#ms brews lounge

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS Fic: "Carolina Moon" {Chapter Three}

Oh my goodness!! I feel like all I do is apologize to you lovely folks, but I am truly sorry once again that it has taken me so long to update. This is a lengthy chapter at least, and we are really plunging into the meat of the action now. I could try to promise that you'll have the next installment sooner, but that doesn't seem to be the way my life is working lately. I'll do my best though.

In the meantime, I do hope you enjoy this one, and I'd love to hear what you think.

Thank you SO MUCH to @eastwesthomeisbest for the gorgeous cover art, and to @xarandomdreamx for being my beta. I am very grateful to you both.

Chapter Three: Fresh Starts and Stumbling Blocks

The following morning, Emma rose early to the sun on her face, streaming in warm and bright through the windows where she hadn’t yet hung curtains. A noisy mockingbird called brashly to his mate in the trees outside as she sat up, rubbing her eyes and pushing back the rumpled covers, resolving to go ahead and get an early start on the day. Though her body might still be weary, her mind already seemed fully aware and was running through all that needed doing before Saturday’s anticipated grand opening.

Standing and stretching out the cricks and aches, Emma sighed, shaking her head while she straightened the bed clothes as best she could over her mattress on the floor. It had arrived on time, with the other household items she’d sent with the movers from her apartment in Boston. But the antique brass bedframe she had ordered had yet to arrive. Still, she’d slept in the end, and she had spent so many nights in much worse discomfort, she could make do for the time being with an accepting shrug.

Trailing into the kitchen while yawning, Emma pulled an old terrycloth bathrobe over her oversize tee and shorts, threadbare and comfortably soft with years of washings, as she went. She reached up into the cabinet for her coffee, opened it and took a grateful whiff, before she grabbed a measuring spoon from the drainer to fill the coffeemaker. It was only as the life-giving brew began to percolate that she was startled by the sound of three crisp knocks on her front door, making her jump and jerk her robe more tightly closed as she spun to face it.

Not sure who would be calling on her so early in the morning - and when she had barely been back in town three days - Emma almost didn’t answer the summons at all. Still, she couldn’t help both her curiosity and the concern that someone could genuinely need her. She crossed the worn wooden floor of the simple kitchen and unlocked the door, pulling it open only to catch her breath in surprise at who stood on her porch. Emma couldn’t help stumbling back a step and unconsciously running a hand through her still sleep-rumpled hair, for what little good it did.

What was Cora Jones doing there?!? She cursed herself fruitlessly for wearing her most comfortable, but rattiest, pajamas and robe, and she floundered for something to say. Cora, meanwhile, seemed to only stand taller, an eyebrow arched as she looked down her nose at Emma much like she would something rotten which had been smashed on the bottom of her designer shoes. “Might I come in, Ms. Swan?” the older woman finally deigned to speak in frosty tones. “Unlike some people, I have numerous things to do this morning, and cannot afford to lounge around until noon.”

Emma caught a defensive retort on her tongue, biting it back with painful effort. If it were anyone else, she would have given them a piece of her mind, but this was Rose’s mother. Some small part of her, a skinny, lonely pre-teen who had never known a mother other than the proper Jones matriarch, still ached to prove herself to this woman. Oh, she knew it was impossible. It always had been, even before the awful day that forever altered her world. But deep within, that needy child wanted to please her best friend’s parent, to feel some semblance of a parent’s love for herself, and it would not be completely buried. So she held back speaking at all and simply opened the screen door still separating them, motioning Cora through.

Moving toward the kitchen table, Emma offered coffee and a seat, grateful that though the small piece of furniture was chipped and rickety, it was at least cleared and clean. Looking as if she would rather do almost anything else instead, Cora declined abruptly. “I’ll stand, thank you.”

Emma shrugged wordlessly, trying not to let the clear derision make her shrink. She was right where she was meant to be, intending to lay old demons to rest once and for all. She’d like to make peace with Mrs. Jones as well, but she also knew it wasn’t meant to be, and was not about to be run off. Not now, not after she had waited so long. Instead, she reached up into her cabinet again for a mug for herself, poured coffee into it with as steady a hand as she could manage, and forced herself to wait. Let Cora broach the topic Emma knew she’d come to discuss; she didn’t need to make the woman’s job any easier.

Much as though she had read Emma’s thoughts, the Jones matriarch’s eyes narrowed, and she raised her chin haughtily when she spoke, her voice a whip crack in the taut air of the quiet kitchen. “Let’s not pretend this is a social call. I’m sure you know quite well what I have in mind. It is merely a matter of how difficult you wish to make things.”

Emma merely hummed low in her throat, the slightest nod allowing that she had heard and understood Cora’s words, but still not answering aloud. Inside, she ranted, ‘Me?!? You’re the one making things harder than they have to be!’  But she didn’t give Mrs. Jones the satisfaction of needlessly protesting or taking the bait. She simply met the older woman’s stare head-on and held her tongue, biding her time.

“I do not want you here. Not on our family’s property, not in this town, nowhere near us. I trust you understand that much? Neither my children, nor I, want you around, unearthing painful memories again after all these years. I realize you have already leased space in town for your little shop, ordered merchandise and so forth…. So, Ms. Swan, what will it take?” As calmly as if she were discussing the weather or ordering a latte, Cora Jones withdrew a fine leather checkbook from her designer purse, poised with pen in hand. “Tell me what you need to pack up again and clear out of here, to start over elsewhere, and I’ll make out a check here and now.”

Unbidden temper flared in Emma’s gut suddenly, no matter how she tried to remain unaffected. No matter how far she had come or what she had made of herself, to people like this woman she would never be anything but poor white trash - a mess to be cleared away out of sight. Her presence made them uncomfortable or guilty or angry - she’d never quite decided which. And she was tired of it. She might not have come from anything, and she might not possess some fancy pedigree stretching back generations, but Emma was not nothing; she never had been. Pure, unbreakable steel seemed to fuse her backbone, bringing her voice and fighting spirit to the fore. She wasn’t for sale - not at any price - and it was time that “Her Highness” learned that fact. 

“You must be mistaken, Mrs. Jones,” Emma replied, slow and plain, each syllable as intentional and measured as any of her adversary’s had been. “You seem to think I would consider relocating. Let me be clear: I’m not on the market. You can’t buy me out. You can’t run me off. Not this time. I’m staying.”

If she’d been at all in the mood to laugh, Cora’s perfectly painted mouth gaping open, then snapping shut in stunned disbelief would have been comical. As it was, Emma just kept staring her down, holding firm until the oldest money in Storybrooke had nothing left to do but withdraw. “This isn’t finished, Ms. Swan,” she hissed, her stare sparking dangerously like a match against flint. “You would be better off to take my money and make your way more easily elsewhere.”

Emma followed her to the door, arms crossed tightly over her chest as she watched those classy heels cross the warped board threshold. Anger had restored her nerve and then some as she clipped out, “Well, nothing’s ever been easy in my life. Why should it start now?” Facing off stonily with the woman she had finally, once and for all, given up trying to impress, Emma was determined that this time she would not be the one to crack.

Then, just as Cora stepped off the porch, Emma couldn’t help adding, “And, in case you haven’t noticed, both of your children are grown now. Maybe you should find out what they actually think before trying to speak for them.”

The older woman whirled, but Emma had slammed her door closed, ensuring the final word on the matter. She deflated quickly, falling back against the solid barrier bonelessly and trying to catch her breath, but it felt good to stand up to the woman at long last rather than taking any more judgment she didn’t deserve. She was sure Cora Jones wasn’t finished yet, but she had made up her mind. She was through running.

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Despite the upsetting and inauspicious start to her day, by the time early afternoon rolled around, Emma found herself pleasantly puttering about it her shop, humming to herself as she hung pictures in just the right place for best appreciation and then stepping back to take in the overall effect. Things were coming together nicely, and somewhere beneath the anxious concern she wouldn’t be ready in time and the only half-buried dread that no one would come to the opening because it was hers, Emma was beginning to feel proud excitement. She had found a real outlet upon discovering photography in college and had kept it up ever since, developing and honing her knowledge and skill in the art. In the quiet of the dark room and the simple, calm repetition of the developing process, Emma often found the whirling thoughts and visions that screamed inside her head went silent, a rare moment of peace as she worked alone to bring to light the images she had captured. Just as she had told Killian the previous evening, it was the one time she actually found a benefit in her ability to see more beyond the obvious existence on the surface. That she could bring out some aspect or nuance of her subject because of the burden she’d borne all her life was not really any sort of relief, but it felt like some tiny bit of restitution to make up for her trials as she looked around the gallery she was slowly forming, full of moments worth remembering, caught for as long as the pictures might last. She was gradually daring to hope that others as well would wish to glimpse the images she’d brought to life, ones which otherwise might have remained unseen.

She was turning to the back where she kept a small refrigerator to get a pop and take a breather when the bell over her door announced the arrival of a newcomer at her store front. Emma paused at the end of the long counter, turning to look over her shoulder curiously and prepared to greet the guest, but explain that she wasn’t open to customers quite yet. However, something about the young woman she saw standing just inside the door anxiously shuffling her feet and offering Emma a nervous but hopeful smile told her this one wasn’t there to buy framed photographs or picture-taking equipment, but had something else entirely on her mind. 

Rephrasing the speech she’d had ready to deliver, Emma instead offered an encouraging smile of her own and inquired curiously, “Hello, I’m Emma Swan, the owner. How can I help you?”

Upon closer inspection, Emma could see the visitor was quite young, and clearly rather shy as well. She couldn’t be long out of high school, or college at the latest, and she blushed with another quick smile before looking down at her hands, then back up at her to answer. “Hi, I’m Violet Clemens. Fresh out of college actually,” she added with a self-conscious little giggle, “and new in town. I’ll start teaching art at the middle school here in a week or so, but I was wondering if you might need any part-time help here in the meantime. What with moving and student loans and all, I could do with a little extra income.”

Understanding dawned on Emma as the girl continued, and she seemed so genuinely sweet that it was impossible not to grin right back at Violet in welcome as she came forward to shake hands. It would really come in handy to have someone who could focus on manning the register and wrapping up purchases for customers while she focused on book work, restocking, and troubleshooting. Unfortunately, Emma had sunk nearly all she possessed in the move, leasing the space, and procuring the merchandise she hadn’t created herself; it might not be possible to hire on any help until she saw if she could start making back some of her investment.

She told Violet as much gently, making clear that she truly did regret having to be so cautious, but the younger woman easily understood. Nodding sagely, Violet took the disappointment in stride. Glancing out the large front window to the sidewalk, she shrugged good naturedly and gestured toward the large, rather scruffy, dog Emma just then noticed, tied by the leash to the bike rack and lounging on the cement with its tongue lolling contentedly. “It’s alright. Honestly,” she piped up, cheer still evident in her voice. “I knew it was a longshot, dropping in unannounced and all. But Norman and I,” here she beamed at the dog who seemed to sense her affection through the glass as his tail began slapping the sidewalk and his ears perked up, “were taking an afternoon walk, and I couldn’t help but notice your lovely store front - it’s really coming together, you know that, right? And I had to try. I’d love to work somewhere like this.”

As an afterthought, Emma quickly asked before Violet could leave, “I wish I could say for sure I could hire you. You seem like a wonderful fit, and I could use the help. I just need to see how things progress on the business side. Might you have a resume or a card you could leave? Then, if I’m able to hire later, I can call and find out if you’re still interested.”

Violet’s head was already nodding enthusiastically, even before Emma could finish speaking. “Yes, I do! Right here,” she chirped triumphantly, pulling it out of the shoulder bag she carried and then flushing slightly as she smoothed the proffered resume against her leg before handing it over. “I’m glad you’re willing to take a look at it. This will be such an intriguing gallery, and I need something that can fit around my hours at the school once classes are in session. Between you and me, it took nearly every cent I had to get me and Norman here, and it was worth a try to make a little money until my paychecks start coming regularly. But I apologize if it’s a bit rumpled - my partner out there can be a bit of a handful.”

Emma waved off the concern, not in the least bothered about slightly bent paper, and wishing even more that she had a definite opening. She remembered all too well just the spot this young woman was in - and she wasn’t that far removed from her situation even now. Instead, she grinned as they both looked out toward the irresistibly floppy-eared dog who absolutely knew he was being watched and leapt to his feet, tail wagging in excitement.

“He looks like a sweetie though, all the same,” Emma smiled indulgently, feeling a pang in her heart at the memory of all the times she had wished as a kid that she could have a pet of her own, particularly a dog that would have been by her side when she was alone and in need of someone to understand her and lend her comfort.

Violet nodded readily in confirmation, grinning at her dog as if he was hearing and comprehending every word. “Yeah, he really is,” she agreed, turning back to Emma once more. “Sad as it might sound, he’s probably my best friend.”

“It doesn’t sound sad at all to me,” Emma assured, thinking to herself that choosing to depend on such an inherently loyal and devoted creature made perfect sense - especially if one were alone in the world otherwise. Giving Violet Clemens one more hopeful promise that she would call if she was able, Emma began walking with her back to the door, before adding as the girl turned the doorknob and moved to step out. “Thanks again for your interest. If things go well, maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

She stepped outside into the mild sunshine, turning her face upwards for a moment to drink in its gentle warmth. Then, with a curious nod toward Norman, who was wriggling and writhing with enthusiasm at both his mistress’ return and the proximity of a new friend, Emma hesitated only until the expected indication that it would be just fine before squatting to the dog’s eye level to scratch him behind the soft, velvety ears and accept a sloppy lick across her cheek.

“Norman!” Violet chided, even while giggling at the same time. “Really! You’ve no manners at all, bud. Sorry about that, Ms. Swan.”

Emma chuckled too, not at all put off, and the simple affection that flooded her at the dog’s sweet, uncomplicated reception made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her fingers in his thick ruff of gray fur. “Don’t worry about it,” she assured, stroking the dog’s back and chest several more times before standing again at the protest of her knees and calves. “I pretty much asked for it,” she added good naturedly. “He’s a handsome dog, but unusual looking. What breed is he?”

Violet shrugged unconcernedly, stroking along the top of his head as Norman came to lean against her side, his head nearly even with her hip, and gazed at her with the sort of obvious and complete devotion that only a good dog could muster. “The people I adopted him from had an Irish Wolfhound that guarded their sheep, but they didn’t really know about the father - it wasn’t an intentional litter of puppies.” She gave a playful little “oops” sort of grimace to Emma before gently rubbing under Norman’s furrily bearded chin for a moment, crooning, “You were a bit of a surprise there, weren’t you, Normie?” to the dog. “Anyway, best the vet back home could figure, he’s some sort of wolfhound-shepherd mix. And he may be huge, but I’m pretty glad of it. He’s all bark, but it’s an intimidating one if someone is around who shouldn’t be. I feel a lot safer having him with me, that’s for sure.”

“I’d imagine so,” Emma agreed, nodding her head in easy agreement.

“Well, we’ll let you go for now,” Violet said, unlooping Norman’s leash from the bench and readying to lead the two of them off down the street. “Thank you for your time, and I’ll hope to hear from you, but I’m sure I’ll stop in again once you’re open, either way.” She gave an easy wave, which Emma returned, and then started away along the sidewalk.

Emma turned to reopen the shop’s door and get back to work inside when a strange movement caught her eye, seemingly in the alley between the law offices and the jeweler’s on the opposite side of the street. Squinting in concentration, she tried to focus on the dark blur she was certain had slipped through her peripheral vision mere moments ago, but without any luck. Whoever or whatever she had seen was gone, vanished into the shadow of the narrow space between the buildings, or - more likely - never there at all. Shaking her head, Emma re-entered her own building and returned to her unpacking, pricing, and display efforts, doing her best to put the strange sense of having been watched out of her mind, and to ignore the nervous energy crawling along her skin. There was nothing there, and she was being ridiculous.

Soon, she was swept up in her work again, and the pleasure at seeing the pictures all side by side and ready for viewing at last, the way the whole thing was taking shape, had shoved the anxiety from her gut, letting the warmth of pride and accomplishment take its place. She’d slipped into her own little world to such a degree that when David Nolan charged in a couple hours later, followed by Killian Jones, both of them projecting a sort of restless upset and overflow of adrenaline, she was startled enough to whip around with a surprised exclamation from where she was perched atop a ladder, hanging a large landscape she’d captured. She wobbled slightly at the sudden movement, and Killian was across the room in a blink, steadying the ladder with one hand, the other at the back of her calf - warm, strong fingers clamped around her leg impossible to ignore, and sending all breath whooshing from her lungs even as it restored her balance. The heat and pressure ran tingling all the way up her legs to the juncture of her thighs, feeling like a bubbling of molten lava at her core. Even when she had been deeply committed in a years-long relationship with Neal back in Boston, she’d never felt anything like the burning intensity that gripped her with the mere touch of Killian’s hand.

If the breath of shock that escaped him, his widened blue eyes meeting hers before they darted away, and how he withdrew several steps promptly when she moved to shakily descend the ladder, were any indication, he had felt it too. Emma could feel his gaze still flickering over her back as she turned to David with hands crossed over her chest, trying to gather enough air to speak normally, and asked, “What is going on? You two charged in here like the place was on fire and scared me half to death!”

That was a bit of an exaggeration, but she was trying to lighten the moment and deflect attention from her churning insides and the fact that her body’s reaction to Killian Jones was what truly frightened her most.

David bobbed his head in a sheepish nod of acknowledgement, his tense shoulders dropping only a bit, though he did have the decency to look apologetic. “Sorry about that, Emma. It wasn’t our intention at all. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Emma immediately caught his tone and the concerned, nervous energy radiating from both of them, even as they saw she was just fine and seemed to try to reel themselves back in. Tilting her head to study David’s face more carefully, she pressed warily, “Alright? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Killian stepped up closer to her side again, clearing his throat as he did, immediately upping Emma’s awareness further with his nearness, though he didn’t speak. David, meanwhile, shifted from one foot to the other restlessly, glancing away from her to meet his friend’s eyes before drawing in a deep breath and answering her question as calmly and succinctly as possible.

“I was notified an hour ago by one of my contacts in the city that Vic Franken - your former foster parent - has broken parole. He was facing five years for possession and reckless endangerment, but plea bargaining and so-called ‘good behavior’ have him up for parole sooner.” David’s tone and the practically audible air quotes in his voice made the huffs of disbelief and derision from both Emma and Killian seem all the more justified. “At any rate,” David continued, leveling his gaze on Emma seriously after a long-suffering sigh, “he’s in the wind, and it’s more than likely he would head this way. He might have been arrested elsewhere, but his last known address was here in Storybrooke, and he tends to return to what he knows. We’ve all borne witness to that pattern over the years.”

The sheriff paused there to both catch his breath and gather his thoughts. His well-muscled arms were crossed over his broad chest, almost looking as if he planned to plant himself right in front of her like some sort of stubborn protective barrier for the foreseeable future. The frown of consternation that marred his naturally open and amiable face completed the look all too well. Emma felt a surge of affection for Nolan at his obvious show of concern, and found herself wanting to ease his worry - even if the idea of her former abuser being on the loose and nearby had made a quivering fear run through her. She wasn’t trapped in a house with Franken anymore, didn’t have to deal with his presence any longer, and she was not about to let the idea of him reappearing rule her mind or emotions.

She gave a cool, measured nod, standing to her full height and making certain to look David right in the eye as well, not flinching for a second, no matter how much she wanted to. Waiting until she was sure there would be no tremor in her voice, Emma offered, “Thank you for letting me know so quickly, David. Truly. Being prepared is about the best defense I can have, as far as I’m concerned. Turning around to find him standing right there would be a hell of an awful shock to the system, but at least now I know to be on my guard.”

She wasn’t oblivious to Killian’s coming to stand just behind her, as if slightly flanking her against an attack, but she resolutely ignored it for the moment, determined to show she could face down the threat before her, regardless of the scars and horrific memories just the mention of Franken’s name brought flooding back. Facing David with fire in her eyes, she added reluctantly, “If he’s smart, he’ll run somewhere other than directly back here where he’s expected and bound to get caught. Still, we all know sensible, intelligent behavior is not the man’s leading characteristic, so I’ll be keeping a wary eye out. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to face him since I ran anyway.”

“What?!” David burst out incredulously.

Just as Killian swung around to face her with a hotly uttered, “Emma, what are you talking about?”

“He found me in Boston,” she shrugged, fighting to hang onto her calm air of nonchalance, even in the face of their volatile emotions. “Several years ago now. Startled me right in the street outside my apartment building - wanting money to stay out of my way and keep leaving me alone, essentially. It wasn’t a hard choice to pay it and have him gone. I was rattled that he was able to track me down, but he left, thankfully… and that was the end of it.”

Killian’s dark brows furrowed intently over his eyes that had grown stormy like a squall amidst the pretty ocean blue. Gently taking her arm to turn her to face him fully, his voice was quietly intense when he argued, “The end of it?! Are you serious, Emma? What are you thinking? He’s a dangerous man, particularly toward you, and you’re acting as though we’ve just told you something as minor as the weather for this evening.”

Emma gave him a cool look, not about to back down or fall apart in front of either of these men who were clearly concerned for her and expecting just that. She might feel as if her stomach was suddenly sloshing around like a sickening bowl of jelly, but she wouldn’t let Vic Franken take any more time from her or waste any of her concern. He’d made her early life a living hell - much more than Killian or David could imagine, whatever they thought they knew. It had taken years for her to stop biting back anything she might have noticed or seen for fear of being punished for her “unholy visions”. She’d looked over her shoulder, jumped at the slightest touch, been unwilling to accept the simplest compliment, continually unable to fathom that others might find her interesting, worthwhile, or important. It was still a work in progress, but she wasn’t moving backwards or scuttling to hide like some crawfish beneath its rock at the first hint of the man’s existence or mention of his name. She’d face it without flinching; he had no power over her now.

“I understand,” she finally gritted out as steadily as possible, eyeing Killian and David in turn, seeing that they took in her resolve. “I’ll keep my guard up, and I’ll call you the moment I see him - if I see him - but I’m not cowering or letting him ruin what I’ve worked toward. I have a store to open the day after tomorrow, and I’m not stopping for him or anyone else.”

David was already shaking his head, not liking her stubborn response, but being wise enough to recognize a battle he couldn’t win. “Well, see that you do. Keep your phone on you at all times. Try not to be alone any more than you have to. Call me anytime - day or night, whether I’m officially on duty or not, I mean that. We can’t ignore the facts. We may not have been able to do much to help when we were kids, but I’m not giving him a chance to lay a hand on you again, not on my watch.”

“Nor mine,” Killian echoed gravely, his voice a low rumble that shuddered through her pleasantly, no matter how she tried to ignore the effect. He was right there at her elbow, radiating anger, protectiveness, and something else delicious and unspoken which she didn’t dare put a name to. Even in the nightmare situation being threatened, a small, neglected corner of her thrilled at the sensation, savoring it for all it was worth.

“What? Nolan’s deputized you, and I haven’t heard about it?” she queried sarcastically, arching a sardonic brow at him in effort to hide just how touched she was by the care they both showed and the amount of comfort it lent her. Shaking her head, Emma regarded both men with knowing resignation, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but do you really think I don’t understand the danger here? Or that I plan to leave myself vulnerable again? I don’t. But I won’t stop living my life either. It’s finally mine, to live as I choose.”

“But Emma…” David began again, seeming to forget his earlier decision to abandon a futile struggle - at least until she sent a quelling look his way to freeze the words on his tongue.

Killian was undaunted though, and picked up where the Sheriff had left off. “At least don’t allow him to catch you all alone, Swan. You shouldn’t go anywhere by yourself until Franken is back in custody.”

She’d  placed her hands on her hips then, facing off against him squarely, even as he stepped closer too, moving to cradle her elbow in his large, calloused hand, much as he would aim to soothe a skittish animal. That still didn’t keep her from countering frustratedly, “And just how long might that take? Who’s planning on uprooting his life to follow me around like a babysitter, you?” She shook her head wildly, seeing that he looked every bit as stubborn as she did. “You don’t have time for that - no one does. It’s not practical.”

“I’ll make time,” he shot right back, without so much as a blink or a moment’s pause. “Practical or not, it’s necessary, and you’re stuck with me.”

She huffed in dissatisfaction, but turned from him to plant her hands on the counter and force several deep breaths rather than continuing to fight - in front of David, no less - when they were both so riled up.

“Well, glad that’s settled,” David breathed out with a brisk energy, pointedly ignoring the obvious tension in the room and smacking his hands together loudly, as if to accentuate the issue being resolved. He tapped a hand twice on the sturdy counter in farewell. “Everyone’s looking for him; he won’t be loose for very long,” he predicted, giving Emma a bolstering smile. “Until then, you’ve got a little extra insurance, right? Just to be safe.”

Emma only offered a half-hearted grumble and roll of her eyes, but David unaffectedly allowed that to roll right off his back with typical good humor, slapping Killian’s shoulder on his way to the door. 

Once they were alone, Killian turned to her with an exaggerated sort of leer and waggling brow, as if knowing she needed to lessen the anxiety surrounding them. “So, Swan, it would seem I am at your service. What would you have me do?” He leaned closer to her with the words, lending them a hint of temptation, especially when she could see his tongue swipe along his bottom lip seductively.

She had to tease him back; there was simply no other way her pounding heart and heated blood would allow her to respond. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred with a salacious wink, batting her lashes for added effect.

If possible, the heated expression on Killian’s face grew more scorching, little flames of awareness licking up and down her arms and all across her skin. Emma flushed involuntarily, knowing her response showed, and that realization only making her embarrassment and arousal climb all the higher. Her gaze fell to the counter in an attempt to escape his intense regard; eyes following her fingers as they fumbled over odds and ends lying about, scrambling to look busy.

Still, her head jerked back up at his response, unable to avoid eye contact when the warmth of his words washed over her, still lightly flirtatious, but no less sincere, as he answered, “Perhaps I would.”

There was no way she could question that he meant it honestly. Along with the ability to see things average eyes could not, Emma could also sense when someone spoke the truth, and knew most usually when the truth was withheld. She might have lost her faith in that skill for awhile; her emotions too involved where Neal was concerned to see he had not meant all he had promised, and her ability to interpret her visions compromised by heartbreak in the case that sent her city life and purpose crumbling down. But, for all of that, she could still read Killian with absolute certainty, like the printed font on the page of a book. In fact, he was the most unmistakably clear, open person she could remember facing since Rose herself. It was impossible to misread him, and more than that - though it set her heart to fluttering at triple speed - not only does she trust him, but she finds that she wants to.

Humming softly under her breath, she accepted his admission without further comment, and with a cryptic, quiet smile she turned to find something she could have him do to help if he was determined to stay.

Once started, Emma was pleasantly surprised to find that they settle into an easy rhythm working side by side. She carried on unpacking, but could direct Killian up on the ladder with hammer and nails to hang various canvasses and frames for display, rather than having to do it all herself. As the afternoon sun crossed the sky and began to lower toward the evening, they shared various stories from the years between since they had seen each other last. Emma spoke warmly of the professor who took her under her wing, a Professor Ingersoll, who showed her all she could about camera, angles, light and shadow, and taking a shot which could truly speak to the viewer once captured. The older woman had also given Emma a place to visit for a homecooked meal some evenings, shared her secret of topping cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon to make it even more decadent, and had become almost a surrogate older sister in Emma’s eyes, beyond being a brilliant mentor.

Meanwhile, Killian spoke less often, but with a wistful fondness that drew Emma nearer, allowing her to see that though he had possessed the money, fine home, seemingly perfect family, and advantages she had not known, he still had pains and regrets, wishes and hopes he had not yet been able to make come true. As strange as it might once have seemed to her barely teenaged self, they had much more in common than what held them apart. 

He spoke in easy, rolling vowels and smooth, deep rumblings of learning all that he knew at his father’s side, and of how much he had looked up to Brennan - practically idolized the man - until tragedy had brought him low and he had seen his hero crumble in his grief and vices. He even spoke falteringly of how he had blamed himself for not telling on Rose the evening before she had snuck out to her death. He had seen her bike - the one he then hated himself for teaching her to ride - hidden in the bushes at the end of the long drive, and had known she planned to slip away to some childish mischief after dinner. He hadn’t told, and it had eaten at him a long time, until he finally accepted that his inaction may or may not have changed anything, and that what happened to his sister was not his fault. 

Emma had to press her hands between her knees to keep from reaching out to cradle his tormented face between her palms at that confession. Her heart ached for him; she knew all too well what it was to dwell on might have beens and take on portions of the blame not meant to be her own. She might have never planned to meet Rose in their spot that night. She might have made it there to face down the killer with her friend or fall beside her. But she was not the one who had taken Rose’s life, and whatever others thought, she had finally come to see that her actions had not made the horror come to pass.

At some point they had ceased working, settling together at tall stools behind the counter and talking as evening shadows stretched and darkened the burnished shades of a Carolina sunset. Still, neither was ready to bring an end to the gentle comfort between them; the chance to speak of things long bottled up inside and receive understanding rather than judgement in return. It was only when Emma’s stomach growled so loudly that they both stopped speaking, wide-eyed before dissolving into laughter, that they finally gathered up their things and left, locking up the shop and driving off in search of some dinner.

She still didn’t think it was truly necessary for Killian to shadow her everywhere she went like some unofficial bodyguard. Yet, she also couldn’t deny feeling safer in the knowledge that he was there beside her and watching her back. Once they had decided to take his truck and leave her VW there on Main Street for the night, they headed for one of the local drive-thrus. She would be right back at work tomorrow, after all, and the car would probably be safer there in the middle of town under streetlights and regular patrols of the local police than it would be at her rented cabin.

Clambering up into the passenger seat of his tall pickup truck, Emma still felt she ought to protest once more, just at the upset to Killian’s schedule, the inconvenience of leaving behind his routine and all the chores of his own he no doubt had to do, not to mention the awkwardness of spending so much time - and overnight, at that - alone together, no more than they really knew each other. As expected though, Killian would hear no further argument, resolved that making sure she was safe was the most important thing to him. Then he deftly shifted the conversation with a wink and easy grin, asking where she wanted to eat.

It wasn’t until they were traveling along the rutted back road well outside the Storybrooke limits, along the edge of the wooded marsh near the place she was renting, that the peaceful companionship of the past few hours was harshly shattered. They had been rolling along under the deep midnight-purple sky sprinkled with stars, Emma savoring the last few salty French fries in her packet from the local diner and Killian slurping the last dregs of his milkshake from his cup, when her world suddenly swirled away from her; disjointed scenes from somewhere else flashing and pulsing wildly behind her eyes and the sight she both dreaded and couldn’t ignore swept her up more violently than it had done in years.

Gasping in shock, Emma bent forward over her knees, screwing her eyes shut even as the images playing behind her eyes invaded her head, growing ever more loud and vivid. “Wait, stop!” she rasped desperately, one hand clenched in her lap as the other fumbled blindly for the door handle as if to escape. Her voice scratched out ragged and plaintive as she begged Killian, “Please, stop! Right here, please!”

Alarmed, Killian pulled the truck over to the shoulder and threw it in park. He moved to reached across and take the hand she had reflexively balled into a fist, but even as they had barely come to a stop, Emma was out the door, stumbling sightlessly into the overgrown ditch. Hurrying after her, Killian called Emma’s name futilely while rounding the back bumper and plunging after her, but it was as though he were somewhere else from her entirely, unseen or heard as her arms flailed wildly while she climbed out on the other side of the ditch and into the field beyond, weaving unsteadily toward the treeline.

“Emma, hold up!” he called, trying to make it sound like a command, though his concern for her and confusion at what was happening overrode his intentions, making his voice echo shakily in the still night air. He jogged to catch up with her, abandoning any further entreaties that she was clearly past hearing. 

Just as he reached her, Emma fell to her knees, hands on the hard-packed earth barely stopping her from falling flat on her face. Heaving, she seemed to be either struggling to catch her breath, or trying to purge nausea at whatever she saw that was invisible to Killian. She shook her head violently, almost clawing at the earth as she rocked back and forth on her knees. Not knowing what else to do, Killian reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, then when no protest came, to rub it up and down her back soothingly.

Some minutes passed, minutes that felt like excruciating hours to Killian as he waited, not certain but hoping she would come back to him. At long last, Emma seemed to still, her rocking motion calming until she nearly slumped against his side, drained. For several interminable seconds neither spoke, until Emma suck in a harsh, rattling breath and jerked upright, her eyes popping open as she finally came back to herself fully.

“Shh, shhh, Love… take it easy,” Killian crooned, trying to pull her back to his side and smooth her hair back from her face as she scrambled backwards and began anxiously trying to regain her bearings. “I know you’ve seen something awful… but you’re back now, aye? You’re going to be alright.”

But Emma’s eyes were wide as they focused on him, finally seeing him there before her. “No,” she mumbled, her voice struggling back to life. “No, it won’t be alright at all.” Grabbing his hand and holding on tightly, she stared at him as if pleading for him to believe her and beggin his forgiveness at the same time. “I saw her, Killian. Some poor young girl… hitchhiking on this same stretch of road.  He pulled over, gave her a smile… She didn’t know anything was wrong…” Emma’s breath hitched, but she pressed on. “She fought, but…but she couldn’t get away.  I was seeing it t-through his eyes…” She shuddered before her voice dropped even lower, “No feelings, no remorse, just drinking in her terror… like it was before.  That monster killed her. I saw it.”

The green of her gaze pierced his chest, causing Killian to struggle to breathe as well when she finally managed to tell him, “He killed her just the way he killed Rose.” Emma trembled all over as she finally let Killian gather her in his arms, though he was shaking now as well. “Rose wasn’t the only one. She was just the beginning.”

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @cssns @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @xsajx @sotangledupinit @winterbaby89 @bluewildcatfanatic @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @anmylica @stahlop @hollyethecurious @artistic-writer @motherkatereloyshipper @jonesfandomfanatic @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot

[sleazymadison]

NUDE DANCING at Ms. Brew’s Lounge where, for some reason, they were emphatically “...Laying The Hammer Down!” 🔨 Published July 2, 1976.

[moonlightmirrorball]

hello so it’s going around on twitter that caitlyn js not entirely a stranger to the wlw world (apparently her mom has caught her multiple times with girl… friends) and i am quite frankly sick of people writing about how she’s inexperienced in matters of the heart so

can i request some general caitlyn gf headcanons or a fluff fic that doesnt make her seem like a total noob 🥺

Absolutely darling <3 coming right up! I will say that this is mostly just me simping over her because..well...I'm gay.

Caitlyn x fem! Reader

Dating Ms. Caitlyn Kiramman

(Breif NSFW, if you can even call it that honestly)

- This woman. is absolutely. a SIMP.

-that said, so are you. I mean have you seen her

-definitely I feel like she would be very protective of you, and always want to be in some sort of physical contact. especially in public (i.e hand holding, arm around your waist or shoulders, or (clothing permitted) a hand in your back pocket

-every morning you'd go and get coffee for the both of you from the patisserie around the block, because it has the best cold brew in Piltover

-"thank you darling, you didn't have to"

- she's taken to calling you "darling" or "love"

-in the beginning there was a lot of dancing around her status as a Kiramman, and she tried her best to keep her personal and public lives separate, causing a bit of tension between the two of you

-it felt like a proposal the first time she asked you to be her date to one of her parent's charity galas

-this woman showed up at your door in a three piece blue and gold suit. you almost fainted.

-the whole night was full of surprises. for you and caitlyn's parents. it's not that they weren't supportive of you, just not what they were expecting, they explained to you with terse smiles.

-caitlyn rescued you by asking you to dance

-not only is she an amazing dancer, but she was the one leading. she was totally relaxed as the two of you waltzed your way around the floor, keeping a quiet conversation with you. you on the other hand, were trying not to die.

-about three months later, you moved into caitlyn's apartment

- Caitlyn has two smiles, her "kiramman" smile and her "Y/n" smile.

-her kiramman smile was reserved, forces and constantly gracing her face in public.

_her y/n smile was her genuine, ear-to-ear grin, the one reserved for the nights when the two of you have had maybe a little too much to drink and you've said something that wasn't actually that funny, but still gor caitlyn to bust a gut.

-she is literally the sweetest person ever. no i will not be elaborating on this.

-love language is probably affirming words. Hearing you say "I love you" is worth more to her than any amount of sex

-although the sex is great

-asking her to sit down so you can give her a kiss on the forehead

-an absolute slut for you in her clothes

-she pretends to be annoyed when you're lounging around the house in one of her shirts, but she's actually just thinking about how adorable you look

-her morning voice <3

-definitely prefers being the big spoon

-loves it when you wake her up by playing with her hair

-extremely protective/dominant/confident in public, but so soft behind closed doors

-that said, this woman is so smooth.

-she may be the one person who can actually use pick up lines without them sounding cheesy

-her accent

-takes a lot to get her flustered, but it's not impossible (hint: she has a very sensitive back)

-on the rare occasion that the two of you argue, it's usually about caitlyn's job.

-she tends to get carried away when she's working on a case and in doing so, she often forgets to take care of herself

-you just want her to be healthy

-when she's overworked like that, she tends to get snappy, and short tempered, which adds a lot of strain to the situation

-after a good nights sleep, she's usually more agreeable and feels quite guilty about your spat.

-if you're lucky this will get you free breakfast.

-lots and lots of shoulder/neck kisses

-likes to do your laundry to show that she cares

-often times you’ll find all your clothes neatly folded and clean, and you just absolutely melt

- you like to make sure that she’s taking care of herself, and you often do this by bringing food by the office or dragging her out of said office to get some sleep 

-give her kisses, she’s tired

-Caitlyn adores when you sit on her lap. it’s something that she finds soft and affectionate, as well as incredibly sexy. 

-when she’s too tired to do it herself, she will often ask you to read aloud from whatever book she’s been reading while she lays on your lap. sometimes they’re case files or textbooks, and other times they’re novels but no matter what you’re reading these moments are always special

-I feel like Caitlyn is really good at comforting. whether it’s offering words or hugs or just listening to you rant she’s amazing at it. she always manages to make you feel better if you’ve had a bad day

-with cait working most of the time, and your own personal occupation there’s not a ton of downtime other than those late night/early morning hours

-but when you do have downtime together, you two often spend it just enjoying each other’s company. cuddling on the couch or walking through piltover or grabbing a drink

-when cait has a weekend off, sometimes you two will drive up to her parent’s summer home. caitlyn likes taking you to her old shooting range, and showing you how to shoot a rifle. 

-sometimes you just sit and watch

-surprise hugs/kisses

-maybe spoils you a little bit...things like expensive chocolates or cashmere sweaters, things too nice to buy for yourself. 

-loves you in her clothes

caitlyn is so

[soranihimawari]

Quadratic Formula

X = (-b±√b²-4ac)/ 2a

Let’s talk about how I have a thing about the tall/small relationships play into practical platonic relationships & the fact that reader chan is a fucking calculator on legs// or about the the one time Ushijima is called out for actually handling his new feelings around a classmate who helps him catch up in more than one way…

Semi & Satori make a bet when they notice the third chair in the top five of their class is rumored to take on improving their captain’s calculus average.

Word count: idek

Pairing: ushiwaka x tutor!reader// platonic to maybe something more(?)

You were in the student center for the fifth day in a row. You watch as your peers were paired off with different students from all walks of life who needed a little extra help with their studies. Some even went as far to gift friendship chocolates on both Valentines and White Days. Alas, with you being the one of the few that specializes in both trigonometry and foreign language (i.e. French was your language of choice since level four in elementary school), you were the only one without a study buddy this term. However, that was about to change when you are summoned to the faculty lounge by both your vice principal and the volleyball sensei-sponsor.

There was an argument brewing about how one of the regulars on the boys team was apparently falling a bit behind since training had been brutal in the mornings and his maths class was right at the end of the day. All other classes were full this term, without going into college prep, which given his latest setback f rom a worksheet with mostly red ink, you figured you were selected because your grades were always in the green.

“Excuse me,” you raise your hand. The adults in the room pause their insult throwing long enough to hear you’d like to give the nameless (burning out imminent) athlete a hand. You are handed a few of the exam answer sheets for the last three weeks, with the students name and ID badge number blacked out for privacy. Pursing your lips together, you let out a low whistle.

“Ms Remy?” The coach, who seems much more pleasant than the demon head coach, calls your attention. “What do you think?”

“I don’t mind helping your player catch up to speed sir,” you take the papers handing them back to him. “Can I get a copy of these please?”

The coach breathes a sigh of relief while the vice principal states the rules while you’re waiting for the copies to be made along with the map of the boys’ common area in the dorms on campus. Elsewhere, Ushijima eats his ramen with a little more tobasco sauce than recommended, causing the itch in his nose to be let out through a ruckus sneezing fit. The team asks if he’s ok, throwing napkins to their captain until Satori drops a pack of 24 hr non-drowsy allergy pills.

“Hay fever is around the corner, Ushiwaka,” the redhead begins. “Don’t want ya to get sick.”

A stuffy Ushijima just nods as he excuses himself from their table to take care of his runny nose in the men’s restroom. While he was away, the teacher sponsor enters the dining hall seeing as Ushijima, who is prominent in answering his emails promptly, hasn’t replied since his flurry of sneezes. The coach borrows Satori and Semi for a moment alone to fill them in on what the meeting was about.

“Remy-san doesn’t know it’s Ushiwaka?” Semi raises his brow.

Their teacher-sponsor nods, “not a word to anyone on the team, got it?”

“Hai!” Satori salutes poorly, but considering it’s part of his playful nature, the coach chuckles before ordering his bento to go.

“Oh this is gonna be fun,” Satori has a wicked smile.

Semi gives him a look of confusion.

“Y’know, ya think ya know a guy when he’s paired up with one of the few members of the student population who actually went two the same school since elementary,” Satori whispers nonchalantly. Semi stops walking immediately and when Ushijima returns to finish his ramen, the middle blocker and setter make a gentleman’s game out of it.

“Ok, we play Seijoh and Karasuno in two months from now, and we have that content exam in the middle of it, so what do you think?” Semi piques Satori’s interest. “How does one month LootCrate subscription sound. I heard this month’s music based loot and next is JJK…”

“Semi-kun, you got a deal. What are we betting on exactly?”

“Ushijima realizing he’s in love whether he spells it out on his own first or with Goshiki’s level of luck and the grace of Hades, Remy-chan caves first.”

They shake on the terms.

Meanwhile, you receive the email with the map from your dorms in the northwest corner of campus to the southeast common area for the boys. Your adjoining dorm mate texts you after hours asking if you know which member of team you’re tutoring yet. You send a text saying the coach and vice principal made you verbally say a “do not disclose”-esc statement.

From Kaori-cchi (9:50 p.m.): as long as he’s not like your obsessive ex-bf, then i suppose i got your back.

From Mdme. Rem (21:52): he wasn’t possessive; just gave off yandere vibes…and thnx girlie. ttyl

Your alarm is a jealous whore you think. Your eyes glare at the vibrating device angry that it disturbed your slumber. Does it help that you were worried your study methods were a bit lacking? Of course, but you think it’s just the nerves you exhibit when dealing with a new pupil—well, fellow student, if you were being serious. You gather your showering belongings and head to the women’s showers located in your building.

Lately, with the spring sports starting their training for Golden Week, you were a natural when it came to stamina since you’re seen sprinting to the boys common area. Today on the brunch menu was omurice featuring fried ham. You don’t really notice the stares in your direction as you hear your name from the table where a few of the sports team gathered together. Ushijima isn’t that hard to find, especially when his teammates start branching off until the final two stay to greet you. If they knew you were his tutor, they would have left, but you decide to cut these boys some slack.

“You’re paired with me Ushijima-san,” you smile, placing your books on the table. The formalities are what threw him off.

Ushijima makes his version of a puzzled face because surely he knew he didn’t need a tutor for the past couple of months. Yet, he’s hit a bump in the road: the stress must have gotten to him, you think. You brush off the rest of the stares he’s receiving until you open a number theories book.

“Paired for what? As far as I know, I have no projects due.”

Awkward. The air around you is awkward. You insist to stand to his right while other members of his team, i e friends, spare an empathetic glance. Except for—

“Remy-chan, right?” Semi gives you a shy smile, offering you a seat in front of where Ushijima is enjoying the last remnants of his breakfast.

“You should be a bit nicer,” Satori scolds his best friend. “Sensei sent them here to help you with your last quiz…”

Ushijima glass at his redheaded friend with an incredulous grimace. Surely the last game he played wasn’t his personal best, but at least they pulled win regardless. However, the academia side of plate seemed to have a minor set back. A crew of the third years in the club started to notice the more withdrawn aspect of his personality when stomping a study block with him. Ushijima prefers sciences and history over the arts and foreign language. Mathematics though? He sleeps with his word problems stacked neatly against the furthest side of his desk. And Satori, who’s been over e times for his weekly JUMP! Weekly back, noticed the trend.

Semi and you discuss to the book in your hands at the moment before he is called off to go to practice.

“Coach can’t really hold practice without a person to set the ball,” he says, causing you to smile.

“Run along, Semi,” you nod toward the awning, saying you’ll see him around.

The blonde nods before tapping the read blockers shoulders to end whatever side conversation he was having with the captain.

Fifteen minutes. That small quarter of an hour is all it took for you to call out the pretentious attitude of the number one ranked ace in Japan. Ushijima watches you carefully mark pages about the fundamentals of geometry before you turn to talk to him. Aloof. You were aloof and you don’t think he was this…shy around new people? His eyes are sharpened like he’s about to either one, insult you, or two, the one that you’ve heard about (never really wanting to find out), the look of restrained power. Jesus, he really is scary, you shake the thought out of your head.

“Ready to get started?”

“…?”

You shrug your shoulders as you begin to dig into your bag of tricks. A stenopad, mechanical pencils , worksheets, and a blank version of the exam from last time.

“I know this can seem daunting, but,” you nervously smiled to yourself than he. “I think, no, hope we could work well together?”

You ramble about theories and quantum mechanics so much so that you bring about the quadratic equation tying it to today’s first lesson. You go on for about another five minutes as you realize you’re stalling to save face. Maybe today was a bad idea to start. The team did have practice afterall…

Silence. It’s a silent stare off until you shake your head. This was a waste of time, but you are persistent in trying to sell the fact you really are trying to help a little more as time went on.

“…I don’t need your help.”

You stop your efforts right at the 14.25 minute mark. Your cheeks feel hot with embarrassment as you suck in your cheeks muttering an “I forgot how difficult it is to per-sway you Ushijima. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

You recover quickly, muscle memory packing up loose papers and the like. You are about to zip up the pen case and when your eyes meet, you sense a bruised pride in a flash before those beady moss green eyes go back to their natural state.

“I’m sorry,” he was taught to apologize for things that are his fault, even if they aren’t (or if he heard incorrectly). Since good parents’ split, he seemed to need the space in his head to continue providing a solid founding in the goals he sets himself up for. Sports isn’t your cup of tea as it is his, but there was a reason why he didn’t interrupt you shaking about theories and imaginary numbers: “if you find you like someone, you should listen and observe what they like. you’ll see more than just a person with a nice smile,” satori’s wires mixed with some of semi’s romanticism from their hangout last weekend floats in the back of Ushijima’s mind.

“Don’t misunderstand,” he flattens a palm on the table.

You raise an eyebrow at him precariously because you’re willing to listen when a smart asks, “out with it then,” slips out of your mouth. You’re not this rude, like ever. Must be the weekend in you, you suppose.

“You’re cute when you talk about quantum theory.”

Ushijima closes his eyes when a-holy shit- blushy smile is carved in his features. This confounding new development on your first day of trying to tutor him no less made you rethink your entire approach. To be fair, you think you broke Ushijima and are now trying to formulate a coverup excuse but you clearly couldn’t remember if everyone else within earshot is actively listening or ignoring this exchange. Thankfully it’s the later of the two.

“Eh?” you being a shaking finger to your face. “You think I’m cute when I talk about quantum mechanics?”

Oh, you’re going to push him over the edge just a smidge more to test your new theory. Be it as it may, Ushijima Wakatoshi is not known for his dating life, though through conjecture and rumors (even he himself had started one on his own by accident), is tall, handsomely tan with sunkissed freckles no one else sees up close, is making a solid attempt in trying to flirt with you. You may think he’s delightful or delusional, but you don’t really have a chance to recover after you voice your opinion about yourself a second time:

“Then I’m about to get so much sexier when I talk about the heat death of the universe,” you tease.

Ushijima looks down, then back up to you slapping a hand over your mouth. Your face is as red as the cover on your steno book before you let out a wry chuckle. Your eyes scream, ‘help me recover from this embarrassment,’ but your face is still flushed a bit, lips caught between your teeth. Studying would have to wait. Perhaps coming to know your students before you agree to tutor them like your senpais said at the end of last school term was a godly piece of advice.

“We could always start official tutoring hours tomorrow?” he suggests as you scrounge up the rest of your dignity from the non-existent plane it seemed to have been vacuumed to.

That was how you wound up here in the rooftop of the garden club’s greenhouse at dusk—again, for the third time that week. You come to discover how being surrounded by the garden after hours makes the stoic young man seem quite demure; you are a bit of yourself, he casually reminds you. The steno pad returns when you begin to write the steps on how to use the basic f o i l method prior to jumping straight to the next unit.

“So you do this,” you write out the first problem on the sheet for him. “Foil first and solve, ok?”

Ushijima chooses to spend more time with you, sometimes, like today, he chooses to get one part incorrect to buy some more time with you tomorrow. On others, like in the upcoming weekend, you see how intense he is when he’s focused on tackling the various iterations on the page before him.

It’s been about a little over three weeks now since you started your studying sessions: the first day was at the plaza in the math corridor; the second was in the main cafeteria during cram week; the third, where you present a goal in mind (the date of the make up exam highlighted in a square box) to get his grades back a little higher so he can ‘stop practicing by himself’ was offered at the cafe before city/neighborhood curfew was enforced. Around this time Satori and Semi were looking for any signs at all as week three was coming to a close. Sure, Ushijima is nice, but he is also bluntly honest, and though you don’t mind the occasional break in study time, you realize he is actually trying when he turns his phone off. The constant buzzing of Satori’s fast texts about teasing his captain is something of a godly manifestation of wanting to know how things with you are slowly improving.

“Sure, you’re acquaintances right now,” Satori said. He judges the way his ‘bestie’ tenses his jaw in feign annoyance. “But Remy’s your tutor, right?”

“Mm,” Ushijima nods.

Satori closes his web browser as to beat Semi to the punch in teasing the way Ushijima seems to have started stabbing (subconsciously) the grape on his tray. You were standing next to a few classmates who were discussing their weekend plans, trying to sell you on going to the karaoke bars with them, but you refute them all.

“Oh c‘ mom! You can afford one day without tutoring or studying, can’t you?” Your friends are whining and you don’t seem to notice the boys scattered across the middle of the cafeteria. Ushijima looks mad, you muse.

“Perhaps I can work something out?” you forcefully remind them of the exams being handed back.

“If you get the top score again, you’re coming!” your friend points a finger at you. “Even if I have to borrow my cousin’s car!”

“Can you even drive?”

You a skeptic.

“Yep,” she says expertly before waving off. “See ya this weekend yn-chan!”

You’re definitely screwed.

Meanwhile, Satori’s teasing just reached a new height when Semi and him both berate Ushijima, “for being hot for teacher.”

“Excuse me?” he is quiet when he is angry, more insulted than anything and Satori immediately shakes his head. Semi too, clearly seeing it as black and white, even if their captain almost made certain the grapes became jam.

Presently, in the garden by the magnolia tree, you glance over the notes and you see him thumb through the rest, amused determination written in his features. Lately, since the first time you cancelled your session, he seemed a bit more… possessive? Or was it jealousy? You choose to let his actions speak for themselves later that week. Things have gotten a bit out of hand when Goshiki and his idol bump heads at morning practice, then again at lights out, and the cherry on top? When you heard your lab partner say he plans to confess to you at the end of term, Ushijima calmly squishes the empty bottle in his hand before you politely decline the invitation to the wharf during the spring festivals.

“So what you’re saying is I have a chance,” your lab partner saves face, but he paused when he sees the menacing cloud formulating from the captain of the volleyball team. He was gauging your reaction as well.

“I told you already,” you say innocently enough. “I don’t have the time, I’m sorry.”

“He likes you.”

You tilt your head to one side confused, but feeling validated as soon as your week in review goes from 0-100km/hr. You don’t have time to properly react when your lab partner grips your shoulders to whisper in your ear.

“Watch his face, angel. Eyes up, cat.”

Your eyes are wide with rage and when your muscle memory from the brother monks (who taught you kung fu since elementary school) by your house in the seaside village kicks in—your fist collided with his ribs.

“Oh shit,” Satori winces and Semi looked pale. Ushijima, on the other hand, was stunned. He couldn’t move, but the ominous feelings around him were dissolved; you couldn’t disengage from the slime on the floor.

“Don’t touch me,” you threaten, crouching down to their level before spitting a few nonsensical words of advice.

The now ex-lab partner grovels at your feet amazed you practically gave him a fractured rib. The bruise speaks for itself two days later, but that is beside the point.

You walk a little taller, straighten your jacket, and before you turn on your heel you near the little weasel make a last ditch insult hurled at you—this time, insulting where a person like you leaned how to fight like a rabid dog.

“Allow me to reintroduce myself: my name is Remy loud and rebellious as the sea. Try me again and I will show you the rage I hold.”

There is acid in your veins and it transfers into your words as the fire in your eyes are glazed over in tears tears of anger which if this were anything but reality, would be steaming down your sunkissed cheeks.

“YN.”

Ushijima approaches you from the side, arms out stretched to appeal toward your calm sense of mind. It does matter a little when he, who rarely smiles, gives you a genuine one. He holds out his hand wondering if you’ll take it. There’s a few cuts from the lapels’ buttons, but you hold your wrist with the other.

“What?”

You seethe, almost sounding like a scared child. Pushing past him, you walk out of the hallway leaving a very confused duo and one enraged ace. One look had the guy on the floor standing straight up, walking to the nurses’ station on this floor.

Ushijima doesn’t see you for a week. You don’t come back to campus ground until the sixth day. Your hands are bandaged and your coverup on your collarbone is runny; the boy who tried your patience is thankfully expelled from there as for you? You were found guilty for defending yourself. You threw the punch, you were made the example of, even as far as being dismissed as a tutor over all. Lunch rolls around as far as you care to know, but when you nap instead, you don’t bother with the nonsense surrounding your incident.

In the club room for team sports, Satori and Semi fill in the gaps as they were doing damage control for those kouhai on the team that wanted to know why shit literally hit the fan about a week to the day. Ushijima comes to practice, more serious about why he couldn’t do anything better than watch you walk away: he knows you’re not usually angry like that, nor are you a tough-built child; no. He worries about you being alone for days at a time at your house where, if he was going to guess, you received parental discipline on top of what the school already suggests. Your phone conversations were drier; it hits Ushijima that he misses you studying with him. Your presence made a difference and now, now his team thinks you might have cracked their ace.

On a whim, you chose to watch practice that delightful afternoon. Your friends from before had your back and even vouched for an appeal for an investigation. Other witnesses were called individually to give their report. Fortunately, Satori and Semi were the ones who sided with you. Ushijima does wish he could do more, but receiving replies via text from you was enough to make him feel he did good part.

“Hey! Ushiwaka! There’s someone,” a first year manager points to the entrance of the gym they use. “Here to see you…?”

He nods, walking out of practice. The coaches don’t stop him because depending on how his countenance changes by the time he’s done talking to you outside, the practice will either be grueling or the switch focus today.

“I’m sorry,” you begin. “I’m sorry for losing my temper and you had to see that. I didn’t mean to scare you either-”

“Not scared,” he interjected. “Why would I be?”

You look up at him and there is a rueful expression on your face.

“Shouldn’t you be? I just punched my lab partner last week in the ribs for coming on to me when clearly I didn’t want to do anything else…?”

“Don’t cry.”

What is happening here? You went to apologize, like you were told. So does it really matter why you’re pulled into a one-armed hug by the monster ace? No. Does it calm you down enough to swallow a few heavy breaths? Yes.

“I’m here,” he holds you tighter. “I’m not going to let you walk away like last time.”

You nod as you let out everything that was building inside. There is a rage and fear in the way you speak that you guys stay outside for a while longer.

“Tell me about quantum mechanics,” you hear him say, and you, being the brilliant mind you are, repeat the fundamentals back to him. Whatever tears are spilled out of fear of a friendship devolving suddenly are caught being dried by calloused hands. You bite your lip from upturning to a Cheshire grin. Ushijima may be stubborn and driven into fulfilling the goals he set for himself, but he is also the type to know when to be gentler with handling your personal affairs.

“Come over after practice,” he says loud enough for you to hear.

“Eager to make me yours already? You really are hot for teacher,” you tease.

Ushijima furrows his brows saying he doesn’t understand why he keeps hearing this. You let out a lighter laugh meaning you’ll explain it some other time later. He reminds you to watch him before he excused himself to go back to practice. Funnily enough, you confess your eyes are always watching his form.

Hours later, you find yourself in a hell of your lean design: Ushijima, though still a little damp by the shower he took at the gym, walks side by side with you. Since there was no real reason as to why you were with him, when asked about it by the other members of the team, he simply answers, ‘to cheer up a friend.’ Imagine how serious you are when you decide that perhaps now is the right time to give home a piece of your mind—pushing you up against his closed door asking if you’re still afraid of what happens next.

“No,” your lips are teased by his curious finger trips. You are subsequently kabedoned by your host, who decides to blur the murkier lines of your existing relationship,

“Good,” he half says to himself as though you needed to validate anything else, yet that moment passes when you push yourself off said door. He breaks your falls by bringing you up to meet his lips. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet, you think, but considering you both recover fast, he wears a bashful mask. You don’t apologize, but you do obey him when he tells you to jump a little higher so he can hold you better. This is how you find yourself quietly accepting any sort of physical touch he offers.

“I’m here,” he grunts, a wicked grin forming.

“You can’t just tell me to ‘jump,’” You fire back. “Who knew you were such a tease…”

Ushijima is surprisingly a decent person in terms of asking for the things that he’s been meaning to do with you. Perhaps love of someone as strong if not stronger than himself is the cause for him to use his arms that support your waist and space behind your bent knees push you more against the plains of his broadened chest.

“Stop selling yourself short,” he clicks his tongue right before his forehead is rests against your uniform issued shirt. “I don’t like it when you do.”

Ushijima breathes a bit sharply before carrying you toward his side of the study area in his room. You listen to how he shows the wonders of what learned from you.

“Patience,” his voice tracks over your brow. “Is a virtue I have yet to learn.”

“Oh?”

You move a hand of yours away from his shoulders to cup his face, glancing between his hooded eyes, you are amused by this side of his closeness.

“Teach me.”

He kisses you more delicately than before. It isn’t rushed nor is it perfect; a bit rough, but that it’s uniquely a signature by the third time this happened, you lay into him more. There is an eagerness you tap into and the yearning ceases the second you find yourself carrying on in his bed.

“We should,” you think you hear yourself begin, yet you feel him hesitate.

“I know,” he nips at the exposed side of your neck. Your shirt and his are crumpled beneath the hands of the other, still a warmed hand, curiously respectful in some regard, lays atop your spine. Never wavering further until he feels the fabric of an undergarment he presumes is there for support. You, on the other hand, make every dip and curve pulsate in a wanton need to know this is real. Whatever the outside world will say about this high tensed moment, let them run their mouths. You’re still wrapped in a loose embrace while Ushijima recounts the incident and though this was nice, it really is, you reassure him, you confess you don’t know if this was a one time thing.

“YN, do you think that lowly of yourself?”

You look away, but he resigns himself to make you feel less apprehensive.

“You’re confident without trying,” he muses. “And you have a hell of a right hook.”

You bite back a laugh, saying perhaps it’s best to discuss this over breakfast hours. You don’t mind breaking a few rules, he figures out, when you eventually fall asleep. The warmth is suffocating comfortable and though your grip on his shirt loosens, his hold on you doesn’t. Not since you were able to find someone as steadfast as he.

One month and two days after you return to school you and Ushijima don’t really talk about that night. You leave it as a fluke in a flawed plan to make amends for your behavior earlier. You don’t really seem to be bothered by the fact he may have stolen a few firsts from you, but nothing really sexual happens yet, as it pars for the course. People who have high expectations of themselves are being scouted left right and center during the height of their club activities. Hence your friends from karaoke night invite you to the volleyball club’s game against both Seijoh and Karasuno.

Shit. You knew you were supposed to wake up earlier than you did, however when your friend insists that it’s ok to be a little late, you don’t think you’d almost miss the entirety of the game. Purple and white cheer the loudest while you quietly slip into the higher seats slightly to the left. To give yourself a bit credit, you chose to hide the striped colors you wear underneath a turtleneck. You’re not amused in the slightest as the final score is tallied. As the Seijoh team bows to their supporters, you are seen applauding their efforts. Considering you would have gone to where your friends from middle school also wound up, you are politely contrite as you remind them from the stands: “a battle well fought and lost is filled with room for improvement.” The team below gazes up at you, a few recognize you, others who didn’t just nod, watery smiles and all.

During post interviews after the teams cool down and regroup at the locker room, your friend chats with the team. The younger manager watches how his Senpai work the room until he notices their ace feeling a bit stumped.

“You didn’t know? Remy-san’s old friends all went to follow him. The pretty setter,” your friend speaks with an attuned front. “And our Remy-chan are close friends since they were little. The ace too. Apparently they grew up together…”

Elsewhere, you wander about waiting for the captains to finish their discussion. You wanted to console you two friends who once again lost to the better team. When you hear the cold words hand in the air, you make your presence know by a sudden squeak of your shoe.

“How dare you say such a thing,” you are angry. This is a different type and Ushijima knows this feeling. “Oikawa has gotten this far on his own and you ought to recognize his talent too. His instincts are much better than your pride because from where I stand, the only one who has earned his place is him.”

You grab your old friend’s hand and lead him away before Ushijima has time to process what the hell just happened.

“Rem?” He’s watched you leave ahead of him before and this isn’t what he had in mind for celebrating winning against Oikawa. Had he known or paid attention five minutes ago he would have chosen better words to hurl at your friend. In hindsight, the words Ushijima chose to say were taken personally by you meaning that if he insulted Oikawa, he might as well as insulted you too.

“She likes you too,” someone said. A fan maybe? Ushijima disappeared around the corridor long enough to hear your voice calm down a pissed of captain.

“Oikawa Tooru!” you use your voice slap some sense back into your friend. “You did well, ok? I have to leave soon, but we should get tea sometime. I think auntie needs a visit too…”

“Take care of yourself,” he reminds you.

You nod, understanding why he had said that. You regroup at the entrance of the arena. Members of the volleyball team turn to look at you who seemed to be a bit too chummy with the other team. Satori nods in your direction after speaking with his best friend, who for lack of better words, narrows hold eyes perplexed by you. Semi clasps his shoulder saying that he would get worked up if his girlfriend would have done the same thing.

“Oh come on, you said ‘if,’” Satori laughs.

“But Remy isn’t mine,” Ushijima abruptly states the fact.

“What? No way!” Satori shakes his head.

“I thought you were together by now,” Semi mutters.

The bet they had agreed to ages ago now expands to a few other members of the team. Unfortunately or fortunately for you, you seemed to be just as oblivious as their captain. You tend to push the blurred lines at school, however you could never get a full read on Ushijima’s actions. Like the one time he was seen headed to the garden club’s plant sale: he bought a mini bouquet which when arranged like that, meant unyielding friendship; then you, during the fall bake sale, the entomology club asked you to hand out a few fun facts about dormant ladybugs who hibernate; the final one, that confused the rest of the population (ok, maybe like half the team) was the fact you came to practice one day wearing one of their captain’s old shirts, which mind you, after you explained time and time again the laundry room in the dormitories where you stayed were out of commission (circuit issues).

“Ushiwaka,” Satori sighs with a catlike expression. “Tell yn-san how you feel. I’m sure they’d accept your confession one way or the other…”

Ushijima blinks a few times, he nods as though he understands—clearly he doesn’t, but he got the spirit.

During the ride back to campus, you were able to secure a seat next to your friend, who was curious about a few things. The first being the rumor you were secretly dating someone on the opposite team…

“Oikawa and I are childhood buddies,” you sigh exasperated. “Our fathers went to the same college! He’s as close to me as my brother down the street and around the corner!”

Although you whispered the last part, your friend has a skeptical smirk rising. You were getting worked up by a comment as a test. Your cheeks were flushed a bit by the question to begin with and it doesn’t help same said friend is the one who tipped off the team about you coming to visit practice in a rather amusing outfit. Shiratorizawa’s gates come into view from the east side, the team already disembarked and began their post-game meeting in the gym.

Your friend walks with you to the cafeteria where you spend a few more days of your early suspension making the togo hot bentos. A few of the ladies there and volunteers on the weekend came to take a likening to you. On game days, like today, they often leave out free snacks and sodas. You remind them some students maybe allergic to chocolate, like yourself, so they added more savory or sour sweets. Your friend watches you grab a pack of nilla wafers and lemon meringue bars. Together, you show your friend where you often used to spend your time contemplating future.

“Did Ushijima confess yet or what?”

You choke on a crumb. They hand you a water bottle.

“Come again?”

“You really don’t know?”

You shake your head, “you say next to me for about three years! If you were me, would you be asking me the same question and expect you to get it right?”

Your friend laughs at your outburst, concurring with your statement.

“Thank you,” you stick your tongue out. “Now explain it to me in terms I can understand…? Maybe?”

They punch the bridge of their nose saying this better be worth their weight in snacks for a week. The bribe works, but again, you don’t really have a sense of urgency as you did before.

“…I suppose with all the time you spent together made each other feel at ease. You’re good at explaining the quadratic formulas to someone like Ushiwaka, who is a strict by-product of his upbringing… what I’m trying to say is you should give him a chance to be a little more-?”

“Romantic?” You suggest. Then suddenly, it clicks in your head: catching each other in the hallway nodding or smiling, hell even him being a bit presumptuous in saying a brief hello running into you after turning in his work for a different class seems different yet the same; your personal locker was filled with small scraps of paper with little fun facts he stayed up one night rewatching Ant-Man with Satori asking if this theory or that equation would work in real life (suffice to say you and Ushijima connect with cinematic mathematics, as odd as that may be); and it dawned on you why he’s being so possessive lately…

“Get it now?” You friend has s glint on their eyes as you nodded. The optometrist’s machine with the various lenses in the theater of your mind stops clicking because you finally understand the bigger picture to what made your old study partner uniquely him.

“But why didn’t he say anything? This is all conjectures at this point and seemingly pointless fodder to give the students something else to talk about …”

“Are you that afraid of falling in love, Rem?”

You glance down between the lemon bar and your shoes. Your silence speaks volumes and as your friend stands to head back early, you remind them why you grew up in a monk’s temple: “love isn’t supposed to hurt.”

They nod, mentioning if that were the case, you should stop whatever is making Ushijima (and by default a lot of other students) like you through their kaleidoscopic eyes.

“It’s not fair to him if you don’t feel the same,” they say. Gauging your flustered appearance, they smirk more to themselves.

Dusk rolls around by the time coach calls practice to a close. After you showered and donned an old gi you wore to the temple, you send a text to the captain of the volleyball team. You tack on a, ‘don’t worry. Nothing serious’ after the four word statement which could either make or break your friendship you just solidified. Ushijima doesn’t tend to be very apprehensive often, but he does have a rather odd stare whenever he glances at his phone in the lockers bench.

“Trouble in paradise?” Satori asks.

“I do not know,” Ushijima answers.

“So serious,” his friend imitates his stare. Judging by the quiet slowly setting in as their fellow teammates chose what to do for the remainder of the weekend, Satori makes a general suggestion: “to the commons to watch the classic His Girl Friday.”

Semi knows that name. Practically everyone in the will they won’t they gambling group are celebrating a bit too early because no one would bet they would figure it out on their own: bless their hearts as someone would say. Ushijima is the last to leave, turning off the lights after making sure the gym is locked both on the inside and outside (same deadbolt).

You wait for him on the roof of the science wing. How quaintly iconic for someone who actively chooses not to read shojou manga that you chose the roof after your talk with your friend. They pointed it out with a laughing emoji. You tell them you’d explain what happens in a day or two. Although when asked why that roof a few minutes prior, you remind Ushijima the garden is closed for the time being since the glasses fit the greenhouse of being reinforced for the winter. You stick your phone in your pocket the moment you hear him prop the door open.

“Yo,” you greet. Your palm is raised in a peaceful wave. In your head, you keep useless facts about how he genuinely looks at you with a troubled brow. He asks if you’re ok, you answer appropriately and he does the same.

“Ushijima-san,” you take a step forward. The bag he brought with him acts as a backup door stopper. “Do-do you like me?”

Ah. That is why you wanted to speak with him, right? You can tell he knows what you mean but he doesn’t go about answering it right away.

“You don’t have to answer right no-”

“Yes.”

You freeze.

“Yes I do,” he repeats a bit more confidently now. Your back of your hands feel hot when you press them against your cheeks. He wants to laugh, but knowing he could make you this unsteady, he figured he relishes in it. His hand is steadily holding one of your wrists and pulling it away from your face; it’s an awkward way of holding up hand, but he doesn’t mind.

“So stop whatever you’re thinking about and just-mmf?!”

You’re about to ramble and he doesn’t care when he smiles a bit wider this time around. You don’t care that his habit he learned from him vexes you so. Your lips meet upon the shine of Polaris in this hemisphere. Ushijima has been curious to find out how well you can listen to him when he feels your return the favor; you’re accurately listening to the way the tension leaves your body the seconds thereafter with your other hand rising up to clutch on to his jacket. He’s much taller than you, so at this point, when you stand on your toes, you feel him let go of your wrist to help bring you higher like before. Ushijima is strong, but compared to you, you’re much lighter and neither be nor you can be bothered to care. Not now, when he only breaks from your lips to hold you the way he’s been been meaning to since the first time.

“Ushijima?” You’re about to ask him something stupid, aren’t you? That’s why you’re breathing so hard, not that he kisses you breathless.

“Wakatoshi,” he corrects, pecking at your lips with a gentle nudge.

“Missed this,” you confess. “Missed you.”

“I know. So did I,” his voice is lower than normal.

This time, he meets you more than halfway when the electricities of your kiss ignited something in him; your tongue forces his mouth open as you teach him hope to fall further into you. Your hand runs through his darkened locks as his own support your neck, pushing you back into him. The air is knocked out of his lungs when you tilt your head to one side a bit more, throwing your balance off, but he doesn’t let you fall; no he won’t, so his right arm which was on the small of your back moves under the back of your knees to literally sweep you off your feet. You don’t dare look anywhere else but up. Your left hand presses against his chest, a welcoming grace walked over his features.

“I’ll hold you for as long as you let me,” he is surprisingly coy considering he’s the one who hold you like a tired child again. You don’t need to be coddled, you know this, but the words he says dons a new meaning when he looks at you with a desire you think he only had reserved for things he’s passionate about, you make the connection.

“Smooth,” you tease. “Good thing I like you then, huh?”

“Mm.”

Straightening out his posture he chuckles when you make another comment. The stoic and the empiricist find themselves still tangled by the limbs, but his arms always were a source of comfort. At least now once the mutuality of your situationship has turned into a white shade of pale, you relax resting an ear to his sternum.

“Ya’know, if you keep me up here, we’d both miss dinner,” you murmur. The comforting ministration of running your hand through his hair pauses.

“I’d rather skip to straight to dessert, sweetheart.”

He playfully bites your cheek to see your blush rush across the innocent mark.

“Oh my god. Who taught you that?”

You glance up at him wide eyed and all, promising to beat up Satori for insinuating such a thought. Ushijima chuckles when you burrow your head against his shoulder. You’d find out why soon enough when you go back to your room.

Two days later, when you come to sit in practice with the results of the latest make up maths exam, you hand the answer sheet to their coach. Without even thinking, you automatically wave toward the side of the net of the three on three match where your study partner stands.

::Results after two months::

USHIJIMA. W || Trignometry 86/100

SETSUNA. M || free food for a month (Thnks Rem!)

SATORI. T || WINNER (remy caves first)

SEMI. E || LOSE (4000¥ per subscription box)

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 5

Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...

Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader 

Word Count: 2.2k

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Taglist: @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @fadesbrina, @sweetlyblushedbouquet

Description: You and George head to the party and things between you heat up quicker than expected

                                                            X

You arrived back at the castle just as the party was about to begin. You made your way to the Room of Requirement where people were excitedly awaiting your arrival, mainly for the goods you were bringing. As you walked into the room, you were greeted by the sound of applause and cheering. George made his rounds and you followed him, as he handed out the occasional butterbeer before placing the crate on a nearby ledge. A mob began surrounding you both and George grabbed two brews and pulled you away from the crate before the crowd could attack. 

You spotted Cho and Marietta across the way and walked over to them, mentally prepared to be bombarded with questions.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s decided to grace us with her presence,” Marietta spoke. 

“It’s about time! We’ve been dying to know about your new beau,” Cho added.

“Not much to tell. We’re just friends, at least for now.”

“No need to be coy, it’s just us. You can give us the details,” Cho persuaded. 

“Honestly Y/N, people are already speculating.”

“Let them speculate, it’s none of their business anyway,” you smirked, knowing the plan was going perfectly.

“Just promise you’ll tell us when things become official. I’d hate to hear about it from someone else,” Cho added. 

“Of course I will tell the both of you if something happens. For now though, I’m just happy to have an old friend back.”  

As the conversation continued, you stepped away momentarily to grab another drink. You approached the crate and grabbed a brew  when another hand reached for the same bottle. 

“Oh, sorry!” you said, pulling your hand back. You turned to see who you were apologizing to, when you spotted a familiar face. “Roger…”

“Hi Y/N. How’ve you been?” he asked. 

“I, uh, I’m-“ before you could fully answer, Ms. Fleur Delacour was by Roger’s side, practically hanging off his shoulder. She spoke something French to him and it was only then that she noticed you standing there. She gave you a confused look and Roger interjected.

“Fleur, this is my friend Y/N,” he introduced. You gave her an awkward smile and a small wave as she responded with, “Bonjour.” Seconds later she was whispering with Roger again and you ran through options of how to get out of this situation.

“Y/N, there you are!” you heard George say a few paces behind you. You turned to locate him and were blindsided when you found he was suddenly inches away from you. He gently wrapped an arm around your waist to draw you close to him and he cupped your face with his free hand as he lifted your jaw up to meet his face. He kissed you with such passion and you tried to hide the surprise that had come over you. George slowly released your lips and moved his arm to rest around your shoulder. 

“Oh, sorry mate. Didn’t see you there,” George commented with a smirk. You looked toward Roger and Fleur to see them both surprised as well. Roger made some small comment to excuse them from the scene and you turned to George, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry if I took you by surprise. I just saw you were ambushed and I did the first thing I could think of to help.”

“Thank you,” you whispered.

“You…you’re not mad?”

“Mad? No, of course not. I mean, you took me by surprise but I’m not upset about it.”

“Good thing, because I think just about everyone knows about us now so we’re gonna have to keep this up.” You turned to face your peers and found everyone gossiping in their respective cliques, trying to hide their looks in your direction. 

“Well George, I’d say we are officially a couple.” You squeezed his hand and returned to your group of friends. You needed a moment to catch your breath. The kiss was so unexpected and you didn’t want to admit it, but it swept you off your feet. Were you in too deep with this plan of yours? At this point, did you even want Roger back? Your mind was spinning and you didn’t really want to field all the questions from Cho and Marietta. You impulsively made the decision to just leave and return to the common room, where the only people there would be some young Gryffindors who wouldn’t bother you. You grabbed a book from your bedroom and curled up by the fire, trying to distract yourself from the current situation at hand. 

 “Had enough of the party?” A voice called to you. You looked up, half expecting to see George but it was his twin brother standing in the doorway. 

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know I just had a lot on my mind and I wanted to sit and think away from everyone.”

“Mmm,” he responded, merely nodding his head. “I thought you’d be with George.”

“I could say the same for you. But evidently he’s escaped both of us.” You thought that would be the end of your conversation since Fred had been so short with you lately, but he surprised you by sitting next to you on the couch.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” he asked you..

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. What’s your angle here?”

“My angle? Look Fred, I don’t know why you’ve been so cold to me recently. We’ve known each other forever and I don’t get this.”

“We’ve been friends for ages, but the minute you hurt George we won’t be. He’s not like Roger, he won’t move on so easily. He’s better than a rebound.”

“I know that. He’s probably my oldest friend and I’m not willing to lose him over something stupid.”

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re taking advantage of him just because he’s giving you attention. He deserves better than that.” And with that, he stood up and walked away. You were a little taken aback. Fred had been icy toward you, but you never imagined he would confront you with such spite. You knew he was just being protective but it still hurt. You thought you were friends and the fact that he didn’t trust you with George hurt a little. It was hard knowing you couldn’t please Fred, and you doubted George would ever date someone who Fred didn’t approve of. At that moment, you considered letting Fred in on the plan, but you weren’t sure that would do any good.

You felt utterly confused. Your heart was telling you one thing while your head was in complete disagreement.  

                                                             X

George saw you make a quick exit and he knew he had messed up. He acted on impulse instead of thinking through the situation and now things were different. You may have said things were okay, but actions speak louder than words. The worst part was he didn’t even know what he should say to you. Instinctually, he wanted to follow you back to the common room where you were likely lounging. But he hadn’t the faintest idea of what he could say to remedy the situation. The worst part was everyone was now gossiping about you and approaching him for details. After one too many brush offs, he decided to leave and go for a walk to the astronomy tower. This was his spot to think and get away from everything and he knew he would be alone there.

He was confused on multiple levels. After kissing you, he was rendered speechless. The spark was everything he imagined it would be, but he wasn’t sure that feeling went both ways. You seemed so calm after everything, almost like it didn’t phase you at all. He felt stupid for thinking you might actually have feelings for him. 

But what to do next? Should he cut things off now before things changed too much? At this point, your friendship would be changing in one way or another. He could use the easy out clause to end things before the effects set in. The only downside was it seemed a little too late to pull this move. You had kissed and everyone had seen it. They assumed you were together now and it would be tough to explain a sudden separation. 

He went back and forth with both ideas and eventually decided he wouldn’t make any decisions before talking with you. You were definitely thinking a lot of things too and he didn’t want to assume he saw your side of things. 

George felt nervous walking back to the common room, as he figured you would be there, waiting for him so you could talk. You stepped into the common room and found his theory was partially correct. You were curled up by the fireplace with a book resting on your chest, sound asleep. He didn’t feel the need to wake you and normally he would’ve carried you to bed, but something about that didn’t feel right considering how you had left things. Instead, he gathered a blanket from his bed and laid it on top of you. Then he extinguished the fire that was burning and gave you a soft kiss on the forehead. 

                                                           X

 You woke up and found that you had fallen asleep on the sofa in the common room. You wish you could say this was a rare occurrence but it happened a little too often. You loved spending time in the common room by the fire where there were always a few people moving through. You spent a few nights up late reading on the couch or pulling all nighters doing homework and many times you fell asleep. The surprising thing was that there was a quilt draped over you on this particular morning. A quilt you recognized to be homemade and “Stitched with Love” by Molly Weasley. You had a similar one when you were a child and you knew this particular quilt belonged to George. you folded the quilt as you gathered the courage to approach George. You weren’t sure how he felt after last night but it seemed that you weren’t so emotional since you had the night to sleep on it. Before approaching his room, you thought about where you stood regarding this situation. You admitted to yourself that you wanted to pursue a relationship with George. But you weren’t going to. And you didn’t need Roger back, but this deal wasn’t solely for you. George was doing this for Angelina, and you didn’t want to break things off and ruin his chances with her. 

You carried the blanket in your arms and softly knocked on the door of his dormitory. The door opened shortly after and you found a bed-headed Weasley in the doorframe a moment later. A shirtless bed-headed Weasley at that. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to return this,” you said to George. A blush crept up your face as you tried to avoid looking at his bare torso.

“Oh no, it’s fine. Do you want to come in?”

“Eh, is Fred asleep?”

“No, he left for breakfast already. Please, come in. I actually wanted to talk with you after last night.”

“Oh. Okay,” you followed his recommendation and made your way into the room that was a slight mess. “Sorry to barge in on you like this,” you said as you took in his current appearance. Seeing George shirtless was making things more difficult. 

“No, you’re fine,” he said as he pulled on a sweater.  “So, about what happened last night…”

“George, you don’t have to explain it to me. I know it was just part of the role you were playing and that it didn’t mean anything. Don’t sweat it.” You were trying to convince yourself this was the truth, but you didn’t believe the words coming out of your mouth.

His face looked a little…disappointed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was gonna say. It meant nothing,” he trailed off.

“We do need to prepare for the aftermath of it all. Rumors and gossip as well as acting coupley. I hope you’re okay with public displays of affection because I really think we need to sell this”

“Just the usual then? Hand holding, arm around the shoulders, hugging…?”

“That and more. Just follow my lead and you’ll be fine. Now I’m going to get changed and we can head down to breakfast as a couple.”

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted. You scurried out of his room and walked back into your dormitory for a change in attire. The interaction went better than expected. You were worried things were going to be awkward but things seemed to return to normal pretty quickly. Now you just had to keep your feelings under control as you pretended to be a couple. No big deal.

You prepared for breakfast as quickly as you could and found George waiting for you in the common room. “Ready boyfriend?” you winked at him. He smirked back and put his arm around your shoulder. “About as ready as I’ll ever be.”

[good-things-do-happen-dean]

I am actually terrible at prompts but for you I will try: Dean and Cas teach at the same school but no one knows they’re married because Cas was just hired a few months ago, and they don’t want people to think that’s the only reason he got the job; cue Benny incessantly flirting with Cas and trying to ask him out until Dean is forced to step in. The ending is up to you (;

[casually writes this one hundred years later] i love this prompt so much em, thank you for sending it 💖also, it’s me, so i think you can probably guess where the ending goes hahaha enjoy!!!

sweet like honey, sweet like molasses

“Mornin’, sunshine,” somebody drawls across the teachers’ lounge.

Dean doesn’t look up from the copier, until he hears Cas say “Good morning, Benny,” back to the somebody, and he nearly puts a crick in his neck from looking up so quickly because what the hell, that’s Dean’s line.

The somebody in question, Benny, apparently, is leaning back against the counter with the coffee maker, sipping from a steaming mug that says “Mornings suck” in red over a cartoon vampire. He’s a big guy, or, maybe he’s not actually. He’s shorter than Cas, but broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, with a neatly trimmed beard and bright blue eyes.

Dean turns his ring around his finger with his thumb, looking back at the growing stack of copies without really seeing them. They chat about Benny’s AP class maybe coming by the library next week to review research strategies for their upcoming project. Benny says something that makes Cas laugh, rich and low. And Dean finds he suddenly needs a fresh cup.

“Hey there,” he says, squeezing between Cas and Benny to get to the coffee pot. “Morning, Cas.” He doesn’t miss Cas rolling his eyes at him ever so briefly. “Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure,” he says to Benny, reaching out a hand. “I’m Dean Winchester, ninth and tenth grade English.”

Benny grins, and it spreads across his face all slow like honey, or molasses maybe, with that accent. Okay, Dean decides. Fine, he’s hot. Whatever.

“Benjamin Lafitte,” he says, shaking Dean’s hand. “But you can call me Benny. I’m the new Miss Kline while she’s on maternity leave.”

“I see you’ve met Mr. Novak, here,” Dean says, clapping Cas on the shoulder.

“Practically the first thing I did when I was hired.” Benny winks at Cas across Dean, who gives Cas’s shoulder a little squeeze. Only because he’s friendly, and definitely not because he’s possessive or jealous of this guy. Also definitely not to show off the simple silver band on his ring finger that wouldn’t mean anything to Benny anyway.

That’s the plan, after all, to keep their marriage private at school. They live out of the district, so it’s unlikely they’ll run into any students in line at the grocery store or the movie theater. Same for coworkers.

As far as almost everyone knows, the Winchester-Novaks are just Mr. Winchester and Mr. Novak, work friends who hit it off pretty much immediately after Mr. Novak was hired. They get to work at the same time, but they drive separately.They have lunch together, but they eat in the teacher’s lounge instead of in Cas’s tiny office at the back of the library. Dean normally stops by the library at the end of his planning during fourth period, but that’s because he teaches English and the library is, well, where the books are. It’s not because he’s a sap who misses his husband an hour and a half after they’ve just eaten lunch together. Or, okay, it is that, but nobody else knows it.

“Would you look at the time,” Dean says at the sound of the first bell. He rinses out his mug, setting it upside down in the drying rack, before heading to the door. “Gotta beat the thundering hordes to the stairs.”

“Actually,” Benny says, “I’ve got planning first period. Mind if I swing by to pick your brain about that project, Cas?”

Dean turns to stare daggers into Benny’s broad back with one hand on the doorknob. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust Cas, of course he does, but there’s something about this Benny character that rubs him the wrong way.

“Dean?” Cas calls after him, just like he would at home from the garden or the kitchen to where Dean is working in the garage. Dean very nearly says, yeah, babe? but he catches himself just in time. “Your copies.”

Right.

***

Things continue on like that. Benny starts showing up at the same time as them, somehow casually overtaking them so he can hold the door open. He joins them in the teacher’s lounge before school for a cup of coffee and a chat. He sits with them at lunch. He pops his head into the library at the end of the day (when Dean is there during his planning) with a cheery “see ya tomorrow!” and a wink.

Benny asks them about places to go in town. Which coffee shop has the best cold brew, which one has the best atmosphere for getting work done, which one attracts the least students. Where’s the nearest place to fish, or would it be better to drive farther up the highway. What’s the deal with the weird owner of that bookstore on Main.

In the evenings, when Cas and Dean are stretched out on the couch, Cas with his legs draped over Dean’s lap while he reads, Dean using said legs as a slightly lopsided table to grade on., they talk about it, a little.

“He’s harmless,” Cas says. “And besides,” he folds himself up to sitting and presses a kiss to Dean’s temple. “I love you.”

Dean’s ninth graders may or may not get their essays back a day late after one such evening when the stack of papers he’s working on are unceremoniously dropped on the floor, and Dean hauls Cas up and fully into his lap for a while before they fall asleep curled together on the couch.

Soon enough, Dean even starts to maybe like the guy. A little. Not that they’re friends, or anything, but he doesn’t mind Benny so much, doesn’t mind the three of them being the three of them so much. Sure, he doesn’t love Benny staring at Cas over his mug like he hung the moon, or the gifts he starts bringing (“Made it outta that Metatron guy’s bookstore alive. Have you read this? I think you’d like it,” one day, a hearty loaf of homemade bread the next week), but it’s fine. They get along despite the shameless flirting.

Until all of a sudden, it’s been four and a half months and Miss Kline is due back next week. They’re sitting in the teacher’s lounge before school on a Friday at their usual table. Charlie, the computer skills teacher, Dean’s work wife, and the only person on staff besides Principal Singer who knows the truth, just popped in to show them pictures of the baby, little Jack, with his tuft of blond hair sticking straight up and his chubby cheeks.

“Well,” Benny says, leaning back in his chair. “End of the road.”

“We’ll miss you,” Cas says sincerely, reaching across the table to pat his arm.

“Don’t suppose,” Benny starts, looking right at Cas. “You’d wanna get a drink?”

“Okay,” Dean says because he’s finally had enough of this guy. “Look, dude, he’s taken.”

Benny looks at him and cocks his head like he doesn’t understand.

“A ring, I mean, come on, Cas is wearing a ring. A wedding ring.” Dean knows he’s almost definitely getting too loud because Cas’s other hand squeezes his thigh.

“Dean,” Cas says.

“And another thing -” Dean starts, but then he’s the one who doesn’t understand because Benny’s tipping his head back and laughing, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Cher,” Benny says, and Dean bristles at the pet name. A pet name, for his husband. The nerve of this guy. “You think I don’t know you two are together?”

Wait.

“You think,” Benny says, and leans forward in his chair, making direct eye contact with Dean. “I was only flirting with Mr. Novak here?”

“Uh,” Dean says, eloquently.

Benny raises an eyebrow, that same molasses grin spreading across his face. And then Cas is laughing, and Benny joins in, and, eventually, after he finishes thinking through the last four and a half months in a different light, so does Dean.

***

The other history teacher, Mildred, retires at the end of the school year. There’s a retirement party in the teacher’s lounge that’s also a welcome back Mr. Lafitte party.

When they come back in August, as far as almost everyone knows, the three of them are just Mr. Winchester, Mr. Novak, and Mr. Lafitte, work friends who really hit it off last spring when Ms. Kline was out. They used to drive separately, but now they carpool. They sometimes eat lunch in the teachers’ lounge with Charlie, but mostly they eat together crowded around the tiny desk in the tiny office at the back of the library. It works out that Benny and Dean have the same planning period, so they normally end up in the library at the end of the day, co-planning an interdisciplinary English and history unit with all sorts of supplementary materials that Cas helps them find.

And in the evenings, when they’re stretch out on the couch, Cas reading with his legs in Dean’s lap, his head against Benny’s shoulder, Dean and Benny grading on the matching lap desks Cas bought them at the beginning of the school year, they’ll catch each other’s eye over Cas’s head and grin, slow and sweet.

tagging: @joharvele | @contemplativepancakes | @fluffiestlou | @never-forever-more | @emblue-sparks | @tearsofgrace | @prayedtoyou | @chaoticdean let me know if you’d like to be added to/removed from my tag list 💖[or if you would only like to be tagged for certain things!]

[moonlit-han]

the perfect cup of coffee ↠ lee minho

genre: fluff, office au word count: 2k warnings: none, unless you really don’t like coffee? request: no (for junhuisflower​, who wrote the initial idea for this fic) a/n: i am reposting this fic because the first time i posted it, on June 13, 2020, it didn’t show up in the general tags. so, i hope you all enjoy it this second time around!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

In his impeccably neat and well-fitting suit, Lee Minho walked into the office where he held the position of Manager in Chief. This was not his official title, but one that he had chosen for himself; after all, he did manage just about everything and everyone, when it came down to it.

In reality, Minho was the Assistant to the Administrative Director of the company and was, in theory, meant to delegate the more menial tasks to others. However, this never occurred because Minho did not trust others to do work he knew he could do better. Over that which was not in his job description and, therefore, the responsibility of others, Minho still attempted to exert control. Thus, he was the Manager in Chief. Everything in Minho’s world had to perfect, or as perfect as Minho could contrive.

As he arrived at the office and reached for the company suite’s door, automatically passing something that was not there from one hand to the other, Minho stopped. He’d forgotten his coffee. How had he forgotten his coffee? This was practically unheard of, since he made his coffee at home and brought it to work with him. He did not fully trust coffee made by others.

Coffee was one of the many things that Minho insisted on being perfect. While he cared that his clothes were appropriately smart for the workplace and he prided himself on his small but wonderfully efficient car, he could manage for a time without them being in perfect condition. But, he absolutely had to have perfect coffee. In terms of non-essential costs, Minho spent the most on his cats (plenty of little treats, baubles, and warm places to sleep) and his coffee (fair trade, organic coffee made with care and attention). He was forever trying new ways of brewing coffee, and considered himself a bit of a connoisseur. Oftentimes, he’d even add some cardamom to the coffee as it brewed for a little extra spice and sweetness. Having such wonderfully delicious coffee was the high point of Minho’s day, a way he coped with the monotony of work.

So, when he arrived at the office and had no coffee, Minho was incensed. Sighing and grumbling to himself, he pushed through the door and made his way to his desk. He had back-to-back-to-back meetings and was responsible for leading one of them; so, he needed the caffeine to get through his day. His schedule was so busy that he couldn’t go back out to buy coffee, and couldn’t go back home to make himself a proper cup. Damn. It was against his every rule for coffee consumption to drink that which had not been made by him and to his particular specifications. Well, there was nothing to do now but go into the office’s lounge and drink the fluid that might just pass for coffee.

Minho’s coworkers looked up as they saw him move toward the lounge. Was he really going to drink coffee here? they whispered among themselves. They remained quiet as he passed, not wanting to disturb him in case his lack of coffee unleashed a hitherto unseen wrath (or wraith, even).

As he pushed open the door of the lounge, Minho made a noise of disgust as he took in the smell: a ground-in kind of odor from years of low quality coffee that had seeped into the wood and cushions of the lounge’s chairs and sofa. But today, there was a sweetness floating over the sourness of the smell of old, bad coffee. Perhaps someone had simply brought coffee from the outside world into the room and the dregs still lingered in a cup in the recycling.

Resigning himself to drinking the coffee—Maybe if he gulped down the horrid stuff, he could just get it over with?—Minho took down one of the mugs kept in the cabinet above the coffee maker. As he poured the dark liquid into the cup, a richly sweet and nutty smell met his nose.

Wait, what?

This was the communal coffee pot in the employee lounge of his office. Good coffee pouring out of that pot shouldn’t be possible. Surely his senses were fooling him and the taste would be just as weak and grimy as it had been the one other time he’d made the mistake of trying it.

Gingerly, he stirred a little cream into the mug. Squeezing his eyes shut as if to ward off the assuredly inherent shitty-ness of the coffee, Minho hesitantly raised the mug to his lips and sipped.

His eyes flew open in surprise. This was some of the best coffee he’d ever tasted. Minho took another sip, savoring the taste of the brew. He was stunned, absolutely stunned. He had to find out who had made this wonderful coffee. It was imperative to his proper functioning, since this coffee would now be a regular feature of his daydreams.

During each of his meetings that day, Minho took a minute at the end to ask if anyone knew who’d made the coffee that day. No one knew. With each shake of someone’s head and each “No” he heard, Minho became increasingly more frustrated. How could no one know who’d made the coffee?

The next day, he asked around the office again, but still, no one knew. On the third day, Minho decided to stop asking his coworkers for fear of seeming obsessed, despite the fact that he really was obsessed with the question of who had made that coffee.

Several weeks passed with Minho occasionally checking, with the utmost secrecy, the contents of the office’s communal coffee pot. It was uniformly horrible. But after a full month of furtive coffee sampling, Minho’s work paid off.

It was a Friday morning and he’d ambled into the break room to just spend some time away from the (non-existent) noise of the office. He was surprised to find someone already there … making coffee.

“Hello, Mr. Lee,” she said brightly. “How are you this morning?”

Minho stared at the young woman as she continued making the coffee. So, this is our new hire, he thought, noting the grace with which she moved.

“Mr. Lee?” she prompted.

Minho shook himself. “I’m sorry,” he searched his memory for her name, “Ms. L/N, isn’t it? I’m well, thank you. I hope you’re having a stress-free morning.” Minho leaned against the wall by the counter where Y/N methodically measured tablespoon after tablespoon of rich, dark coffee into the coffee maker. He noticed that it had been cleaned, too. “Do you make coffee here often, Ms. L/N?”

Damn it, that sounded like the worst pick-up line ever, Minho chided himself.

Y/N laughed softly. “Not really, since I’ve only been here a month, Mr. Lee. Would you like a cup when I’m done making this?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks,” Minho said, still in a bit of a daze. Huh, did she make that delicious coffee, then?

“Is it alright if I add some cardamom? I think it gives the coffee a deep, interesting flavor,” Y/N said before she closed the lid of the appliance.

Minho thought he’d died and gone to heaven in that moment; all he could do was nod. Y/N produced a small container of cardamom—she said she’d ground it that morning—and added a bit to the ground coffee. Minho watched as Y/N finished preparing the coffee, thinking to himself. Then, they sat in surprisingly easy silence as the smell of brewing coffee began to suffuse the room, filling Minho’s world. Leaning back in a chair, Y/N had a blissful look on her face at the aroma.

The coffee maker made a gurgling noise as it shut off, and Y/N rose to her feet. She withdrew two mugs from the cabinet, then went to her bag and produced a thermos and a jar of honey. Minho looked on as Y/N poured out the coffee, then measured out honey into one mug.

“Would you like some?” she asked, proffering the honey.

“Definitely,” Minho said, excitedly. “I rarely meet anyone else who puts honey in their coffee.” He smiled, dropping his earlier formal manner.

“Really? It’s the best. You know,” Y/N continued, spooning honey into his mug, “I’ve never met anyone else—other than a Turkish friend, at least—who puts cardamom in their coffee.”

“I had it when I was traveling and fell in love,” Minho said, then cleared his throat self-consciously. How was he talking with her this easily? “And, Ms. L/N, you’re welcome to call me Minho. You are, after all, the Assistant to the Artistic Director here, so our positions are equal.”

“Oh! Well, in that case, my name is Y/N.” She grinned and opened the metal canister, which Minho saw was full of cream. “Do you want to put yours in? I know people are particular about cream in drinks.”

Taking the thermos, Minho thanked Y/N and noticed that his heartbeat was pounding a little louder than he expected. Then again, perhaps not so unexpectedly as he was about to drink what he knew would be delicious coffee. He poured in just enough cream to turn the coffee the color of dark amber, then brought the mug to his lips.

“Enjoy!” Y/N said, smiling brightly as she took back her thermos and stowed it and the other containers in her bag.

Minho took a sip, and almost dropped the mug in surprise. It was just like the coffee he had tasted several weeks ago, and, really, even better. He savored the coffee, taking sip after sip as Y/N looked on.

“Is it good?” Y/N asked hesitantly, not drinking from her own mug yet.

“It’s delicious, Y/N, it really is,” Minho sighed, feeling as if he were drinking ambrosia. “Did you happen to make coffee for the office a few weeks ago?”

Surprise overtook pride on Y/N’s face as she chirped, “Yeah, I did!  Did you have some then?”

“I’ve been trying to find who’d made that coffee ever since,” Minho said, smiling at how odd that must sound. “I just really like coffee, and yours was incredible.”

Y/N blushed furiously and tried to hide her face by taking a sip from her own mug. “Thanks, Minho” she murmured. “I’m glad you liked it!”

Minho couldn’t help but smile softly at how cute Y/N looked when he complimented her coffee. Her dimples even came out when she smiled.

How is she that pretty? Minho groaned to himself. Shit. Well, what do I have to lose?

“Y/N,” Minho said tentatively, and Y/N looked up, her cheeks still pink. “So, there’s this coffee shop I love to go to and they have all sorts of unusual blends—it’s really quite lovely. Forgive me for being so forward, but may I take you there? I’m sure you’d enjoy it!” He rubbed the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. “But only if you’d like, and it doesn’t have to be anything more than two coworkers getting coffee together. I don’t mean to sound like I’m asking you out or anything,” Minho rambled, then stopped, knowing he’d probably said too much already.

“I’d love to!” Y/N said, her eyes sparkling. “Maybe we will be two friends getting coffee … or maybe something else?”

Minho’s eyes went wide in amazement as he made a little noise that could be taken as a question or a plea for clarification.

Y/N shrugged as she picked up her bag and went over to the door. “You’ll have to wait and see,” she said and winked, leaving Minho to stand in the office lounge, staring at the door.

Still unable to process his luck—was that it?—Minho took another sip of coffee. It was just as delicious as Y/N was sweet. This was going to be quite interesting indeed.

[wickedandtrue]

Voices blurred lines between reality and dark daydreams. Falling away left her vulnerable, alone. Oh so cold is the night. Even so that night was her beacon enrapturing, enfolding her in safety. A killer’s arms can become holy. His touch burned something in her she never expected nor would experience again. It is true. She had not felt this again since that time they were entwined. She dreams of it now. Lost to sobering realization she had to ‘die’ to make it out alive; Stefani stiffed from her nightmares. 

She barely regained consciousness. There is enough to hear. Those voices grew clearer. Prominent in their firm assessment of the situation she recognized one. Familiar deep and raspy tones fueled her need to open her eyes. They remained closed. 

She fought to make her eyelids move. A flutter. No sense. Just an urge but instead she continued in her silence. 

“The bullet is still there.” Corvus’ voice. He is here. Did he whisk her away somewhere as those explosions went off? Vaguely she recalls his command. Blow the compound. Yes. Yes! Holland Frost’s domain destroyed.... 

Stefani itched to move. Her fingers met skin. Warmth. A palm covered her limp hand purposely. 

Corvus radiated an unmistakable presence. He held an aura unlike any other person she had met. Those who thought The Dragon was imposing they were correct. But this? This is an altogether differing poise, darkness incarnate but she could drown in that endless black void. 

“Stefani.” 

Yes, my beautiful moon. If she could speak she would. 

“Rest here my Ivy. I will return.” 

Return from where? That is not-

“Corvus!” 

Her body rose sharply. Digging fingers into the covers draped all around, she took quick breaths as her eyes wildly searched the room. Dark. Quiet. Just her by herself in this strange bed. It is not Villa Rosa. She remembers exactly what the manor looked as. This is somewhere else. 

She gasped in the rapid movement. Immediately her palm slid to her side. Painful. Hurting to breathe at intervals, oh so obvious. The bullet she stopped. She was quick enough to prevent it striking him then. Good. 

Getting out of bed took a flip of blankets and slide onto bare feet. Her huff is born of frustration and physical ache. It seems she survived another death. “Another day to die,” she whispered, gathering a robe left draped at the foot of the bed. Her palm splayed against the silk. Smooth and fashionable red. Stefani knew better than to question where it came from. Before she put it on, however, she reached to pull up her camisole. 

Her head tilted to examine the wound. She peeled at the bandage. Needing to see exactly what - “......” Stitches. Did he sow her up? 

Taxidermy birds adorned his villa. Those she cannot forget. He did sow her. 

“Corvus?” she called, slipping the robe over her figure. Her palms pushed at the door in a brace. The pain is still there. Moving too fast dizzied her but she must. She has to. The door opened before she made another step.

“Ms Thys.”

“.....George?” It is. George! She smiled. “George! It’s you....” 

With her surprise a wave swelled. Her head. She put a hand to her forehead and easily let the familiar man guide her back towards the bed. But she perked up. “Wait - where is he?” 

“Getting some supplies.” George made clear. “Come on now. Take a seat.”

“You are a sight.” 

He huffed out a chuckle. “Yeah, well, I could say the same. You took a bad one there Miss Thys.” 

“I had to.” She let him know with those simple words. After all this time and distance it did not matter. “Is he still angry?” 

George helped place her down in a comfortable position before he bothered to entertain her question. Considering he got Elijah over here and they fixed her up.... “Can’t say. You know how he is.” Seemed funny of him to comment but the man has been around Corvus for some years. He’s the only original one in his employ save for Lorelei back at the villa. Loyalty goes both ways. He has a reason for his that he keeps private. 

“Funny,” the young woman realizes, adjusting the robe. “How he never changes. Not even in his anger or complications.” 

“Bet you have your own.” 

Stefani laughed a little. Irony is a cruel one in this. “Oh? You mean my death? I do.” 

“You gotta tell me, Steffy.” 

Oh so he’s using that tactic. How long has it been since she heard him call her that cute little name? George always was a good man. Former military stuck in the employ of a murderer now. Amazing how fates and destinies align in the universe. Everyone has their own unique story. Hers is even more complex. “The Dragon,” a whisper, a word of warning. “I had no choice. You and Corvus are the only ones who knew of him. He found me. I had to protect.” 

George sighed. He nodded. “Let’s get you something to eat.” 

“Wait! Corvus,” she shifted up onto the bed, curling her legs up for a comfortable lounge. “Why did he bring me here?”

“The Villa is dangerous right now.” 

“Dangerous? Wh-?”

“There’s a revolution brewing. With the androids....” 

mention: @creation-is-chaos​

[asoftervirge]

Of “Love” & Murder - (5/13)

CHAPTER TITLE: The Tragedy of Roman Scarlet

RATING: M PAIRINGS: P. Sanders/V. Sanders (main/one-sided); R. Sanders/V. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/L. Sanders (former); V. Sanders/D. Sanders (former); Remy/E. Picani (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

CHAPTER WARNINGS/KINKS: mentions of Remus, mentions of Lovecraft & his Racism, Alcohol, Singing, Musical References, Flirting, Kissing, Touching, Implied/Referenced Smut, mentions of Murder CHAPTER SUMMARY:  Roman tells Virgil his backstory on how he met Virgil.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: And here we’re introduced to Roman! :D Again, from here on, the content warnings are heavier than the previous chapters, so please take care of yourself if you decide to keep going! Have fun reading everyone! xx Virge

INSPIRATION: This post by @phantomofthesanderssides

AO3 || Buy Me A Ko-Fi!

Patton blinked in astonishment while the figure continued to smile gently at him.

Was— Was he dreaming, or was this actually happening?

A soft giggle breaks him out of his shocked state. It was a very melodic sound, and despite the surprise that was currently surging through his body, it somehow put him at ease.

“What’s the matter, darling?” the voice called to him, almost amused by Patton’s shock. “You happen to look quite pale. Paler than the man who lives here, and he happens to wear quite a lot of foundation.”

Backing away slightly, Patton tugged at his sweater nervously. “You…Who are you?”

The person— ghost? vision? hallucination?— gave him a sparkling smile. It almost made him blush. “You don’t remember who I am?” he asked. Patton was confused by this. “Perhaps you should get a closer look. Come, come. There’s no need to be shy! My face is a familiar sight for many of my adoring fans, especially if they who went to Storytime.”

If they went to the bar? Patton became a little more confused, but he did as Roman asked and stepped closer, albeit shyly. With his smile still bright, Roman moved his head about to give the confectioner a glimpse of his profile. As he did so, baby blue eyes widened in sudden realization.

The sharp angles and high cheekbones. The ruby red lips. The hourglass figure. The curly auburn hair and reddish-brown eyes. There was no mistaking who this was anymore.

“Wait,” he breathes out. “You…You’re Roman Scarlet.”

“So you’ve remembered.” Roman smiled wider. “I am, indeed.”

Patton looked at him in awe. This was the famed Scarlet Rose who Remy and Thomas gushed about so much. The one whose photographs hung on many of the lounge’s walls.

Though he looked very different from both the painting here, and the photograph that he saw at Storytime. Instead of a beautiful, glittering red dress, it was a three-piece suit. A suit that consisted of a cream blazer with a yellow shirt underneath, along with white dress pants and black boots. Red and gold patterned designs decorated his attire in various places. And a red-colored ascot was wrapped around his neck.

Nonetheless, he was still very handsome as he was beautiful.

“I-I…” the confectioner didn’t know where to begin. “How— How are you here? How am I able to see you like this?”

A sad smile now came to Roman’s face. “I’m here to warn you,” was all he said.

“Warn me?” Patton echoed confusedly. “About what?”

Roman didn’t say anything. He kept his head down, gazing at his clutched hands that sat upon his lap. The confectioner noted how his nails were colored the same as his lips. His eyes held a bevy of emotions in them: bittersweetness and a little bit of mournfulness.

“Ms. Scarlet?”

“It’s Mr., actually. Oh, don’t look guilty, dearie, it happens.” Roman reassured as he saw Patton look bad for accidentally misgendering him. “I’m just,” he shook his head. “It’s not the most pleasant thing to look back upon.”

“You don’t have to—”

“No,” the former thespian said firmly, suddenly, causing Patton to look surprised. He corrected himself, using a much more calmer tone, “No. I need to warn you of the Cruel De Vil that lives in this house.”

Patton let out a noise and nodded. “Take your time, Mr. Scarlet.”

“Call me Roman, please,” Roman tells him with a faint tug of his lips. “And…I suppose I should start at the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start.”

Patton nods again, waiting patiently as the former thespian takes a deep breath.

“As I was growing up, I always wanted had a passion for singing and dancing,” he begins. “All types of music would play from either the record player or Mama’s radio.” A faint smile traced his ruby lips. “My parents always encouraged us to follow our dreams in the same way my grandparents did them when they first came to America so many years ago; and I’ve stuck by that ever since. I remember putting on little performances for my family after dinner or whenever we had guests come over; I remember how joyous I felt whenever I received applauds or cheers from my audience. That only fueled me to aspire acting unlike my brother, Remigio, or Remus as he likes to be called, who pursued literature…albeit of the more…horrific genre. Think Edgar Allan Poe or, even worse, H.P. Lovecraft.”

Patton shivered, an ugly feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Roman agreed with his sentiments.

“Don’t ask me why my brother would want to affiliate himself with a notorious racist,” he scoffed with a small eye roll. “Once he read The Call of Cthulhu, by the head of Nessie, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. All of his works had some form of cosmic entity, or encryptic language, or some reference to a cult that always gave me the heebie-jeebies.”

The confectioner grew a little bit sick.

“Now where were we?” Roman mumbled to himself as he lost his train of thought. “Ah, yes! My life story, not my brothers’. When I was in high school, I started joining drama clubs, classes, and performing at my local theater. My first ever performance was Teen Angel in Grease; it was a small role, but I immersed myself in it. So much so, that I started grabbing people’s attention from the get-go. I then stared in My Fair Lady, Annie Get Your Gun, and a couple small name plays.”

“However, my biggest chance came through when I got the parts for two big productions: Captain Von Trapp in The Sound of Music, and Romeo in Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet.” Patton could see Roman’s eyes light up as he talked. “It was these roles that could show people that I was serious about acting, that I wanted to be more than a celebrity in my community. And boy did I wow them! I made them laugh, I made them cry, I stunned them with my acting. Nobody could have that more so than me, and I did it.”

“That was when I was scouted by a talent agent in the audience. He told me with my voice and my talents, I would become star on the Great White Way.” Roman shook his head, almost like he still couldn’t believe it. “And I took the leap of faith, and thus, Ramon Alexandre de la Rosa became Roman Scarlet.”

“Why change your name?”

Roman shrugged. “I had to appeal to the Americans somehow. No one would remember someone with a Spanish name like mine. Besides, a lot of us celebrities changed our names in order to reach fame.”

Patton nods. It made sense. “So how did you end up performing at Storytime?”

“About a year or so after it opened. I wanted to go back to my roots of performing for small audiences. I was performing in Hamlet when I met Alejandro Reyes and Thomas Sanders. We had dinner that night and the rest, as they say, is history. I started performing there on the weekends when I didn’t have a show.”

“And that was how you met Virgil?” Patton dared to ask.

Roman grew silent. Then chuckled emptily. “Yes,” he said finally. “That, was how I met Virgil. Or rather, how Virgil met me.”

…

One of the first things Virgil saw upon entering Storytime were a bunch of excited people clambered near the stage and its runway, faces aglow by the spotlights as they yearned to see their Prince. As he moved towards the bar, he took a closer look at the steady stream of people; it was a remarkably varied group— a mix of skin colors, genders, ages, along with sexual and romantic orientations mixed together. The air was thick with excitement as they continued to fill the lounge like sheep or cattle.

He casually slid onto one of the barstools, back against the bar and elbows resting on the counter; he reclined languidly, crossing one leg over the other.

Virgil looked around and also noticed some performers in scantily-clad outfits, sequin sparkling as they swayed their hips, going up to the bar to order some liquid courage. The fingers of the musicians drummed against their instruments, creating a low, thumping bass noise as they tested them and got them ready for the show.

“Hello, there,” a kind voice spoke from behind him. “Can I interest you in a cocktail?”

Casually, almost nonchalantly, Virgil tilted his head back so he was staring at the bartender from upside down. They were looking down (up?) at him with kind eyes and a pleasant smile, in his hand was a cocktail shaker.

Virgil thought a moment then nodded. “One espresso martini, please.”

The bartender nodded as he prepared his drink. He mixed vodka, simple syrup, coffee liqueur, and freshly brewed espresso together in the shaker with ice. He strained it into a chilled cocktail glass, garnished it with espresso beans before sliding the glass to Virgil.

He took a long sip of his drink, the taste of vodka and coffee hitting his palette pleasantly. He looked at the bartender and nodded, signaling that he did a good job. The bartender smiled wider and then moved on to making cocktails for the other patrons that walked to the bar.

Sipping again, Virgil blanked out any of the noises surrounding him until he caught wind of two very familiar looking people near the far-right corner of the bar. One having dark brown hair with lavender dye, the other having burnt orange hair; the both of them were chatting about something, but what, he didn’t know.

Remy’s golden brown eyes met his for a split second. He whispered to Toby before pointing to Virgil. This caused him to force a smile and nod cordially, receiving a wink and a blow of a kiss back. If he were honest, he was glad they didn’t motion him to join their conversation, otherwise, he would’ve just hissed and made sarcastic jabs at them.

Then the lights flared dramatically; all who were still standing quickly made their way to any open seats available as a man appeared on stage.

“And now, ladies, gentlemen, and all of our beloved guests here at Storytime, please welcome the star of the hour— Ms. Roman Scarlet!”

The audience broke out into the loudest of applauses as the starlet’s name was announced, though they quickly quieted down as the lights dimmed and a singular spotlight shone against the thick velvet curtains.

“You had plenty money 1922,” the voice crooned as a long, smooth leg appeared onto the stage from the small parting left open. Then the curtains slowly drew back as the instruments picked up to her voice. “You let other women make a fool of you…”

Virgil sat up a little, looking slightly fascinated.

Red-painted lips twisted up into a sultry smile as they strutted over to the piano, leaning against it in a suggestive manner. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?”

She then sauntered across the stage to the cheers and hollers and whistles. Her red sequin dress had a long slit that left little room for imagination. “Get out of here and get me some money too?” Roman stops to raise their long leg up, running the skin of her foot along the jawline of a lucky patron. You could almost swear they were nuzzling it.

“So, this is the illustrious Scarlet Rose that charms people to their knees, hmm?” Virgil notes as he takes another sip of his martini glass. He says this as if he doesn’t know who Roman Scarlet is, but everyone in the city knows who they are.

“Yep.” A voice rung from beside him. He looked to see Toby and Remy eyeing him with teasing looks that really made Virgil want to hiss and growl at them. Toby smirked and took a swig of his whiskey.

“And ain’t we lucky people to watch this bombshell every weekend, sugar?” Remy lowers their sunglasses and winked at him before taking Toby by the arm and leading him to a more secluded part of the lounge.

When they left, Virgil turned back to the stage. The dress clung to her body like a second skin, showing off her toned and slim figure; muscles shifted visibly as she prowled, blowing kisses and winking at the captives surrounding her.

“You’re sitting there wondering what it’s all about. You ain’t got no money, they will put you out,” Roman’s fingers carded through her hair, tousling it in a flirtatious manner. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do? Get out of there and get me some money too?”

Roman then strides down the runway, one hand sliding down her belly and resting on her hip. “If you had prepared 20 years ago, you wouldn’t be a-wanderin’ out from door to door,” She reached down and ran her free hand down the side of a lucky patron’s face. They kept their eyes trained on her as their mouth hung agape. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?” she crooned as she slid her fingers away from their chin.

They nearly fainted.

She then hops onto one of the tables, heels clicking against the wood. Some of the patrons volunteered their hands for Roman to take as she steps off the table. “Get out of here and get me some money too?”

Virgil watches as she moved away from the stage and runway, the thickest part of the crowd and over to the bar. “I fell for your jivin’ and I took you in,” The bartender slid Roman a dry martini with a couple of olives. “Now all you got to offer me’s a drink of gin,” He watches with an impressed look as she slams the martini down the back of her throat, then popping both olives in her mouth.

The bartender takes the glass and Roman smiled sweetly at them, leaning in to kiss their cheek. “Why don’t you do right, like some other men do?” She looked over to her left and wiggled her fingers at Toby and Remy when she saw them. “Get out of here and get me some money too.”

Finally, her passionate eyes finally met the stormy eyes of Virgil Nyx.

A cheshire grin appeared on her face as trailed her hand across Virgil’s back, fingertips gently scratching at the back of his neck making him grown more and more intrigued. Then she was moving in front of him, both hands moving from Virgil’s back to his shoulders. She slid her hands underneath of his trench coat, touch blazing even through his thick turtleneck.

“Why don’t you do right,” she purred, now wrapped her arms around his neck as the audience whooped in delight. As she straddled him by a leg, Virgil felt the flames of her presence burning brighter. “Like some other men—”

Roman squeaked as Virgil instantly pulled her onto his lap, now sitting on him completely. She was warm and solid there as they were pressed chest-to-chest, stomach-to-stomach. The raptured audience’s breath hitched along with Roman as they all saw this sudden and dramatic interruption of the song, but none of them minded; in fact, they were equally drawn to the mysterious man boldly challenging their starlet.

Her heart hammered frantically against her chest as she felt skinny, calloused fingers tickle her back, seeing the smirk in his eyes as she squirmed on top of him. Whether she was squirming closer or further away from him, Virgil didn’t know, but he enjoyed watching such a composed performer crumble from his touch.

Virgil leaned closer until their noses nearly touched, breath brushing each other’s lips. Despite Roman knowing they were in a room with a mass crowd of people, all clinging onto to her every note, but in that moment, with the spotlight shining on both their faces, they were the only two people in the building.

“— D-Do~…” Roman finished the last note with a small stutter as she slid off Virgil’s lap, quickly trying to bring the sensual look on her fact to no avail.

The drums, followed by the bass, and finally the piano sounded the encore of the song as the Scarlet Rose strutted (more like scampered) back to the stage. The spotlight faded entirely, and the curtains swung closed, Roman’s last not echoing through the showroom.

There was an crescendo in applause as it died, not really wanting to break the enchantment, but wanting to scream their love at their diva. A few claps, followed by more, then it became a roar or feral howl that couldn’t be tamed by the band’s random playing during intermission.

As the spell broke over the audience, many of them went over to the bar to refill their drinks while others went and chattered to other patrons; and there were those that grabbed others to drag them to rooms outside of the lounge (probably to either smoke, make out, or have a quickie.)

It was during this time that Virgil turned in his seat and casually ordered another espresso martini. The bartender (who he learned was named Thomas) smiled and complimented at how he made Roman flustered like that; apparently it was a rare thing to do. Virgil hummed and sipped his martini, silently shooing Thomas away, who complied and filled even more drinks for patrons.

Perhaps five or more minutes later, the piano started up in a jazzy, ragtime tune. The crowed swarmed back to the stage, runway, and any empty seats as Roman sauntered back onto the stage with a less flustered face.

She got into position in front of the microphone, long fingers wrapping around it suggestively. Virgil turned back to the stage as Roman started singing another tune: “All that Jazz” from Chicago. Even he, who wasn’t all that much of a purveyor of the glitz and glamor of The Great White Way, could see the appeal— though this might’ve had more to do with the actual performer than the performances themselves.

Roman held the audience in the palm of her hand for another four more songs after that. She toyed with them playfully as she danced and swayed her hips in that very provocative dress and her high, alluring voice raising goosebumps on fevered skin.

Eventually, the final song, “Nowadays/Hot Honey Rag,” also from Chicago, came to a crashing halt and Roman stood on the stage, damp with sweat and grinning triumphantly. A model shotgun was in her hands and a red top hat was on her head.

“Thank you, ladies, lords and non-binary royalty!” She blew a kiss, gathering bouquets and individual roses in her arms. “Thank you for another wonderful night! I’ll see you again next weekend!”

The curtains fell to thunderous applause, yet Virgil cancelled it out. He stood up along with the audience as they gathered their belongings; then discreetly walked backstage as they now prowled the lounge. Dark grey eyes narrowed and scanned the halls at the other performers, backstage crew, costume designers, and makeup artists scuttling about. Finally he caught sight of a glittering gold star with the cursive ’Roman Scarlet’ underneath.

Making sure no one was looking, he opened the door with a single twist. Walking inside, he closed it with the faintest of clicks. His eyes grew intrigued and wicked as he glanced over the dressed-down starlet.

Roman’s sequin dress and boa were hanging on a mannequin in the far right corner of the room, which was decorated in red wallpaper with golden details. The furniture— a couch, fainting chair, and vanity seat— matched the seating in the lounge, also red velvet cushioning. Four lamps darned the walls to give it extra lighting even with the lights from the vanity table. Speaking of the vanity, makeup ranging from palettes, lipsticks, and polishes were scattered about its surface along with playbills and pearl jewelry. A giant bouquet of red and pink roses lay on the floor by the actor’s feet, next to her red heels.

The star herself was sitting in front of the mirror, wiping any remnants of sweaty makeup off her face and reapplying it. Her curly auburn hair glowed in the lighting, and her skin looked a little shining from being on stage. Covering her body (or barely) was a long, red chiffon robe with a silk ribbon tied loosely around her waist, attached to the sleeves and bottom were red feathers that looked identical to the white ones on her boa.

In the silence between them, Roman was quietly humming a tune: “What’s New, Buenos Aires” from Evita.

Virgil smirks faintly as he shuffled across the room. And as the final bars of the song were hummed, he finally addressed her, “Roman Scarlet. I’ve heard so much about you before I came here.”

A squeak, followed by the dropping of something. (A palette? A compact mirror? Virgil didn’t know and frankly didn’t care.) Roman turned around to see the amused man standing behind her. “Y-You?!” she cried out in surprise. “H-How did you get in here?!”

“Door’s unlocked,” Virgil motioned to it. “But that doesn’t matter. What matters is, I’m finally pleased to make the acquaintance of someone of your caliber.”

Roman blinked, a flattered blush dusting her cheeks. “I-I thank you, truly,” she tells him. “But I’m not that special, for I am only an actor. Nothing to shout about, only a person enjoying their passion.”

“But you’re more than that,” Virgil insists, sitting on the arm of the couch. “When you act, you take us away from the squalor of the real world.”

The surprised expression on Roman’s face quickly disappeared, eyes lighting up in an excited manner. “A man who also knows Andrew Lloyd Webber?! Are you trying to tempt my theatrical heart?”

“Depends,” Virgil shrugged, raising a cocky eyebrow. He moved closer to the actor, pulling out a dark red rose tied with a black ribbon out of his trench coat. “Is it working?”

Roman takes the rose, breath hitching as their fingertips brush each other. She observes the richly colored petals before smelling it. She’s been given all sorts of roses throughout the years, but never one like this. “I believe it might be.”

Virgil smirked. “Good.” He rested his right ankle over his knee. “I must say, you have quite the voice, Ms. Scarlet. Or is it Mr. now?”

“It’s Ms. Scarlet currently. And thank you again for your praises.” Roman says, her newly painted lips twist into a smirk of her own. Her eyes grow half-lidded, allowing Virgil to see her sparkling red eyeshadow. “So,” she coquettishly crossed her legs. “What brought you to Storytime, Mr…?”

“Nyx. Virgil Nyx.”

Roman hummed. The name sounded very enticing in her mind. “You seem to be of the dark and gloomy type who doesn’t enjoy the nightclub scene. Again, what brings you here to flirt with a someone like me, hmm?”

“Well, I just so happen to remember some old friends who come here regularly, Remy Moerani and Toby Hallows.” That wasn’t completely true, as Virgil had only met them once or twice while still working at the bookstore. He would barely call them acquaintances, let alone friends. “But I personally came to see the beautiful rose performing at this establishment.”

A bright blush came to Roman’s face. “O-Oh come now!” she squeaked, averting her eyes from Virgil. “Y-You’re just being charming!”

“I mean it.” Virgil moves so he was directly kneeling in front of the vanity seat. His fingers carded themselves in her curly auburn hair, causing her breath to hitch again. His hand moved to where it was now caressing Roman’s cheek.

His thumb lightly ran across her bottom lip, the smooth and glossy lipstick coating his calloused skin. They parted obligingly. Dark grey eyes met reddish-brown ones; ones were sharpened in concentration, while the others were widened in anticipation.

Then, in a blink of an eye, Virgil kissed her.

Roman melted into the kiss the second their lips met. Her long, delicate fingers entangled themselves around Virgil’s neck and in his hair. In turn, he could feel the other man’s trailing magically down her body, causing her to squirm and writhe deliciously in his arms.

It was like an explosion— unrestrained and all-consuming.

As quickly as it started the kiss broke, and when Roman was about to whine and complain, she felt lips marking her skin. Fang-like teeth grazing against her sharp jawline, rapidly-beating pulse point, all the way down her hourglass figure.

Biting her reddened (and newly smeared) lips, she looks down at Virgil with hazy eyes as he touches her in a way she’s never been touched before. His faded hair tickled her skin as his kisses got lower and lower; she whines at him tracing the hem of her red, lacy panties before resuming all the way down her thighs, legs, and to her feet. Her fingers gripping and loosening against the arms of her chair.

“Wh— What are you doing…?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Virgil looked up at her with seductive eyes as he kissed all the way back up her leg and thigh, nipping occasionally. Roman gasped sharply, wanting to throw her head back and let herself be immersed in this tantalizing pleasure, but she kept her gaze on him. “I’m tempting your theatrical heart,” he continued, smirking. “Or better yet,” He kissed the hem of her panties before tugging them in his teeth. “Your body.”

Roman whimpered and felt herself growing weaker. “V-Virgil~” She really wanted him, but she was worried since, well, they were in her dressing room and not her apartment in the upper part of town. “W-We’ll get caught—!”

“Well, if someone decides to listen in…just tell them we’re playing patty-cake.” He tells her sitting up, unbuttoning and unzipping on his uncontrollably-tight leather pants.

Roman gulped and nodded, sighing happily as she was pulled into another searing kiss. Lips messily attacking each other, and hands roaming and groping each other. The balls of her heels were pressing hard into the small of his back.

She could feel herself slowly growing weak, weak for Virgil Nyx, weak for what he was doing to her, weak for the fire growing ablaze in her belly. She was pressed closer and closer until Roman couldn’t think of anything but heat, skin, pressure, pleasure, Virgil.

Virgil, Virgil, Virgil.

Her hands flew to his turtleneck and trench coat, yanking and tearing them off his body. As she did this, Roman could feel him undoing the ribbon around her waist then swiftly taking off her panties.

The first moan ripped from her throat after a few agonizing minutes of kissing, touching, and prepping each other. Her nails begin clawing and scratching Virgil’s back as he rocked his hips in and out of her, panting and groaning lowly against her ear.

Any members of the show or crew that were backstage blushed and gossiped amongst themselves as they heard pleasured cries, deep grunts, and lewd praises/comments.

(When Roman came out of the dressing room and made her way to the lounge— fully dressed and with a bright blush on her cheeks— reactions to her varied. Most giggled while some dared not look at her in the eyes, others coughed awkwardly and some even wolf-whistled. Her friends were no different. Toby snorted into his whiskey glass, Remy cackled and slid her a screaming orgasm, Alejandro sighed and made his way to the stage, while Thomas shook his head and tended to other patrons.)

…

Patton blushed furiously as Roman giggled. He didn’t expect the ghost to give him such…details about his love life with Virgil, even if he glossed over some things (which he was grateful for). Then again, he suppose it came with the territory of being some so sensational like Roman, and mystifying like Virgil.

“Oh, I apologize, darling.” Roman said with an apologetic look. “I don’t mean to make you redder than Dorothy’s shoes, but it’s something I can’t help. Virgil was…well, quite the tempestuous lover,” A thrill went up his spine, a blush appearing on his own cheeks. “Just one little touch in the right place and he made me weak in my knees~” A blissful sigh.

“S-So uhm…” The confectioner said a little suddenly, growing redder. He didn’t know how to continue in the conversation in the first place! “H-How did you remain so close with Virgil?” he asked lamely. “D-Did he keep coming to Storytime or—?”

Roman snapped out of his lovestruck trance and moved over to the dresser. Patton didn’t know why, but he felt a sudden chill come through the room. He returned with a beautiful white picture frame with golden embossing on it, the stand out of it was the photograph of Roman and Virgil.

Baby blue eyes stared closely as he inspected the details. Auburn hair tickled a pale cheek as they curled into each other’s sides, arms linked with one another.

Virgil looking surprisingly handsome. His hair was actually kept out of his eyes and more violet than what it is now. A distant smile was on his face that was half-turned towards the camera. His attire was also fancier than his usual trench coat and turtleneck; he was wearing a wine colored button up, black suit pants, a lilac vest, and purple tie. He was also wearing dark eyeshadow and purple lipstick.

Roman also looked very beautiful, lovely even. He was wearing a white, lacy mermaid gown that fit snugly on his body. The detailing on it was also lined with gold, from the bodice, to the sleeves, and all the way to the skirt. His signature red makeup painted on his face. A thin, lacy veil was adorned on his hair attached to a sparkling little tiara. In his hands was a giant bouquet of red roses.

They were standing in front of Storytime, surrounding them were Thomas, Alejandro, Remy, and Toby. All of them had varying expressions on their faces, but they all had one thing in common: happiness.

Written on the bottom right corner of the photo, in bright red ink were the following words, a red heart encircled around them:

‘Virgil + Roman February 14th, 1975’

“He became my husband.” Roman says, confirming everything Thomas told him. “We were married on Valentine’s Day.” He looked at the photograph, his face softening as he recalled that day. “It was magical. The most happiest day of my life. Everything seemed so wonderful back then. Like nothing horrible was going to happen.” His expression then turned sad, almost bittersweet. “How foolish and naive I was.”

Patton look at him. “What do you mean?” he asked in confusion. “What happened?”

Silence.

Then something Patton wasn’t expecting at all.

“He murdered me.”

[yaneyanedaze]

My Android Lover.

Now before I say anything I’d like to thank @yanderebloodlust and @abbacchiosbelt for the courage that I have now to start my own writing blog!

This is reall important to me and I’m super happy that I finally have the courage to start it!

Well, let’s roll on with it!

———————————————————————

“Come on ( y/n)! You can’t just live alone with your dog for the rest of your life! I know you can rebound from this!”

I sighed, My friend was right, but apparently my pup, Iggy, didn’t take a liking to it. Ives was my best friend, and has been for several years. But now she was starting to worry about me. I tried to explain to her that I could handle myself, and that I didn’t need her to be a mom figure but she ignored it all and did so anyways.

My name is (y/n) (l/n), and I had recently gone through a terrible breakup, one that left me broken and triggered my Depression. Ives has been trying to help me through it all, and apparently she had a plan today. She had decided that I need a companion, but she said and I quote. “Humans are trash we need something better!” Then she went rambling on about something called an Android, A humanoid companion made and programmed just for you. She told me how she had order a Pillardroid and that he was a sweetheart, cried unexpected but was still great. She gave him the nick name Eisidisi.

“Alright, Look! You’re gonna love this!” She exclaimed plopping down beside me and opened up her laptop showing me a website, a questionable website.

“We’re gonna get you an Android, Just like me!!”

I stared at her dumbfounded, Multiple Androids we’re on the screen, Several, or matter of fact, all we’re out of my price range.

“I’m gonna get you this one to start you off!” “To start off!?”

“Yep you’re gonna be getting more than one! But let’s just settle for this one right now!” After a few clicks and typing in my information, The Android finally appeared on my screen, and an automated voice rang out.

“DOPPIO VINEGAR- THE SWEET HEART ANDROID”

“Do you want to order him?” Before I could even get an Answer out, Ives clicked yes, which sent us to a thank you screen.

-THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING AT JOJOS BIZARRE ANDROIDS WE HOPE YOU ENJOY! YOUR ANDROID WILL BE DELIVERED TOMORROW MORNING MS. (Y/n)

I sighed as Ives hugged me tightly, squealing with joy. “I’m so happy for you (n/n)!! You’re not gonna be alone anymore! Well besides me and the pup.” I rolled my eyes but smiled anyways, forever grateful for what she did.

“Now out my house, it’s late!”

“Okay~! See ya tomorrow then!~”

———————The Next Morning———————

A loud knock at the front door awoke me from my sleep, I groaned and sat up in bed before slinging myself over the edge and getting up to see what it was. I guess I might’ve taken too long, and it must’ve have been the mail man, because he just gave up and asked Maintenance to open up my door, and place the package inside my apartment. I walked around the box for a bit before seeing a letter on one side.

-Thank you for ordering from us Ms. (y/n)!

Here is a list of instructions to activate and care for your new Android!Doppio comes with these things:

3 changeable outfits, (day, fancy, and lounge clothes. You can buy more for him)

Hair brushes and other cosmetics

A cell phone

A list of things he likes and dislikes (please pay attention to these!)

A promise ring (we do not know what this is for)

A list of recipes he loves to make.

Activating your Doppio should be the easiest thing in the world, there are three ways to awaken he sweet boy. 1. Just simply call his name, he’ll answer, be sweet and kind about it. 2. Say “Doppio the boss is calling you!” He’ll quickly leap out the box and reach for the nearest item that he can use as a phone 3. And finally, offer him a hug, for some reasons, our company made our Doppiodroids very touch starved for an unknown reason. So just ask “Doppio, would you like a hug?” He’ll come out slowly and shyly and give you a great big hug. (The best way to awaken him so he can be in a cheery mood)

-WARNING DO NOT MAKE YOUR DOPPIODROID JEALOUS.-

We are not responsible for any damages that may be caused by him if he gets that way, if he gets super jealous then you should quickly return him for repairs because-

The page cut off at the end, I decided to shrug it off and go ahead and awaken him.

I stood a good distance from the crate, as to not get hit was my goal, before calmly saying. “Doppio, Dear, would you like a hug?” I said loudly. A few seconds went by then a whole minute, I sighed to myself and shook my head thinking. ‘this is so stupid..why did I even let Ives order me this thing..’ I mumbled turning around to head to my kitchen. Before I could even get to the kitchen, I was tackled but what I would assume was ‘Doppio’.

“Yay! I’m so glad you awakened me! I was waiting for you open the crate, it was so stuffy in there.”

I managed to turn myself around and get a better look at the male, he had pale skin with freckles layering his body, bright bubble gum pink hair and dazzling yellow eyes, he wore a simple pair of blue pants and a pink sweater with his chest showing. I blushed before slowly sitting up and getting him to sit down in-front of me. I was intrigued, he looked like a normal man, minus the few metallic areas, (many metallic areas).

“What’s your name Master?” He asked. He spoke like a normal human being too, I got shy and turned away slightly “My names, (Y/n) (l/n), also you don’t have to call me master, just call me (n/n)!” I said. He stared at me blankly for a second before a large smile appeared on his face.

“Okay (n/n)!! It sounds really cute!”

God he’s too cute for his own good, I eventually got off the floor and looked at the papers that came with him, just legal documents saying that he was under my wing and my responsibility. I quickly signed most of those except for one.

It caught my eye.

Doppiodroids tend to have fits, in which they become a totally different person, we are not responsible for any injuries or deaths surrounding it.

I froze for a second before setting that one aside for now, standing up and going to where I had left Doppio, in the den, in-front of the tv. He turned to me and gave me an innocent looking smile, I returned the smile, even though I had a creepy feeling about it. I brushed it off, but there was still a eerie feeling brewing in the back of my head. I tried to shake it off but this feeling wouldn’t go away.

(Random POV change I’m sorry! -w-)

Little did (y/n) know, when her beloved new Android turned around, it was to make sure she wasn’t paying attention. He was on the phone, telling his “boss” about their new master.

“Ah! You’re going to love her Boss! I’ll make sure she knows about you soon..that way she can always be ours..ours forever..” ———————————————————————

Thank you for reading! And here’s a little question for you guys~!

What Jojo character would you’d like an Android of?~

Mine is either Jotaro, Esidisi, or Johnny.

[sleazymadison]

‪A $5 all-you-can-drink deal (NO LIMIT!) *and* an amateur nude dancing contest?? Sundays and Mondays must’ve been wild at Ms Brews Lounge (1210 Williamson). Published June 27, 1976.‬

[endoftheroad1983]

Wish you were Here

Wish you were here

Steve Rogers x Reader

Part two

You woke up to the hot sun in your face. Did you really sleep until the next evening? You open your eyes toward your night stand clock. It was reading that it was a little after four in the afternoon. Yep you did, you moaned as your climbed out of bed.

“Good Afternoon Y/N.” F.R.I.D.A.Y greeted you as you slip over to your vanity table. The night before event was still fresh in your mind.

Peggy Carter was back. Steve was over the moon about this friends being back. So over that he didn't he recognise what he had done. You still could replay the confusion in his eyes as he tried to apologies. Which makes your chest ache even more. And the worst part of it is that you cannot  be mad at her or him.

Steve and Bucky had spoken several times of how Steve and Peggy had unfinished business in the emotion department. But why did it have to happen the night he finally ask you out? What did you do to cause this much heartache for yourself? You huff out a sigh of sadness as you began brushes the nest you called morning hair.

“Ms. Y/L/N? I am to alert you that Captain Rogers is requesting a meeting with you when you are available.” F.R.I.D.A.Y announce a little over fifteen minutes after you got up.

You kept the screaming in your throat. Why now did he want to chat? You gave F.R.I.D.A.Y. A low mutter as you focus yourself into the shower. Your emotions had wipe you of having any energy.

Another half hour and you were dress and ready to pick a meeting please with Steve when knocking erupted on your door. With how the knocking boom into your room you knew it was a certain super soldier.

You open the door only to be greeted with the most beautiful F/C, F/F bouquet in front of you. You gasp at the sight in front of you. You weren't expecting any of this.

“I'm so sorry Doll.” Steve's face finally emerge from behind the flowers, “I didn't mean to stand you up for our dinner date. As you had seen, we had a hiccup that happen last night. Please forgive me. I swear I will make it up to you.”

You heart melted at all the three things in front of you. The flowers, Steve's Apology, and the look on his face. You knew you couldn't stay mad at him for very long with that destroy face. Just the fact that he still called dinner a date was melting the ice that capture your heart.

“Please forgive me?”

His question brought you back to reality as you had never made a sound since opening the door. Hope was dancing in his eyes and it's dance partner was worry.

“I forgive you.” You breathe out with a smile as you took the flowers from him. You step away from the door to let him in. You found yourself on a quest to fine something to put the flowers in. You had never really gotten flowers before. The last was when you were in the hospital for a broken hip. Fun times there.

In the end you cut a soda pop bottle in half, rinse it out and added fresh water to the make shift vase. Steve watch with a loving smile at your actions.

“I'm sorry I don't had anything really to put them in.”

“Well then maybe we can escape for a few hours to go find something that fits you and the flowers.” His words made you blush. His eyes made you forget what was going on around you in the first place.

“Tell me the time and place.” You tease back just like yesterday.

Everything seem to be back to the way it is. Steve worry had fully melted away at your words.

“Maybe this evening? If you don't have any plans that is?” Steve duck his head down and avoided your eyes. He was still a very shy guy. You giggle at his actions.

“I'm never too busy for you.”

Your words made his eyes snap up to you. His smile was even bigger now, if that was possible.  He bid you a quick good-bye with a kiss on the cheek. You thank him for the flowers as he disappear down the hall. The Butterflies in your stomach were dancing around in a wild after party from what just happen. Your heart speed up as your morning attitude had suddenly bloom into this now happy, giddy one.

You were quick out the door to find food and then to train. Since it was too late in the evening to get any real work done you opt to a movie after until Steve beckon you. You pick up your phone and order food to pick up at the base's kitchen. They were more then happy to cook up an order on their off hour for you. You refresh yourself in a better outfit then left to collect your meal.

It was around 7:30 when you got a text from Steve to meet him downstairs in the lobby. You quickly bounce up but made sure to slow down your pace as you made it into the hallway. You greet other co-workers with a polite smile. You kept your beaming sunshine of happiness on the inside. The main lobby was still litter with workers that where either coming in or leaving for the night. Which made the lobby a bit louder then usual.

You turn the corner just in time to hear a piecing female laughter. You didn't have to look to know who it was from. You brace yourself for the sight in front of you. Your heart was already bailing on the trip. And as your eyes took in the scene, there she was back in Steve's arms. You swallow the knot in your throat that had just appeared out of nowhere.

Not again, your brain moaned at the sight but before you were quick to judge you notice that the Howling Commandos were standing around Steve as well. This made your heart leap with a little bit of faith.

“Ah, Y/N! Over here!” Steve had spotted you by now. There was no chance of escape now. You force a smile on your face as you slowly approach them. Steve was quick to drop Peggy from his grasp. He wrapped you into the biggest bear hug you had ever gotten from him.

Steve pulled you closer to him once the hug was down. Heat filled your face as you pray that your face wasn't turning red.

“Y/N, these are my friends.” He was so proud to introduce them. They were all gentleman and greeted you with simple hellos.

“Steve talks about you all the time.”

“All good, I hope.” Gabe Jones said as he rise an eyebrow to Steve. The group of men fell into a laughing fit after the personal joke. Their laughter brought you out of your funk. That was until they bid you farewell.

Where everyone head back to the Personal Lounge except for Peggy. Steve was by the elevators as he walked his friends back. Now your mind was wondering where this was going to go. You could feel Peggy's eyes on you as yours stay train to the floor. Steve jogged back over with a chuckle.

“Alright, Now let's get my girls something to eat!” He clapped his hands before slipping Peggy into one side. You froze when he went to do the same. His girls? The words were invading your mind like an enemy spy. A half a second later your brain caught up with the word eat.

“Eat?” You were now confused he said you were going to look for  a vase.

“Yea, I promise you dinner last night. It will be a great way for us to all catch up.” His eyes never shone that blue to you like they were right now.

So you did what you could only do and call for help.

“Y/N What's wrong?” Steve asked when he notice that your face had fallen just a bit. Was Steve joking? How could he asked that.

“Nothing, I didn't know about food.” The words came out of your mouth but for God sakes you didn't know who spoke those. You wanted to say that something came up and bail out but you knew Steve. He wouldn't let you get off that easy not in front of Peggy at least.

“Oh sorry, Peggy's hungry and thought it would be fun to get out for a bit.” His words were stabbing in your heart. What about the vase? Your brain just had to thrown in there.

That's when you click over to work mode. You morph the confusion off your face with your work smile.

“Sounds great! Then we can look for that vase.” You knew it was wrong to bait him like this. Especially when Peggy was standing right there. But the “His girls.” burn in your mind. You were not the sharing type. It was his turn to have confusion in his eyes. By damn he did it again.

“Yea, sure Doll, whatever you want.” He look back at Peggy. Which was a good thing because your face fell hard. And if he would of saw that it would have lead into a nasty fight that was brewing in you. You quietly follow them to the main doors when someone called to you.

“Please, Wait up! Y/N!” You spun around to be greeted by Pietro. He was sporting a blue T-shirt with loose fitting jeans. You smile at him but was bursting with happiness that Wanda had pulled through.

“Hey Pet, what's up.”

Pietro brush a hand threw his silvery blonde hair while conjuring a very charming smile. How did you miss how handsome Pietro was? Too blinded for Steve maybe? You shake the though out your head.

“I messed up my lap top and I was wondering if you could look at it.” Now you know that this was a set up from Wanda.

“Sorry Maximoff, She leaving for dinner.” To your surprise it was Steve that cut into the conversation. But Pietro was one of rare people that wasn't intimated by Steve authority actions.

“Oh really? I'm sorry but I have some important documents on that computer and I was hoping Y/N could fix it so it doesn't leak into the internet.” You were impress by the cool and pressing demander he was putting up.

“Is it that bad? I told you to have a better fire wall before playing those online games.” You play scolded him.

“I'm sorry but I've been trying to bet your score.” He let his face dropped to the ground. You bark out a laugh.

“Well now I'm not going to fix it...”

“Y/N?” It was Steve's voice that brought you back to why you needed the distraction. You look over to him. His face had a dark emotion on them. It was one that you couldn’t read. But with his lips press tightly together, you knew that he was upset. But that didn't stop you.

“Sorry Steve, can I get a rain check? Fury won't be happy if anything gets leaked.” You patted his on the shoulder before joining Pietro side, “I guess this gives you two more time together. Isn't that important here?” And with that you disappear into the elevator with Pietro trailing behind.

“His girls! GIRLS!” you screamed into one of Wanda's pillow. Pietro was giving instructions to bring you straight to her room after retrieving you.

“I don't know what to say. It's been a long time since they have seen each other...” Wanda began. You could tell that she was trying to defend Steve. But that wasn't the case here.

“I understand that. And I get that it wasn't fair that Steve asked me out on the night she came back But could he do me a favor? Could he just leave me out of it? No! He didn't. He had the audacity to ask me out again! Only this time instead of just forgetting, he just wants to cater to her.”

Wanda rubbed your back as you let out a lot of your frustration. She let you get out all of you before getting up for a glass of water for you. She brushes your hair out of your face. Wanda was the best little sister that you never had until now.

“Thanks. It's just to much emotion to deal with. Maybe I should visit the Professor for a week or something.”

“Yea, that might help but if I can be honest with you?” You look up to her round orbs and nodded. “I don't know Steve's true feelings but I know that my brother has been fawning over you for the last months.” “He has?” You thought back on it. You had been spending more time with him. He just happen to be where you were at the time. And now he was spending more time on a computer game you introduce to him.

Was it ever Steve that you were pinning for?

[abductionradiation]

Austin, TX -- Why Bonnie will be releasing their new EP Voice Box on April 10 via Fat Possum. This week, they shared the title track from the album and it is nearly five full minutes of dream pop bliss. From the glittery guitars to the warm tones, “Voice Box” has a warmth to it that reminds me heavily of Long Beard’s newest album. There’s certainly a reflective quality to this track as the lyrics explore “the societal pressure to silence yourself, and the frustration and self doubt that comes with battling sexism”. You can feel the quiet storm of emotions brewing beneath it all.

Tour Dates Wed. March 18 - Austin, TX @ Beerland (High Road Touring Showcase) Sat. March 21 - Austin, TX @ Hotel Vegas (Burgermania) Mon. March 23 - Phoenix, AZ @ Rebel Lounge * Wed. March 25 - Los Angeles, CA @ The Echo * Thu. March 26 - San Francisco, CA @ Bottom of the Hill * Sat. March 28 - Seattle, WA @ Barboza * Sun. March 29 - Portland, OR @ Doug Fir Lounge * Tue. March 31 - Salt Lake City, UT @ Kilby Court * Thu. April 2 - Denver, CO @ Larimer Lounge * Fri. April 3 - Omaha, NE @ (drips) Sat. April 4 - Iowa City, IA @ Mission Creek Festival Mon. April 6 - Minneapolis, MN @ 7th Street Entry * Tue. April 7 - Chicago, IL @ Schubas * Wed. April 8 - Cleveland, OH @ Mahall’s * Fri. April 10 - Brooklyn, NY @ Elsewhere Mon. April 13 - Asheville, NC @ The Mothlight Tue. April 14 - Oxford, MS @ Proud Larry’s Thu. April 16 - Houston, TX @ White Oak Music Hall (Upstairs) Fri. April 17 - Austin, TX @ Mohawk Indoors Sat. April 18 - Dallas, TX @ Ruins Tue. April 21 - Bloomington, IN @ The Bishop Bar Wed. April 22 - Cincinnati, OH @ MOTR Pub Thu. April 23 - Detroit, MI @ Sanctuary # Fri. April 24 - Toronto, CA @ Baby G # Sat. April 25 - Montreal, QC @ Brasserie # Mon. April 27 - Allston, ,MA @ O’Brien’s Pub Tue. April 28 - Philadelphia, PA @ Boot & Saddle # Wed. April 29 - Washington, DC @ Pie Shop  # Thu. April 30 - Richmond, VA @ Richmond Music Hall # Fri. May 1 - Carrboro, NC @ Cat’s Cradle (Back Room) # Sat. May 2 - Atlanta, GA @ Drunken Unicorn # Sun. May 3 - Nashville, TN @ DKRMTTR # * = w/ Squirrel Flower #  -w/  Kevin Krauter

Connect with Why Bonnie:

Facebook | Twitter | Instagram

[redgillan]

Missed Chances - part 3

Steve Rogers x Reader [// Bucky Barnes x Reader for now]

Summary: 13 Going on 30!AU - Steve Rogers is crazy about you, but he’s afraid his feelings are only one sided and being one of your best friends, he doesn’t want to ruin your friendship… On his 13th birthday, he makes a wish and wakes up in the body of his 30 year old self. The problem is, you’re no longer a part of his life.

Word Count: 2,725

Warnings: None I think?

A/N: Okay, here we go! I’ll reblog with the tags when I’m home. This chapter is mostly from Reader’s point of view. I hope you like this part :’)

Missed Chances - Masterpage

Bucky woke up to the smell of freshly brewed coffee, a smile on his lips and his eyes still closed. He listened to you move around the room while you were getting ready for work.

Your studio apartment was small and not ideally situated, but it was home. You had turned the open kitchen into an eat-in kitchen thanks to a simple breakfast bar. To save space, you had bought a Murphy bed and used the decorative fireplace as a mini library.

Bucky let out a content sigh and stretched out starfish style. He grinned lazily at you, the sheet tangled around his waist.  

You rounded the counter and crossed the living room. He greeted you with a soft ‘hey you’ and watched you take a seat on the edge of the bed, your hands wrapped around a cup of coffee.

“I hope this wasn’t the last K-cup,” he slurred, then groaned when you made an apologetic grimace. “I need coffee.”

You rolled your eyes while brushing his hair back from his forehead. He pouted for a second before he pushed himself into a sitting position and kissed you. He tried to pull you down onto the mattress with him, but you were already late for work.

“I gotta go,” you mumbled against his lips. He made a sound of protest. “Seriously, if I’m late again, Natasha’s gonna fire me.”

You had barely had enough time to place the mug of coffee down on the floor before Bucky wrapped his arms around you and flipped you both over until he was on top. You let out a giggling shriek and tried to push him off.

He kissed you again, slowly, tenderly. You really wanted to call in sick and stay in bed with him, but that was a luxury you couldn’t afford. Bucky pulled back enough to playfully rub his nose against yours.

“You know,” you spoke, “it’s amazing how you just don’t care about morning breath when you’ve been with someone for ages.”

He dropped his head and sighed, a hint of a smile curling his lips. “We were having a moment.”

“I know, sorry, I really have to go.”

You gave him a quick kiss and climbed over him to get out of bed. You put your coat and your shoes on and turned to him.

“Tell you what, you can keep the last cup of coffee. I’ll grab something on the way to the office.”

“Yesss!” he beamed, pumping his fist in the air in a victory gesture.

You grabbed your bags and keys from the counter and blew him a kiss before you left.

It took you over half an hour to reach Hearst Tower, which housed some of the world’s most famous magazine publishing companies. After receiving your master’s degree in journalism, you had applied to work as an editorial assistant for a fairly new magazine called Honeysuckle.

The competition was tough and your numbers were not good. Your editor-in-chief even used the word redesign, which, in this industry, was a death sentence.

This meant that you had to work longer hours to get the results the company needed. You didn’t mind since Bucky never came home until well after eleven.

Meeting deadlines was always challenging and you thrived on that adrenaline rush like a junkie.

You barged into the tower and passed through security before you took the elevator up to the offices.  As you exited the elevator, the usual office noises greeted you and you tried to make yourself as small as possible while you walked to your desk.

The cubicles stretched all the way down the open-plan office with no pillars or walls to isolate you. There were offices on each side of the room; one for the editor-in-chief, an art room, a fashion closet and a few others for the senior editors.

You had just draped your coat over your chair when someone sneaked up behind you and whispered in your ear.

“Romanoff’s looking for you,” your cubicle mate said, startling you in the process.

“Jesus, Scott, you’re gonna give me a heart attack!” you replied, placing a hand over your racing heart.

You leaned back in your chair and watched him take a few folders from his desk before he walked away. He turned and walked backward for a moment, meeting your eyes when he said, “FYI she looked pissed.”

“Yeah, what else is new?” you mumbled to yourself.

At this moment, the features editor, Natasha Romanoff, exited her office and looked over the sea of cubicles until she saw you. Her high heels made no sound on the carpeted floor as she approached your desk. Without slowing down, she asked you to follow her.

“Ms Romanoff, I-”

“You’re not in trouble,” she cut you off, casting you a sideways glance. “Nick wants to see you.”

You managed a weak smile and tried to look nonchalant. An impromptu meeting with the editor-in-chief wasn’t a great way to start your day.

Natasha opened the door and motioned you inside. Nick Fury was enjoying the view of the New York City skyline while lounging in his leather desk chair. He swivelled his chair in your direction and greeted you by name.

He waved you to a chair in front of his desk while Natasha stood next to his desk, looking as stoic as ever.

“Do you remember last week’s meeting,” he said, resting his forearms on his desk.

Of course you remembered that meeting. He basically spent two hours telling everyone that unless someone came up with a brilliant idea to bring up the numbers, you’d all lose your jobs.

He gave you a small smile when you replied in the affirmative.

“Here at Honeysuckle, we want our reader to feel like they matter. We want them to close the magazine with a smile on their faces, we want them to feel good about themselves.”

He took a moment before continuing, his expression thoughtful.  “I’ve read your proposition and you’re right, this magazine has lost its true identity.”

Before you worked for them, Honeysuckle was one of your favourite magazines. You didn’t particularly enjoy reading fashion magazines because they all had the same articles: a new diet each month and strange relationship advice.

But Honeysuckle was different. They were more inclusive than any other magazines, choosing models for their talent rather than their gender, age, body type, skin colour or religious preference.

Somehow, it changed over time. They continued to promote diversity, but their models became more sombre and less joyful. The colour scheme changed, too; it went from soft greens, whites and yellows to bold colours.

You knew they were selling you a fantasy, but it wasn’t important as long as they encouraged women to focus on their inner beauty. You had cancelled your subscription after the senior editors gave you your first diet story.

“Now,” Nick said with a hopeful smile, “it’s time for Honeysuckle to change. I want us to get back to the roots of our business. Will you help me?”

You sat up straight. “Of course, sir!”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said with a nod. “I want to hear your ideas.”

Emboldened by his response, you sat on the edge of your seat. You were also relieved that he wasn’t going to fire you for being late.

“I think we should put life back into the magazine!” you exclaimed, gripping the edge of the desk. “We should talk about real women. Women who are smart and pretty and happy to be who they are.”

Nick studied you while he rested his chin on his fist. “You’re saying we should focus on the so-called ‘normal’ women, uh.”

“It’s not an insult,” you quickly replied. “Women are complex and beautiful; we all have different passions, different interests, but a lot of us have a job, we go on dates, we hang out with friends, and all that. We should talk about these women. We should talk about us.”

“I agree,” Nick replied after throwing a quick glance at Natasha. “I have a question for you. Are you a normal woman?”

You shrugged. “Yes, I think I am.”

Nick leaned forward on the desk and laced his fingers in front of him. “So if we wanted to talk about you,” he paused, “you wouldn’t have a problem with that, would you?”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that. Did he just say he wanted to write an article about you?

“I’m not sure I understand, sir.”

He stared at you with a strange expression before he reached sideways and opened a drawer of his desk. His hand fumbled for something in it, then he slammed it on the table.

It was a gossip magazine with Steve Rogers on the cover. You were standing in front of him, and even though Bucky wasn’t on the photo, you could see his arm around your waist. Paparazzi must have followed Steve when he ran into you and Bucky in front of the restaurant.

“Oh, god,” you whispered as you picked up the magazine.

“You never mentioned you were friends with Rogers,” Natasha said, her arms crossed over her chest. “He isn’t a random celebrity. He’s one of the most influential people in the world and he happens to be a fashion designer.”

“I don’t really know him,” you sighed, throwing the magazine back on the table. “We used to be friends when we were kids, but we grew apart. I ran into him the other night when I was out with my fiancé.”

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” Nick said, straightening his posture. “Rogers is the kind of celebrity we need to bring up our numbers.”

“We also need an emotional story to attract more readers,” Natasha chimed in.

You sank into your seat, suddenly nervous. She sat cross-legged on Nick’s desk, ready to present her new idea.

“We want you to share your wedding journey with our readers.”

You looked at her with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, what?”

Unfazed, Natasha continued, “Wedding TV shows are extremely popular, it sells. This might be the boost we need. Our readers will follow you through every step of the way. Including, and that will be the climax of the series, how your former childhood friend created your own wedding dress.”

You held back a laugh. ��Steve Rogers will never agree to do that.”

“He will,” Natasha replied in a tone that made it sound like she had already thought this through. “The dress’ a way for us to get noticed, to join the big league. Imagine this: superstar Steve Rogers designs a glamorous wedding dress for his long-lost friend. And this long-lost friend is you, a normal girl.”

They gave you a minute to let that sink in, but it wasn’t enough. You had no idea what to say. It was insane. Organising a wedding was complicated enough and you didn’t want to share everything with potentially millions of people.

Sensing your hesitancy, Nick tried to soften the blow. “If you accept, we’ll help you financially with your wedding. In addition, if our numbers improve, I’ll promote Natasha to associate editor. This means, you’ll be our new features editor.”

“And if I refuse?”

Nick let out a small sigh. “You’re allowed to say no, and if you do, we won’t hold it against you. But quite frankly, this is the deal of a lifetime. People would kill for that.”

He was right, but it didn’t change the fact that you had to talk to Bucky. It wasn’t just your wedding, it was his, too.

You were also iffy about working with Steve, should he accept their offer. Seeing him again after all this time brought back bittersweet memories.

The last time you had seen him before that, Steve had kissed you passionately one night and disappeared the next day.

“It’s a generous offer,” you agreed, choosing your words carefully. “I think I should talk to my fiancé first.”

“Absolutely!” Nick beamed, shooting Natasha a wide smile. “You and your guy should do some thinking over the weekend.”

You were visibly shaken when you returned to your desk after that bizarre meeting with your boss. You sat there for a moment just staring into space.

“So?” Scott rolled his chair closer to you. “Did you get fired?”

You shook your head. “They want to pay for my wedding and give me a promotion.”

Scott stared at you, his eyes blinking in shock. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then thought better of it and rolled back to his desk. For the first time since you’d started working with him, Scott Lang was speechless...

*

Steve called in sick for the second time that week. To his relief, Brock texted back that he’d take care of everything.

He opened every cupboard, every cabinet door searching for something other than fruits and vegetables.

After a few minutes, he found a cupboard full of sugary snacks; including boxes of Lucky Charms and Cap'n Crunch, Hersey bars and cookies, Twizzlers, Starburst Jelly Beans and a huge box of Cracker Jacks.

He carried everything into the living room and settled down on the white sofa, ready to drown his sorrows in sweets.

Steve was famous, rich, talented, loved by everyone and he lived in an incredible apartment, but there was something missing. He was a womanizer, an addict, a liar. He lived a frivolous, pointless life and he wanted to know how he ended up so messed up.

He called at home to talk to his mom, but the number had been disconnected. He figured that she’d changed her number in the last seventeen years.

He couldn’t even talk to you or Bucky because he didn’t have your numbers and because you were no longer friends. It hurt to know that he had cut all ties with his best friends –or maybe his friends cut ties with him... he honestly had no idea.

The people he loved the most were gone and Steve might have looked like an adult, but he was just a kid.

“Ma’am,” he asked the A.I. “Is SpongeBob still a thing?”

It was an odd request and it took F.R.I.D.A.Y. a few seconds to react. He only watched the sports channels, but nonetheless the A.I. turned on the television and Steve relaxed into the cushions when the familiar pirate appeared.

“Steve,” F.R.I.D.A.Y interrupted him after an hour. “Ms Carter is in the lobby.”

Steve let out a grunt. “I don’t know her. Tell her to leave, I want to be alone.”

“She’s already in the elevator.”

Annoyed, he left the blanket on the sofa and padded to the front door. He didn’t want to see anyone, he wanted to be left alone with his junk food and forget everything.

When he swung the door open, he found a woman in a dark blue suit standing there. She was tall, had dark curly hair and wide, expressive eyes.

She glanced at him, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow when she saw his dirty pyjamas, and Steve shuffled his feet as he began to feel self-conscious. She was sophisticated and he clearly wasn’t.

“Goodness, Steve, it’s past two, what are you doing in your pyjamas?” she asked, but before he could say anything she raised her hand to stop him. “You know what, I don’t want to know. I’m late, you were supposed to pick her up this morning.”

Upon seeing the confused look on his face, she began to tap her foot impatiently.

“You fought me for joint custody, now you stick to our schedule,” she continued. “I'm not at your beck and call.”

The sound of someone repeatedly hitting the elevator button caught her attention. She turned around and asked the little girl standing by the elevator to stop fiddling with the button.

Panic rose in Steve’s chest. He steadied himself against the door frame as he locked eyes with a little girl with messy dark blonde curls. Her face lit up when she saw him, a toothy grin spread across her face.

She was halfway across the corridor, tottering towards him on unsteady legs, her arms outstretched. She crashed into his legs and wrapped her small arms around him before she glanced up at him, her big hazel eyes beaming.

“Dada!”

Part 4

Forever tags:

@reginaphlanageadams @imboredsueme @coley0823 @nobody-worth-mentioning @milkywaybarnes @honey-bee-holly @ballerinafairyprincess @waywardpumpkin @jordanlahey @valhalla-ally @fabicchi @vashanatasha @berjhawn @kjs-s @breezy1415 @theblueinyour-eyes @i-ship-it-ironically @vvienersoldier  @odinhson @abovethesmokestacks @chewie-danvers @aslavicshadcw @catlingcatsthatcantcat @lostinspace33 @maefisher2003 @pineapplebooboo @thisismysecrethappyplace @racheltheclumsy@marvelellie @queenoftrash97 @wantyoubackpeter @moonstar86 @fairytalepincess8314 @freightcarcap @buckyswinterchildren @ldyhawkeye

Steve tags:

@lostinthoughtsandfeelings  @teamcap4bucky

[nuclearblastuk]

ENFORCER | Band release official video for 'Sail On' ahead of their colossal US tour

Swedish metallers ENFORCER released their fifth studio album Zenith on April 26, 2019 through Nuclear Blast. After playing a string of European clubs shows and festivals, the quartet have just finished a 4-date Mexican tour with US-based thrash metal outfit WARBRINGER. But that's just the beginning as both bands are kicking off a 54-date North American tour at Brick By Brick in San Diego, CA today. Following this run, ENFORCER will return to European shores in November/December as part of the recently announced Winter Tour 2019 alongside label mates MUNICIPAL WASTE. The tour package is completed by TOXIC HOLOCAST and SKELETAL REMAINS. This is a tour not to be missed! All dates can be found below.

In anticipation and celebration of the aforementioned live activities, ENFORCER have released a music video for the track 'Sail On', which was directed, filmed and edited by Christoffer Sandler. Watch now: youtu.be/EEH-ZT1h8GA Guitarist/vocalist Olof Wikstrand states, "Super excited to release this fourth music video off of »Zenith.« Takes you back to the recording sessions of the album. Also we are super excited to kick off the North American tour this week. See you out there!" North American Tour 2019 ENFORCER + WARBRINGER 05.09. USA San Diego, CA - Brick By Brick 06.09. USA West Hollywood, CA - Whisky a Go-Go 07.09. USA Santa Ana, CA - Malone's 08.09. USA Fresno, CA - Strummer's 09.09. USA San Francisco, CA - Thee Parkside 10.09. USA Sacramento, CA - Holy Diver 11.09. USA Portland, OR - Hawthorne Theatre 12.09. USA Seattle, WA - El Corazon 13.09. CDN Vancouver, BC - Rickshaw Theatre 14.09. CDN Edmonton, AB - The Starlite Room 15.09. CDN Calgary, AB - Dickens 16.09. CDN Regina, SK - The Exchange 17.09. CDN Winnipeg, MB - The Park Theatre 18.09. USA Minneapolis, MN - Lee's Liquor Lounge 19.09. USA Omaha, NE - Lookout Lounge 20.09. USA Des Moines, IA - Vaudeville Mews 21.09. USA Racine, WI - Route 20 22.09. USA Joliet, IL - The Forge 23.09. USA Westland, MI - The Token Lounge 24.09. USA Buffalo, NY - Mohawk Place 25.09. CDN Toronto, ON - Velvet Underground 26.09. CDN Ottawa, ON - Mavericks 27.09. CDN Sherbrooke, QC - Bar Le Magog 28.09. CDN Trois-Rivieres, QC - Rock Café Le Stage 29.09. CDN Québec City, QC - L'Anti Bar & Spectacles 30.09. CDN Montreal, QC - Les Foufounes Électriques 01.10. USA Philadelphia, PA - The Foundry @ The Fillmore 02.10. USA Clifton, NY - Dingbatz 03.10. USA Poughkeepsie, NY - The Chance Theater 04.10. USA Brooklyn, NY - The Kingsland 05.10. USA Elmhurst, NY - Blackthorn 51 06.10. USA Halethorpe, MD - Fish Head Cantina 07.10. USA Pittsburgh, PA - Cattivo 08.10. USA Richmond, VA - The Canal Club 09.10. USA Indianapolis, IN - Black Circle Brewing Co. 10.10. USA Atlanta, GA - The Masquerade 11.10. USA Durham, NC - Motorco Music Hall 12.10. USA Winter Park, FL - The Haven Lounge 13.10. USA Margate, FL - O’Malley's Sports Bar 14.10. USA Ybor City, FL - Crowbar 15.10. USA New Orleans, LA - Southport Hall 16.10. USA Houston, TX - Scout Bar 17.10. USA San Antonio, TX - The Rock Box 18.10. USA Austin, TX - Come and Take It Live 19.10. USA Dallas, TX - Trees 20.10. USA Merriam, KS - Aftershock Live Music Venue 21.10. USA Tulsa, OK - The Shrine 22.10. USA Oklahoma City, OK - 89th Street 23.10. USA Albuquerque, NM - Launchpad 24.10. USA Denver, CO - Herman's Hideaway 25.10. USA Salt Lake City, UT - Liquid Joe's 26.10. USA Las Vegas, NV - Backstage Bar & Billiards 27.10. USA Tucson, AZ - The Rock 28.10. USA Tempe, AZ - Club Red Winter Tour 2019 MUNICIPAL WASTE + TOXIC HOLOCAUST + ENFORCER + SKELETAL REMAINS 28.11. D Nuremberg - Z-Bau 29.11. D Chemnitz - AJZ 30.11. B Antwerp - Kavka Zappa 01.12. NL Drachten - Iduna 03.12. UK Birmingham - The Asylum 04.12. UK Glasgow - Slay 05.12. UK Belfast - Limelight 06.12. UK Manchester - Club Academy 07.12. UK Leeds - Brudenell Social Club 08.12. UK London - ULU Live 10.12. D Oberhausen - Kulttempel 11.12. I Paderno Dugnano (MI) - Slaughter Club 12.12. D Landshut - Alte Kaserne 13.12. D Cottbus - Glad House 14.12. CZ Prague - Nová Chmelnice 15.12. D Berlin - SO36 Zenith can be ordered on various formats, here: nblast.de/EnforcerZenith Limited Edition Digipack CD - nblast.de/ZenithAMZCD Black Vinyl - nblast.de/ZenithAMZVinyl Limited Edition Coloured Vinyl and Digipack CD + patch - nblast.de/ZenithNB 'Die For The Devil' official video: youtu.be/LSvSxlOv6F4 'Searching For You official lyric video: youtu.be/XTOePETOcc4 'Regrets' official video: youtu.be/UBuiWlbX0MI The tracklist racks up as follows: 01. Die For The Devil 02. Zenith Of The Black Sun 03. Searching For You 04. Regrets 05. The End Of A Universe 06. Sail On 07. One Thousand Years Of Darkness 08. Thunder And Hell 09. Forever We Worship The Dark 10. Ode To Death Bonus Track (digital only) 11. To Another World Zenith contains 10 brand new anthems, bringing not only classic tunes, but also fresh blood to the band's unique sound. In addition, guitarist Jonathan Nordwall debuts as new permament member of the group on the forthcoming record. Comments Olof Wikstrand on the new record, "Zenith is definitely the most ambitious project we ever engaged ourselves in. I think all together we spent over two and a half years to write, produce and record it all. We are super excited to finally get this one out to you all. Beware the 'Zenith Of The Black Sun'."  The drums were recorded at Soundtrade Studios, Stockholm and the rest of the tracking was completed at Hvergelmer Studios, Arvika. Zenith was produced by the band themselves and the artwork was created by Italian artist Velio Josto. ICYMI: TRAILER #1: Olof and Jonas discuss the writing and recording process for Zenith: youtu.be/ZLQkpdSEUwA TRAILER #2: Olof and Jonas discuss how the album came together and the recording process: youtu.be/n36kAwSGVzE TRAILER #3: Olof and Jonas discuss the first five songs on the record in the first track by track trailer: youtu.be/8bQzfWwPLG0 'Voy A Encontrarte': youtu.be/Dm-2GiP2xzY

  ENFORCER is: Olof Wikstrand | vocals, guitars Jonas Wikstrand | drums, piano & keyboards Tobias Lindqvist | bass Jonathan Nordwall | guitars 

[cottonwren]

A Well Dressed Woman | T.S. | 2

Summary: Jamie and Tommy meet again, and everyone’s worried.

A/N: Thank you for the likes and reblogs! <3 comments mean everything, please if you enjoy it let me know! Comment! <3

Part one:

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The second time that Jamie and Tommy met, it was in his office, and she had walked herself through the betting shop, managing to sit down in one of the chairs before he arrived. If Tommy wanted a war, he’d get one. She was wearing another one of her suits, the dress pants he enjoyed so much tightened slightly. Jamie heard the door open behind her and stayed exactly still, smirking as she heard him cough. Did he ever think that maybe smoking wasn’t a good idea? Jamie almost never smoked, and she had never touched anything else, though she sold it in enormous quantities.

“Is there any reason you’ve broken into my office, Ms. Pine?” Tommy asked, putting a voice on that sounded slightly strict, dominating maybe? Well, two could play at that game. She would be lying if she said it wasn’t extremely hot, though, holy hell. Some things just stuck with you, and that tone of voice was one of them. Something would be joining her in any dreams she’d be having that night.

“I just thought I should clarify some things with you, Thomas, before you fuck up. Your face is too pretty for me to enjoy harming you” Jamie told him, leaning one hand on her palm, making direct eye contact “But if you do fuck me over, Thomas, I won’t hesitate.” Her words were scathing and violent. She knew that she’d follow up on them, which made her unhappy, but business was business. He was, indeed, very pretty, and it would take a lot to know she left two children fatherless.

“And what, pray tell do you assume I will fuck up?” Tommy asked, crossing his arms on the desk and leaning forward, his face only a few inches away from hers. For a second, he got lost, admiring the icy green colour of her eyes. He could have sworn she was lost with him, but then she got up from her chair, beginning to pace. Tommy wondered if her trousers had always been that tight, because honestly they worse than he remembered. This woman was seducing him, he realised, and she wasn’t even going to pull though and accept his advances. Fuck. Seducing people was his plan A all the way through to plan Z.

“Well, Tommy, I took the liberty of doing a little background check, and you seem to have a reputation of betraying people. Even your closest friends, family even. Sounds like the Shelby family had a good christmas last year” She told him with a smirk, circling his desk “All I want to tell you, Thomas, is that if you try to take more than we agreed on…” Jamie paused, pressing her shotgun to his head, getting a strange thrill of exhilaration as she felt the end connect with his shaved side. “You’ll be lucky to have an open coffin funeral” She whispered in his ear,  withdrawing the gun and continuing her stalking.

Tommy looked at her with a smirk “Someone’s got trust issues. You know fully well that if you shot me, my brothers would kill you, then your pretty little sister, then anyone else you hold close. Suddenly, Pine Pharmaceuticals becomes Shelby territory. Wouldn’t want that to happen, would we, Jamie?” He asked, rolling the ball back into his own court, waiting eagerly for her biting response.

“I’d love to see them try. I’m not scared of jumped up yam yams, lead by a class traitor with an OBE and eighteen oil paintings of himself” Jamie told him simply “But, the question is, Thomas, before I get too caught up in another cute conversation with you, are you going to try your luck for the last time?” She asked, sitting down and glaring him dead in the eye “Because trust me, it will be your last”

“Those are bold words for a girl who’s slipping out of control” Tommy told her “I’ve heard brave talk from many men who think they’re bigger than me, and I will take you down just as I did them. I shall see you soon, Jamie Leanne Pine, maybe you should keep your ideas to yourself before you figure out if you’re right”

“Oh, but I’ve already figured it out, Thomas” She told him with a smirk, standing up “I’ll show myself out, seeing as showing myself around was easy enough.” Jamie decided, an air of aloofness in her voice, though Tommy knew that every word was precisely picked to suit her aim.

“Do you put in an effort to be a nuisance, Ms. Pine? Or does it come naturally to you?” Tommy  asked, getting up and walking her out. If the boys saw him escorting her out, he’d never hear the end of it, but he just needed to get her out before she could really unleash what she assumed may be Jamie’s Box - like Pandora’s, but far far worse. So much worse.

“Just giving back, Mr. Shelby, just giving back” Jamie smiled, walking through the offices with strides, making sure to walk in front of him. If he was going to try and seduce her, he’d have to beat her at it “After all, I do need to ‘get off my high horse’, was it?” She asked, air quotations like staples in the  air.

“Only if I get off my throne, if I remember your words right” Tommy bit back, leading her to the street and standing by the door “I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you soon, Jamie”

“I have a feeling you will, Thomas.” Jamie nodded “Make sure to polish your throne before you go to bed, lest it lose it’s shine in the night.” She told him and then got into her car, driving off towards her offices in Cradley Heath.

As Tommy walked into the building once again, he was met with Lizzie and Polly, hands on their hips like judgy siamese cats. He sighed, rolling his eyes and looking at them “It’s just business, ladies. Just business”

“No, it wasn’t. We’re not stupid, Thomas” Lizzie told him, making Tommy wonder how he actually wanted to fuck her in the first place. “Don’t let her seduce you,” She looked upset, a little more depth to her angry face than usual.

“I’ve got a plan. Alright? She’s not going to seduce me or anything, so you can calm down” Tommy told them shortly, walking past them to get to his office. Jamie had put him in a good mood - finally someone to compete with. It had been a long while since he had someone to bounce off, and it had been even longer since he’d wanted to. For a second he felt like the bright eyed boy he once was, and it confused him to no amount. It made him feel, for a second, that Greta may be back to visit him. She would never be back, though, would she?

“Tommy” Polly called, closing the office door behind her and sitting at the desk “You’re smiling. She’s got you. You need to snap out of this, alright?” She told him “She’s a business partner, and… Tommy. Tommy” Tommy had zoned out, and Polly was losing her temper. “We’re following the plan, alright?”

“We’re following the plan” He nodded, “I’m going to the Garrison. I’ll see everyone in the morning, where you can establish distrust in me for a bit longer” Tommy needed to go out and drink. Then go home and drink. Maybe he wouldn’t sleep. Maybe he would.

“Jamie Leanne, where have you been?” Asked Linn once she heard the front door go to their shared house. Linn knew exactly where she had been, of course, and could pin it down to one person exactly. One capitalist, heartless, gorgeous person. The smirk on her older sister’s face confirmed her thoughts.

“Warning Tommy” She smiled, pulling off her coat and hanging it up “You eaten yet, pumpkin?” Jamie asked, walking through the oak floors and into the kitchen “I’ll cook if you want”

“No, pasta’s cooking, You never stay out late without assigning me a bodyguard” Linn told her with a hum “Please stop doing that by the way. I’m not a kid anymore, Jamie”

“You’ll always be my kid, you know that. Plus, the world is too fucked to even fathom anyone like you - they’ll take kindness and softness for weakness, Linn” She hummed, stepping out of her oxfords “Just trying to protect you”

“Just trust me a little more, yeah? Ever heard of karma? If someone does bad things then the bad thing will happen to them, and vice versa. It just works like that, you see. And all I do are numbers”

“For a drug cartel, princess. For a drug cartel” Jamie reminded her, brewing some tea “I am the reason that karma would bite you wrongfully in the arse. Fuck, it’s cold, want me to light the fire?”

“Yeah. I tried and burnt myself” Linn admitted, showing off the small patch of raised skin on her  hand. “Put it under some cold water though so it’s fine”

Jamie nodded, walking into the lounge “Wear my leather gloves next time, yeah? You won’t get burnt” She offered as she knelt down next to the hearth, placing more coal in the hearth and then lighting a match,placing it into the middle of the fire and sitting back on her heels, making sure that the fire was lit before walking back into the kitchen.

“So, Thomas Shelby, are we still not in love with him?” Linn asked, checking up on the pasta and then turning back to her “Or, as to better word it, have you decided you’re going to attempt to bullshit me that your smirk as you came in didn’t mirror the same one you had when you met Barrett” She asked, straining the pasta.

“Me and Barrett.. Yeah, this is nothing like me and Barrett, at all. Barrett was beautiful, and we were in love, and then she died. Because people die, and it’s my job to make sure you somehow at least go after me, because the idea of dying twice and knowing the which time would be harshest would break me. Like it did” Jamie hummed softly “I just like having someone to fight, pumpkin, that’s all. You know that”

“And then you like having someone to hate fuck” Linn muttered “And then someone to date. And then someone to realise you’re in love with. It was the same with Barret, and all I ask is that you don’t let it cloud your judgement. The reason we work so well is because you’re so cynical”

“We’ll be fine, princess. I know Tommy Shelby is a capitalistic, bad, power hungry man. Just remember that your sister is just as bad and desperate. Not a capitalist though, obviously. And where he’s got two kids, I’ve just got my big kid” Jamie explained.

“You want kids, though, Jamie, and you know that he is single and one of kids is completely motherless. Don’t, Jamie. Do not” Linn warned, plating the meal “Last thing we need”

“Stop worrying,” Jamie tsked, walking over to take her plate to help Linn carry them to the table. “Stop reading my mind, aswell. A girl can have wants, can’t she?”

“She can, which is why I’m going dancing saturday night” Linn hummed, making Jamie almost drop her plate “Alone”

“You get back home at eleven, and you only use taxis that we trust. You don’t get lifts from anyone you don’t recognise.” Jamie told her once she’d managed to pick her jaw up from the tablecloth “You better stay safe”

“I will” Linn sighed “I’m not stupid, you know. I’ll even take my knife”

“Good. I know you’re not stupid, princess, I just don’t want you getting hurt” Jamie told her honestly. “I also know that you’re a young woman, and you need to get out and start living your life”

“How old were you when you started this business, Jamie?”

“Seventeen. Started dealing at fifteen, but enterprised upon it at seventeen. Fed you, so I did it more, and here I am, fifteen years later, and it’s paid off” Jamie explained, starting to eat “This is gorgeous, Linn, wow”

“Thank you.” Linn knew that her sister would understand that she wasn’t thanking her for the compliment.