arm rest just a couple feet from where you were sitting. His guitar rested on his legs, nestled against him as he tuned it subtly.

“Nothing wrong with that. If you were some amazin’ artist then you’d be way too perfect and I’d go thinkin’ you’re not real or something.”

That sentence got you feeling giddy inside, but you just scratched the bridge of your nose and weren’t sure what to say.

“You ready to grace me with more of your lyrics, darlin’?”

Jeff sure was laying it on thick with the compliments and pet names— not that he’d never used those, but you were on edge as it were and him being all… cute about everything was only making it worse. And he was staring at you. And you had no other customers to glance at or run off to now.

It finally settled in how nervous he always made you feel; before now you had always just had distractions that helped you deny that.

“I… I forgot the words..?”

No, dumbass, you had the words right in your hands — you were gripping tight to the notebook you always left in your car. Jeff’s eyes flickered to the familiar article but he didn’t antagonize you.

“I’m sure you’ve got jitters. We could start with you just humming a tune for me to follow, then maybe I’ll get some singin’ outta you again,” His tone was soft, encouraging not pushing. You eventually got to actually creating sound… singing the words in your mind but only letting the notes of them vibrate through your closed lips.

Jeff picked up quickly, and soon enough the hums transmuted into crisp guitar plucks; even sooner those mentally spoken words attached to said notes were spilling out of you … and you didn’t quite get that moment of clarity till Jeff had shifted down from the arm rest to the cushion right next to you and overlapped his lower voice with your’s as you sang out the last verse (you had so far).

“…If I will love then I will find, I have touched another life and that’s something,”

You swallowed thickly, peeking up only enough to see Jeff’s fingers strumming.

“…something worth leaving behind,” You sang slowly, quieter again, and your embarrassment was partially forgotten due to the mesmerization of hearing his honeyed accent echo your voice.  

He stopped his playing, planting a hand over the strings to stop them.

“How do you get me to do things I can’t even imagine doing..?” Even now you were speaking out unlike your normal self, and it was all his fault.

“How do you get me to want to do everything with you?” He rejoined, his guitar leaving your sights as he kept his body pointed toward you. You still didn’t want to look up at his face, because this didn’t feel right.

“I don’t know.” You said, honestly. Why did he always only go to you when he visited the bar? Why did he always text after matches you’d just seen?

“I do.” He murmured, his hand cautiously coming up to brush against your chin, tilting it up like he thought you’d pull away if he touched any firmer than that. He wanted to see your eyes, no matter how you would respond to this.

“You’re what keeps me goin’ when the job gets tough. You’re the one thing I hate leaving behind when I’m out on the road,” His finger tips gradually spread, and his hand danced along your jawline toward your ear as he noticed you didn’t pull away or flinch— you stayed deathly still, eyes only blinking when they had to.

“…I think I…” His fingers trailed further, twining into the roots of your hair at the back of your head. “I think I love you, Y/N.”

His face was closer now than it had ever been, but he seemed stuck at a few inches away— he wanted you to respond somehow before he went and kissed you because he wasn’t sure how he’d react once he did what he’d thought about doing so many times.

You fumbled, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue; Jeff tensed, hand slipping ever-so-slightly down the back of your neck.

“I think so too,” you breathed, but realized that sounded incorrect. “I mean— I think I love you,”

But grammar or exact comprehension aside, Jeff had gotten his response. Lips crushed against your’s, his other hand joined in to pull your face toward him. It was fast, frantic actions, yet, somehow gentle enough to feel as if you were leaning into it more than he was tugging you.

You puffed out the breath you’d been holding through your nose, and you closed your eyes tightly, lips pressing back. There was every ounce of two years of tension being unfurled in a single kiss — and then tension melted into desire once you broke apart.

“I never stop thinkin’ about you,” Jeff whispers, getting lost in your eyes as they open again. He recalls the first time you met, and the memory draws him forward to kiss you again, his hands sliding down your shoulders.

Both of you have half-lidded eyes, lips attacking one another’s while you refuse to break the eye contact; he deftly pushes you back into the soft couch, your back cozying into the pillows. He gives your lower lip a bit of a harsh bite, his tongue massaging over it in apology.

You make a tiny sound, your hand pulling softly at the base of his hair.

“Sorry,” Jeff rumbles, assuming you wanted him to be nicer. He couldn’t help it, your mouth was irresistible before and was even more so now.

“No,” You stroke his locks back, smiling sheepishly as you part your legs so he can scoot closer to your body. “I can tell you’re trying hard to be all good and gentle because you’re assuming things about me again.”

He furrows his brows, blushing with his frame pressing into your’s, his arousal prominent against your shorts.

“Don’t.” You kiss him chastely. “Do whatever your body’s telling you to do… I want it.” This time your tongue brazenly traces against his mouth, breaching and lapping against Jeff’s. You’d denied it till now, but since it was happening, you weren’t gonna let anything ruin this moment — not even Jeff’s own cautions.

“I didn’t take you to be into rough sex.” Jeff retorts, voice gruffer as he rolls his hips against you. He’s clearly liking whatever you’re insinuating, his worries going out the window.

“Well, I am not against it. And I’m not against gentle love-making either;” This was totally different, but sorta like how he’d been when he was surprised at your taste in music.

“-How’d you say it before? Variety. Variety’s good,” You were proud of your stellar memory, and starting to lose your full voice as you panted. His hips were in full motion, only making you wetter as the friction continued.  

He smirked, rolling up the bottom of your t-shirt.

“So this won’t be the last time we do this, is what you’re sayin’?” His hands continue to bring your shirt up, till you have to lift your arms to get it off.  

“That depends on how good it is.” You stifle a laugh but whimper unintentionally when he kneads one of your breasts firmly.  "All I’m saying is don’t be afraid of biting me, geez.“ Your voice sounds sassier then, and he growls, rutting into your clothed core as he leans down to nip around your collar bone, finding a spot to suck in a love mark.

In all honesty, you weren’t always the type to tease people in bed, but that back and forth dynamic had always been present with you two — that, and whatever it was doing to Jeff’s sex drive was well worth it.

"If you end up sore in the mornin’, just know you asked for it,” He promises lightly, eying the now several pinkish spots on your collar and neck that were sure to darken by tomorrow. You felt tingly, suddenly too hot in your already minimal clothing.

“Good thing I’m not working then,” You huffed, impatiently pulling at Jeff’s tank top now; it too was discarded, and things moved fast from there.

You allowed your eyes to rake over his bare skin, in awe of the details of his tattoos that you’d been missing out on. You gulped, pads of your fingers following the thin trail of hair down his abs that led to the band of his pants. He didn’t stop you.

As you rubbed him first over his underwear, you felt your heart jump at the apparent size he was packing — your palm rubbing over the thickness more when he moaned unabashedly. Your hand went into the material, adjusting his length in his pants so the tip of it stuck out of the waist band while you gave it firm, steady strokes.

He twitched, his teeth latching to the straps of your bra and pulling them down your shoulders, all before he actually slipped his hands under your back to unhook the article, hoping you’d shift your arms enough to let him get the damn thing off so he could see all of you.

As aroused as you were, somehow insecurities managed to creep up the shoulders that your straps were being tugged down. It was obvious he wanted you, and probably had for a long time (not to mention you literally had a hand in his pants), but you still managed to be blushing as you retracted your hand from his growing erection and bent your arms to slowly slip off your bra. But his eyes never left you for a moment, and by the look of his blown pupils and ever-shifting gaze, he loved every single inch of you.

“Why did it take so long for us to end up here?” Jeff rambled, sounding frustrated as he peppered kisses from your throat down to your breasts; he didn’t want an answer, because he was already grateful that you even reciprocated his feelings.

Yet, he was still going to do everything in his power to let you know just how long he’s wanted you like this.

Jeff reminded himself you didn’t mind biting.

“U-uhnf…” you whimpered, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh briefly, replaced in time with a warm, wet tongue as he circled around your perked nipples. Your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he ravished your chest, his rough hands pressed up against the curve of your back to pull you into his embrace and upright.

He leaned back against the couch, situating your trembling body onto his lap, your feet dangling off the couch.

Jeff dipped his hands right into your shorts the moment you were there, his hands going past your panties and giving your ass a nice squeeze. It shocked you, and you felt embarrassed at the startlingly erotic noise that came out.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this cute lil ass whenever you went by in your uniform.”

Your mouth hung open, and he didn’t hesitate running his fingers down your crevice, grazing your hole before coming in contact with the wetness of your pussy.

“…pervert.” You retorted late, mind wandering to where his hands were.

“Mm.” Is all he returned, bottom lip disappearing between his teeth as he eventually got you out of your shorts and panties — they were too soaked to be any use anyway. His green eyes flickered up to your’s, a couple of his fingers rubbing over your opening while his other hand groped your thigh.

“No turning back after this, baby…” Jeff rasped, all but thrusting his fingers right into you as they massaged your heat.

“Not even an option, Mr. Jeff. Stop hesitating—” The arousal on your voice caused him to lick his lips, his fingers finally penetrating and pumping into you. Your breath hitched, his movements making your walls tighten around his fingers every few thrusts because you were acutely aware of how long it had been since you last fucked anyone.

“Relax… I got ya,” Jeff cooed into your ear, fingers occasionally changing their angle or spreading when he felt you shudder. Your hips rolled down into them, though you were still hovering just above his covered erection.

You gasped, his fingers abruptly pulling out of you and working against your clit— the first time he touched your sensitive bud was with the moisture of your own arousal.

“Fuck—” you mewled, eyes fluttering shut as he switched back and forth from shallow finger-fucking to curling his fingers deeper and back to rubbing over your clit like a well-oiled machine; just as breathing began to get uneven, he lifted you off and got you lying back on the other side of the couch.

Back touching the cooler side of the couch, where Jeff had swiped off any extra pillows so you would be lying completely flat, you stared up at the beautiful man hovering over you. Even in the haze of sex, the smile he gave you was affectionate — warm, and the last you saw before he crawled down your body. First, he sat back on his calves to undo his jeans button and zipper, shimmying out of the hinderance. You started to sit up, wanting to return the pleasure he’d been giving you the past few minutes, but he clicked his tongue and lightly pushed you back down.

“Another time, sugar. Right now I’m in charge.” He drawled, eyes narrowed as he dragged his hands from the sides of your ribs down to the bend of your knees, where he spread your legs and propped one of them up on the back of the couch.

God, your toes curled at his tone, and you felt dirty and excited because of it. Jeff smirked, head going to the crux of your legs and starting with an open-mouthed kiss to your clitoris.

You hissed out a moan, the cold air of the room contrasting with the hot mouth lapping at your folds; he wiggled his tongue into your entrance, groaning lewdly at the taste of you. Long strokes and kitten licks of that talented tongue had you writhing in no time, the sensitivity making your hands push at his shoulders.

“J-Jeff… please… stop,” You cried, not wanting your first orgasm to fully hit before you two were one.

He couldn’t help giving you one last lick before he came up, a bit of a dopey smile on his face as he kissed up your stomach.

“You ready for me?” He spoke against your skin, his hips shifting uncomfortably as he withheld from touching himself.

“Been ready,” cheekily, you huffed out, though really you were dying every moment you were left exposed and feeling empty.

Jeff only grinned, planting a sloppy kiss on you.

“Impatient, ya are.”

Your noses touched, and you felt him caressing your inner thighs.

“I’ve always waited for you, I think I’ve earned being a little impatient—”

You felt something heavy against your heat, the length rubbing against you softly. It was unclear when exactly Jeff had managed to shuck off his underwear, but it was prevalent with the way you could feel the throb of his dick against you, but not quite where you needed it to be.

Your back arched and you groaned, your heels pressing into his lower back as if to get him to get the picture.

“Jeff…”

The motions only ensued a moment or two longer before he reared back his hips, using one of his hands to steady himself at your opening; it was all slow-motion, and you almost couldn’t breathe at the initial push in. The head of his cock slid in relatively easy with how slick and prepped you were, but that still didn’t change how unbelievable it felt as he pushed in deeper, stretching you and making you let out a broken moan.

There was a twinge of pain at first, but by the time his full length was all the way in, you were clenching around him slightly, wanting more; your eyes had shut during the initial thrust, but they peeked open to stare up at Jeff as he caged your face in with both his hands.

Your hips lifted, grinding into him as much as you could just as you tugged his hair to kiss the air out of him; your tongues began to battle for dominance and his hips finally got to jerking into you, hard and deep.

He let you win the battle in your makeout, your tongue exploring his mouth hungrily as you both mewled into one another — your control of the kiss contrasted his control of your hips meeting and all the erotic sounds started mixing in a way that had you in a heavenly trance.

Neither of you would last very long, with you already on edge from before and him hardly getting off aside from actually being inside you, so you made it count.

Giving Jeff’s lower lip a bite like he had done to your’s, your leg shifted up his back, wanting him to take you even closer. He breathed harshly, reaching around to hook your leg and get it over his shoulder, thrusting more frantically at the new angle.

Both of you let out loud moans, eyes no longer closing and keeping your heart’s connected—

“Please… faster, mngh, J-Jeff..—” Your brows knitted together as you began to tighten around him again, the sound of skin slapping together making your blood race.

“Yes, baby… fuck… you’re so perfect,” he grunted, his hand squeezing your knee that rested against his shoulder.

“C-Come with me,” You pleaded, hardly able to speak with the way he was punching moans out of you now, pushing your body down into the couch with his motions.

“Fuckin'— fu… Y/N…” He thrusted in a few more times, ramming into your sweet spot too much for you to handle and sending you over the edge; you squeezed around his dick as you orgasmed, throwing your head back into the couch while you rode out his last couple thrusts, just before he came buried inside you.

You felt even fuller than before, and as you slowly relaxed, your leg slipping down off of him, you felt a bit of his cum seep out.

It wasn’t that either of you cared about the couch at this point, but it was just an observation.

The two of you took your time catching your breath, Jeff getting awkwardly comfortable laying his head against your chest after he pulled out. One of your arms nested under your head while the opposite hand stroked over Jeff’s sweat-soaked hair.

“…I really love you, you know that?” Jeff murmured dreamily.

You snickered, scratching over the back of his neck in comfort.

“…I think I got the picture.” You stared at his head, since he was still lying there. “I… really love you too.”

He shifted so his chin nuzzled below your collar bone, eyes up at you with pure adoration and dulled lust.

“Least now I know how I can make you sing, for sure.”

Of course he still had to tease you.

You rolled your eyes, covering his face with your palm so he wouldn’t see you blush. He blew a raspberry into it, which shouldn’t have bothered you after all that had just gone down, but you withdrew your hand nonetheless in surprise.

He laughed, flashing his white teeth while he twined your fingers with his own.

“Just promise you’ll show me more of your songs next time, okay, darlin’?”

“We’ll see.” You tried being stubborn, but your voice held no malice with him looking at you that way.

“Well, I promise to continue botherin’ you at Willow’s then.” He stuck his tongue out. “And I promise that I wasn’t lyin’ when I said you never leave my mind when I’m not with you.”

After a second, you whispered back. “Trust me, you never left my mind either.”

One more smile. One more kiss. One more little chuckle. Then you were squirming out from under him, making him look at you in confusion.

“Think we can hop in the shower now?”

Now he rolled his eyes, but grabbed your hand and helped you up to lead you toward the bathroom.

“Princess can’t stand being a lil dirty for a second, huh.”

“Maybe Princess just wants to get dirty somewhere besides your couch, Mr.”

You felt his grip tighten and his steps quicken more immediately.

…

God, now whenever he left it would only make waiting all the more painstaking. But still… it was worth it, because you knew he’d always get back— and you never really left each other in the first place.

[je-suis-clarisse]

Paris. December 1791. It appeared to be like any other night in Paris. The Jacobins and Monarchists were each at their respective meetings making plans for the future of the country, which was in the beginnings of a revolution. Inspired by the Americans, the French had taken the spirit on. And on ths particular evening, the small figure of one the Opera Garnier's ballerinas was climbing out of one of the large windows. She wasn't hungry, but she wanted to feel the cold air and just wander about. Clarisse du Volde had spent the last three years in the Irish Countryside. She wanted to be in the heart of the city again, to feel its pulse. Even though she wasn't entirely certain of what she was going to do. Wriggling out, her stockinged legs exposed for the world to see, she jumped down, smoothing out the folds of her dress, glad no one had seen her. Adjusting her hat, she took off down the streets, walking about quietly, offering a few coins to a hungry mother and child when she came upon them. She had been saving it for a new pair of boots, but perhaps next month. The Legislative Assembly had issued a decree ordering the émigrés to return to France, so it was a wonder that she was here. Though Clarisse had left at sixteen because of her marriage, she felt it best to rush home. If she was going to die, she intended to do so where she felt somewhat safe. Those who didn't return by January 1, 1792, would be suspect of conspiracy against France for which the only answer was the death penalty. She did consider not coming back, but the guillotine was harsh and she had no desire to listen to crowds cheer as the ax dropped. They were bloodthirsty, often dipping handkerchiefs in the fresh blood of some hapless victim. She had been reading the newspaper and the libelles, saddened by the vitriol and hatred whipped up for the Royals. Listening to people speak as she made her wonder why they were so cruel. She remembered meeting the queen at Versailles as a child. The woman had been the milk of kindness. She didn't imagine it to be an act. She still has the necklace the Queen has given her since it matched her eyes so perfectly. Sitting at a cafe table, Clarisse contemplated her desire to remain on earth dwindling more and more. She had wanted to die since her dear son's stillbirth. The one thing she had wanted most--to die--had been denied her in the cruelest way. She didn't want to kill to survive, even though she'd proved rather adept at it. Brushing her fingers over the place where Colin's fangs had pierced her porcelain flesh, she sighed. She should be back at the opera house. Safe within, she could be awake during the day and worry little about the sun. There were no windows near the stage. The ballet corps teacher had also seen to Clarisse getting a room with no window. It had once been a costume closet, thus it wasn't too small. It wasn't hard to slip back inside. She knew the entire show by heart. Yet...would she even be there? The idea and yearning for a peaceful end plagued her. A few moments in the sun and that would be it. She would be ash. And if there was a breeze, it would spread her everywhere. She would be no more. And beside her brother, she didn't think anyone would care. Perhaps that strange man she had befriended. But she didn't even know his first name; only caldwell. He'd come to visit unexpectedly a number of times. Once, he had let her out of the gun closet, having heard her cries. But she had begged him not to visit anymore once she found out she was with child. "You look like you have the world on your shoulders," a male voice broke the silence that had lingered in the air and Clarisse looked up slowly at the dark haired male. There was some familiarity to him and yet, she couldn't place him. Perhaps she had seen him in the audience? She was quite certain they'd never met. He was looking at her in such a way that she half felt the need to plaster a smile she didn't feel on her face. The newly turned vampire still wore her misery for all to see. She didn't care what people thought of her yet, she felt that she should care. With the world going mad around them, she was but a face in the crowd. But she let her eyes dart up and she met the gaze of the man before her. "You could say that," she spoke hoarsely. Clearing her throat, she motioned for him to join her if he so chose. She hoped he didn't order anything to drink because she couldn't afford it. "What's your name?" He asked, with an unfamiliar accent peppering his words. 'Clarisse. Clarisse O'Call--du Volde." "O'Call-du Volde? That's an odd one." "That was my married name. I'm not married anymore. It's du Volde. Clarisse du Volde." "You got a story, Risse?" Eyebrows lifted at the shortening of her name, lips curving faintly into something resembling a smile. "Everyone has a story," she began. " Mine...it seems stupid to complain. I'm newly widowed and I miss my son." "Sorry 'bout your husband. Where's your kid?" The question sent the young woman into a state of tears. Her body seemingly paralyzed by grief as she began to weep before this stranger. It was just a month ago that he had left this world and come into it. The memory of his perfect little body in her arms, still and calm. His face had been serene as she had gazed upon him. He truly looked as though he were asleep. His hair was black as coal, just as his father's hair was. He had strongly resembled his father except for the gentle curve of his nose and his fingers were long. She had thought to herself that someday he might play piano or violin like herself. Maybe he'd be a painter. All of these thoughts flooded her mind and struck her heart repeatedly like a dagger. Clarisse tried to keep it together, but a sob escaped her and she began to weep openly, glad of the night and dim lights surrounding them as they sat together. "I'd give anything to join my boy," she whimpered, thinking of all the pain she'd felt. She was tired of feeling worthless, useless. She was tired of the pain and of her loneliness. She wanted friends and yet, when she tried to make them, the other women laughed. She was too short, too curvy, too poor. (For now. Her inheritance would be hers when she turned 21.) But the loss of wee little Padraig, the pain of that was sharper than anything she had ever felt before. "From the day I was born, my mother made it known she didn't want me. She thought if she didn't push, I'd suffocate. She tried to do so with a pillow a number of times, she tried to starve me, she beat me. My one sister beat me up daily. My eldest sister died when I was eight. My brother is in Rome, as a priest. My husband, that bastard, beat me. Raped me. Locked me in his gun closet. Shared me with his friends. I have few memories of a good life. I thought being a mother would change my life because there would be someone I could love. My son...he was perfect. I felt him within me. I felt him move. I felt him kick. I saw his foot press against me and I could see the very outline. Five perfect toes and a small little foot that I hoped would someday leave a big imprint in this world. But he was a big boy. And I'm small as you can see. The cord wrapped about his neck. My labor was long and there was nothing the midwife could do." She gasped for a breath as she looked to the man across from her. "And he's alone now, buried in an unmarked grave in Ireland. I plan, when I get my inheritance, to get him a good headstone. I know exactly where he is. And I know that my former husband...I don't think he's dead. But I tried. I threw a lantern at him." She felt amazing once she let it all out. But Clarisse was in pain still. "Besides my brother, there isn't a soul on this earth who cares if I live or die." Her companion said nothing for a short while, simply sitting with her. Clarisse was, admittedly, surprised. No one ever really listened to her when she "blubbered" as her mother used to call it. Crying was a waste because eyes got puffy and her nose turned red, rather it used to. "I'm sorry. You don't want to hear this," she apologized. Reaching for her handkerchief, she wiped at her eyes and nose, trying to gather herself again. Yet, her companion didn't seem bothered. Rather, he seemed calm and collected, understanding that sometimes one had to cry. At least he didn't scream at her. It was hard for her to realise that wasn't the proper reaction. "I don't bullsh*t people, woman. I'm not going to do that to you. People have treated you like sh*t most of your life. And you've gotten a really f***ing bad end of things. It's not pleasant." He began, his dark eyes alight with a fierceness that she had never seen. Clarisse looked at him, awestruck that he would speak this freely to her. Most men tried to speak gingerly and politely, but not this fellow. She appreciated his candor. "I can't tell you how sorry I am that your son died. I've lost people too. And it hurts. A mother's pain though? I'm never going to say I understand that. But you wanting to die? That's not going to solve anything. Death is a very permanant solution to momentary pain. And you're a vampire. So this time period is really short. You being turned might have been a catalyst." "A cata-what?" She asked, embarrassed for her lack of schooling, not even questioning how he knew that she was a vampire. "It's the beginning," he reiterated for her, giving her hand a pat. "This could be the beginning of a whole new life. You can do what you want. You can BE who you want. That's the ultimate f*** you to everyone who ever hurt you. They expect you to give up but don't. Don't give them the satisfaction. F*** them. All of 'em. Except for your boy. I bet he'd want to know you were living your life and kicking ass while doing it." He sat back in his seat, ordering two hot chocolates. They were all the rage. Dropping the coins in the waiter's hands, and ignoring as she attempted to give him the coin for hers, he continued. "Life is precious. You get one chance. Be it long or short. You're young. You're what? Nineteen? You're a baby. Yeah, you've faced hell, but you're a kid. And you're just getting started. Take it from someone who knows Death really well. take this second chance." Taking up the mug, she inhaled. She hadn't tried human food since her death and so she took a sip, savoring it. Mon Dieu, this was bliss and as she listened, her interest was piqued as she noticed his hands fiddling with a book. Something told her not to press to ask what he was reading. His words were truthful. How better to spite everyone? Yet, was she strong enough? Perhaps she ought to try. "This has been rather...illuminating," she mused as she rose to leave once they had each finished their beverage. She looked towards him again, taking note of the fact that he wasn't wearing a cockade. "Here," she spoke, unpinning it from her hat and putting it on his jacket, leaving him no time to object. "The Jacobins will be less likely to bother me without one. You take this one; they would try to imprison you without it." Leaning in, she pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Maybe we shall meet again someday. And I will buy you supper. Be well, mon amie." She looked to a small group wandering down the street drunkenly, rolling her eyes. "And be careful," she added, turning around and blinking. He was gone. "Mon Dieu..." she laughed, for the first time in weeks. If for no other reason, she had to know what and who he was. What was with men not telling her their names lately? It was peculiar, but honestly, her life would never be normal again, would it?