#my client just goes quiet and pretends nothing ever happened

[c-l-y-d-e]

Client: I'm very surprised that this [impossible thing] is not possible, and that no one has brought it up until now. You'll need to provide an explanation for this in writing to our legal team before the end of the week.

Me: *has multiple email chains and meeting minutes with this person dating back MONTHS where we explain the issue and our more-than-sufficient work-around in excruciating detail* *the original contract and negotiations specifically excluded handling this non-compliant data* *has detailed documentation dating back two years from their own engineers specifying the issue*

Me: sure, no problem.

I will write this email in his blood.

[splittergheist]

Any Other Way — Those Flowers Bloom In Winter

warnings & tags: sex work, drug addiction mention, murder & abuse mention, inherent power imbalance ( tho it is not toxic here ), angst with a happy end, male sex worker/male client, period-typical homophobia & racism, implied-to-be-arranged marriage ( tho it hasn't happened yet ), parental expectations; 1980s New York, dreams & passions, wanting to belong, wanting to be loved, facing the reality of things

summary: some night in some part of New York, and two men who love each other but have not admitted to that yet, weighed down by societal expectations and their own fears of what is going to happen if their dreams turn out to be realistic enough to maybe, just so work out.

"Jae?" Sleep is threatening to drag him under, exhaustion making a compelling argument for him to not react when Won-shik, cuddled up to him from behind, says his name with this clearly audible question mark. It's been a long day for him and coming here isn't always the vacation he pretends it's promised to be. Against better judgement, he hears himself hum his attention. Won-shik sounds torn and lost saying this one syllable already, and he can't bring himself to leave him staying awake like this while he's slipping into unconsciousness, despite knowing better than to entertain the melancholic, privilege-dripping thoughts of his— of men, really.

Won-shik has always been special to him, however, far more special than he'd ever like to admit. 

"Do you...have a dream?" It settles heavily between them, nearly crushing Jae's resolve to stay awake for Won-shik's sake with one single blow. "Something you wanna do, in life?" What a loaded fucking question. 

Slowly, he rubs his eyes. "Why are you asking?" The hoarseness of his voice excuses the grumpiness oozing out of his words, at least for now, which is good enough for Jae. 

"There has to be something you wanna do, right?" As if the mere thought he doesn't, in fact, have a goal is shaking Won-shik to his very core. "Don't you have something that gets you through the day?" he pushes, despair a distant but growing note in his inquiry. 

It's the amount of hours he's been awake already, probably, and the tiredness pulling at his lungs, and the ache sitting in his veins familiar and intimate and uncomfortable but quiet right now and allowing him to fall asleep, but Jae can't pour any effort into filtering his words anymore. "Pretending it's my last."

Silence. It almost makes him feel guilty the longer it goes on. "You're lying." Won-shik is pressing tiny kisses against the back of his neck. "You're just saying that, you don't mean that." His shoulders. The tip of his ear. As if he's trying to nudge him to give up the joke. As if he's just being sarcastic. It makes sense. Won-shik always goes for sarcasm. 

"I don't have any dreams, Won-shik." He sharpens the edge a bit, tries to get him to back off. Jae loves Won-shik, he is sure of that, but his continuously-resurrected attempt to plant this dream of freedom in the back of Jae's mind always ends with them arguing and Jae is tired, physically and mentally, he can't do this. Not tonight. Not right now.

Won-shik stays silent for another moment, and it makes relief start to trickle into Jae's veins, and yet that trickle ceases but a blink later. 

"Why not?" As if he doesn't know. As if this is the first time they're talking about it. At least he has the decency to sound slightly upset instead of surprised. 

Jae sighs, yet he still doesn't turn around in Won-shik's arms. "Because having dreams sets you up for failure. For disappointment. And I have enough of those already." The bitterness is nothing new, it can't be. Won-shik's known him for a while now and this isn't the first time they—

"But it doesn't have to be like that." Jae knows his company isn't upset with him specifically but with everything around them, and yet it hurts enough when he says it. As if all of this is Jae's fault. As if he's the one keeping not only himself but also Won-shik from happiness. "We could get away from here, Jae. Live in a small apartment. I work and you.. you could be free to do whatever you like." 

It sounds so good. Too good. For the second Jae allows himself to imagine it — a mistake he immediately regrets — it sounds like the best fucking thing he could imagine doing, especially with Won-shik at his side. They could have a cat or two, a nice little balcony with a few plants on it, maybe an actually functional kitchen where every piece matched the others, hell, a dishwasher if they really wanted to.

It sounds too good, and it upsets Jae immensely. Because none of that is ever going to happen, and for Won-shik to even bring it up is just cruel, really.

When Won-shik continues, mumbling something about growing old together, Jae cuts him off sharply, finally turning around in his lover's arms but pulling himself half out of them while he does: "That would imply I have a future at all, you know?"

His lover's eyes are wide, he sees them now right in front of his own, and something inside of them is attempting to will him into understanding, into agreement, he thinks. "Of course you have a—"

"Don't be ridiculous, Won-shik," and he reaches deep into the box of things he knows will hurt the other, "I know you have this idea running rampant inside your head that you can save me, and that we can grow old together, no matter what I am and where we met and all of that fucking bullshit, but you can't."

Jae hates treating Won-shik like this, he hates hissing at him and over and over again tearing holes into that tapestry Won-shik puts up to flesh out this dream of what they could be, but what other choice does he have? If he allows any of these fantasies to fester, if he allows Won-shik to order furniture from that mental catalogue of his to fill the rooms he's wallpapered, he's going to have to deal with the aftermath of there not being enough money to pay for all of them, or worse, of the foundation turning out to be made from nothing but sand. 

He wouldn't survive that, he knows.

And usually the other would give in now, would let Jae 'win', and Jae likes that about Won-shik, because it implies respect, letting him speak and decide when their argument is over, even when it's him who pays and not Jae — but not so this time. This time he doesn't row back and apologize. He seems unable to let this stand, unable to simply move on and pretend they never argued in the first place, a fierceness in his eyes that Jae assumes is drenched in the sleep-tainted despair of the hour.

"I can. And I know you want me to, too. Deep down you want all of this, every tiny bit of it: the bathtub big enough to hold us both, the cat tower that reaches to the ceiling, the cinema visits and the dinner dates in cozy little restaurants—"

"If you don't shut up right now, you'll wake up alone tomorrow and blacklisted, too," Jae bites back, feeling like a cornered animal, his face scrunched up in pain and his eyes teary.

Yet Won-shik continues, sounding more determined than ever before to convince Jae of this, of them, "And you want the darkroom, too, don't you? Take all those pictures and develop them, and maybe hang them up in a gallery at some point, right?"

Something cracks inside of him, and he hits Won-shik against the chest, "Shut up!" and he rolls away and jumps to his feet, scrambling to find his clothes in the barely illuminated bedroom, "Just shut the fuck up!" How dare he? How fucking dare he?! He never should've given in when they were drifting in the afterglow and told Won-shik about his hobby, the camera he managed to buy after more months than he had sanity for, and about the opportunity to escape it gives him, how fascinated he is with the mundane moments and the smiles people don't even notice otherwise. How in another life he'd probably be a photographer and maybe he'd be famous, too, have his artworks hanging in people's living rooms and in galleries.

"Jae?" It's the second time within the last ten minutes he calls him by his name, and it sounds awfully similar to the first time. "Jae, where are you going?" The fear in those words shouldn't feel as satisfying to hear as it does. He drags the leather pants over his boxers, buttons them around his slender hips and curses under his breath when he doesn't immediately spot the striped long-sleeve that he loves solely for how well it accentuates the contrast between his narrow hips and his broad shoulders. 

There is commotion behind him and to his side, and he hurries to find the last piece of clothing. He doesn't want to give Won-shik another chance to hurt him.

To ignite hope in his lungs, not caring what it does to him.

"Jae, stop." Ah! By the dresser. He finally pulls the long-sleeve on and steps to grab his shoulder bag and get into his half-boots with the small heel that makes him look taller than he is, and maybe that isn't really necessary, especially when his customers like to pretend he is their little barbie doll, their baby girl, their exotic dream; the substitute for when all the Asian girls have been picked up already from the street he works on — but maybe he needs those heels, those few centimeters, to feel better, to not entirely believe the voices calling him some white guy's cum dumpster, which he evidently is, must be, since that's apparently all that he's got going for him whenever it's not Won-shik allowing him to take a break every couple of days. 

To still feel like a human being despite it all.

Won-shik steps into the doorframe in front of him, and Jae is forced to pause his march into the hallway to glare at him. "Jae, please." His eyes are begging him to stay and listen, but all he wants to do is leave this room, this apartment, this part of town, and never look back. Because if he stays any longer Won-shik is gonna manage to convince him all those fantasies they have could become truth and reality — and that would positively break him when soon after they'd realize there was no way in hell they ever would.

His teary glare isn't enough to stop Won-shik. Clearly, Jae's pushed him too far. Or maybe he's allowed him to get too close to him, too comfortable in dreaming of an us. 

"I know you want this," he is softer now, but still so determined to make him agree. "We both do." Jae hates that he is right, and he hates even more that with every word he feels his resolve crumble more. As if Won-shik has any right to say such things. "Please stop pretending you don't. I can give you all these things — I want to give you all these things, you just—"

Jae cuts him off, all sharp edges and sharp teeth: "You know what I want? What I actually want you to do?" He pauses for effect but not long enough to allow him to speak back up. "To stop pretending we're some normal fucking couple who met at work or at the café down the street or in Central Park during our morning jogs, and thus can just move in together and have a tiny apartment in the suburbs with three cats and a west-side balcony we can watch the sunset on!" He inhales and it sounds strained, dragging across his throat that is still hoarse from earlier. "We didn't have this fucking meet-cute you keep pretending we had." He probably imagines the fear of what he is about to remind Won-shik of in the man's eyes, but all the guilt he feels at it he pushes away. This is Won-shik's fault. He didn't want to shut the hell up. He was the one to bring up this non-existing and never-to-be-existing future they could have for the umpteenth time as if Jae hasn't told him over and over again he doesn't want to hear it.

"Jae, please," he tries, voice incredibly quiet and tiny now, and it feels way too good to finally have him listen.

"No, you are no fucking better than all the other men who've picked me up and payed me for a night! You were looking for someone to sate your hunger with and then you saw me and didn't care for anyone else there anymore. And you keep picking me up to fulfill your little fantasy of a life in freedom, away from your family who wants you to marry that woman they picked out because she's so kind and doesn't speak up a lot and would listen to you no matter what you ask of her, and then have the most perfect fucking children with her, so coming here twenty years ago wasn't for nothing" — he is yelling now, and pointing his finger; Won-shik's fists are clenched tight, but even if Jae didn't know that he wouldn't ever hit him, he wouldn't stop now — "no, instead you come to me and take me home for a night and ignore all my flaws so you can pretend for a little while longer that you have a choice in the matter and that there's a world where you don't have to hide that you like dick, and that you hate your office job and your university classes your father forced you take." It's so ugly and he knows — he can see — how much every single one of his accusations hurts Won-shik, but the alternative Jae can't take. 

If there really is a world where all of what he and Won-shik both keep dreaming up is true? If Jae is wrong about the likelihood of it all? No, no, that might even be worse than the possibility of it all crumbling apart the moment he dares to take a chance.

Because it would mean he could've had all of that so much earlier. He didn't have to live day to day, night to night, scared every single time that this would be the time he'd end up dead, vanished under mysterious circumstances and pulled out of the Hudson next week, impossible to be identified and brought to justice if the police even cares about him that much.

If all of that can be a reality, why has he been forced to sell himself for more years than he hasn't?

He takes a deep breath to steel himself for the last thing he wants to say, a thing he usually doesn't like admitting to at all: "I'm an addict and a prostitute, and you're delusional if you think none of that matters, Won-shik. If you think none of my past has any bearing on the future." His jaw set, he's staring at his lover, convinced he's shut him down for good. This must've hurt immensely, which in turn has to have managed to win this argument for Jae. It doesn't matter if that's fair, he keeps telling himself, because Won-shik wasn't fair either when he brought up the photography dreams of his.

It seems to take incredible effort to say what he says next, but Won-shik closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose; Jae can see the tight line of his shoulders and he only just so holds himself back from reaching out to massage away the tension, despite himself.

"You know why I picked you up that night?" It's quiet, utterly defeated; a sort of last attempt, even if Won-shik doesn't seem to want spill that secret at all. He blinks his eyes open and Jae realizes he should stop him, because whatever he's about to say is going to— "I wasn't on the search for... I didn't want to pick anyone up. I was just driving around, trying to clear my head after that argument with my mother. I didn't know you- worked there. You or anyone, really." Jae feels frozen to the spot, as if he has been locked into some sort of barrel heading towards a waterfall and there's nothing he can do to escape the fall. "I wanted to get away from there as fast as I could, it was like I was seeing, witnessing something I wasn't meant to. But then..." The breath he takes sounds just as strained, but not full of anger and instead full of utter vulnerability. He shakes his head, looks away for a second before meeting Jae's eyes again. The barrel is dancing on the very edge. 

"But then I saw you, and I- I knew I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to get you away from there. I wanted you safe. I just knew you were the one, Jae, I know I can't explain it sufficiently enough." It knocks the air right out of him, wood splinters and digs into his back. "And since the only way to even just talk to you was to... you know? Yeah, well, that's what I did." He pauses, forcing Jae to take a shallow breath. "Yeah, maybe all of what you said is true: that I want to save you like some knight in shining armour, that I hate my job and my studies, that I don't want to marry Yoon-ah and that the idea of raising kids with her feel like accepting being shoved into a way-too-tight cage and throwing away the key." His hand reaches to grasp Jae's. It feels impossible to pull it away. "But you're not just some fantasy fulfillment doll I'm going to throw away when I finally get away from here, or when I meet someone else that is somehow 'easier' to deal with, or when my mother manages to get my phone number and orders me to come back home." The space between them is erased by a step on bare feet and Jae still can't look away from those eyes he knows he's fallen for.

He whispers: "I want you, Jae. I want us. I-" A shaky breath. Jae knows exactly what's about to come and he wishes he had any power left to shut Won-shik up. He doesn't. "I love you."

Jae is crying. He is shaking his head and pressing his eyes shut as if that helps, as if not seeing Won-shik would make him and all those 'problems' disappear. "No," he mumbles, "no, no, no, please, Won-shik," he chokes on a sob, "Don't do this to me, please, you can't- you can't do this to me, you- you can't say this to me, you're going to break me, if you—" 

He is pulled against Won-shik's bare frame, arms wrapping tightly around his shaking shoulders, and his own fingers desperately dig into the naked skin of Won-shik's back while his face buries itself into the crook of his neck. "You can't, Shi, you can't," he pleads again, pressing closer as another sob shakes him.

Yet there is only Won-shik's careful, gentle hands petting his short hair and the small of his back, and his low voice whispering reassurances into his ear; he holds him through his breakdown, and Jae knows two things: one, Won-shik will later pretend he didn't have to hold him for minutes and tell him to breathe and calm down, because he's polite enough to not bring these moments up again later, and two, by the end of it, when his breath finally starts evening out, he will be too deep in. He's now tasted the sweet hope of a future so blindingly bright it's illuminating the entire dark box he's called home and his life up until then, and whatever happens next he won't be able to back out of it anymore.

"You know what my friends say about you?" he gives after a while, quietly, his head turned to the side far enough for Won-shik to actually understand what he's saying.

"What do they say?" Jae thinks to hear resignation in his voice, but maybe it's just the tiredness finally taking a hold of him.

He can't help smiling despite of how not funny this is. "That you're the most dangerous one." A beat. "There's men who pick us up and murder us after a couple of times of fun, or if we do something 'wrong' once." Too many ghosts, too many memories, too many names Jae hasn't dared to say in months and years. "But men like you? They're worse. You give us hope and you can take it away at any given moment and leave us a shell of our former self, a wreck, a cautious tale of why none of you can ever be trusted." 

Won-shik is silent now, only running his hand up and down Jae's back still. He sighs and nuzzles against Jae's neck. Hugs him a bit tighter. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense." The defeat in his voice draws cracks over Jae's heart. "I'm sorry." Jae isn't quite entirely sure what Won-shik is truly apologizing for, but he hums, because it makes sense regardless. Because it feels like this is the only way Won-shik can give him a choice without letting even just a single ounce of doubt settle about how he doesn't want to go back on his word anymore.

So, either Jae agrees now, accepts the apology and they leave this city as soon as possible — or he can't bring himself to trust Won-shik because of what he is. What they are. He doubts they will see each other again, if so, or only whenever Won-shik can't hold himself back from not-so-subtly checking in on him during the day, or when Jae can't bear another second at work and needs a night of escape from it.

The power he holds is unbearably heavy, and yet he is beyond grateful that Won-shik has given it to him.

The night is still, as if it's holding its breath now, too, having realized the weight of the situation. Somewhere in the background Won-shik's alarm clock is ticking away in spite of it, though, never having quite been able to express sympathy. 

"I love you, too," Jae confesses into the silence, "And I'll name one of our cats Mr or Mrs Snuffles."

Won-shik groans in response, but the sheer relief overshadows his annoyance by a longshot. "You will absolutely not."

"Maybe even Snuffleskin." A small smile sneaks onto his lips, more than content with them both pretending they haven't just confessed their love to each other, and what that means for their foreseeable future. The future Jae never thought he'd ever have.

[crumbledcastle28]

Chapter 11: A Squeeze

Warnings: mentions of violence and anxiety, people getting shot, reader gets tense, Mando is extremely touch starved, and softness.

Author’s Note: Chapter 11! This one is one of my personal favs, so I hope you enjoy!

Gif by bestintheparsec

As you traveled with the crew near the outskirts of town, you couldn’t stop thinking about what the child had done the night before.

Your entire life, death has plagued you. Everywhere you went you carried the guilt of death and knowing that there was nothing you could do to stop it. You had heard legends of a Sith named Darth Plagueis who had the power to stop death, but he was deep in the dark side.

You were never going to go down that road.

All you knew was this little kid was powerful. More powerful than you realized, and definitely more powerful than Mando realized. He had been so concerned about keeping this child safe for so long, when in reality, the kid had the ability to keep Mando safe the whole time.

But at the end of the day, the Empire was still around. They would figure out the child’s powers eventually if they kept coming after him, and you were not going to let what happened to you happen to him.

You had been in deep thought for so long, you barely noticed Mando giving a little tap on your elbow. You were a little startled, but relaxed at Mando’s voice.

“You ok?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Yeah… I’m ok,” you respond. “I just… never knew that was possible,” you say, referring back to the child.

You looked down at his sleeping form in the pram next to you, and you smiled at his vulnerable state. What could such a little brain like that dream about?

Mando went quiet after you responded to his concern, and you knew it was because there really isn’t a good way to respond. He obviously didn’t know the kid’s potential either, and he was probably in even more shock than you were.

“Thank you, for checking in on me,” you say, finally turning around to meet his gaze. You had been riding on the same blurrg for a while, but you were trapped in your own head. His closeness to you was starting to make a blush crawl up your neck.

He nodded in an understanding way, and you headed on.

~~*~~

After some time, you noticed that Karga and his two bounty hunters were talking in whispers as they walked in front of you, and that obviously rubbed Cara the wrong way.

“You guys think they’re having second thoughts?” she asked in a teasing tone, and you returned a breathy laugh.

You tried to hide your smile, but that had been the first time she acknowledged you in days, and she was even joking with you? You didn’t want to get her hopes up, but maybe Cara was having second thoughts as well.

“Could be,” Mando replied. “I need you two to help me keep an eye on them.”

You and Cara nodded your heads, and scanned the hunters’ bodies with your eyes for a few minutes. The three of you had switched to being on foot while Kuiil took the only remaining blurrg.

All of a sudden, a bluff overlooking the town appeared, and Karga was gazing down at the city below.

“I guess this is it,” he said, but he was still facing the view.

The other two bounty hunters had stated to make their way behind you, and the alarms in your head were blaring.

You heard every step, every ruffle, and every breath they made. And it was driving you crazy.

They were at your backs, but you had your longspear in hand. You had better skills than these two by a long shot.

Suddenly, Karga spins around, and fires at the two bounty hunters who instantly hit the ground.

You drew your own weapon, while Mando and Cara approached Karga from either side with their weapons drawn as well.

You knew it. This man was not to be trusted. He could have shot the kid!

“There’s something you should know,” Karga says, and you try not to roll your eyes.

“Please. Enlighten us,” you say sarcastically, but you have venom in your voice. Karga can feel it, so he immediately transitions into his explanation.

“The plan was to kill you and take the kid,” Karga says, and your blood boils.

“But after what happened last night… I couldn’t go through with it. Go on, you can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn’t violate the code. But if you do, this child will never be safe.”

Your weapon was still at the ready, and Cara and Mando didn’t seem convinced either.

“We will take our chances,” Cara says.

“Perhaps you should let him speak,” Kuiil says, and you glance over your shoulder to look at him. This poor man had been though a lot, yet his voice exuded such gentleness. It reminded you of Mando’s voice when he talked to you.

“We both need the client eliminated,” Karga said, “let me take the child to him, and then you three…”

“No,” Mando interupts. He lowers his blaster, and glances at you to lower your weapon.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Cara seems to have the same reaction.

“What are you doing,” she asks, and you are wondering the same thing.

“As long as the Imp lives, he will send hunters after the Child,” Mando says, and you are starting to understand what he’s getting at.

“Bring me. Tell him you captured me. Get me close, and I’ll kill him,” Mando says to Karga, and you hate the gleam of excitement that flashed in Karga’s eyes.

“That’s a good idea,” Karga responded. “Give me your blaster.”

“This is insane,” Cara said, turning to look at you. You see Mando giving his blaster to Karga, and you honestly don’t even know what to think.

Karga just openly admitted to betraying you and trying to kill Mando, so there was no way you would trust him in the slightest. But at the same time, what other choice did you have? The child had to be safe, and Mando was right. The hunters won’t ever stop.

You give Cara a look of pity, but you lower your longspear. Your shoulders slightly relax, and you feel your grip loosening.

“What else can we do?” you ask her, and she looked away in disgust.

“Well, I’m coming with you,” Cara said. “I’ll tell them I caught you.”

“Then she can bring the child,” Karga said, and Cara started to relax a little.

“No,” Mando said firmly. “The kid goes with y/n back to the ship.”

You and Mando were normally on the same page, but you had to admit, that didn’t really make any sense.

“But without the child none of this works,” Karga said, and you hated that you agreed with him.

“I have a plan,” he says to the two of them, and then he strides over to you.

“I need you to ride to the ship with Kuiil and the kid and seal yourselves in. Engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors,” Mando says to you as he guides the Child in his pram over to your arms.

You look into Mando’s visor, trying to find his eyes, but an evil, anxious part of you starts to awaken.

This could be the last time you stare into that helmet.

If this goes wrong, Mando and Cara would be almost laughably outnumbered by the Imps.

You continue to search for his eyes, and you sigh quietly. You have to keep yourself together for him.

Mando breaks the eye contact to rub the child’s ears, and you long for him to look back at you. The trance you guys enter when you look at each other is so cheesy, but it feels real. You wanted to stare at him forever.

“Be careful,” you murmur, only loud enough for him to hear.

He looks back at you and nods, but you notice he is squeezing his fists at his sides again.

He keeps trying to stop himself from something, and you are too impatient to figure out what it is, so you take his hands in yours and give them a gentle squeeze.

He looked down at your hands in his. You didn’t know it, but Mando was soaking in the fact that you were showing him more kindness in your touch than he had experienced in decades. Mando struggled, he managed to meet your eyes again.

“You too,” he says, rubbing your knuckles, and you smile at him.

He lets go of your hands gently, and you pray to whatever God was out there that he would not leave them permanently empty.

~~*~~

After Mando gave you your assignment, you and Kuiil immediately got a move on back to the Razor Crest with the child in your arms.

You hold the child close to your chest as Kuiil drives the blurrg behind you, and you give the child a little squeeze. Your nerves are starting to get the better of you.

Before, you could have worked with a crew like this and never felt a thing. They were going in outnumbered, so what? You were in the safe position and you had the prize in your arms? What did you care?

But now, your very hope at being happy again was walking into an imperial guarded death trap, pretending to be taken prisoner.

You hated this plan. Mando and Cara were smart, so you decided not to question their decision, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still have your doubts.

The only thing keeping you sane was the cooling air hitting your face as you rode, and the little gurgles from the child in your arms.

This is all you could control at this moment. You could control his safety, and you were not going to fail.

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @farfromjustordinary @pinkninja200 @bookloverfilmoholic @440mxs-wife

[softboywriting]

Meet The Parents | Billy Russo

Summary: You introduce Billy to your parents and it doesn’t go as well as you hope. [Billy Russo x F!Reader] [Assistant!Reader Trope] [Alternate Timeline - Castle family not mentioned/never happened] [Fluff] [Problematic Parents/Divorced] [Parents Fighting] [Language] [Flirting] [Flashback/Nightmare]

 Word Count: 3.8k 

 A/N: This is a follow up to my first fic Little Moments but can be read separately as a stand alone story. I may be doing several in a series with these two.

---

The office is quiet, and has been for the whole day. Billy has been out at a client meeting since you got in. Anvil is becoming quite popular in the private military market, having taken on three new contracts in the last two weeks. You're proud of Billy, he works hard to win over his clients and offer top of the line service. As the primary contact for all contracts and placements, you've gotten busy too. More business means more expenses, and more employees to keep track of. You don't mind, it keeps you active and engaged. There is nothing more you hate than just sitting around staring at the wall or watching cat videos for the billionth time.

"Hey sweetheart."

You glance up from your work and see Billy closing the office door behind him. He's dressed up, black and grey patterned silk shirt, expensive black suit, the tailored jacket over his arm. He looks positively delicious if you do say so. Those shirts are the best thing you ever convinced him to wear.

"Hey yourself. How'd the meeting go?"

"Shitty." He sneers and tosses his jacket on his office chair. He begins unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt to roll them up to his elbows. "The guy brought his daughter."

"Okay? What does she have to do with anything?"

Billy raises his eyebrows in an 'are you shitting me' expression. "His daughter is a model. Not naturally talented mind you, paid for by her daddy. Clearly he thought havin' her there would sway me into acceptin' the number he offered for the contract you wrote up. Like he's doing me a favor."

You stand and walk around the desk, eyes going up and down his chest. "You didn't do anything did you?"

"What kinda man do you think I am?" Billy walks you back against your desk, pinning you in with his hands on the top behind you. He drops his head to yours and stares at you with those dark endless eyes. "You think I'd fuck around?"

"I know you won't, you're too gone for me." You run your hands up his back and he arches against you. "Did she try?"

"She tried. Even sat on my lap."

"In front of her dad?"

"Mmmhmm." Billy drops his face to your neck and mouths at your skin. "I don't mind a little show and tell but even I got boundaries. Parental peepshows are off limits."

You laugh softly and he brings one hand against your lower back up to pull you against him. "Take it easy. You know the rules. No relationship stuff while I'm on the clock."

He groans, pulling his head back to look at you. "I need to touch you though. I don't want her lingering on me."

"I know." You step out of his hold and he lets his hand drag across your back as you escape his grasp. "Just another hour okay? I've gotta wrap a few things up."

Billy pulls his tie loose and unbuttons the top of his shirt. "Why did I ever make these rules?" He sinks down in his chair and spreads his legs, lolling his head against the back. He really is such a tempting little tease. How could you resist a man like that? Truth be told it's hard.

You take a seat behind your desk and focus your eyes on the invoices on screen. "You made them because you want Anvil to remain professional and not a playground."

"Bullshit."

"Your bullshit."

Billy bites his lip and gives you that look. The one that says he isn't to be messed with, that he's gonna get what he wants no matter what. And oh it's so tempting to get up and go sit on his lap in that chair. It's always been a fantasy of yours. One you haven't gotten to full fill due to his rules. He's really only cockblocking himself.

"C'mere."

"No, Billy."

"C'mon, be bad. Break my rules."

"No! You're such a jerk!" You laugh and he chuckles playfully. "We have dinner with my parents after this anyway. I'm not breaking your rules and getting all messy before we go see my parents. You hear? Parents."

"Always such a good girl."

"You like it."

"Damn right I do." He pushes up out of his chair and crosses the office to cradle your head and press a chaste kiss to your temple. "I'm gonna go home and get ready. Anything you want me to lay out for you? I think you've got a few things at the apartment."  

"The blue dress. I picked it up from the cleaners last week with a few suits. It should be in your closet."

"The one I bought you a while back for the client dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't that a little revealing for a parents dinner?"

You raise your eyebrows and he narrows his eyes.

"You're a monster." He presses his lips to your ear. "If you keep teasing me I'll have to put you in your place."

"I guess I'm a glutton for punishment."

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea what you're askin' for." Billy kisses your cheek and steps away. "Playin' with fire will get you burned."

You smile innocently. "See you later."

"You're terrible." He goes to the door and stops, looking back once more. "But I love you."

"Love you too Billy."

"Ugh," he groans, slapping a hand over his chest. "Say it again."

"Love you?" You giggle and he acts even more dramatic, pretending to swoon against the door. "What are you doing?"

"Being you."

"Wh- you son of a bitch! Get out!" You throw your squishy stress ball at him and he cackles as he runs from the office. What a child.

_____________________

"Oh, this is your boyfriend?" Your mother asks in actual surprise. As if you weren't meant to have a man that looks like Billy Russo. Truth be told you had never dated anyone half as attractive, not to you anyways. "He's so...well dressed."

Billy takes your mom's hand and kisses it politely. "We're all well dressed here ma'am. You look lovely too."

"Thank you." She flushes and giggles.

Billy gives a warm smile and tugs you closer. His hand on your back is radiating heat, its comforting. He knows you're tense. This dinner will be a strain on your nerves and he had been warned how difficult your parents can be.

"Your father should be here soon. I told him not to be late." Mom says huffily, eyeing the doors to the restaurant. You've met up with her outside and you're currently waiting for your dad to arrive. Your parents have been split for ten years and it's been hard, but not as hard as it would have been if they had divorced when you were still a young child. Well, you like to think that anyways. They waited, held on to their shit until you were graduated and old enough to understand that some people don't remain in love.

Billy leans in and presses his lips to your ear. "Are your parents going to fight? This place is very nice, I don't want to cause a scene."

"It'll be fine. They can hold it together for a few hours. I hope. Just don't mention their personal lives. It's a sore spot for mom. Dad isn't single anymore."

"Gotcha."

"Sorry I'm late." You turn and see your dad walking towards you. "Some asshole parked his Rolls Royce just on the line and I hardly squeezed into the only spot open beside it."

Mom scoffs and rolls her eyes. She bites her tongue but you know what she would say. Some comments about his truck being too damn big and a gas guzzler.

Dad puts his hand out for Billy. "You must be the lucky guy!"

Billy takes it and smiles a beautiful, toothy, shit eating grin. "Billy Russo, the asshole who parked his Rolls Royce a bit close to the line."

The way Dad's face turns pale and then red with embarrassment makes the whole evening worthwhile up until then. "That's yours?"

"One hundred percent. Bought and paid for."

"That's a beautiful piece of machinery. Expensive."

Billy leans his head on yours. "I only go for the best."

"Well you know I-"

"Oh shut up already, let's go inside." Mom says and grabs your dad's arm. "Always babbling on about shit when we've got things to do."

"Y'know what-" the conversation fades as your parents head into the restaurant. You're glad. It is bound to be petty anyways. Always was with them. Bickering children they should be called.

"Relax." Billy says in your ear, hand traveling up and down your side. "I can win over your parents for one night."

"You could charm anyone into anything and I've seen as much. You're a silver tongued sn-"

Billy catches your jaw in a light hold and presses a kiss to your lips. Your hand slides up into his hair and he grins into the kiss. "Easy now. We've not even gotten seated yet."

"Your fault."

"Usually is."

____________________

You stare at yourself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Dinner wasn't going so great and you had barely made it through an appetizer and drinks.

Your parents couldn't stop arguing, Billy was trying his best to charm them but apparently they're uncharmable, and you were left to play referee for your parents against each other or them against you and Billy.

It is a whole mess and you want to just leave, just walk out say fuck everything and go to Billy's apartment and go to bed. You haven't even had a chance to tease Billy like you were planning, hell, you've barely gotten a word in that wasn't defending him or fielding your parents insults they continuously hurdled over the table at one another.

The door rattles on your left and you clear your throat. "Occupied!" You shout and it stops.

It's a single use bathroom, not a multi-stall type set up. So the person outside would just have to wait until you were done having your crisis. Maybe not so fair to them but you'll be damned if you won't let yourself have a moment.

The handle turns and you back into the sink as the door opens. To your surprise it is Billy, not some worker with a key. "What the-"

"Your parents are insufferable. How the hell did you grow up with them? I mean I was in a group home and a few of the adults weren't great but holy shit they weren't my parents."

"I'm sorry."

Billy closes the door and shakes his head, taking your hands in his. "Don't be sorry for their actions. Never apologize for anyone but yourself."

"I knew this would happen. I just thought that maybe...I don't know...maybe they'd be different. Maybe they'd be proud of me, of you, so they would get along for two fucking hours."

"Sweetheart, you're nearly thirty, you're still seeking your parents approval?"

You laugh joylessly and bite the inside of your cheek. "You don't understand. You can't understand."

Billy brings your forehead to his lips and he rubs your back. He's always so affectionate with you, careful to hold and to love you like a man who never received it himself so he wants to make sure those he loves receives it tenfold.

"I understand seeking approval, but there is nothing you need approval for. You're an adult with a good job, a place to stay, an outstanding boyfriend with his own company. I'd say you're doin' alright honey."

You let out an actual little laugh, and he does too, bumping his nose against yours. "You're so full of yourself."

"You like that?" He bumps again, eyes on yours. "I said it to get you to giggle."

"You know it's a little true."

His lips meet yours in a warm tender kiss. "Confidence is sexy."

"It is."

"I could tell your parents there's a work emergency." He slides his hands over your ass and pulls you flush against him. "A real pain in the ass employee is causin' trouble."

You smile into his lips and he smiles back. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

He chuckles softly and cradles your head to his chest. "You can't choose how your family acts. Remember that. It's up to you to decide how you act, and if you want to deal with them."

"I know."

"Do you?" He runs a hand over your hair, tangling his fingers in the strands briefly.. "I know it's different for you, I can distance myself easier since I didn't grow up with proper parents. Maybe I'm cold, or indifferent but-"

"Stop." You dig your fingers into his side and he falls quiet. "Don't compare your childhood to mine. It's not fair. I don't want you to begin resenting me because-"

Billy gives you a look that is all warning and it silences you instantly. "I would never resent you for having parents and growing up like a normal kid should. I ended up in a shit situation and that is no one's fault but my own mother's. She is the only person I will ever resent." He softens, leaning in and kissing your nose. "Do you wanna ditch or go try to make something of this dinner?"

You swallow harshly and look at the door. Ditching would be easy, but the repercussions would be insufferable. Your mom would never stop calling about it, your dad would hold it over your head forever. It would be more of a disaster to leave than it would be to stay. No matter how valid the reason.

"We'll stay. I can try and redirect the conversation."

"That's my girl." He pats your cheek. "Proud of you."

"T-thanks."

Billy takes your hand and interlocks your fingers with his. "I'll take care of it. I can get them to shut up."

"If you can get a word in."

"I have my ways. Don't worry."

You cut him a look as you exit the bathroom and head for the table. "What are you-"

"Don't worry." He presses against your ear and guides you down to sit at the table.

Your parents are still bickering.

"Hey!" Billy says firmly with his hands on the table, not a yell, but enough to get his point across and the attention of your parents but not many others.

"Yes?" Mom asks surprisingly quietly.

Billy smiles and it's all venom, beautiful venom. You know this look, these eyes, that deadly grin. He isn't fucking around and the way he can express that so physically subtly astounds you. "The arguing is going to stop. The petty comments are going to stop. We're going to sit here and have conversations like adults, or you can leave and your daughter and I will have a nice dinner."

"Wh-" Dad starts but doesn't get any further.

"I am not goin' to repeat myself." Billy stands up straight and raises his eyebrows, daring your parents to say another word. The tension is thick, you can hardly breathe. Never did you think you'd have to witness Billy being like this with your parents of all people.

You grab a roll from the basket at the center of the table and pick at it. "How's work been, Dad?"

Dad clears his throat. "Good, busy. People always need an electrician for something. I did a school the other day, new classroom."

Billy sits beside you and lays his hand on your leg, thumb stroking your skin gently. He leans in and whispers "I told you don't worry." He turns his attention back to your parents. "So you're an electrician? Contractor?"

"Yeah, I work for Mundun Electric. Union job, pays well."

"And you?" Billy looks to your mom.

"I'm a medical receptionist. Clarke Center Hospital."

Billy smiles. "That's incredible. You're both hardworking people it seems, I see where she gets her work ethic. She's incredible, the best I've hired for Anvil."

You chew your lip and look down, flushed. "You're just being nice."

"I'm serious." He holds your hand up and kisses your knuckles. "I admire your dedication and the hard work you've put into making Anvil a success. Without you, I don't know where I'd be. Probably buried in paperwork."

"So you work for Billy? That's how you met?" Mom asks and you nod.

Dad raises his eyebrows.

"Dad, don't start."

Billy cuts a glare at your dad. "Don't start what?"

"Nothing." Dad says nonchalantly, eyes going to somewhere else in the room. "I just think inter-workplace relationships are never a good idea."

You squeeze Billy's hand and he just smiles oh so sweetly. "Dad, it's fine. Billy and I are both professionals. If things don't work out we'll make it work for the sake of the company."

"He'll fire you and you'll be looking for a job yet again." Mom pipes up, rolling her eyes. "See, things like this are why you can't hold a career."

"Mom!"

"Alright." Billy says firmly. "We're done here. Ma'am, sir, with all due respect you can both go fuck yourselves."

"Excuse me!?" Dad bellows and your mom looks flustered at the use of language. "You have no right-!"

"Actually I do." Billy stands and guides you to stand with him. "I'm going to love and care about your daughter the way she should be. You two are self absorbed monsters who should have never had a child, let alone forced the one you had to live through a loveless marriage. The fact that you cannot manage to sit here and have dinner with her and myself, which mind you has left quite a first impression, is sad and disappointing."

You grab his hand and you're shaking. You don't even know what to say. It's like Billy is telling them everything you've wanted to for your whole life.

"C'mon sweetheart." He puts his arm around you and guides you out of the restaurant. You know there are people staring but it's fine. It's over now.

"I'm s-"

"Uh uh." Billy puts his finger to your lips. "No apologies. Here." He shrugs his suit jacket off and puts it around your shoulders.

"Thanks."

"You wanna get out of here before your parents come out. Go get some burgers or something?"

You can't help the little smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. "Pete's Diner?"

"Anywhere you like." He takes your hand and walks you toward the parking area. "Fuck this fancy bullshit anyway. I never understood the food they serve."

"Me neither. A hamburger and fries with a big ole pickle is good enough for me."

Billy opens the passenger door for you. "You're a girl after my heart y'know that?"

"I think I already have it."

He leans in and kisses your forehead. "That's for damn sure."

_____________________

Midnight you wake up crying. A nightmare, a reoccurring one as it would be. Though it is more of a twisted memory than a nightmare in actuality.

You are always around seven or eight years old, it's nighttime, you've been in bed for an hour and still not asleep. Downstairs your parents are awake, their disembodied voices float through the old floors. Their voices grow louder, shouting, screaming at each other. A glass shatters and you crawl under the bed. Footsteps come closer in the hall, heavy and slow.

The dream shifts. You're not a child but an adult. Under the bed is smaller now, the footsteps grow louder. The door opens and you scream when your foot is grabbed and you wake up crying.

"What's wrong?" Billy asks, sitting up in bed abruptly and turning on the light, hand instinctively going for the nightstand where you know a weapon is stored.

You had stayed the night, both of you decided it was best to stay together while you decompress from your tragic meet the parents dinner. Didn't matter in the end though. The nightmare still came.

"Just a bad dream. I'm going to get some water." You push back the blankets and plant your feet on the cold floor. It's a nice shock to the system, reminding you this is reality.

Billy's arm snakes around your waist. "Care to share with the class?"

"It's nothing. Just a nonsense dream about old crap."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah. Um, just a dream." You yawn and pat his hand on top of your stomach. "I need water."

"Grab me a bottle?"

"Sure."

You end up in the kitchen, looking out at the New York skyline. His place is so beautiful. It's luxurious, and you can't get used to it. You lean on the island and sip a bottle of cold water from the fridge. You don't think you belong here.

Then the dream comes creeping back in. Rationally you know that dream is never going to become a reality. Not with Billy around.

"Hey."

You look back to see Billy walking in with his sleep pants low on his hips. He scrubs a hand over his face before meeting you at the island.

"Sorry, I just got caught up in the view."

"It s'okay." His arms wrap around you and he presses his face to your neck. "I love you." He whispers softly into your skin.

"Are you alright?"

"Mmm."

You thread a hand into his hair and scratch at his scalp. It elicits a hum that's nearly a purr against your back. "Do you ever feel like you don't deserve this? Like everyday you can't comprehend that you're loved."

"I didn't think I could fall in love before I met you, yeah. I'm familiar."

"Oh."

"Wasn't expecting that?" He chuckles, flexing his fingers against your tummy.

You shake your head and he kisses along your jaw. "Billy, stop," you giggle as his short beard tickles your skin.

"No way." He starts walking you back away from the island counter and toward the bedroom. "I've got a disease and if I don't kiss you all the time I'll definitely succumb to it."

The two of you tumble onto the bed and he straddles your hips, mouthing at your neck and chest relentlessly.

"It's three in the morning. We need to go back to sleep."

Billy hums and settles on top of you, nose in your hair. "Sleep is for the weak."

"Then I'm weak." You trail a hand up his back, fingers flitting over his shoulder blade. His skin is so soft, so warm. "Thank you by the way."

"For what?"

"Being here when I had a nightmare."

"Of course." Billy pets your hair, stroking it down against the pillow. "I've suffered my share of them alone. I'm glad you were here so you weren't."

"Me too."

"Go to sleep." He kisses your cheek and rolls off to the side. His arm curls around you and pulls you close. "Love you."

"Love you too."

_____________________

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

Header image by delicate-venus

Thank you so much for reading, please reblog to support content creators. -A

[hypnomicimagines]

For Honor [Samurai!Yamada Ichiro/Reader] - Chapter 5

(this part contains nsfw, afab reader)

Ichiro practically tossed you over his shoulder as he carried you to the wagon, telling you he refused to do anything of a dubious nature out in the open.

Your body was to be properly cherished, if he was about to do something like this then he wanted to take his time. He wanted to unwrap you like a delicate present, laying you down on the blankets you had been using as a makeshift bed and slowly beginning to kiss the exposed parts of your body. You were thankful you had worn the least complicated outfit in the world, able to slip it off in one fell swoop so your body was bared to the man you had fallen for. Ichiro seemed just as thankful as he kissed your skin, smiling as you giggled about him kissing your thigh; it seemed you were rather ticklish which he seemed quick to take advantage of, his fingers lightly grazing your inner thigh before he spread your legs apart.

You knew about sex, at least the most basic things you could, but you’re surprised when Ichiro’s face is suddenly buried between your legs. There’s a spark of jealousy that ran through you when you considered the fact other ladies had likely gotten this treatment but your mind goes blank as his tongue starts to trace over your folds, lips brushing against your clit in a teasing manner. This was an entirely new sensation for you, your body revealing a new sensitivity as you let out another moan when Ichiro’s tongue came out to flick the sensitive bud. All you could think about was him, your responsibilities, your mission, the fact you could’ve been killed just a few hours earlier, none of that mattered right now.

Ichiro’s mind was in the same sort of place, soaking in your moans as he did all that he could to make you feel good. He was almost obsessed with the thought of making you feel good yet there was a logical, nagging part of his brain that told him his lack of professionalism was going to be his ruin. He was defiling a princess of all people, someone who he was meant to protect, but he would stop the second you objected to any of his actions. His thoughts aren’t entirely lewd in nature either as he also keeps thinking about how he wanted to plant kisses all along your skin, starting from your legs until he worked his way to your mouth. He wished he could’ve taken his time with you but there was a sense of urgency in his body telling him if the moment wasn’t seized the chance to be intimate with you would be lost forever.

“Ichiro…” He pulled away in an instant, carefully covering you up once again before he came face to face with you. You seemed a little dazed, eyes drifting to his lips once he was properly positioned in front of you. “That was nice… but there’s another part of you I’d like.”

“…I have to ask again, princess. Are you sure it’s me you want?”

There was no fairytale ending waiting to happen here, nothing would suddenly change should you have sex with this lonely samurai. It would be easy enough to pretend to be a virgin for your future husband, tonight was simply a one-off, an attempt to work out the stress of the days events. But even he wasn’t delusional enough to believe he could chalk it up to stress, his feelings for you ran far deeper than he wished they did; he wished he could’ve kept that barrier up but you seemed almost too adept at knocking down walls. All those shared conversations, the genuine interest you took in him and his brothers, it had won Ichiro over before he knew it.

“I’ll be gentle,” Ichiro whispered his promise in your ear, kissing the side of your head before he rearranged the wagon. You watched eagerly as he removed his clothing but are disappointed that the sliver of moonlight offered you very little of a view. You would have to view him in the light of day if you expected to truly memorize each detail of his muscular form but you at least get to see him up close and personal as he fit himself between your legs, grabbing your hands and leading them to his dick.

“I-I…”

“I don’t expect you to touch me, princess. I want you to feel… what will be inside you shortly.” You might be a virgin but you knew a beautiful dick when you saw one and Ichiro had it; thick but not overly veiny, skin pale but smooth, you nearly moaned at the thought of having such a beautiful thing inside you. His promise to be gentle and slow was fulfilled as he pressed at your entrance, mumbling something under his breath that revealed his own nervousness. Perhaps he was more of a virgin than you first assumed…?

You gasped as Ichiro’s dick pushed inside you, your bodyguard tensing as your fingers dug into his shoulders; he pressed soft kisses to your neck, an apology for any pain that he might be causing you. It was a new sensation to be so thoroughly filled and as you leaned back, teeth digging into your lip as new sensations began to wash over you. It was clear no man would ever stand up to Ichiro; there wasn’t a chance you’d find such a noble, kind-hearted samurai who would treat you so delicately. How often had you been looked at like some piece of meat by your suitors?

Yet this man, this man who was not bound by the laws of nobility, treated you more like a person than the noble ever had.

Part of Ichiro was still feeling guilty, even as he pressed deeper inside you.  

You were a client, someone he was supposed to protect, yet he was sure his feelings for you weren’t so fair-weather in nature that he was simply taking advantage of you. The things you managed to do to his heart in such a short amount of time were unheard of, he had never been so fascinated and infatuated with a person before in his life. Did the forbidden romance aspect of it attract him? Did the fact the two of you would never be allowed to be a happy couple attract him even more? Perhaps this was simply karma coming back for all the atrocities he had committed, dangling this shiny treasure in front of his face knowing he couldn’t resist the temptation, leading him forward like a dog on a leash into a hole he would never be able to crawl out of.

But you wanted him, too.

He felt it with every hurried kiss you pressed to his face, leaving a trail along his jaw as you tried to get his full attention back on you. He smiled, your face matching his as you started to move your body in rhythm with his own. His body was close enough for you to see and you were admiring him like he was a piece of art while he pleasured you, fingers trailing along his scars in quiet admiration before a sudden thrust sent a powerful shockwave of pleasure tearing through your body. You fell against him, head buried in his chest, whimpering his name as he soothed you.

When you began to feel a tightening in your belly you mentioned it to Ichiro, who told you to relax and allow him to do the work. His hand dipped between your bodies once more and he toyed with your clit again, carefully watching your face to assure he wasn’t overstimulating you. It was exactly what you needed and you came with a cry of his name, Ichiro quickly smothering out your cries before it could attract any unwanted attention. He’s sure the movement of the wagon was suspicious enough but he wanted to lower the possibility of being found in such a compromising condition for your sake more than his own.

When he pulls out of you, cleaning you up as thoroughly as he could, there was only silence. While you were still coming down from your high Ichiro was suffering with the guilt he felt, his brain no longer clouded by pleasure. He would like to say it was worth it but through no fault of your own he knew he had only hurt himself more than anything. He would never have you again, never get to feel your touch, never get to hear how sweet his name sounded when it came from your lips, these things were not for him to have.

They were for your future husband.

Ichiro went to exit the wagon but is stopped by your hand on his arm, looking at him with a pleading look that said ‘stay with me’ but he had indulged himself too much already. He silently shook his head and hoped you would take this answer without more questions, but even with the short amount of time he knew you, he knew it wouldn’t work that way. You were stubborn and curious and direct; there wasn’t a chance that Ichiro would get out of this one without hurting you.

“I don’t want our time together to end, Ichiro. You are the best man who I’ve ever had the chance to meet and I’m sure I’ll remember you for the rest of my days. Please… Please come lay with me.”

“…Go to sleep.” Ichiro turned away from you, stepping out of the wagon without a second of hesitation. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Proof Is In the Brownie

Author's note:

Hello beautiful people! It's been such a long time since I have posted, and I'm truly sorry for the no-show, but things ahve been hectic at work and I really couldn't get myself in the right headspace to write, but now we're hopefully rolling! I struggled a lot deciding whether I should write this chapter or not. It doesn't feel like my usual narrative, some of you will find it unusual, and still I had to get it out of my head. If you can, leave me a comment or an ask with your opinion!

So, without further ado, let's get to it!

“Oh God.” I croaked, looking around. “I think we took this thing way too far.”

Victor lifted his head from my shoulder, disheveled hair still covered with flour.

“You think?” He frowned. “We destroyed the kitchen.”

Feeding Instructions

“Andy, will you come here for a second?” I heard Victor call from the hallway.

“Yeah.” I stopped beside the aquarium, running my fingers through my wet hair.

“This is how much you give him.” He showed me a small plastic spoon with lobster pellet food. “Twice a day. Once in the morning, once in the evening. No more than that.”

Here we go.

“Are you also instructing me on how many times I should feed our son, or is it just the lobster?”

“You forget you fed him, and then you feed him more than necessary.” He dropped the food into the aquarium. “He’s getting fatter, his exoskeleton doesn’t even get a chance to harden.” He paused, staring at the aquarium. “Maybe I should make you a sheet to keep track of his feeding.”

“For the last time, Victor, I am not overfeeding the lobster! I am perfectly able to remember if I have fed him or not, I’m not senile.” I walked back to our room, starting to feel annoyed.

“This from the person who forgot her phone inside the refrigerator.” I heard him follow me.

“That is different, I was getting a yogurt for Owen and I was holding the phone...”

“I would buy you some memory supplements, but you’ll probably forget to take them.” He mocked me.

“You know, if you are so worried about the lobster, don’t go.” I turned to him. “Stay and feed him yourself.”

“You know I can’t do that. I need to make sure everything is running smoothly before the inauguration.” He held me by the waist.

“Right.” I leaned my head against his chest with a heavy sigh. ”And I need to stay behind to look after LCG and help Goldman if he needs me.”

“It’s only for two weeks.” He pressed his chin on top of my head. “Then you’ll meet me in Paris, and we can make up for the lost time.”

I wrapped my arms tightly around him, like somehow my embrace could force him to stay. Although traveling was a big part of Victor’s job, since we got Owen he used to avoid it as much as he could, and I got used to having him with us all the time. I knew LFG France was a big project that demanded a lot of his attention, especially during the first months, and he had no choice but to go, yet I still resented the fact that I would have to endure two weeks without his warmth, sleeping alone in a cold bed.

“In the meantime, will you please try not to kill our pet?” He broke our embrace, pecking me in the forehead. “Twice a day. No more, no less.”

“Oh, for the love of-”

“Nevermind, I’ll just ask Owen.”

And with that, my husband left me alone in our bedroom, probably to avoid the insults I was about to throw at him.

A Brownie a Day Keeps the Sadness Away

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Owen poked his eggs. “But I have to go to school today, I won’t have any time to be with you before we leave.”

“We have tonight.” Victor smiled at his son.

“It’s no use, it’s not enough time.” The boy pouted. “And I’ll be too sad to enjoy it anyway.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at my five-year-old drama. Victor gave me a knowing look.

“Well, that being the case, I may as well return the tickets I bought to the Insectopia exhibition.” Victor spoke casually, his eyes on his phone.

Owen dropped his fork and looked at his father, his sweet brown eyes sparkling.

“We are going to see Insectopia today?”

Victor got up from the table calmly, retrieving an orange cardboard box from the fridge.

“We were, but since you are so depressed, you may not want to do it. I even bought your favorite brownies from Hungry Hippo, but I understand if you lost your appetite.”

“I can have brownies for breakfast?!?” Owen’s eyes opened so wide I thought they were going to pop out.

“Finish your eggs first.” Victor took three more plates from the cupboard, serving us all brownies. Owen took his fork again, eating his eggs in a rush.

“Done!” He announced after what felt like 10 seconds. “I want a brownie please!”

“God, Owen, did you even chew your food?!?” I looked at my son’s plate, surprised to see it empty. But I don’t think he even heard me, already busy cutting his brownie.

“Hmmm, these are sooo goood!” Owen closed his eyes as he took a bite of his brownie. “The best brownies ever, better than all other brownies! Not even Dad can make brownies this good!”

My husband’s face fell.

“My brownies are not this good?”

“No, these are so much better!” Owen replied with his mouth full of chocolate.

Victor gave me an inquisitive look. I sipped my coffee, pretending not to notice.

“Hmm.” He frowned, cutting a piece of his brownie with the fork and bringing it to his mouth. After a moment, his frown deepened. “They are. But how?”

Playing My Brownies Right

As usual, we drove Owen to school and headed to LFG Tower to work. On a regular day, Victor and I would spend our commute time talking about our daily affairs, clients we would meet, who would cook dinner or pick Owen up. But since it was his last day at home before he flew to Paris, all of that seemed irrelevant. The whole day just felt a bit sad for me.

“I wish you could take the day off for us to spend some time together. It’s been ages since we had some time for ourselves.”

“Some other time.” He sighed. “I need to get some last-minute affairs in order before I leave.”

“Can’t you take some time and have Goldman do it?” I complained. “You’ve been working non-stop.”

“I should take care of some things myself.”

“Funny, back when I was publishing my study, you were such a firm believer in delegating.” I squinted at him.

“Different situations.”

“Because I’m me and you’re you?”

There was a moment of silence, and I smiled thinking Victor was mulling over my astonishing comeback. Turns out, he wasn’t even listening.

“Do you think those brownies are better than mine?”

“That is your main concern right now!?”

“Well, are they?” He insisted.

“Ok, consider this a lesson of tough love.” I turned to him. “Yes, they are. Happy Hippo’s brownies are vastly superior to yours. And that’s ok. You don’t have to be good at everything. Someone can’t be good at everything.”

“I beg to differ.” He frowned, watching the road. “My whole life, I worked hard to achieve perfection, and I have reached it. I believe that with consistent effort and dedication, one can be good at anything.”

I stifled a laugh.

“Not brownies, though.”

“Don’t think I can’t tell you are mocking me.”

“Oh no, I’m going to lose brownie points.” I poked him.

“Will you back off?” He poked back. “I have plenty to do today, I don’t want to catch moronitis from you.”

“You know, if you were so good at everything, I’m sure you would have no trouble delegating your tasks to Goldman and spending the day with me.” I gave him a daring look. “In fact, I bet you can’t.”

“You bet?” He smiled mischievously at me. There was nothing Victor loved more than a good challenge. Unfortunately for him, I was well aware of that.

“Want to make it official?”

“It depends. What are the terms of this bet?”

“For today, until Owen arrives from school, if I dare you to do something, you’ll need to do it, and you need to do it perfectly. If I win, you’ll have to admit you are not good at everything. Also, you can’t nag me about anything for a whole month. Not about lobster food, not about the mess I make in the bathroom, nothing.”

“Fair enough. So if I win, you’ll have to always agree with what I say and act accordingly for a month. During that time, what I say goes, and you can’t go against it. And you will have to acknowledge my prowess as well.”

“I always have to agree? So I can never tell you that you’re wrong?” I frowned.

“Not for thirty days, you can’t.”

“Not even if you are talking your way into sleeping on the couch?”

“That won’t happen because you’ll always agree with me.” He smiled. “See? It’s a foolproof plan.”

“You have to win first.” I dared.

“I’m confident about my chances.” Keeping a cautious eye on the road, he pressed the screen of his phone. “And to show you I mean it, I will complete the first challenge.”

“You’re taking the day off?” I smiled, surprised to see my teasing work so well.

“I was already planning to, you idiot.” He pretended to be angry, although I could see him suppressing a smile. “I only had a short meeting to attend and then I would whisk you away from the office for some time for two. Sadly, you had to act childishly and ruin the surprise.”

Awww, soft Victor. I leaned against his bicep, my heart filled with love for this man. It almost made me feel bad for planning to make his day a living hell. Almost.

Put Your Mouth Where Your Brownie Is

“A supermarket? That’s your idea of time for two?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a quiet day at home, just the two of us.” Victor replied, filling our cart with several items. “And cooking together seems like a nice activity.”

“Well, since you’ll be gone for so long, I thought we could use some more…” I batted my eyelids at him. “... intimate time.”

“Fear not, I will not leave my wife unsatisfied.” He smiled.

That smile was enough to leave me a babbling horny mess. Get it together, Andrea.

It wasn’t until we stopped by the dairy fridge that I paid close attention to the contents of our cart: chocolate, sugar, flour, and a stick of unsalted butter Victor had just put there.

“We’re going to bake brownies.” My good mood was gone at that exact second. We were supposed to be taking time for us, how could he even think about brownies?

“We are going to try and recreate that recipe, perhaps even improve it.”

“Well, don’t use that butter then. Use this one instead.” I retrieved a stick of regular butter from the fridge.

“I will not use cheap butter to bake.” He put the salted butter in its original place. “It alters the consistency and flavor. It belongs on warm bread, not brownies.”

I could say I was disappointed that Victor was more concerned about his pride than the short time we had to be together before his trip. I could even say that it upset me how condescending he would sound sometimes, always telling me how to do things, like I was Owen’s age. All of these were true, but that wasn’t what was bothering me the most. Victor would leave soon, and we wouldn’t see each other for two weeks, and I knew I would be a needy insecure mess during the time he would be away, barely able to sleep on that giant bed by myself, missing his loving whispers in the morning, his huge sweaty body making love to me. To add insult to injury, this distance didn’t seem to affect Victor at all. He was cool as a cucumber, like this long trip away from his family was just another Tuesday.

I felt entitled to some pettiness.

“You know what? Forget about the old bet.” I took the stick of butter and placed it again in our cart. “Let’s make a new one. Same consequences, different challenge.”

“What do you have in mind?” He came closer, looking me in the eye.

“Simple.” I stared back defiantly. “The best brownie wins.”

All is Fair in Love and Brownies

The terms were pretty straightforward: we had fifteen minutes to prepare the batter, after which we would put both trays in the oven, simultaneously, and bake them for the exact same time. If we couldn’t decide on which brownie was the best, Owen would have the final say. The winner would have absolute power over the household for a month, and could not be defied during that time, unless in dire circumstances.

We placed the ingredients on the counter, along with the bowls and pans we would need. Victor started the timer on his phone.

“Ready?” He glanced at me.

“Let’s get this party started.” I smiled.

It was showtime.

Victor and I loved cooking together, but our cooking methods couldn’t be more different. I was more of a messy cooker, leaving eggshells on the counter, and flour everywhere, and most times my clothes would also become victims of my culinary endeavors, while Victor was methodical and clean, neatly arranging his ingredients on the counter, carefully measuring each one of them. Surprisingly, we worked pretty well together: Victor quickly embraced my spontaneous side and I obviously benefited immensely from his methodic one. Side by side, as competitors, not so much. That became clear when I grabbed the flour and placed it absentmindedly on the counter, the bag still open.

“Close the bag after you use it.” Victor paused his mixing to close the flour bag. “Clumsy as you are, you’ll spill flour all over the counter.”

“So what?” I shrugged, busy mixing my batter. “It’s just flour, we’ll clean it afterward.”

“Have you noticed how filthy your side of the counter is? How can you work in such chaos?” He scolded. “Eggshells everywhere, flour and sugar on the floor…” He wiped my forehead. “How did you even get flour on your face?”

And there he was again, talking to me like I was five. Oh boy.

“I’m sorry, is my mess making you uncomfortable?”

“Just stay on your side of the counter, I don’t want to get stains on my shirt.”

That was enough. If Victor was so adamant about treating me like a child, I would act like one.

“Oops!” I tilted the sugar jar over the counter, sugar spilling all over Victor’s side. “You are right, I can be really messy.”

“What’s the matter with you?” He quickly grabbed a cloth. “Are you trying to aggravate me on purpose?”

“Maybe I am.” I shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure a perfect man like you must be prepared to deal with all challenges life throws at him, including a messy wife.”

“A little sugar isn’t going to stop me, if that's what you think.” He gave me a smug look, returning to his work. “I’ll still win.”

“Is that so?” I paused my mixing, wondering what I could do to get him pissed.

“Easy now, don’t go doing things you might regret.” Victor raised an eyebrow at me, like he somehow had read my mind.

“I think my batter is ready. Tell me what you think.” I grabbed the spoon I was using to mix and whipped it towards Victor, a bunch of brownie batter landing on his neck and face. “Yummy, right?”

Victor paused, his eyes closed, taking a deep breath as he wiped the chocolate from his face. For a moment I thought he would just scream at me and storm away. I had something quite different.

“Not quite ready yet.” He took the flour bag and dumped it all over me. “It needs more flour."

“Are you sure?” I gave him a defying look, after wiping some of the flour off me. “Have another taste.”

And I did the unthinkable. I took my mixing bowl and poured it all over his shirt and pants.

“For the record,” Victor said after recovering from the initial shock, “you were the one who started this.”

I really can’t tell who threw what next, but the next thing I know is we were in full battle mode, ingredients flying everywhere. Victor got a clear advantage when he remembered he had some eggs close by. Thankfully, I was quick to react and managed to avoid being bombarded by opening the fridge door and hiding behind it. And that’s when I saw it. The can of whipped cream I had bought to garnish the other brownies, and that Victor had refused to use because food in a can is unacceptable. Well, I would put it to good use now. I emerged from behind my improvised shelter, shaking the can vigorously.

“Now, if you’re smart,” I pointed the nozzle at him, “you’ll admit defeat and walk away.”

“If you were smart”, he walked confidently towards me, “you’d know it takes a lot more than whipped cream for me to fold.” Before I could react, he grabbed both my wrists and made me twirl, holding my arms behind my back, the can forgotten on the floor. “Now admit defeat.” He whispered in my ear, from behind me.

“Oh, bite me.” I scoffed.

He didn’t waste a second. He took my earlobe in his mouth and bit it hard.

“Satisfied?”

I gave him a daring look.

“Harder.”

Bigger Brownies to Bake

My defiance was like a trigger in Victor’s mind. He didn’t give me any time to think or react, turning me effortlessly in his arms, his mouth taking mine in a passionate kiss. And just like that, our food fight turned into a steamy make-out session.

Yes, the kitchen was a mess, and Victor would be leaving soon, but none of the things that bothered us before seemed to matter at that moment, as we focused solely on each other and the way we felt, the world a blurry notion in the back of our minds. We simply gave in to our lust, kissing, touching, teasing, hands ripping clothes apart and throwing them on the ground. Victor was far from cold, despite popular belief, he was a very intense man, and loving him was just as intense. Every time we gave in to our feelings like this, it was like being swallowed by a gigantic yet pleasurable wave, only hoping we would come out whole in the end. We made love right then and there, on our kitchen island, too entranced to think of anything else. It was only when we came down from our high, landing in each other’s arms with a wide grin on our faces, that we minded the real world again.

“Oh God.” I croaked, looking around. “I think we took this thing way too far.”

Victor lifted his head from my shoulder, his hair covered with flour.

“You think?” He frowned. “We destroyed the kitchen.”

Our eyes met for a second before we both burst into laughter. Problems like a dirty kitchen seem so silly when we’re happy.

“Will you tell me why you have been so moody with me lately?” He pulled me closer to his chest.

“I haven’t…” I started defending myself, but gave up when I noticed him glaring at me. “I have been moody, yes, you are right.” I sighed. “I know this is stupid and you’ll probably make fun of me, but the idea of having you away for so long… it’s unsettling.”

“Idiot, it’s only for a few weeks.” He chuckled. “Before you know it, you’ll be taking the jet to meet me.”

“See? And that infuriates me too!” I pushed away from his arms. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you laugh! Like this is a joke, like there is no reason for me to be feeling that way, especially when it’s clear you won’t-”

He pressed his lips against mine, and as usual, my thoughts evaded me completely. His kiss was sweet and soothing, taking away all my anxiety. He took my face in his hands and broke the kiss to look into my eyes, his voice with a sweeter yet vulnerable tone now.

“You are usually so good at reading me.” He smiled. “How can you think I don’t care?”

His eyes were filled with such honesty that I began to question my reasoning as well. That man did nothing but love me, deeply, every day. How could I possibly question that? I watched as he lifted my wrist, holding the red ruby charm between these fingers.

“I carry your heart with me.” He whispered.

“I carry it in my heart.” I returned.

“I may not say much, but my word is biding. You never need to worry about these things, you have the answer to them already. Here.” He pointed at my bracelet. “Here.” He took my left hand, kissing my ring finger. “And hopefully, here.” His hand rested on my chest. “Even when this gets you in trouble.” He tapped my forehead with a smile. “I give all these reminders and still you forget? You are in dire need of those memory supplements.”

“Damn it.” I shook my head. “You won.”

“No, the terms were that the best brownie would win. We didn’t get to bake them.”

“You wanted to prove to me that you are perfect.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “And you did. You are absolutely perfect. At least for me.”

“Well, that being the case…” He came closer, brushing his lips against mine. “I think we have a tie.”

The kitchen was pristine clean when Owen came from school, and our little adventure became our secret, a private joke we shared in our moments of intimacy. Another proof that, even in chaos and uncertainty, we would always find each other.

This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

[hobihobihoe]

Unruly - Part one

Obey me! + Mafia BTS + 0T7 au x reader                                                                

2.5k ish 

Warnings : 18+ slowwww burn ~ eventual smut ~ descriptions of blood and violence ~ cliche city ~ alsooo uhh if you care about grammar this is not 4 U cause imma dumb bitch <3

Andd ahh this is the first thing i’ve ever written so its probably kinda shit.. :)

Great. Just great. Why did you agree to this again? Oh yeah because you’re a good person, or at least you’re trying to be. You’d just agreed to cover Rosies shift, apparently she was sick, but what you hadn't taken into account when you’d agreed to work was that Rosie had been booked to a private venue, well I guess now you had been booked to a private venue. You hated working private venues, as a bartender people would sometimes assume you provided the drinks or that because you weren't working at your company bar you would join in with shots or maybe give them a discount as you were a lone ranger incharge of yourself and providing alcohol for the night. One thing a private venue did mean though was money, getting paid nearly twice the amount you usually did as well as hopefully generous tips from wealthy clients. But still you weren’t quite sure three times the work was worth only double the pay, but well… fuck it you’ve gotta be a good friend/colleague and well person to Rosie so you just have to suck it up.

Thankfully it was a Saturday night so you didn't have to work it after being at university all day. So you bid farewell to the library you had been pretending to study at and headed home to get changed into something more presentable because a hoodie three times your size and leggings covered in dorito dust probably wouldn't fly at this kind of event.

As you opened the door you heard the crocky meows of your little baby, Zuki. He was an all black rescue cat that you'd adopted two years ago, when you’d started university, as a companion and partly because as soon as you saw his cute little face you were screwed and had to bring him home. You bent down to stroke his head and scratch behind his ear just the way he likes, which results in him vibrating with loud purrs that soften your heart. “Okay baby I love you but I gotta go get ready” Zuki looks at you with annoyance now that you've cut his pampering session short, he's such a spoiled little brat you think to yourself, but as he follows you into your bedroom with his tail high in the air and a slight sway in his steps you can't bring yourself to care. He is just too damn cute.

Now donned in your crisp white shirt and black dress pants you tame your hair enough so that it resembles a neatish bun, you say goodbye to your fur baby and head off to your car on your way to hopefully a nice paycheque.

When you arrive you're greeted by Jae. He leads you to the bar and tells you to ask him if there's anything you need. Okay so far so good, you've just gotta make yourself familiar with any specialised drinks on the menu and the rest should be smooth sailing. About 10 minutes after you arrive a large group of men appear, they sit down on two separate sides of the long table that takes up most of the room, they then send two men from each group respectively your way. Game time you think, the man that reaches the bar first is sweating noticeably, his black hair sticking to the front of his forehead matting the hair that it encompases. “sweetheart get me 6 doubles of gentleman jack over ice and 2 dry martinis”, you smile at him, so thankful that you wouldn't have to make any cocktails. They were time consuming and required a lot of faf essentially and a lot of cleaning up, “of course sir” you say as you smile at him, he barely acknowledges you as he goes to sit at one of the stools that lined the bar. As you get to making his drinks you hear the clearing of someone's throat, you look up and realise it was the other man that you had been coming over. You nearly choke on your spit at the sight of him. His pastel pink hair is delicately framing his cherub-like face, “Miss?”, oh shit you’d zoned out, “Oh i'm so sorry I missed what you said completely '' you admitted shly, he just gave a cute little chuckle. “ Its okay angel” you started to blush at the use of such an affectionate nickname “I asked if I could have 6 manhattans and a sex on the beach” great fucking coacktails you signed internaly, “Of course sir” that earned a smirk from him, you were just being professional, shit professional you had to remind yourself to focus on making the drinks as your traitorous eyes kept lingering in the area surrounding him.

As you finish preparing each individual drink you place them on the bar so the men can take them to booths. Just as you were setting down the final cocktail you brush fingers with the pink haired man, “oh... um” you say prepared to give him an apology but as you look up and meet his eyes you seem to lose your ability to form any kind of cohesive sentence “Jimin, angel, my names Jimin” he states  “oh uh, Jimin I hope you enjoy your drinks'' you feel like a pathetic teenager again unable to talk to the pretty boy at the party. “I'm sure I will angel” he throws over his shoulder as he walks back to the group of men he’d emerged from, what was it with him saying that nickname that just made you giddy. God I really need to get out more you thought, maybe you could go out tomorrow as you wouldn't be working since you covered rosies shift, maybe then you could get some real action and should hopefully suasiate you for a bit. Ugh it's like Jimin had awoken something within you, which usually you’d be interested to explore, but considering that you were at work you were gonna just have to put his beautiful face to the back of your mind for when you got home later and could relax properly. Zesh should you feel creepy? No its not your fault that what was practically sex on legs was going about all unobtainable, thats what your imagination and your trusty vibrator were for anyway.

An hour later and you've made exactly three more drinks, wow, maybe if you stare at the champagne flute for another 10 minutes you'll unlock its secrets and it will be more interesting. Just as you were debating wiping down the bar for the hundredth time you hear chairs being pulled out and moved loudly. You look up to see that both groups of men which were previously amicably sat at the table now have guns aimed at each other. You freeze. You haven't ever seen a gun in person before and there must be well over ten now all presumably aimed and ready to fire. You dunk under the bar as you hear yelling start. You weren't able to focus on what was being said by the men, too busy trying to focus on controlling your breathing. Fuck. that sounded like a gun shot. And then another. You've lost track of how many shots you've heard, lots is the amount you settle on, maybe if you just stay behind the bar and stay quiet they'll forget you’re there and leave you alone. There is a long silence in the room, you try your best to mimic it when you notice the movement in one of the wine glasses that are stacked up behind the bar. Someone pushes the staff entrance to the bar open and strides towards you, gun in his right hand. You start to push yourself backward but are soon met with the edge of the bar, the man is dressed in all red and if it weren't for the specks of blood covering his face you would consider him unbelievably attractive. You seem to have been consumed by these thoughts because you suddenly come back into your physical reality, met with a gun now pointed only inches away from your face. You search his eyes for any kind of mercy or empathy you could try to appeal to, what shocks you is you only see a smoldering fire. You see his finger move on the trigger and close your eyes, you don't want the last thing you see to be a stranger. Just as you were going to try to think of pleasant things and the ones you cheriouish you hear a voice. “Hobi stop” Jimin said rather nonchalantly given your current situation, “Chim just let me tie up this loose end then we can get going” the other man, you guess Hobi? Sneered. Wow he just thought of killing you as an inconvenience, what a dick. “Hobi I think we could use her for something else” “what?” Hobi questioned sternly “well even Yoongi mentioned how good his drink was and we always have to get a new bartender every meeting and it would be easier if we had one who knew who we were so when this kind of shit happens again we haven't got any loose ends” Jimin points out. Hobi seems to consider this for a minute before he moves away in a different direction to Jimin, you try to follow his eye line but because of your placement on the floor you can’t see over the bar. “Joon, obviously the call is yours to make” Hobi announces. “It does seem to be a practical suggestion and Jimin must have taken a liking to her if he stopped you, so I don't see why not” the ominous voice declared. After a second of those words sinking in you realise that they have just decided to take you with them, to take you captive.

You start to shake, turning your head to meet Jimin's eye “no uh..um.no please don't take me” you sniffle “I promise I never saw anything, I won't say anything p-please just let me go home” you can barley make out your own words as they are effectively smothered by your tears and your small gasps for breath as you aren't able to regulate your breathing. Jimin elegantly slides over the bar and bends down to your height “Angel don't be so silly, you're coming with us. You should really be thanking me” he gives you a small wink. That causes a fresh wave of panic to settle over you, you know there's a fire exit further down in the bar hidden within the sinks and stock area, with the spike of adrenaline you start to run towards the exit. It looks like it's going well until you hear a loud bang, then the feeling of the side of your head being hit registers, lastly you notice your eyesight unfocusing before darkness seems to override and then suddenly, nothing.

~JIMINS POV~

“Yoongi was that really necessary?” Jimin akses with a slight frown on his face. The older man shrugs “someone had to do something” Jimin sighs and looks at Jungkook, “it will be easier if you carry her.”

~YOUR POV~

When you open your eyes again you see white, adjusting slightly, you realise your laying on a bed. You sit up and look around the room. There are 5 other beds that you can see, they are all small single beds with a chest at the end of each. You look over your surroundings for a few minutes before you remember the circumstances leading up to you being here. You touch the back of your head and wince when your fingers meet a small swollen bump. You decided you should probably try and leave, poor Zuki is probably waiting for you to fill his food bowl. Wow, you realise in this situation you think of your cat's mortality more than your own, well you guess that's what your life has amounted to. Just as you stand up the door opens. “Oh you're awake now” You look over to see the small older woman who was speaking “Umm.. where am i?” The lady gives you a small smile “You're in the maids room sweetie.” Great that's cleared up nothing, you think bitterly. “Can I talk to whoever's in charge? Please?” You think this is probably your best bet, explain to them that you just want to go hope and hopefully they'll be humane enough to agree with that. “Yes, he wanted me to come and get you anyway” She states as she turns around walking away from the doorway, you start to follow her. As you continue walking through the hallways and up the stairs of this seemingly huge mansion you notice several men standing guard with guns rested in their hands, ready at all times. You start to wonder if maybe your idea is ridiculous as you realise wherever you are and whatever you have gotten yourself involved in may be larger than the small group of men you'd seen at the bar. Your worrying is cut short as the women raises her hand and knocks at a door you have stopped outside off, a short “Come in” is what is answered from the other side of the door, the older women looks to you, “You should go in alone, i'll be waiting for you here” You look at her and then to the door “Uh... thank you?” You’re not really sure what the appropriate response is in this situation but you don't want to be rude, she gives you a short nod and smile.

Once you open the door you're faced with one of the men you'd seen before. He regards you with a very slight smile before he gestures to a chair placed in front of the desk he is sitting behind, you walk over to sit at the chair before you look at him directly. You aren't sure if the bang to the head you had received had caused temporary delusions, but as you look at him you swear you see light radiating out of him. You meet his eyes for a second before you decide they are too intimidating and look away, “You wanted to see me?” you ask meekly, deciding to for now abandon your plea for freedom. “Yes, I did, i'm not sure if you remember why we brought you here so i’ll just go over your role again” he starts “You’re going to be working as our personal bartender, this means you will joins us on outings that we deem appropriate and also make our drinks whilst we are here, at the base” he then moves his face into your eye line so that he can make eye contact “And in return of your services we’ll let you live” he finishes his small speech with a slight smile, as if he had just offered you a job and you weren't being threatened and held captive in this place. You take a few minutes to think over what he had just said, you come to the conclusion that for now faking compliance is probably the safest thing you can do until you are able to find a window to escape. “Who do you mean when you say we?” you enquire, you weren't sure if you should be questioning the leader of this organisation?, but your curiosity had won over any of the other responses you considered.

[petri808]

@ktdkvalentines​ for Syd on Ig Valentines Exchange

Bakudeku College Au. TW: panic attack, anxiety, some angst w/happy ending based on the request.

Izuku Midoriya was in a great mood that Fall morning as he arrived at the college campus. His first day of his first year away from home, ready to start the next leg of his journey. He’d chosen this university for its good reviews and psychology program. He wanted to do something good in his life and what better way then helping others who’d suffered like he had. Not that he’d had a horrible life but growing up in a single parent household created some attachment issues and bullying when he was younger left him with anxieties. All through high school he’d worked extra hard to get to a point where he could function most of the time, and he was proud of how far he’d come. That growth is what led him to pursue a career in psychology, to take his negative experiences and turn them into a positive one.

So, he wasn’t ready when he walked into the dorm room and saw the familiar blonde hair and red eyes of his nightmares looking back at him. 

Oh, this couldn’t be happening! Izuku swallowed hard, a mantra of calming statements flooding his brain as a silent staring content ensued. Neither man said a word, but the longer this went on for, the voices in his mind slowed and were replaced with questions. He was starting to realize... did the blonde even remember him?! He couldn’t tell if it was confusion, or maybe pain on the man’s twisted features, but it certainly wasn’t the angry boy he’d grown up with.

“Wow, Izuku is that you?” The man spoke with no malice in his tone, even rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Been a long time, huh?”

“Yeah... about 7 years I think.”

“H-How you been?”

“Okay, I guess. A bit surprised to see a familiar face.”

The blonde’s shoulders dropped slightly, and he averted his eyes to the ground, “probably not who you’d hoped to see again...”

“I didn’t say...”

“No, no, it’s okay.” The man waved his hands to stop him. “I— I owe you an apology Zuku. And I’m not looking for forgiveness cause I don’t deserve it, but I hope we can, I don’t know like start off fresh, I guess, since we’re stuck in this room together.”

Izuku blinked in confusion, what had happened to Katsuki Bakugou in these past 7 years?! He was certain it wasn’t all arouse, or that the man was trying to bring his guard down, because Katsuki sounded genuine. Until the age of 2 or 3 they were actually really close, but for some reason by the end of their first year of primary school, he’d started picking on Izuku, or taking out his anger on the smaller boy. He had no idea what triggered it, but in the end, he was left emotionally scarred. Now, the man standing before him exuded a broken version of that 3-year-old child he once knew.

“You’re right. I lost count of how many times I ran home in tears because of you. We were best friends and it really hurt when you started picking on me and being mean to me.” The pain evident in his voice rang out into the small, shared room. “I don’t care why you did it. But,” Izuku continued with a sigh, “you’re right, I don’t wanna rehash the past either, so if we can just start over and put up with being roommates, we’ll see how it goes.”

“I’d like that. A-and I know it might not mean much but am sorry Zuku— about how I’d treated you. I promise, I’m not that guy anymore.”

“I believe you.” And he did, for now. Deep down, Izuku always tried to stay positive because if he didn’t, and allowed the irrational thoughts to fester, it could pull him right back into an episode. He didn’t fully trust Katsuki yet, but if was serious about going into the counseling field, he also knew it was important to continue moving forward. That didn’t mean divulging all of his secrets, or telling Katsuki about his own struggles, but he’ll stay alert to make sure that at any sign the man was slipping, he’d get out of there.

As the first two months crept along, the roommates went about their own business with very little interactions at first. It was a bit weird to Izuku, to be in a shared room where their beds were literally just a few feet from one another’s, yet they were lucky to go beyond a good morning or hello. In comfortable situations, he was a bubbly person who genuinely enjoyed talking to people, so the stillness of their room was unnerving. Of course, this was better than feeling fearful around Katsuki, but how are they to move forward and maybe become friends again, if they weren’t interacting?

So, because they weren’t talking, Izuku did the next best thing and observed. One thing that had not changed about Katsuki, was being meticulous. The blondes side of the room was always neat and tidy, books or stationery on the desk stacked perfectly, clothes in the closet organized by color and type, even the bed was always made with crisp corners. Early to bed and early to rise, the man had a ritual of sorts. If he wasn’t studying at his desk, he’d be on his bed reading or listening to music. Even the way Katsuki ate was curious to Izuku, constantly wiping his hands or face of any residue. There were a few things the blonde requested of him, no scented candles or strong, smelling fish type meals, and to leave his side of the curtains closed, something about the sunlight bothering him. They were simple enough requests to acquiesce to.

The man rarely left the room except to go to class and as far as he could tell, Katsuki had only one other friend on the campus who’d occasionally drop by. A nice guy, very friendly named Eijiro Kirishima. Well, he assumed they were friends because most of the time, his roommate stayed quiet while Eijiro did the talking. Izuku was pretty sure he spoke to the man more then Katsuki during these visits. They seemed unlikely friends really, one happy-go-lucky, and one anti-social... kind of reminded him of their once friendship now that he thought about it.

Izuku could appreciate the idea of sticking to familiar surroundings. Their dorm room was a sanctuary for him as well. He avoided large, crowded areas as much as possible, and if he didn’t know anyone, did his best to be inconspicuous. But within their room, with just the two of them, it should be a comfortable experience. Before coming to the school, he’d wondered what his roommate would be like or imagined making friends, so it was a little disappointing. By the third month it was a close friend of Izuku’s that suggested he make the first move to engage Katsuki in conversations. Start out simple, maybe learn any hobbies, what music he listened to, his major, etc. Forget the fact he knew the man and pretend as if he’s trying to make a new friend. Ugh, he hated making the first move. Izuku preferred being engaged not initiating it because it drove his anxieties up. But they were right. ‘Think of it like practice,’ Izuku reasoned with himself, ‘pulling a difficult client out of their shell.’

It was a lazy Sunday around midterms when Izuku decided to make a move. As he sat rested on his bed similarly to Katsuki, with his back against the wall and a textbook propped on his legs. Every few seconds, he glanced over the book’s edge, side-eyeing the blonde who was also nose deep into a chemistry textbook. Should he say something? But the man looked preoccupied, and Chemistry is a difficult subject. Maybe he shouldn’t bother Katsuki? He didn’t want to be annoying or anything and it wasn’t important really. Then again, the guy was always preoccupied with something or other and if he waited for a perfect moment, what if it never came? Would he wait forever? No, this was as good a time as ever.

Izuku lowered his book. “H-How’s the studying going Kacchan?”

The blonde turned to look at him briefly. “Fine.” Then returned to his reading.

“Oh, that’s good.”

Ugh! It was always so hard to get a read on Katsuki! His affect and tone were flat, no anger, amusement, nothing, just his common one worded response. It was rare for the blonde to give or maintain eye contact, so at least the man looked at him this time.

He tried another question. “I noticed your chemistry book, is that your major?”

“Yup.”

“Um, what do you do with a chemistry degree?” Izuku asked genuinely.

This time Katsuki surprised Izuku when he stopped and put his book down before engaging. “I’m fascinated by the chemical reactions of fire and combustion. How it works, why it occurs, how it can be manipulated, stuff like that. And I don’t know, I could be a scientist, or maybe do pyrotechnics, just work somewhere I don’t have to talk to too many people.”

“Wow! I mean I was never good at math and stuff to understand, but it sounds pretty interesting.”

“I guess so. What’s with the questions all of a sudden?”

“W-Well,” Izuku shifted his body to face the man completely, “we’re roommates. I don’t expect us to be full-on friends, but I figured it would be nice to talk sometimes.” Katsuki’s silent reply of nothing forced him to make a decision to continue talking, because he assumed if the man wasn’t interested, he would have turned away. Silence wasn’t exactly a normal response, but maybe the blonde really wasn’t sure what to say next. “I don’t expect you tell me super personal stuff— just small talk. Like, um, what kind of music do you like?”

“Alternative.”

Izuku’s eyes flashed with surprise at such a quick response. Okay, so Katsuki was fine with answering. “I like that too! Well, some,” he giggled. “Though I mostly listen to pop now. What about movies?”

“Horror films.”

“Oof,” Izuku cringed. “I can’t handle those they scare me too much!”

“I remember. It gave you nightmares.”

Bouncing on the bed, Izuku’s legs moved to hang over the edge in his excitement. He was really surprised in a good way that Katsuki remembered something so mundane about him. “Wow! You still remember that?! Yeah,” he laughed, “I’ll stick to sci-fi or action. Plus, I’m not fond of theaters anyways so, I just watch stuff on my laptop.”

“Why not? You used to be the outgoing one.”

That made Izuku flinch because he wasn’t ready to tread into that territory with his former bully. “Oh, you know, it’s always crowded, and you have to deal with parent-less kids causing a racket in the place. I rather just enjoy my movie without all that.”

“Makes sense. I don’t care to go to places like that either.”

“Yeah, I noticed that— is there anything you do like or hobbies maybe?”

“Just exercising in the early morning, by myself, except since Eijiro inserted himself, I tolerate him.”

So, that confirmed what he’d already suspected. Katsuki kept his body in really great shape and that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Izuku. But since he wasn’t much of a morning person, he didn’t notice what time Katsuki left the dorm, only the man’s return, showered and refreshed. Needless to say, the blonde male with wet hair was nice to look at and smelled good too. “Oh,” his face heated up at the thought of it, but he needed to play dumb. “So, that’s what you do in the mornings. I wondered about that.”

Things between the roommates settle into a comfortable routine. As another month passes by, Izuku still needed to start the conversation, but at least Katsuki would respond amicably or engaged with him, and to his delight with the help of Eijiro, they’d even managed to get the man to go out to dinner once. Those years of dread and angst were melting away, and soon enough Izuku looked forward to spending time with his old friend.

He still couldn’t get a full read on Katsuki’s demeanor. The man’s emotionless responses made it difficult to tell whether or not he was even enjoying anything. So, Izuku could only assume that by participating, he didn’t mind. The old Katsuki would say whatever he was thinking, good or bad, and while he got the sense that he would do so as needed, such as letting him know about the scent issue, it would be really nice if it didn’t feel like a guessing game all the time. Regardless, the progress they were making to rekindle any sort of relationship was a win in Izuku’s mind.

“Here.”

Izuku looked up from his desk to see a plastic shopping bag held in Katsuki’s hand. “What’s this?” He took it tentatively.

“I saw it at the store. You still into this stuff?”

He opened the bag and pulled out the latest action figure of his favorite comic book character. It was a figurine he’d been saving up his spare money to buy. “Kacchan,” Izuku looked back up curiously at the man. “Is this for me? How’d you know?”

Katsuki just shrugged. “Just remembered you were obsessed with the guy.”

“Thank you, really, but I can’t except this gift, it’s not even my birthday.”

“Just take it. Think of it as an I’m sorry gift if it makes you feel better.”

As Izuku sat there stunned, the blonde simply went back to his bed without another word and picked up a book as if nothing significant had just occurred.

“T-Thank you, Kacchan.”

“Yeah, no prob.”

His face heated up and a smile took over as he stared at the action figure for a few seconds before staging it prominently on his bedside table. Izuku had left all of his collectibles at home, so it was nice to have something in their room. But even more important, was again, Katsuki remembered something about Izuku from their childhood and took the time to get this gift. Despite their long rocky history, this small act meant the world to him. It was the first true moment to make Izuku think, maybe they really could be like they once were.

Finals were approaching in barely two more weeks, and some students were already stressing out. The anxiety in the air felt palpable to Izuku. He could feel it practically oozing off the other students. Of course, everyone dealt with stress in different ways. Some went inwards, the pressure fueling them to work harder while other’s went the completely opposite route of goofing off and procrastinating. Other’s might stress eat, binge caffeine drinks, and friends banded together in study groups. But then there are the ones who took out their frustrations and stress on others.

Bullies. The bane of Izuku’s existence.

Most of the time, he could easily avoid their type around campus. He’d developed a sixth sense for such individuals which his therapist explained as a heightened sense of energy levels. It’s really not as mystical as it sounds, rather that, those like him that suffer from a high level of anxiety, are sensitive to other people’s emotional outputs. Being bullied or harassed himself certainly sent his anxiety’s skyrocketing but seeing it could also trigger a problem depending on the severity.

Hence his current predicament...

It was the end of the day for Izuku and he was ready to just get back to his dorm, eat something, and dive into his studies. One of his teachers had released the finals study guide early, so he thought it best to get a head start. But as he made his way past the row of dorm buildings, Izuku spotted something that sent a cold chill down his spine. Three men cornering a fourth. They were at least 50 yards away and he couldn’t hear everything they were yelling. Something about a group project, pulling weight— One man had grabbed the victims shirt and was semi-lifting him up while the other two men just watched and egged him on.

Oh, this was not good! Izuku’s memories started to replay and his experiences were brought back to the forefront. The men’s faces were so close... he could almost feel the hot breath wafting over, spit hitting his face, or the smell of the bullies breath. It made him sick to his stomach. Izuku’s heart raced, his throat began to close up, and breathing grew erratic. He needed to get out of there! The red piercing eyes of his nightmares took center stage in his mind’s eye... all those times he was harassed and battered by Katsuki rushing back like a wave to toss him against a wall of sandy hair.

‘Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths!’ Izuku screamed in his head, ‘calm down, calm down, get back to my room! It’s not you, it’s not you... it’s not him! It’s not him!!’

Izuku picked up the pace, a fast walk over a running sprint to avoid being noticed. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself and risk becoming the new target. He dug his nails hard into his arm to force his mind towards a physical distraction, but it wasn’t working.

A deep voice screamed, cursing at the top of its lungs, and filling Izuku’s mind, just like that long ago day. The worst attack, the one that finally pushed his mother to move him to a different school. All the fear coursing through his veins rush back, heart pounding against his rib cage. Katsuki had grabbed him, hand fisted into his shirt as he pushed Izuku up a wall and off his feet. He could still feel the cold stone wall behind him juxtaposed to the pain from his hot throbbing lip and swollen cheek where he’d been struck.

He burst through the dorm room door, stumbling, spilling his bag onto the floor as he fell to his knees, gasping for air because his jaw felt locked up and he couldn’t get enough air. All of his muscles were tensing up, imagined or not, it felt like he was suffocating. His body was shaking, sweating— he wanted to puke.

“Whoa, Zuku, what’s wrong?!”

Katsuki had rushed over and dropped to the floor, grabbing Izuku by the shoulders to hold him up and steady. But he couldn’t answer the man in words. Tears were streaming down his face as he did his best to focus and answer the man, but it was tough, fighting against the rapid assault of images in his mind and cursing blaring in his eardrums.

“Fuck, um, allergic reaction?!”

Izuku shook his head violently, no.

“Choking?!”

Again, Izuku shook his head violently, no.

“Panic attack?!”

Izuku now adamantly shook his head, yes!

“Okay, okay, shit, panic attacks, um, it’s been awhile, what do I— oh, right, okay, okay, d-don’t move!” Katsuki stumbled back to his feet and ran out of the room, coming back within a minute with a cup of ice cubes from the common kitchen. He takes one, two, three, shoving it into Izuku’s mouth. It took a bit of effort to get the man’s jaw to open wide enough to shove it in. “Close your mouth all the way, try to get the ice to touch the roof of your mouth.”

Seconds after the ice touched, it sent a brain freeze from hell shooting through Izuku’s pain receptors. “Ahhh!” He spat out all the melting cubes as his hands fly up to his head, cradling, squeezing to counter against the physical pain, “cold! Cold! Cold!”

At that statement, Katsuki slumped back onto his haunches in relief. “Oh good, it worked.” He then took Izuku’s hands with an even soft tone. “Look at me.” Once the man complied, he continued. “Focus on your breathing, inhale when I say to, exhale when I say to.”

Izuku struggled against the embers of irrational thoughts coupled with the brain freeze coming down. His breathing stayed haggard, jagged as he fought his own mind to follow Katsuki’s instructions. But every time he’d start to struggle, the man would refocus him back to the breathing by pressing his thumb nail into the webbing of Izuku’s hand. Not very hard, but enough of a sting to bring back his focus on the physical. It took about 15 minutes until he could breathe in time with Katsuki’s words.

Be it the overwhelming sense of release or sheer exhaustion, Izuku collapsed on to Katsuki’s chest. His panicked breathing whittled down to silent sobbing. The blonde didn’t move or flinch and held the man up, simply keeping his arms around his back without a word. Minutes dragged by as the tears finally slowed.

“Thank you, Kacchan,” Izuku breathed out. “How’d you know what to do?”

“Let’s just say, I’ve had my share.”

Izuku sat back, rubbing away the moisture drying on his cheeks as he looked at his roommate with new eyes. “You? W-When? I-I mean if you don’t wanna say, it’s fine, I’ll understand. We probably both have a lot a secrets.”

Katsuki thought for a moment. “If I tell you what happened, you gotta come clean too.”

He hadn’t expected that, but after what had just occurred, perhaps it was time. “Okay,” Izuku nods.

“In middle school I was sent to a therapist because of my anger issues and diagnosed as a high functioning autistic. Frankly, I don’t know how much to believe in that, but in the end, the therapist was a good thing.” Katsuki leaned back against a desk leg. “The short answer, I learned the reason I’d started bullying you was because I was getting frustrated with myself which lead to anger, and I wrongly took it out on the closest person to me.”

“Why were you frustrated? I thought we were fine...”

“It had nothing to do with you. It was me and I don’t know, I just started feeling different, I didn’t like being around people, didn’t understand or even care about anyone because I couldn’t figure out how to fit in. Yet I’d watch you make friends so effortlessly and I got mad. There’s a lot more to it, even blamed my mom for some of it, but I just didn’t know how else to get it out except through anger. It took a few years to learn to control myself. That’s one of the reasons I got into exercising. If I start feeling frustrated, I can take it out that way now, burn off the excess energy I guess.”

Izuku was a little taken aback at the idea Katsuki’s been diagnosed on the autism spectrum. The man didn’t seem like he had a mental disorder, but the clues were there. The aversion to certain stimulus, social apathy, his fixations on certain elements. “Wow... I had no idea. It doesn’t excuse what you did, but I’m glad you’ve come this far.”

“So, what about you?”

“I don’t think it was just the bullying that started it all. After my dad left us, I was already vulnerable, it’s why I latched onto you so quickly. So, when you started— I-I felt extremely hurt. You were my first friend, my best friend Kacchan and when you started hurting me... I don’t know what was worse, the physical pain or the mental ones. By the time I moved schools, I’d developed anxiety and depression, and it got so bad my mom finally took me to a therapist where I worked all through high school to get it under control. I do really good now, but sometimes things trigger me.” More tears resurface to cloud Izuku’s eyes, but he kept them from spilling. “Today, on my way here, I-I saw a guy being harassed and it brought it all back again. Nothing was working, so I just thought if I could just get to safety, a-and I don’t know, I figured I could get it under control once I was alone. But I’m glad you were here, because I don’t think I could have. You really, saved me today Kacchan.”

“It doesn’t make up for anything. I’m the asshole who made you like this.”

He snorted a laugh, “that’s for sure, but the cause became the cure.”

“What?”

“You caused this, but today you cured it. That means a lot to me because I do want to forgive you.”

“No. I don’t deserve a second chance. I’m content that we’re at least on speaking terms again and I could make amends somehow.”

“Kacchan, everyone deserves a second chance.” Izuku’s smile returned. “We were kids. You didn’t know better. And you’ve changed, that’s the important thing. I think we’ve both changed.”

“How?”

“Well, it’s those experiences that helped me to find a new passion in life to help others— people like us who are struggling with something. Turn a negative into a positive.”

“How the hell do you do that? You just had a panic attack and you’re already sunny smiles again. I mean you were always like this, and it’s me, I just don’t get emotions, but if you wanna forgive me, I guess I can’t stop you.”

Izuku shrugged. “Nope you, can’t,” he smiled wider. “Right now, this is probably the happiest I’ve felt in a very long time.” He stood up and extended a hand, helping Katsuki to his feet. “Dinner, my treat.”

“I don’t feel like going out.”

“I know,” Izuku smiled. “I’ll order in.”

[geraskier-hell]

if that reblog was a permission for prompts, Geraskier #39 + #102 pretty please ❤️

Thank you so much for the ask! Read here or an AO3 

Prompts: “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?” and “I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.”

“So, guys, tell us what you’ve been up to these past ten years.”

Jaskier takes a gulp of his wine as he already regrets going to a reunion with his high school classmates. He was friendly with all of them but close with very few. If he has to be honest, he’s there only to see a certain someone, but they’ve been at the pub for twenty minutes and there’s still no sign of him. Whenever the door opens, his eyes automatically rise, but the continuous disappointment makes him question his hopes.

“I heard he’ll arrive a bit late,” Triss says next to him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaskier replies, looking away from the pub’s entrance.

Triss gives him an eloquent look and turns to listen to the rest of the group. Jaskier curses himself for being so obvious and lame. Why is he even eager to see his high school boyfriend so much? There was a reason why they broke up, but right now it seems like it was a very stupid one, and all he can remember are the happy days spent together.

He pretends to pay attention to the people around him for another half an hour, glass always full, before the door opens again and he idly looks up, more out of habit than with real hope, but this time he is surprised, this time a man with white hair and a brooding aura enters into the pub and renders him speechless.

“We’re here, Geralt,” someone calls him, and the man looks towards them, nodding in acknowledgement as he makes his way to the table.

Everyone greets him and as per usual Geralt replies without enthusiasm. He hasn’t changed much since their high school days, he’s as hot as he was back then only with more muscles and a few more tattoos on his arms. Jaskier checks him out, safely hidden behind the rim of his glass, but as his eyes land on the fifteen people around the table, Geralt inevitably spots him.

He simply nods at him too, nothing that could imply a romantic relationship in the past, and Jaskier can’t help but be disappointed. He knows it’s silly of him to feel that way - in the end, they did break up - but he has always kept a special place in his heart for the times spent together with Geralt, and hoped the man had too.

The evening goes by slowly and painfully. People keep talking about things he doesn’t care about, and Geralt keeps ignoring him. He is more bothered by his behaviour than he has the right to be, and he contemplates going home more than once. Triss tries to have a conversation with him, but he isn’t in the mood, he just wants to be mad at Geralt for his indifference, an issue he faced when they were dating too.

After a second round of drinks and snacks, Jaskier notices Geralt leave the pub with a pack of cigarettes in his hands. He waits just a few seconds before following him outside where the summer heat covers his body like a second skin.

“Hey,” he says, stopping near Geralt. Under the light of the streetlamp he spots the piercings in Geralt’s ear.

“Hi,” the man replies, lighting up a cigarette.

“I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“I didn’t have many clients today.”

“Oh, what do you do?”

Geralt blows out the smoke while throwing him a glance. “I’m a tattoo artist.”

“Wow, that’s cool.”

Geralt hums but doesn’t add anything else.

“Can you believe it’s been ten years since high school?” Jaskier says. “It feels like we graduated just yesterday, and you haven’t changed at all.”

“You haven’t changed much either,” Geralt replies. “Still as chatty as ever.”

“And you’re still as quiet as ever. And cold.”

Geralt looks at him with a slight frown. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t even say hi to me earlier despite our past.”

Jaskier can swear Geralt smirks for half a second, but when he speaks again he’s as calm as before. “What would you have wanted me to do?”

“I don’t know, something less indifferent.”

Geralt takes the last drag of his cigarette before putting it out in the ashtray. “Something to remind you of the past?”

Jaskier bites his bottom lip. “Maybe.”

Geralt moves in front of him, so close Jaskier can feel the heat coming from him. He gulps as his eyes meet Geralt’s golden ones, piercing through him in the light of the streetlamp.

“Maybe, huh?”

“I’d gladly show you how much I’ve missed you these years,” Jaskier replies in a low voice.

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

“Both?” Jaskier teasingly smiles.

“You really haven’t changed.”

Before Jaskier can reply, Geralt has pressed him against the wall and is leaning forward, mouth only inches away from his. His hot puffs fan over Jaskier’s face, and the night heat brings blood to Jaskier’s cheeks as Geralt holds his hips and closes the distance between them.

The kiss is better than anything Jaskier desired, and it takes him back to ten years ago, to the first time he kissed Geralt at school, hidden behind the stands of the football field. He feels young once again, a fool dealing with his first crush and wanting nothing more than to live that moment over and over again. It’s like all those years of radio silence have never happened, as if he and Geralt have been dating for twice as long; being with him feels so natural he can’t believe they have ever been apart.

Geralt pulls back way too soon, but on his face there is the same mixture of fondness and arousal that is on Jaskier’s.

“I live nearby,” Jaskier says. “Why don’t we move there?”

“My bike is parked right around the corner,” Geralt replies, and if Jaskier wasn’t turned on before, he definitely is now.

They say goodbye to their old classmates between mild protests for leaving so soon and little grins that show no one is fooled by their sudden departure. Geralt’s bike waits for them in a parking lot in the neighbourhood, and as they ride it to go to his apartment, a fun excitement bubbles in Jaskier’s stomach. He clings onto Geralt’s back, and much to his benefit the black T-shirt the man is wearing does very little to hide the defined muscles under it.

As they make their way up the stairs to Jaskier’s place, neither of them can keep their hands to themselves, and by the time Jaskier opens the door, their lips are already on each other with the same fervour as before. The air conditioning helps with making the room more inviting, but it does nothing to cool down Jaskier’s heated skin. Geralt’s touches set it aflame every time he brushes against him, every time his tongue glides on Jaskier’s, and his hands sneak under Jaskier’s shirt.

“We’ll leave the talking for later, okay?” Jaskier pants while Geralt kisses down his neck.

“Yeah.”

Jaskier takes him to his bedroom, pulling him down on top of him as they fall on the bed. He wraps himself around him as he used to do in high school and doesn’t let go of him while they kiss. Once more Jaskier is surprised by how comfortable he still feels when he’s with Geralt, his body remembers those skilled hands sliding up his sides, caressing his skin, and making him shiver in anticipation.

They pull apart only to undress, but once they’re both naked again - Geralt a lot bigger than Jaskier recalls - they’re once again on each other. Geralt wraps his fingers around Jaskier’s cock and gives it a tentative tug while kissing down the brunet’s chest. Jaskier gasps and twist the bedsheets.

“God, you’re still as good as in high school.”

“I’ve learnt a thing or two during the years,” Geralt replies with another kiss. “Do you have lube?”

Jaskier takes the half used bottle from his night stand and tosses it to Geralt who coats his fingers with its content. He circles Jaskier’s hole, teasing it for too long before plunging inside. Jaskier has to admit that his movements are way less stiff and clumsy than when they were in high school, and his tongue knows exactly what to do as he sucks him off. Jaskier’s body complies as it used to do; it meets his fingers with the same zeal and thrusts into his mouth, equally desperate for more.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding before,” he moans when Geralt licks his precum away.

Geralt looks at him with a satisfied grin that is the hottest thing Jaskier has ever seen.

By the time Geralt is done with him, Jaskier is already begging him to fuck him. Geralt's own cock looks painfully hard, so it doesn’t take him long to convince Geralt to get to it, and after wearing a condom, Geralt lines himself up with his hole.

He really is bigger than Jaskier remembers, filling him up so good he’s gasping for air after mere seconds. He clutches Geralt’s shoulders as the engulfing feeling makes his head spin, and he throws his head backwards on the pillow while he bites his lip. Geralt takes things slow, pushing inside little by little and kisses his exposed neck, leaving bite marks behind him.

When Jaskier gets used to him, Geralt starts with shallow thrusts, pulling out before easing back in. Jaskier can feel his entire length leave and enter him again, stretching him wide every time and never failing to make his body quiver. He groans as he clamps around Geralt and digs his nails in the man’s back while he tries to keep his mouth shut.

“C’mon, Jask,” Geralt says, biting his ear. “I know for a fact that you can be a hell of a lot louder than that.”

“And I know for a fact that you can fuck me a lot harder than that.”

“As fussy as ever,” Geralt smirks but holds onto Jaskier’s hips tighter as he picks up the pace.

Jaskier’s moans get louder too while Geralt pounds into him, reaching deep inside him. He meets his every thrust, greedy for more and Geralt doesn't let him down; he keeps hitting his sweet spot, taking him closer and closer to his orgasm, furrowing his brows for the effort. He looks as good as ever, time has been very kind to him, and Jaskier pulls him down for a sloppy kiss, clenching around him as their tongues tangle with each other.

Gasping for air, Jaskier breaks their liplock and fills the room with his moans while Geralt pushes him against the headboard. He is panting too and soft grunts are leaving him. At least something hasn’t changed since high school. It makes Jaskier’s heart tug with fondness, and he cries out Geralt’s name in a sweeter tone. He keeps Geralt close to him when the man leans down to kiss his chest, and his hands get lost in the white locks that tickle his skin.

“I-I’m close,” he warns in between moans.

Geralt grunts and fucks him harder, hitting his prostate again and again until Jaskier is coming after quickly stroking his cock. He’s completely spent when Geralt cums too and doesn’t move as the man slumps near him on the bed, trying to catch his breath as well.

“I think the last time sex felt this good was in high school,” Jaskier pants after a while.

“High school?” Geralt asks in a surprised tone.

“Yeah, no one has ever compared to you.”

“You must have had really shitty partners. I didn’t know what I was doing in high school.”

“I wouldn't call that not knowing what you’re doing.”

Geralt huffs but doesn’t say anything.

“Why did we even break up?” Jaskier asks, looking at him.

“You got mad because I offended your singing and then moved out to go to college without telling me anything.”

“Wait, no, I’m sure we had a conversation about it.”

“If you call you storming out of the room, telling me not to contact you again and then changing your phone number a conversation then I guess we did.”

“Fuck, really?” Jaskier says, ashamed of his past self.

“Yeah.”

There is no accusation in Geralt’s tone, but Jaskier can tell he thinks he behaved like an asshole too.

“I’m sorry,” he apologises. “I didn’t know I could be that much of an idiot.”

“It’s in the past,” Geralt shrugs.

“No, it’s not, at least not for me,” Jaskier replies, sitting up. “I’ve never been able to forget about you, no one has ever made me feel like you did, but when I realised that, it was too late, we had broken up for too long and I didn’t know how to contact you.”

Geralt sits up too and bores his eyes into Jaskier’s, something that looks too much like hope in them. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I’m sorry for what happened between up, I hope you can forgive me.”

A tiny smile lights up Geralt’s face. “Holding grudges for so long isn’t for me.”

“Does this mean we can maybe pick up from where we left off ten years ago?” Jaskier hopes.

“Why do you think I even came to that stupid reunion?”

Jaskier’s lips open up in a wide smile. “God, I’ve missed you so much.”

A corner of Geralt’s mouth quirks up, and he cups Jaskier’s face before muttering, “Me too.”

Jaskier doesn’t have time to reply as Geralt’s lips are soon on his, giving him all the reassurance he needs.

[rokutouxei]

touching you i catch midnight

chapter 1 of 2: as moon fires set in my throat

ikemen vampire: temptation in the dark theodorus van gogh / mc; vincent van gogh / mc | G... for now. | 1829

Confronted by newly-developing feelings between two of the most important people in his life, Theo has an equally important decision to make. Lucky for him, it's not that hard to do.

> [sequel to kneel at the altar, confess your sins.] / ao3 link in bio > fic and chapter titles come from audre lorde’s poem, recreation.

You had chosen him.

Over everyone else. He had pushed you away, called you names, made you cry, made you feel small–and yet at the end of it all, you had chosen him. Months later and Theo is still wrapping his head around that fact. How had you seen through him like that? Peeled every layer he’d wrapped around himself to hide the most vulnerable parts of him, only to hold his heart in your hands and say, I won’t let you be alone anymore– how you’d done that is still a mystery to him.

The only other person in the world who has the ability to see him the way you do is Vincent. He hadn’t thought he’d ever find another Vincent in this world to hold him when he’s falling apart. Yet here you are.

So when you and Vincent become easy friends, Theo smiles and believes it has always been something as inevitable as the rising of the sun. Angels make good company for each other, he supposes.

Until it was something else.

Theo trusts Vincent, with his entire heart and soul, with his life, the past one, this, and the next, if there even is any more. So while his guards go up (the same way a guard dog bristles at the presence of an enemy) when the other residents of the mansion are around you, he’s quiet and settled when Vincent is with you. He has no fears or qualms because in his heart, he and Vincent are irrevocably tied; his older brother is an extension of himself.

(A better, brighter extension of himself, but that’s for later.)

When you don’t accompany Theo to work, you go with Vincent, going around town looking for something nice to paint, or sometimes even joining him for longer trips, farther out where the view is different, bringing home stories for Theo to come home to.

One night, Theo arrives late after a long dinner meeting to hear laughter coming from Vincent’s studio-room. A smile gracing his face, Theo knocks and enters the room to see you and Vincent sitting on the couch, easel across the both of you, a streak of paint on your cheek, a flower in your hair.

Theo’s heart squeezes at your smile. You so easily make him weak.

You notice him first, your face brightening at the sight of him, calling out his name–“ Theo!”, his heart is light–and you nearly sprint off the sofa to embrace him. He gives you a little twirl in the air as you begin to talk about the day, going out to the flower fields with Vincent, how he’d called you back to model the flower in your hair so he could paint it with closer detail. The sound of your voice lulls Theo to calm, until–

Until he turns to Vincent.

Who is looking up at his younger brother with guilt in his face, one that he won’t know he’s wearing. The pink dusting his cheeks. His fists are curled on his lap.

It’s like the light turns on in Theo’s mind.

Theo curls his hand around your waist in a near instinctual (territorial) embrace, and while you sigh at the comforting squeeze, your lover pretends he doesn’t see that his brother’s face darkens ever so subtly.

The first piece falls onto his lap.

-

(he doesn’t know it yet, but when the pieces come together, it’ll feel the same way a lived-in house does. in the little apartment in his mind, your little collection of trinkets in a shelf down the hall, vincent’s paintings hanging from the wall, theo’s books. it’ll feel the same way the first rays of the sun feel in the morning, a gentle warmth rising him from sleep, to a delight he’d long kept his eyes closed to. it’ll feel like he’d always belonged.

he doesn’t know it yet, but soon he will.)

-

Theo spends most of his time observing.

Work has trained his senses to perfection. Once he puts his mind onto it, no detail is missed. It’s great for dealing with clients, makes transactions easier, makes things faster to start, deal with, and wrap up.

It makes watching his lover and Vincent slowly dance around each other much easier to watch from the sidelines.

Watches his brother’s face shift and soften whenever you’re around him, in ways he’s never seen before. How his brother’s smiles are different, bigger, all teeth and scrunched eyes. The sound of his brother’s sugar-sweet laughter. This is all Theo’s ever asked for–his brother’s happiness, his brother’s success–and watching you from the balcony overlooking the garden, Vincent’s gaze on your face like longing for something that isn’t his… Theo realizes maybe things haven’t changed since they were kids.

(That Vincent will always put Theo first in everything.

That Theo will give his brother all that Vincent asks him for.)

And while there’s no denying the sour thing that sits under Theo’s tongue as he’s taking this all in, there’s also a kind of hollow that begins to nip at him, the way a question feels in a mouth when it isn’t asked.

Instead, he watches.

Watches you when you go on dates with him and smile that same smile you gave him when you promised you would help carry the weight he had on his shoulders. Burns into his eyes the sight of you–very forgivingly–pouring a cup’s worth of syrup on his pancakes, much to the shock and horror of the cafe’s other patrons. Memorizes your every feature, your every little gesture, the way you tuck a lock of hair behind your ear when you’re shy, the way you lick your lips excitedly when food arrives, the way you squeeze his hand in yours when you walk home.

Theo is sure you love him, and that’s why it takes him a while to understand, the way your cheeks flush when Vincent compliments you, the way you can’t look him in the eye when he puts too much attention on you, the way you let him brush your cheek with his hands gently a moment longer than needed when he’s tucking a flower behind your ear. Theo wants to understand so that the sour feeling goes away, wants to make sense of why you reach out to his brother like you want to hold him in your arms and keep him safe forever–the same you do to him.

Why you look at Vincent like he’s something you can’t have.

(and Theo will give you all that you want if you ask it from him.)

The second piece falls onto his lap.

-

he doesn’t know it yet, but when the pieces come together, it’s like the first time one goes out to the seaside after hiding from the breeze after a long winter. it’s packing away thick coats and heavy blankets in exchange for open windows and bright rays of the sun cutting through the fog. it’s seeing the horizon unravel in front of him, the waves crashing against the shore, the sand warm in between his toes. it’s seeing the infinite possibilities. it’s a sailor opening his arms to the unknown of the wide ocean, knowing the sun and the moon love him enough to bring him soon to gentler shores, if he trusts the direction of the waves.

he doesn’t know it yet, but soon he will.

after all, theo trusts the direction of the waves.

-

He would be lying if he said he’d never had thoughts that one day you’d replace him for his brother.

Half of that statement, of course, is drawn from the deep well of darkness he carries with him in his heart. He can do his best, he can fight for his whole life, but at the end of the day, he is no one in comparison to his brother. He is and always will be only someone working on the sidelines, raising the curtain, focusing the lights; never really the one at the center stage, gaining the cheer and earning the applause of an enthusiastic audience.

To Theo, as long as he is able to partake in the light, that is enough.

To have to step aside to those that are greater than him isn’t an action that’s so hard to comprehend. It is no longer anything more than a dull pain.

So when he thinks of giving you the choice to pick his brother over him, he expects the shallow wash of numbness.

But he’s instead surprised… by how okay he is with it happening.

It takes Theo several nights to fully put together the whirling of thoughts in his mind. Pictures many variations of the same situation, of the same ending, over and over in his head. Next to him, you lay asleep on his bed, your kissmarked shoulder only peeking a little bit from where you’re tucked underneath the sheets.

He holds his hand out to the space in between the both of you.

A space he’s willing to share.

The two people he loves the most in the world loves each other as well–there’s nothing else but support to give, is there?

The third piece falls onto his lap.

The puzzle sits there, complete.

-

Then one night, sitting in the game room after Arthur calls him over, Theo has this unreadable expression, like he hadn’t expected to hear what he’d been told. His lover and his brother… well, to Arthur, the surprise is rather unsurprising. Arthur has the right mind to expect not Theo’s usual bursts of anger, words that cut like knives, but instead a slow crawl to a boil.

What Arthur couldn’t have expected is for Theo to exit the room with a smirk on his face.

-

He doesn’t know it yet, but the angry melody his heartbeat is singing in his ears when he arrives in front of his brother’s bedroom door on the night that will change his life forever–is not out of anger, or fear, or jealousy.

It’s of excitement.

The thrumming of a heart that’s anticipating what it’ll be like to give out all the love it can pour.

-

Theo hears the door open before you do, and he doesn’t have to look to know (he knows his brother too well): Vincent stands in the doorway, his face in the shadows, the silhouettes of his brother and his brother’s lover illuminated by moonlight. His hands curl into fists at his sides, trying to keep himself from just taking what’s been offered to him.

This is for you, Theo wants to say, to you, to his brother, take them, they’re yours. They’re ours.

Like a jigsaw puzzle, you need all the parts to really be complete.

But he has an insolent mouth, one that only knows to express his love with sharp teeth. (A love that you and Vincent have long known how to read.)

“Did you hear that, broer?”

(Here comes.)

----

next part: [ chapter 2 of 2: i love you flesh into blossom ] 

[eleanorbloom]

[OH] When You’re Ready Ch. 03

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything of the Open Heart World. The name Eleanor Bloom and her story was created by me, though.

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x f! MC (Eleanor Bloom) x Ethan Ramsey.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warning: Angst, adult language, and smut. 

Summary: Bryce has decided to let go of Eleanor because she’s in love with Ethan Ramsey. But a turn in her relationship with the attending might change Bryce's plans.

A/N: Thank you so much for all your kind words and your support. 

I have the urge to remind you all that English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes. As a perfectionist, I’ve been having a hard time trying to make this fic the more comprehensible as it can be.  I know my English doesn’t suck, that your people understand what I write (lol) but I’m sure there are some idioms or, I don’t know, the order of the words that may seem off, and I can't help but feel bad about it. Just know that this happens because I’m a Spanish speaker trying to write a fanfic in English.  

That’ll be all. Lots of love to my readers 

Let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist! :)

Taglist: @utterlyinevitable @binny1985 ​ @laiba-the-person ​ @choicesficwriterscreations @shanzay44

______

Chapter Three: All I Ask.

It matters how this ends

‘Cause what if I never love again? 

Eleanor walked into the locker room feeling her heart in her throat, a knot threatening to make her explode with rage and bitterness once again. When she reached for her locker, she found Sienna already fully dressed to leave Edenbrook.

“Oh my god, Ellie, are you okay?!” Sienna inquired as she perceived the mortified expression on her face.

“I’m not”

“What happened? Did you… Did you speak with Dr. Ramsey?”

“I did”

“And?”

Eleanor couldn’t help but let a few tears stream down her face, but she managed to avoid the sob.

“He’s going to the Amazon with the WHO”

“What?! Oh my god, that’s big”

"And he’s leaving tomorrow”

“Oh no. Ellie, I’m so sorry ”

Suddenly, all traces of sadness and rage disappeared from her. She wiped the tears off her face and cleared her throat.

“Don’t be. Let’s get outta here, I need a drink”

"Okay, I’ll text the others to meet at Donahue’s”

Sienna eyed Eleanor with concern. She wanted to tell her to stop suppressing her feelings, to stop pretending she didn’t care, but she preferred to keep it quiet, hoping that at some point she would explode and let everything out. Because she had spent all those weeks pretending that she didn’t care, that it didn’t hurt to ignore Ramsey, that it didn’t hurt that he didn’t care that she was ignoring him. Nearly five months of pent-up emotions.

 An hour later, Eleanor was at Donahue’s with Bryce and her new best friend, the vodka. Elijah was with Phoebe choosing a few songs on the jukebox to dance to; Sienna was with Danny and other nurses playing darts and Jackie and Rafael were deep in conversation at the bar. Bryce had noticed her mood but didn’t want to ask her directly, since he guessed who was responsible. Instead, he preferred to join her to drink, without judging that she was almost drinking the entire bottle of vodka by herself without any coyness, although he was willing to make her stop when it became dangerous for her health.

Suddenly, Eleanor’s face sparkled with fury. Bryce turned to check the source of her discomfort, knowing perfectly well who it was. Ethan was at the bar talking to Reggie as he took a seat.

“You’re so predictable, Ethan Ramsey"—She muttered as she took the shot of vodka in one sip—"I bet he’ll have a couple of shots, waiting for the moment when I’m alone, and if doesn’t find me alone he’ll just switch to some non-alcohol drink because he will have to wait for me until I decide to go home. All that wait just to cry apologies for something he didn’t want to say, but said anyway”

Bryce smirked as he heard her rant.

"Do you want me to leave you alone so you can talk to him?”

“No! No, please, I don’t want to make it that easy for him. I want to see what he’s capable of. If he’s just going to be a shitty wary that’s going to expect to find me alone, or if he’s able to get right up to me. Please don’t leave me alone, Bryce.

“Don’t worry, Elle, I won’t leave you alone if that’s what you want”

“Thank you, Bryce. You are the best”

“I know I am. Cheers for that”

They clanged their glasses and took another shot.

“Why are you so mad, by the way?”

Eleanor told him their talk with the details that only a drunk and upset person can do it.

“So, he’s leaving then? And he didn’t even tell you?”

“No. He didn’t want to tell me”

“Oof, what a douche. Hun, why do you let him treat you like this?”

“I don't know. I don’t know why I have allowed this torment for so long. But I got tired. I don’t care anymore. If he stays, if he goes. I don’t know why should I care when he has never cared for how bad I’ve been all this time”

Bryce looked at her with a sad expression. He hated to see Eleanor that way. Crying, hopeless. Suffering. He took her hand tenderly.

“Eleanor, I’m so sorry”—He said, caressing the back of her hand—“You don’t deserve anything you’re going through. It’s okay to be angry, you can’t allow him to treat you like that”

“I know”—She replied in a tiny voice.

“And you can’t keep wasting your time with someone who doesn’t value you, Elle. He may love you, but if he really valued you, he wouldn’t treat you like that. He wouldn’t let you suffer like that” 

Bryce stroked her cheek, looking right into her tear-filled eyes.

“You’re right, Bryce"—She stared right into his eyes without looking away, then wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

“You deserve the world, Eleanor”

She couldn’t help but give him a big smile as her cheeks flushed.

Then she turned her gaze to the bar and realized that Ethan was with a tense posture making glances toward their table.  Seeing Eleanor cry and be comforted by Bryce surely challenged his nerves more than he was willing to admit.

About fifteen minutes later, her friends began to return to the table to start the Karaoke session. They had fun with some of their favorite songs and other classics requested by other clients. Then was Eleanor’s turn to sing a song. She felt a twist on her stomach.

“Eleanor, it’s your turn, what did you request?”

“All I Ask”—She replied to Elijah, simply.

Everyone at the table stared at her.

"Eleanor…"—Bryce whispered—"Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes. I’m done hiding my feelings, pretending he didn’t hurt me just to make him feel the less uncomfortable”

The melody began to play, and Eleanor already felt her heart shatter without even having started the first line. Her friends stared at her for a few moments and then looked away at the awkward situation that was coming. 

“I will leave my heart at the door

I won’t say a word

They’ve all been said before, you know”

Eleanor was heartbroken and drunk, and practically putting on a show in front of all Donahue’s, but deep down her friends knew that that was what Eleanor needed right now, to release all her feelings in front of Ethan, though not directly. Because Eleanor had been holding back all these months, resisting love, the desire to be with Ethan, resisting the urge to stand in his office or his home and ask him once again to stop pushing her away and to be together once and for all, more times than she had already done. She had swallowed the love, the pride, the pain in inhuman ways. But what had happened today was the culmination of too many repressed feelings, and if her way of finding catharsis was through the saddest, cheesiest, and most heartbreaking song Adele had ever written, then so be it.

“So why don’t we just play pretend

Like we’re not scared of what is coming next

Or scared of having nothing left”

Eleanor took all the courage she had and turned her gaze to Ethan, who was staring at her with the most mortifying look she had ever seen on him, and she had seen plenty: When Dolores passed away, when he found out Banerji had a month to live. He was not holding anything, the pain, the guilt, the embarrassment.

“Look, don't get me wrong 

I know there is no tomorrow

All I ask is

If this is my last night with you

Hold me like I’m more than just a friend

Give me a memory I can use

Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do

It matters how this ends

‘Cause what if I never love again?”

At least Eleanor had a very good voice to sing the songs of Adele, so she wasn’t embarrassing herself too badly. Of course, she was not as good as Adele herself but made a few good notes, and the alcohol had given her too much courage to go for the high pitches, and the anger gave her too much feeling to sing with such a passion, that she astonished to all her friends. She was actually killing it.

-"I don’t need your honesty

It’s already in your eyes

And I’m sure my eyes, they speak for me

No one knows me like you do

Eleanor looked directly at Ethan again.

And since you’re the only one that mattered

Tell me who do I run to?"

The words came out with such rage from her core, that Ethan felt as if she had said it a few inches from him, and not indirectly through a song and standing several feet away from him. And he felt every one of her words, every look, every drop of anger and sadness. He acknowledged receipt of all this and accepted his responsibility. He felt broken at the sight of her because he wanted to do so much to ease her pain. But he couldn’t.

After the song was over, Eleanor returned to her place with tears on her face but not one iota of embarrassment.

“Eleanor, that was truly beautiful”—Sienna said, tears on her face too—"Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m feeling better, I think it took a lot of weight off my shoulders”

“That is the important thing”

“You were very brave”—Bryce said caressing her back.

“Guys, I just ridiculed myself in front of the whole bar and you guys are treating me like I’ve won a war”

“You did something for yourself that you should have done months ago. Show how you really feel”—Sienna replied, serious.

“Well…”

“We are proud of you, Eleanor”— Elijah added.

“It’s about damn time you take care of yourself and don’t let Ramsey do whatever the fuck he wants”—Continued Jackie.

“Even if that means to sing a sad song in front of him”—Concluded Sienna.

After that, Eleanor was in a better mood and managed to distract herself from all she had been through that day. However, the presence of Ethan, sitting there at the bar, probably waiting for her, was a latent nuisance in her stomach.

A few hours later, Eleanor and her friends decided to go home. The moment she passed by his side, Ethan got up from his seat and walked towards her.

“Rookie”.

His disposition had changed from hell to heaven. She was no longer Dr. Bloom. She was Rookie again.

“What is it, Dr. Ramsey?”

Ethan looked at her sadly at the coldness in her response.

“Can we talk?”

Eleanor looked away to the floor, anger washing over her again. Then she looked back at him, who was waiting for her answer with pleading eyes.

“About what? I’m going home”

“I know … I-“

“I’ve been here the last four hours, I’m sure you could’ve looked for me in all this time… But obviously you waited for me to want to go home to do it?”

Ethan knew she was berating him. She shook her head.

“I was hoping you weren’t such a coward and would look for me directly. But you behave like a shy teenager who has never spoken to a woman in his life”

“Eleanor, are you coming?”—Jackie asked.

Her friends were at the door, first-hand witnesses of her exchange with Ethan.

“No, I stay. Don’t worry about me”

Eleanor looked at Ramsey coldly. They took a seat in the back of the bar so no one could hear them.

“So? I thought we were done”—She broke the silence between them.

“No, we are not done, Eleanor”

Ethan lowed her head, pondering his words.

“If… If I didn’t tell you about my trip to the Amazon, was because I wanted to make things less difficult for us. The last time we spoke I made myself clear that we can’t be together not because I don’t want to, but because we can’t. And when I noticed you started to avoid me, I thought maybe you finally understood my point, and I was okay with that”

“Then why you threw all over my face that I was ignoring you, like you weren’t okay with that?”

“Because I realized that you didn’t do it because you understood my point. You did it to piss me off. To return the favor. As vengeance. So, if you did actually ignore me with that motive in mind, you didn’t have the right to reclaim something from me”

“I…”—Her cheeks turned red.

“That’s not the point now, Eleanor”—He interrupted—"What I’m trying to say is… You can’t stop saying that everything I’ve done it’s because I want it, that I’m responsible of all your misery. But let me be clear. I don’t want it, Eleanor. I don’t want to be apart from you, I don’t want to ignore you. I’ve never wanted to spend the last five months ignoring your existence, not be able to talk to you, not to even look at you”

Eleanor observed his features, tracing all sense of honesty and determination. She knew he wasn’t lying or playing the victim.

“I’m not comfortable with this”—He continued—"I’m not okay with that but if that’s what allows me to be away from you to not interfere in your career, I’m willing to do that and more. I know it’s painful for you, that it’s not the best option for both of us. But this is the only way I can cope up with the situation”

“The only way… Ethan, are you sure not talking to me, not even looking at me the is the only option?”

“To me, it is”—He responded categorically—Eleanor, what I want is to be with you. If I could, I would’ve never let you leave my bed the first time we made love, or I would’ve never get up from your bed the last time we were together. If I could, I would live in that dream all my life. But I can’t”

Tears started to stream down her face. Again. His words broke her in million pieces. Because she couldn’t stop reliving those nights in all these months. Now she was realizing Ethan couldn’t either.

“I need you to understand that I’ve never wanted to hurt you. If my actions have hurt you, I’m sorry, but I mean it when I say I’ve never wanted anything of this to happen. I would love to make you happy in the ways you want. Believe me. But you have fought so hard to be here, Eleanor. Years to get to be at Edenbrook. Years and especially difficult months to get the Junior Fellow position. I can’t let you jeopardize your career nor your reputation”

Eleanor was speechless. She felt dumb, like a stupid teenager that let herself go on emotions and never thought through the real meaning of all his actions. She still felt a little pissed off, because there were still a lot of things Ethan should have avoided telling her and that were mean. But everything else he had done was… reasonable. Fair. Thoughtful.

“Ethan… I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. I feel embarrassed about how childish I was today”

“No, Eleanor. I still believe that you have every right to be mad at me because I didn’t tell you I would be out. I always knew I should’ve told you, but I was afraid. I’m a coward as you said. I didn’t want to face this conversation. Your pain. But you deserved more”

Eleanor nod.

“Well, yeah. You should’ve told me. But I made an outburst. I didn’t want to listen to you, I was being stubborn just to get what I want, but maybe I’ve never really put myself in your shoes”

“That’s all I ask. To understand why I’m doing this from my point of view”

Suddenly, Reggie approaches.

“Ethan, I’m sorry, but we are about to close”

“Thank you, Reggie”

Eleanor grabbed her purse and walked to the door followed by Ethan.

Eleanor turned to him.

“I believe you when you tell me you’ve never wanted to hurt me by staying away from me. But there have been plenty of times when you have hurt me by behaving like a dick to me, unnecessarily. Because one thing is avoiding to talk to me, but you have ignored me, you have been cruel, you have looked at me like you hate me”

“Yes. I know. I hope you can forgive me one day”

“I could forgive you, but I’ll only do it when I feel assured that you won’t do it again and I think there’s not enough time for that now”

Ethan stared without saying a word. He knew he couldn’t promise her that. He knew himself.

“Well, I think you can go in peace now that we have left everything clear, don’t we? Have a nice flight, I hope the mission is a success and you return safely. Bye”

Eleanor started to walk down the street to get a taxi.

“Why are you leaving like that? You’re not even going to say goodbye?”

“I said bye. That’s a goodbye. Or was it too informal? Goodbye Dr. Ramsey. There you have”

Ethan took her arm, forcing her to look into his eyes. Hers were reddened, tired, anguished. Like she was holding a ton of pain on her mind.

“Eleanor…”

“What, Ethan, what?“—She answered as her voice was breaking. She didn’t want him to go. But she had to let him go. To let that goodbye lingering more than necessary would only do her more harm than it had already done her.

“Let me take you home”

No. She would lose her mind if she let that happen. But she wanted it so bad.

“You were drinking”

“I drank whiskey when I arrived, after that, just lemonade, because I figured I’d have to wait until the end of the night to talk to you”

She wanted so bad to be with him as much time as possible. But she was trying to respect Ethan's intentions. But… He was leaving tomorrow. That was the last time she would see him in god knows how much time.

“Okay, let's go”—She agreed.

They walked silently back to the hospital, where Ethan had his car parked. The journey was silent. Ethan didn’t even dare to turn on the radio. They were only accompanied by the noise of the engine and other vehicles traveling through the streets of Boston at 3 am.

Eleanor wanted to say so many things, but it would make everything worse. So she lost herself in the smell of his car. Every time she sensed that smell on someone’s car o in any place, it reminded her of him. 

She had always had a particularly olfactory memory, and although most of the time it brought her good memories of her childhood or adolescence, in terms of relationships it always brought her bittersweet memories, melancholy, regret. 

She knew that smell—The smell of Ethan’s car, a scent of pine and musk—, or his smell — a fresh citric scent—would only bring her pain.

Ethan parked outside the apartment. The street was lonely, no one could be seen in the distance, and the only sound was the murmur of cars passing by the main avenue. A lump wove in her throat. She was afraid.

Eleanor turned to him to say goodbye. She wanted to make it simple. She could swear that she wanted to make it simple. 

“Have a good trip, Ethan, I hope you get back safely”—She spoke softly as she hugged him.

"Thank you, Eleanor”

“Text me to know that you arrived safely, please”—Eleanor asked, looking straight into his eyes. Those sky-blue eyes that were always the beginning of all her madness.

Ethan caressed the nape of her neck with his thumb and then he closed his eyes while pressing his forehead into hers, trying to absorb all her presence, the silkiness of her hair, the sweet scent of her neck, the warmth of her skin, of her hands. Before Eleanor could pull away, he sighed:

“I hope one day you finally understand that everything I’ve done, everything I’m doing, is for you. Because it's never been about me, Eleanor. The only thing that matters to me is that you become the brilliant and successful doctor you really deserve to be”

There were so much sincerity and pain in his speech that Eleanor pulled away from him so she could see his eyes. She stroked his cheek.

“I know, in a way I understand it, Ethan… But I can’t accept that path has to be this painful… And so unfair”

“Life isn’t fair, Eleanor”

Eleanor wanted to refute him that in this case, life had nothing to do with it. Because life wasn’t being unfair to her. He was being unfair. But she was unable to say a word. She was mesmerized by Ethan’s look. His eyes that so many times had given her comfort, now they haunted her dreams, they didn’t let her sleep at night, and at that precise moment, was threatening the little sanity she had left. 

After a few moments, they began to look at their lips, mere inches away from each other, until they finally gave in to the inevitable. A brush of lips so satisfying and full of redemption that they sighed in unison, to come together again in a more intense kiss, capturing and biting each other lips. Ethan felt Eleanor’s tears stream down his cheeks. To alleviate her own pain and avoid a sob, Eleanor stroked Ethan’s hair tightly in the back of his head, intensifying the kiss even more, sliding her tongue in his, and all over his lips. 

Ethan didn’t have time to hesitate and was caught up by the same desire. Soon, he was sliding his hands under Eleanor’s coat, feeling the curve of her breasts, her waist, and her hips. It was a never-ending dance of lips, which was complemented by more caresses, and then Eleanor climbing on top of Ethan, straddling him with her legs.

On another occasion, she would have pulled herself together and walked away. But knowing that she wouldn’t see him again for a long time, it drove her crazy. And maybe not for a long time, but there was always the possibility that this would be the last time they would be together, that both of them would want each other. Because no one could foretell what would happen from now on, when both he and she had finally accepted that their relationship had reached a dead end and that it was up to Ethan to revive it, and he had been clear that that wouldn’t happen.

“Eleanor…”—He sighed, a glint of reluctancy in his tone. He gulped.

She ignored him and continued to kiss him passionately, as she began to move over Ethan’s lap gently. 

"Deny that you want this"—She whispered a moments later—"Say that you don’t want me and I swear I’ll go”

Eleanor pulled away from him and looked into his eyes. It was dark, but she was able to see the sparkle in his eyes slightly. Eleanor’s anticipation was stifling as she felt Ethan’s bulge between her tights.

“I want you more than anything in this world”—He replied melting at the sight of her on top of him, his arms around her body.

Without wasting another second, she kissed him again, intensifying her movements over him.

“Eleanor"—He gasped, feeling an electric shock down his spine as he rested his hand over Eleanor's hips, pressing her against his crotch, rubbing each other as their moans began to invade the car.

Suddenly, Eleanor slid her hand between his tights, feeling his arousal under her fingers. He went to her pants, unbuttoned them, and shoved his hand under her panties. He felt her wetness, her desire. She sighed.

“Ohh, Ethan…”

“You’re so ready”

“Yes” She mumbled.

Ethan tried to lower her pants, but he couldn’t do much, due to the uncomfortable position. For a second, Eleanor thought they could have gone to her room but abandoned the idea immediately. She knew that Ethan could have second thoughts on their way to her apartment and she didn’t want to risk the possibility to be with him. 

Instead, she returned to the passenger seat, took off her shoes, and after moving the seat backward, took off her pants and panties. Ethan imitated her and pushed the seat backward as well and began to unfasten his pants. Eleanor, anxious, unhooked his belt and pants before he could finish, and released his cock under the boxer, and lowered herself to slide her tongue in all his length, to finally cover the tip with his mouth and then go deep. After a few moments, she moved upwards, sucking him hard.

“Eleanor”—He sighed in pleasure.

The girl worked on him for a few moments, until Ethan stopped her and guided her to sit on his lap again. “Come here”

They kissed again, devouring each other, Ethan grazing her jaw, her neck greedily, while she was gasping loudly as the anticipation was taking her body, feeling his arousal right under her sex. Then he removed her sweater and pulled her shirt and bra up, exposing his breasts. He cupped them with both hands before taking his mouth straight to her chest and began to kiss them… and then to suck her nipples.

"Ethan” Eleanor moaned loudly “Yes!”

The sound of his breath while licking her nipples and the “smack” after his mouth sucked them resonated in the car, and it was just another source of pleasure for Eleanor. But there was still something both were missing. Eleanor shifted slightly as she directed his arousal towards her center.

“Fuck”—She sighed as Ethan was entering her.

It was a blessed feeling, although neither of them believed in God, least of all in religion. That pleasure, that ecstasy, was a catharsis after all those months containing their deepest feelings and desires, after reliving almost every night the precious time they had spent together and that now were long gone.

“Oh, I missed you"—He groaned, taking her butt harder, as he was picking up more speed.

“Fuck yes. I wanted you so bad”—She kissed him, tongues colliding, teeth biting and swollen lips asking for more and more.

“You feel amazing, Eleanor”

The noise of their bodies colliding filled the car, but they were soon muffled with the moans that each one was not able to suppress, in the face of the sensations that were overwhelming them.

If someone was passing by and they had caught them, they wouldn’t have cared. All that mattered at that moment, was the feeling of their bodies connected. The pleasure that one was producing in the other. The ecstasy, the madness of their touch. The smell of their bodies. Ethan went to her breasts taking one with her hand, sucking her nipples hard while the other hand was on her ass, gripping her roughly.

“Ethan, I’m close”

Ethan was holding back just to this moment. He grabbed her firmly by her hips and began to thrust her at an impossible pace. Eleanor couldn’t comprehend where all that sensations were coming from, how she started to melting so abruptly, because she climaxed just a few seconds later.

“Oh my god, ETHAN!”—She screamed as he felt her hot breath in his mouth. Her tights squeezed as she was climaxing and that was enough to make him cum crying out her name.

He saw Eleanor toppling over him resting her forehead into his. Ethan embraced her, trying to feel every inch of her exposed skin in his.

“I love you”—She whispered.

He tightened his embrace, just as he did the last time she had said those words, and Eleanor still couldn’t figure out if he did that to pent up and not say anything, or to catch some bravery to tell her something. Either way, she wasn’t waiting for an answer this time. She only wanted him to know, before leaving, that she still loved him.

After a few more seconds holding each other, Eleanor returned to the passenger seat. She took her clothes and began to put them on. He also fixed his clothes. Somehow, when she came back to reality, the atmosphere was just as tense and painful as before the kiss. Even though the orgasm was still latent between her tights, the fact of knowing that the goodbye had finally come, was shattering her.

She turned to him, look into his blue eyes for a brief second, and breathed:

“Have a good flight ”

And without further ado, she got out of the car towards the building. 

“I love you too, Eleanor”—He said just as Eleanor closed the building’s door.

 _____

Chapter 4.

[dindjarindiaries]

Chance - Chapter 1

summary: Adali finds chaos in the Nevarro cantina and comes across a useful stranger.

warnings: very mild violence, harassment, angst

rating: PG-14

word count: 2.832k

masterlist

chapter 1

Adali hasn’t seen the Nevarro cantina this busy in many moons.

Both bounty hunters and citizens alike are swarming around the joint. Nearly every stool at the bar is filled as the cantina bursts at the seams. Adali can’t keep the surprise out of her expression as she saunters over to the bar, looking to request a drink but getting lost in her thoughts instead. These drinks must be getting better to attract the citizens inside. The hunters—that’s different. And Adali knows exactly why.

Just yesterday, she’d gotten her direct commission for it: the asset. Fifty years old. Nothing else about it is known—at least, that’s what the rest of the hunters are saying. They’re flocking to Greef Karga in herds to request this commission, eager to take their shot at earning the biggest reward this parsec’s ever seen. Hunting’s been tough in the Outer Rim following the fall of the Empire. There’s not enough twisted people to request dirty work for high prices, and if there is, they’re too busy trying not to be found by the New Republic. To get an opportunity like this, to earn a reward bigger than some can even conceive of, is priceless. Nearly the entire Bounty Hunter’s Guild has gotten a tracking fob—Adali included.

But she’s not like the rest of them.

Adali is strong. She’s taken down many quarries twice her size and been able to win fights where the odds were four-to-one. But she doesn’t take her pride as a hunter in her strength. Adali thinks with her mind first and foremost, and rather than having the mentality of overpowering and running through her quarries, she prefers to outsmart them. Bounty hunting isn’t just a test of strength between a hunter and its prey: it’s a test of intellect. Before the hunter can get its prey, it has to watch it, study it, learn everything it can about it. Then, it’ll learn their every move—and it’ll make the hunting process go swiftly. Adali prefers her jobs clean.

Thus, when Adali met with the client—no doubt an imperial warlord, though the more wicked, the better for her—she wasn’t intimidated by his lack of ability to provide thorough information. There was no chain code, he’d said, just an age. She’d known the age before she’d walked inside. Hunters talk a lot of shit for taking such a “confidential” commission. After having acquired her tracking fob, Adali had gone straight back to the cantina, pretending to be preoccupied at the bar as she’d listened to the conversation of two hunters near her.

“I heard it’s some ex-Sith Lord,” a Rodian had muttered to the Trandoshan beside him, failing to be quiet enough for Adali’s careful ears to pick his words up.

“A Sith Lord?” the Trandoshan had laughed, shaking his head as he hit his glass against the bar for effect. “What would a Sith Lord be doing on Sorgan?”

“It’s the perfect place to hide,” the Rodian had insisted, narrowing his eyes at his friend’s amused behavior. “That place is an absolute scughole. No one would think they’d be there.”

“Sith Lords are a myth,” the Trandoshan had scoffed. “And a group of mercenaries wouldn’t have been able to get a Sith Lord anywhere without being dead first.”

And so Adali had gotten her first lead: the asset had been on Sorgan. She was planning on taking a visit there, wanting to see if any of the population knew anything about it, but had delayed those plans in favor of creeping around the cantina one more time. She isn’t sure how accurate the rumor of the asset’s origin is, and she wants to see if she can either confirm it or get some more information out of the gossiping hunters before she sets off. Sorgan isn’t exactly a short trip away from Nevarro.

Adali’s thoughts are interrupted by a burst of chaos from behind her. She hears Greef’s voice rumbling in a frustrated manner, and instantly she’s turning around from her place at the bar to see what’s happening.

“You’re not in the Guild,” Greef insists, furrowing his brow at a man who’s standing across from him. “I can’t tell you anything.”

“But, please, you must know something!” the man exclaims, his voice low but also desperate. Adali isn’t close enough to get a good look at the stranger. She raises a curious eyebrow at the odd situation. “Just—how can I get a fob?”

“You can’t,” Greef scoffs. “Like I said, you’re not in the Guild. You can’t hunt for us.” He then gives the man a once-over. “By the looks of it, you can’t hunt at all.”

“Please, sir,” the man tries again. “That’s my son. Anything you know—I’ll give you everything I have!”

“I said, I’m not telling you anything,” Greef snarls. “Now get outta’ here and stop making a damn fool of yourself—before I make you.”

The man’s shoulders fall in a defeated manner, and he gives Greef a respectful nod before he turns back to the door. Before he can even start making his way over to the door, he’s stopped by another hunter, who stands nearly face-to-face with the man. Adali wants to rolls her eyes as she recognizes him as Jado Korra, the professional ass-kisser of the Guild’s magistrate. “Are you looking for trouble, you bantha fodder?” Jado hisses, raising a challenging eyebrow at the man.

“N-No,” the man stutters—more in surprise than in fear. “I was just about to leave.”

“When? Before you harassed Karga, or after?” Jado’s sneering at the poor stranger now, and Adali has the sudden urge to shoot him down where he stands simply because of his vexatious behavior.

“I told you, I don’t want any trouble,” the man reminds him, even starting to raise his hands in voluntary surrender.

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before,” Jado quips, taking the man by his shirt and shoving him off to the side. He collapses into an empty table, sending it down with him. Jado snickers and walks away, leaving the stranger in a daze.

Adali sighs, irritated by Jado’s behavior and helplessly curious about the stranger begging Greef for information. She resigns herself to strolling over to where the man’s still struggling to get up, offering him a hand to take. He looks up at her suspiciously, and Adali takes a better look at him up close. His gaze is dark like mud, his eyes looking worn from the stress of whatever situation he’s found himself in. He’s got a mop of rather long but tamed dark hair atop his head, and his face goes unshaven but well-trimmed. His dark clothes are slightly tattered and layered—and Adali has to keep her eyes from widening at the realization that hits her. They’re the clothes of a farmer, and she’s willing to bet he’s a farmer from Sorgan.

The man finally accepts Adali’s hand, and she pulls him up before he starts to dust himself off. His cheeks are reddened with slight embarrassment as he pulls himself back together. “Thanks,” the man says, his voice sounding much rougher than Adali would’ve expected for a Sorgan farmer.

“Don’t worry about it,” Adali responds, looking to where Jado’s gone off to kiss Greef’s ass some more. “Jado’s always been an asshole.” He finally looks back to her upon hearing that, his dark gaze glittering with exhaustion and newfound curiosity. Adali extends her hand back out to him. “Adali Tovar.”

He accepts it gingerly, shaking it as he nods at her. “Din Djarin.”

“Din, you look like you could use a drink,” Adali says, and Din lets out a chuckle as he nods once again in agreement. “Can I tempt you with one?”

“That’s… very kind of you,” Din replies, smiling just a bit at Adali’s offer. She wonders what kind of hell he’s had to go through to find a civil act so friendly.

“If you fix this table, I’ll get us some drinks,” Adali proposes, and Din nods in understanding. She then sets off for the bar, ordering something light for the both of them. She carries them over to the table Din’s propped back up, setting the drinks down and sitting across from him. “So, what got you under Jado’s skin? I swear, it doesn’t take much.”

Din scoffs lightly at Adali’s words. “I guess I was pestering his boss or something.”

Adali raises an eyebrow at him. “Karga?” She pretends as if she never watched the full extent of the altercation.

“Yeah, I think that’s the name he said.” Din pauses to take a sip of his drink, his brow beginning to furrow in worry. “I didn’t mean to, I just—I really needed his help.”

“Are you a hunter?”

Din shakes his head. “No. I don’t know if you can tell, but—,” Din gestures to his clothing before continuing, “—I’m a farmer.”

Adali lets her curiosity show. “That sounds nice. Where at?”

“Sorgan.”

Adali feels her veins fill with adrenaline at the planet’s name. It’s just as she was hoping for—a person who likely has valuable information on the asset. “Sorgan? Wow. That’s a long damn way from Nevarro. What could possibly bring you here?”

Din’s face falls, and Adali watches as his dark gaze focuses on the drink in his mug. “It’s… my son. He was abducted not too long ago. I thought it might’ve been some bounty hunters—so I found out where the Guild operates, and I came for whatever information I could find.” He releases a sigh, finally looking back up at Adali. “But he couldn’t offer me anything.”

His son. At the sound of the abduction, Adali had wondered if he was referring to the asset—but Din doesn’t look anywhere close to being fifty years old himself, much less fathering a fifty-year-old son. Still, if Din’s from Sorgan, he must know something—and Adali’s willing to make a deal over it. So, she presses on, looking around to make sure no one’s listening as she leans further across the table. “What if I told you that I’m a hunter—and I might be able to help you?”

Din’s eyes widen at her words, and she sees a spark of hope arise in his gaze. “I would be so grateful for anything you have.”

Adali gives him a nod, leaning back as she draws a sip from her drink. “What’s your son’s name?”

Din tenses at her words. Adali furrows her brow. “He… I haven’t officially named him.” Before Adali can question him further about the matter, Din explains it himself. “He’s adopted. I found him on his own almost a year ago and took him in. I call him Ad’ika, but I don’t know his true name—or if he even has one.”

Adali tilts her head curiously. “Isn’t that—?”

“Mando’a? Yes.” Din lets out a soft breath, his fingers fumbling with the handle of his mug. “That’s what my mentor used to call me.”

“Was your mentor from Mandalore?” Adali knows that couldn’t have turned out well. Everyone knows what happened to the Mandalorians—they’re practically extinct.

Din hesitates, and then nods. “I… was raised by Mandalorians. But their lifestyle just wasn’t for me.”

Adali lifts a curious eyebrow, feeling even more interested in Din now. If he was raised by Mandalorians, that means he must’ve had a least some training with them—which must make him an impressive fighter. “I guess it’s good you got out of there while you still could.” Adali makes the reference to the event that wiped out the Mandalorians for good.

Din grimaces. “I guess so.”

“Did they train you to fight?”

“I learned some—yeah. But I’m long out of practice.”

Adali furrows her brow. “Is that how they got to your son?”

Din sighs. “I didn’t have a chance. They stunned me before I could fight back.” His eyes darken as he goes on. “I think they meant to kill me—but used the wrong mode.”

Adali nods slowly, running a hand over her chin as she decides to move to a different topic. “How old is your son?”

Din shrugs. “I don’t know. But he’s a baby.”

A baby? Adali sighs internally. There’s no way he’s the asset she’s looking for. Unless… species age differently, she’d once been told after collecting a quarry who was over four hundred years old. Adali leans in again, looking into Din’s gaze with severity. “Do you think there’s a possibility that he could be fifty?”

Din’s eyes widen. “Fifty?” His tone is quiet and full of disbelief. “I… I wouldn’t think so, but—.”

“Is he a different species?” Adali continues her interrogation. When Din nods, she goes on. “Then he might age differently. Let’s say his life span extends to nine hundred years old. Could he be fifty?”

Din doesn’t say anything for a moment. He simply returns Adali’s gaze, and she can see the intense contemplation written all over his face. Din then offers a light sigh. “I guess it’s possible.”

Adali leans back again, finishing her mug before she launches her next question. “Did he get abducted about—ah, I don’t know—just over a week ago?”

Din nods earnestly. “Yes! That’s exactly when it happened.”

Adali smiles slightly at him, reaching for the tracking fob and making it visible to him. “Then I might just be able to help you, Din.”

Din’s dark gaze floods with relief, and he lets out a chuckle in disbelief. “I—thank you. I can’t believe—I’ve been so worried about him, you have no idea how much it means—.”

“It’s gonna cost you,” Adali cuts him off, raising her brow expectantly. “If only I could do it out of the ‘kindness of my heart,’ but sadly, that’s not how we operate out here. You need to offer me a better deal.” She knows he can’t—but if she can get him to at least believe he can, then he can give her all the rest of the information she needs, and she’ll be well on her way to making a fortune.

“I’ll give you everything I have.” Din says the words without hesitation. His brow’s furrowed in desperation again, and for a moment, it pains Adali’s heart to see it. That look reminds her of something else, something she’s tried to keep buried deep within her, and she hates the way the pain crawls back up—if even for a moment. “Please. I’ll—I’ll even help you.”

Adali nearly laughs at his proposal. “Help me?”

“I know, I said I’m out of practice.” The words are rushing out of Din’s mouth now, as if he can’t say them quickly enough. “But I learned a lot while I was growing up. I know that with a bit of warming up, I can probably get back into the routine. I still have some weapons—I took them with me to Sorgan just in case. I don’t need anything else other than Ad’ika.” Din finally pauses, looking at Adali nervously. “Please.”

Adali considers his words for a moment, crossing her arms as she leans back in her seat. If she lets Din join her, then she can not only have some extra hands for fighting, but also have him there once she acquires the asset. Then, instead of returning it to him, she can more easily kill him on the spot and take the asset in for her promised reward.

It’s actually not a bad deal.

Adali sighs lightly, painting on a small smile as she gives Din a nod. “Alright. I’ll accept your help.” Din’s gaze brightens, but before he can go on thanking her unnecessarily again, she continues talking. “But I have to ask: do you still have your Mandalorian armor?”

Din nods, his brow furrowing. “Yes. It’s packed away with my weapons.”

“Good. You’ll want it—to disguise yourself.” When Din’s confusion becomes obvious, Adali explains it for him. “People might know you’re tied to the asset—your son. If they see you, they’ll know exactly what you’re there for. It’s best if you try to hide your identity.”

“Whatever it takes.” Adali’s nearly shocked to hear the words come so quickly out of his mouth, but it’s also not surprising to her. She’s seen how much Din’s son must mean to him—and she can’t help admiring him for that, even if she’ll be using it to her own advantage. “Thank you…” Din’s trying to recall her name.

“Call me Ada.” Din nods at Adali, and she sighs as she stands up. “Follow me to my ship. Looks like we’re taking a trip back to Sorgan.”

Din gives Adali another nod, and soon she’s leading their way out of the cantina—completely unaware of the destiny she’s just written for herself.

chance tag list: @mikahid​ @starlight-starwrites​ @lavenderl3mons​ @adikaofmandalore​

permanent tag list: @mikahid​ @theforceofdarkandlight​ @stilllivindue2spite​ @givemethatgold​ @xbrujita​ @mandalorianspace​ @blushingwueen​ @sevvysaurus​ @myakai13​ @thisis-theway​ @beskars​ @rachelloveseveryone​ @theindiealto​ @hiscyarika​ @burningsoulbloodyheart​ @wickedfrsgrl​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @bookwafflefangirl​ @charliepeaceout​ @lavenderl3mons​ @cable-kenobi​

[queerchoicesblog]

La Vie Bohème

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing project continues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story of Élodie and Léa continues: what’s next?

Next chapter out on Monday, I think!

TRIGGER WARNING: mentions to homophobia, reference to sexual activity (if you are a minor or it bothers you in any way, you have been warned)

Tagging: @scottishqueer​

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

_______________________________

The following day I wake up late, around lunchtime. My roommates are all out: Marie left me a note saying she's out for a walk with Alain. Poor Marie, what a concerned look she gave me last night when she saw me sneaking inside our room without my coat! I had to craft a wild story to justify my attire and being so late. I can only hope she believed me...at least, she didn't ask too many questions. I head to the kitchen and warm up the stew leftover my friend saved for me. The events of the night are blurred, they waltz together in a haze: the Moulin Rouge, the Cage of Fools and the jigs I danced with Élodie, her perfume, her laughter, the violet a gallant admirer sent me, then the gendarmes, the clash of their batons, our mad run. The sad look on Élodie's face, the little kiss she pressed on my knuckles parting.

I wash myself and head out for a walk too, wrapping myself in the only other coat I have, much lighter than the lost one. My neighbourhood is certainly not renewed for attractions but it's Sunday and everyone is out to enjoy their day off. Some kids almost collide with me while chasing each other while an old lady nearby invites every passerby to try her apple tart, cheap and decadent, she repeats. Last night was the wildest night I've ever had in my whole life. After the initial embarrassment, I felt incredidibly...happy. I felt like floating on air when Élodie spun me in her arms or when we had a toast at our new friendship. Why did it end so soon? Who called the gendarmes and why they wanted to arrest those people who were just having fun? I don't get it...people crossdress every day now on the stages of cabaret theatres and no one ever complains. Their acts receive thunderous applauses and some artists have adoring fans every night. Why is it so different to call for a mass arrest? The men and women at the Cage of Fools were just doing what popular crossdress artists do: singing, dancing, making sure everybody was merry and bright. Was it because of the two men kissing a few tables away from where we sat? Nobody cared there, I didn't care, honestly. But now that I think of it, that might be the cause. Crossdressing performers never kiss each other on stage. I walk up to a hill into a second hand marketplace, hoping to find a replacement for my old coat I can afford. Could it be that my friend Élodie is a...how do they call them? A sapphic? I heard the word for the first time when I worked as a maid at the uncle Yves' client house. Madame pronounced it with ill grace, speaking of one of their acquaintances while I served breakfast. When I went back to the kitchen, I asked the cook the meaning of the unknown word, that I assumed a fancy insult: my masters wanted to play the role of the rich and the rich don't share the same language with us commoners. They invent new words, more fitted to their uptown world, not tainted with the smell of the street. The lady got all red and threw me a cloth, scolding me for eavesdropping a conversation and warning me to mind my own business. Needless to say my curiosity ran wild and I finally got an answer a few days later when I asked to the maid of a visiting guest. Could it be? The following week is pretty eventful: an important commission and Marie receiving a letter from home, urging her to go back to Aergenteuil to help assisting a sick relative. They would have never asked, knowing all the trouble that would cause her, if they could have done otherwise, her parents wrote. Marie is very close to that aunt and she sobbed in my arms at the thought of losing her and the job all at once. It took time to me and our roommates to comfort her. I told her that she didn't have to worry about the job: we will talk to the girls tomorrow and we will cover for her during her absence. If most agree to help, it will only mean a few extra hours each. Luckily, Marie is well loved at work so things run relatively smoothly, despite the boss' evident contempt. She profuses in an endless series of thank you and praises when I walk her to the carriage station at dawn before heading straight to work. We hug and I give her a tiny slice of that cheap and decadent apple tart the old lady sells at the crossroad. A little treat for the journey home, the only one I can afford. "You're a true friend, Léa. I will never forget this" she says, eyes veiled with tears before taking her seat on board. As the carriage disappears from view, I realise it's the first time we are separated from each other since we first met. Predictably, I end up missing her: we've been around each other for so long that now not walking back home with her, working side by side and sharing lunch on the staircase makes me feel a bit empty, as if a part was missing. Marcel and Alain are busy with work too as festivities approach fast and I have my fair share of Marie's work to worry about. However, from time to time, when I'm not so tired I only want to touch the bed, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge. The first time Élodie spots me, she runs straight into my arms, hugging me tightly: she must have thought she would never see me again after our misadventure with the gendarmes. She lets me assist to the acts backstage and I get to befriend other dancers, now used to see me around. I even fix their costumes if they get damaged during the performance. I do it gladly, even if it adds up to my daily amount of work. I usually gets cheek kisses or champagne as payment but sometimes, despite my deflections, they drop some coins into my hand, arguing that the Moulin Rouge tailor is half as good as me. When it happens, instead of saving them, I go buy a dinner at a bistro nearby with Élodie. I'm always starving but she never makes jokes of me for that. I tell her about Marie and the extra hours and, in return, she pretends not to be so hungry and offers me her slices of bread or some mashed potatoes "she won't eat anyway". We talk for hours, until I can keep my eyelids open. We start seeing each other more often. I must admit it's relatively easier now that I don't have to worry about bothering Marie and my friends are busy. Only my roommates look at me differently: I'm positive they suspect I have a secret lover. Now my day off is split between a little work at home in the morning and Élodie. We stroll down the Tuileries Gardens, arm in arm to protect each other against the cold. Élodie loves this place: she doesn't care it's overly popular, to her it's a testament to the the beautiful things people can create, an urban Eden. Who am I to contradict her? The Palace in the distance, the trees, the quiet murmur of the Seine nearby...it's rather gorgeous. One day we bump into a couple of her friends of the Cage of Fools. I could barely recognise gracious Pierrette in her male clothes. She goes by Pierre during the day. "Amélie" the other woman says, offering a hand to shake and I recognise one of Élodie's friends who were playing cards. "We've already met but I don't think I properly introduced myself". I assure her that I remember her. Then, lowering my voice as if I don't know if I can speak freely about it, I ask them about the fate of the Cage. Pierre/Pierrette frowns, she's one of the owners and had a hard time being released by the gendarmes after the arrest. The bar and ballroom is still closed, the authorities denies a reopening. They're planning a night incursion to retrieve all the lost goods, if there's any left. But so far it's hard to tell what will be of the Cage. Then, noticing my sullen expression, she adds: "It will open up again, darling. It's Paris, Pigalle: places like this always rise from their own ashes. We just don't know when and how" We all share a weak smile. The silence is broken by Élodie. "I was thinking of throwing a little party at my place to cheer up the mood" "At your place? But how?" Amélie inquiries, skeptic but intrigued. "A roof party, so there will be space for anyone. We can lit some fires to keep warm. You're all invited and I will ask some girls at the Moulin. A little feast to forget about our sorrows" True to her word, the next week, when I receive a letter from Marie informing me of her upcoming return, she proudly announces me that the party is happening: it's on Saturday night after the act at the Moulin. "Will you be there?" she asks, taking my hand into hers. The sudden gesture draws a smile on my face. We now seat together in bars and bistros very different from the Cage of Fools and I've come to miss casual touches like this. We've been very careful since that raid, especially Élodie. "Of course, I will" I nod over a steamy bowl of soup. She claps her hands excitedly, flashing me a bright smile before scribbling down an address on a scrap of paper she retrieved God knows where. Then she hands it to me. "Don't be late, I'll be waiting for you" Her words colour my cheeks rosy, the warmth in her voice unmistakable. Unsurprisingly, she lives in Monmarte, the artist neighbourhood. I arrive early, afraid to be late. I ate my dinner with great haste once back from work and spent a whole hour getting ready, a detail that -I do not doubt it- cemented my roommates' theory of the secret affair. I washed myself, did my hair up just like Marie taught me, and put on my best dress, which is nothing fancy but I am quite fond of the colour and its lacy sleeves. Once I put kohl on my eyes and some rouge on my lips, I head off into the night. When I finally arrive, I spot some familiar faces in front of the building: Léa's friends. I wave at them and they greet me with affability as if we've known each other for a while. "Good evening, Léa. You're radiant tonight" Pierrette says, kissing both my cheeks. I'm glad to see her back in her female clothes, she even placed a flower in her hair for the occasion. "Élodie hasn't arrived yet, she and the girls must be on their way" Amélie informs me, rubbing her hands. I say that it's fine especially if you're in good company. We chat, hugging ourselves and I discover that they all works as secretaries, bar Pierrette who is "an unsuspecting accountant by day, the best bartender in town by night". Just then, a cheerful choir of voices resounds in the street, approaching. We turn and it's the dancers of the Moulin Rouge. They cheer and wave at us, swaying bottles of wine and champagne raided from the theatre. After a quick round of kisses and loud greetings, we all run up the stairs before catching a cold. Élodie's apartment is messy and rather small for the number of guests attending the party so we quickly take the stairs and head to the roof. The sight is gorgeous: as the others light a couple of fires and one of the dancers harmonises an accordion, I take a moment to admire it. From the top of the hill, Paris lays beneath us like an ocean of light and chimney smoke. An intoxicating combination of misery and beauty I have never seen before. Someone taps my shoulder and I turn to see Carmine, one of Élodie's colleagues, handing me a glass of wine. It's stronger than I expect but I keep sipping it as we chat, grateful to have something to kindle my bones in the cold. A lively tune starts playing and we all share a toast to our host, who performs an exaggerated reverie in full response. The atmosphere is bubbly: some dance, others chat and crack jokes with each other...everyone is in good spirits. I wonder if this is the life my new friend is used to, so careless and free. So different from the one I know. What does she see in me? My ordinary seamstress routine, my life....is a stale dry biscuit in comparison to what she does. I'm saved by the male dance, Laurent, who asks me to dance. I accept: after all, I am here to enjoy myself and he will lead, I only have to follow his moves. As we sway I catch Élodie looking in my direction while chatting with the girls and drinking wine. I have no recollection of how much time we spent there, I remember walking down the stairs arm in arm with Amélie. As some guests take their leave, we gather in the living room and the the tiny kitchen downstairs to keep warm. Laurent produces himself in an impression of Monsieur Ziegler that elicits a general round of laughters. Pierrette and one of the girls sing one last song, a popular duet for the "last ones standing" then say goodbye. When the last guest walks out of the door, Élodie turns towards me. "Stay and help me sinking that?" she asks, nodding at a half empty bottle of champagne. Before I can answer, she's already looking for two glasses. She returns with just one. "You have the glass, I take the bottle" she announces. I laugh at the tipsy note in her voice as she pours liquid ambrosia in my glass. "What?" she chuckles. "Just saying that maybe you should take a seat, mademoiselle" I tease her, guiding her to the sofa. She rolls her eyes and obliges...then at last minute, she pulls me down too. Some champagne sloshes over the rim of my glass but I find a seat beside her. We both giggle. "To the best party host in Paris" I raise my glass. She smiles and mirrors my gesture. "To the most gracious guest, the pearl of Roscoff" We cling our glasses and I blush a little, diverting my eyes. When I look back at here, her eyes rests dreamy on a painting laid nearby on the floor. One of her roommates is a painter, she explains absentmindedly, he finished it yesterday. I tell her she's a real bohemienne, living in the artist quarter with a painter.... "An actress and a music-hall trumpet player. And I'm a dancer myself!" she adds. Then she falls quiet. She smiles to herself, a rather melancholic smile, as if she's contemplating her whole life. "La vie bohème...that's the life I chose" she says after a while. "I've never thought I would achieve that though. I've never thought I would get this far" "How come?" I sit more comfortably and she takes a gulp of champagne before speaking again. She was born in Bordeaux, a place now filled with memories of a lonely grim childhood. Her mother was, is -since she's still alive as far as she knows- a prostitute, who spent more time walking the streets than cuddling her little girl. Sometimes she received clients at home and Élodie ran hiding in the filthy toilet in the garden until they were gone. She never knew who her father was but she likes to think it was a tormented poet or a travelling artist...more likely and ironically, he could have been a gendarme off duty or the spoilt heir of a local noble with a taste for the sordid cheap pleasures the streets of the suburbs offer after dark. Her mother wasn't kind to her -one day when she had a bit too much, she admitted she never wanted a child- but provided for her. She was the one teaching her the can-can. "Decades ago only prostitutes danced like this, now it's different...but I guess it's part of the profession lore, so to speak" she laughs sombrely. "I mean, some girls at the Moulin still do that, dancing and selling their graces to paying admirers. I suppose it's easy to cross the line if you always want more and more and adulation is a weird poison. I don't judge them, if no one is forcing them to do so, they can do what they want...." She turns towards me, placing her hand over mine. I give it a squeeze. "I don't do that, Léa. I don't do that...I saw what that life did to my mother, what it turned her into and when one morning I packed my things and left, I swore to myself to ever do that, even if money was running low, if I could avoid it. I was barely sixteen when I arrived here, alone, in Paris. I was lucky enough to find kind people who didn't take advantage of me...and I...and I started to dance. Dancing gave me freedom" I don't know what made her so suddenly nostalgic, maybe it's the alcohol we had tonight. But her story makes me appreciate her even more: the world has been unkind to her at first, filling her childhood with hardships, but she fought back. She danced away from her misery with ineffable grace and dignity like a brave butterfly. "And now look at you: you're Lila, star of la quadrille" I flash her a bright smile. "I'm proud of you" She laughs softly. "Are you?" "Yes, of course!" I sit a bit straighter, as if it could give my word more authority. "You've faced adversities and you went so far. Only the most talented dancers are allowed to perform in la quadrille!" "You read it somewhere?" "Everybody knows that!" I exclaim, amused and surprised by her skepticism. Then, to prove my point, I hand her my glass and stand. I find a spot clear enough and declare astonished: "Like, I could never dance like you do every night!" And I start mimic the can-can routine at my best, that I'm pretty sure turns out to be a grotesque parody of the real dance. I do it to amuse her and I smile when I finally hear her laughing. She places the bottle and the glass back on the floor and claps her hands, whistling like some spectators do at the Moulin. "What? No, don't clap, that was just silly!" I dismiss her, chuckling. "Well, whatever that was it was...something" she shrugs before bursting into another laughter, softer this time. "Whatever it was? Hear hear, a can-can dancer who doesn't even recognise it!" I make a scene to be offended and throw her a cushion from the nearest armchair. She ducks just in time to avoid it. We both giggle then she stroke her chin and regards me more carefully, pensive. "You have enthusiasm but you lack technique" "Told you I'm a bad dancer" I shrug. The memory of the two of us dancing at the Cage of Fools crosses my mind like a meteor and my heart starts racing again in my chest. "May I?" she says, standing. I nod even if I don't know what she means exactly. I get it when she saunters closer and positions herself behind me. When she gently places her hands on my hips, I inhale sharply. "First of all, you need to loosen up a bit. You're too wooden...sway your hips, like this" She hums the melody of Offenbach and guides my movements so that they match the rhythm. Again, it doesn't take long before I surrender and follow her lead. I don't know how long we sway like this, I must have closed my eyes. I only hear her voice behind me. "See, definite improvement! Now rise your skirt up a little" I freeze and turn towards her. My cheeks warm up and I try to blame the wine I had. "You don't want to trip over your skirt while dancing this, you can hurt yourself" she smiles encouragely. "That's why you do that then...I would have thought..." I shake my head but do as she says. I bend down and reach for the hem of my long skirt then I grab it as I saw the dancers do and lift it up till my the height of my knees. "Well, that's one reason" "I knew there were ulterior motives" I laugh. "The Moulin is not exactly a convent, right? You have to show your legs to the paying audience" she explains, mocking Monsieur Ziedler's voice. "They pay good money for them" "I see no paying audience though" I chuckle, turning my head slightly. "Because you have little imagination, mademoiselle Pearl" she whispers into my ear. Her breath hot on my skin sends a shiver down my spine and my heart pounding against my ribs. "Ready for the gallop? Three, two, one-" "Wait, wait-" Before I can process what's happening, under the lead of Élodie, we gallop from one side of the room to the other, moving laterally like crabs. I understand now: I saw this move over and over during the acts. Élodie gives directions and tells me to sway the skirt as we move. We soon end up laughing again when we almost trip over a tin box on the floor. When we stop, I feel dizzy and lean back against her for sustain. "Enough of that" she announces between laughters. "Now, knee up, girl!" I oblige and start jumping on my other feet. My balance becomes way more precarious. To think that dancers like Élodie make this look so easy...I let out a shriek as I fear of tripping. She encourages me to rise my knee even higher up to my chest. "But I will fall!" "I'll catch you" she reassures me, holding my hips a bit tighter. "C'mon, Léa, a bit higher...higher...yes, like this! You're a natural...and now kick!" I follow her instructions and my kick sends the books on top of a pile nearby flying across the room. It's a miracle they don't land over the painting. "Well, that's one hell of a kick, darling!" Élodie cheers as I lower my leg. Her laughter is contagious, I soon join and we don't stop until we're out of breath. Then I throw my head back and it finds her shoulder. We're still in the same position. I can feel her chest rising and falling against my back and her hands on me. I slowly turn my face towards her and find her looking back at me. We go quiet, trying to catch our breaths. Has she always been so beautiful? This whole time? I remember her cheerfulness, the way she let me spin into her arms and listened to me, resting her chin on her hand at the Cage. How she immediately grabbed my hand at first sign of danger, the tender light in her eyes when our faces were inches apart in that back alley. I decide to do what probably she failed to do that night: I follow my instinct, without thinking twice. I lean forward and brush my lips over hers. A tentative kiss, the lazy stroke of a shy lover. She mirrors my move and our hands move almost at unison: hers around my waist, resting on my stomach; mine over hers, stroking her wrists and intertwining our fingers. The kiss that follows makes me tingle in her arms as a fire erupts underneath my skin. She kisses me again on her own accord this time: it's surprisingly tender and it tastes of rouge, champagne and a refrained passion that finally finds its way. My knees go suddenly weak and I feel dizzy again, lost in our embrace, lost in her. She whispers my name like a prayer and I spin to wrap my arms around her neck and kiss her again. Her hands run up my back, holding me close as if I could run away any minute but there is nowhere else I would like to be now. I cannot refrain a moan when her lips find my jaw and brush over my neck: they burn on my skin and I wish she would never stop. Our kisses become more fervent and fierce as we backpedal down the corridor, bumping into the walls yet uncaring of anything else than the sudden fire consuming us. Élodie pulls me into what must be her room because she kicks the door shut and we soon tumble over a mattress. I fall on top of her, letting out a giggle. I go quiet when I meet her eyes. Illuminated only be the moon light she's the most enchanting vision I've ever seen. Her hair messy and sprawled beneath her, the ruby red of her lips so close I barely refrain myself from running a finger over them. She looks up at me, her eyes gleaming like stars. She reaches out and touches my cheek. She strokes it gently, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. She looks...in awe, vulnerable, adoring. For a moment I wonder if that's what lovers feel when they look at each other, when they lay in each other arms: a sweet ache of the heart, the purest amazement. "Kiss me again" I whisper, begging as a mendicant even if I don't need to. She finds my mouth again and again and runs her fingers through my hair. I place one hand on her chest and I feel her tremble imperceptibly at my touch. She suffocates a gasp against my lips while her heart hammers underneath my fingertips. I whisper her name this time and I kiss her jaw just like she did earlier, mirroring her moves. My hand runs down her side: I'm too lost in her to know what I'm doing. When I feel her knee beneath the fabric, I caress backwards up her tight, rising her skirt. That's when it happens. Élodie squirms and grabs my hand. She breaks the kiss and asks me to stop. Suddenly ashamed of my hunger, I retrieve my hand and prop myself up. My cheeks must turn crimson when I mutter my apologies. "I'm- I'm sorry, I thought you wanted it too" I let her space to move freely. Hiding her face from me, she sits on the edge of the bed for a moment, breathing hard. Then she stands. I sit and try to compose myself. "What I want....that's not the point" she sighs. "What do you mean?" I ask, confused. "Did I do something wrong?" She still gives me her shoulder. When she speaks again, she hangs her head, defeated. "This has nothing to do with you, Léa. God, no, if you only knew..." She sounds on the verge of tears but she must swallow them back because when she turns to face me her voice is less cracked even if she looks in pain. "Léa, I like you. Way more than I should and since the moment I bumped into you and you talked of fireworks. I gave you my handkerchief only as a mere expedient to see you again and you what you did? You turned it into a little work of art for me and you barely knew me back then. You have a kind word for everyone, you're helping your roommate in a moment of need without asking for anything in return. You're a good girl, one of the most honest girl I know and I..." She takes a deep breath before shaking her head forlornly. "You didn't even fully realise what happened at the Cage" I keep quiet for a moment then I speak, keeping my voice low and fiddling with the hem of a sleeve as a kid being scolded: "The gendarmes wanted to arrest everyone because there were...sapphics and men kissing other men. And people like Pierrette there" I say because I don't know if there are words for them that aren't insults. "...Yes" she confirms, meeting my gaze again. Seeing her now, one could doubt the very same girl was laughing and having a blast one hour ago or so. She looks so troubled, her eyes a mix of tenderness and sorrow. Guilt, maybe. "Léa, I...I would spend the night with you. You wouldn't even have to ask me. But-" she grimaces and my heart skips a beat, bracing for the worst. "What will happen when you hear that this is illegal, that people get sent to jail or the asylum -you remember? We joked about the asylum- for things like this? Because the authorities say it's like an...an illness, a taint-" "Why are you telling me all this?" I protest, standing too. "Because that's what happens out there! It took days to get Pierrette out of jail" she exclaims. "I should have never taken you there, I've been such a fool-" "You're a good girl too, Élodie" I interrupts her, reaching for her hand. "Don't tell me you doubt that" She looks down at our hands then meets my eyes, forlorn. "Am I though?" her sad smile pierces through my heart. "I almost got you arrested that night, little pearl. What would have your boss or your friends said if we hadn't been fast enough and those gendarmes had locked us in together with the others? You barely knew me back then, you would have hated me and I couldn't have blamed you" "But I don't hate you!" Now I am the one on the verge of crying. "We...we would have found a way out, I'm sure of that!" Élodie smiles at me, a weak pained smile. She retrieves her hand and caresses my cheek. "Maybe we would have, just like in one of those ballads chanteuses sing" she sighs. "But the truth is I care too much for you and so far I've only been a reckless fool, a selfish reckless fool. I could never forgive myself if you-" Words got stuck in her throat and she lowers her eyes for a moment. Then she presses a soft kiss on my forehead. "It's too late to walk the street alone at night. You can stay here tonight and...you can take the bed, I'll take the sofa" Having said that, she walks away. "Élodie, you don't have to...please, stay" I beg, hoping to stop her but when I turn she's already closing the door behind her. I consider the idea of running after her but I soon realise it would be absolutely pointless and I don’t want to make things worse. I stand for a moment, shaken. Then I lay down on the bed still warm of our embrace and look out into the night. The moon that made Élodie look even more beautiful and ethereal is still up there in the sky but now I'm alone. Silent tears rim my cheeks. I lay awake for hours, unable to sleep. For some reason I know that Élodie is doing the same.

[harryandmolly]

Change of Pace - Epilogue (Late Summer 2019)

cowritten by @achinglyshawn

summary: Shawn and Maya meet again 10 years after life got in the way of love

warnings: language

wc: 3.5k

----------

Shawn doesn’t settle at the piano until the crowd at Emilia’s has grown. The loud chatter echoing in the small restaurant quiets when he turns down the music tinkling through the soundsystem. Heads turn towards the sleek black piano in the corner of the restaurant as he places his well-practiced fingers on the ivory keys. 

He speaks into the microphone as he begins to play his favorite melody. 

“This is a song about finding love again when you least expect it,” he coos softly, so as not to interrupt anyone who doesn’t care for the live music. 

(He’s not sure why you’d come to Emilia’s on a Thursday night if you don’t like live music, but to each their own.) 

“Maybe I had too many drinks, but that's just what I needed. I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited…” 

Chatter in the restaurant kicks up again, but those closest to him seem willing to forgo conversation for a free concert. It’s quiet in this little corner of Emilia’s, save for the plinking of the piano and the delicate croon of his falsetto. 

“When I look across the room, and you're staring right back at me, like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughing...” 

Maya’s at her new favorite table watching her old favorite guy do his favorite thing. Back in the day, she and Shawn used to cozy up in a booth in the far corner. They could be gross and kiss there without anyone looking at them funny. They were kids. 

Shawn plays regularly at Emilia’s now and Maya loves to watch, especially on days like today. Maya’s been in the studio she shares with Shawn since just after her sunrise surf. She’s had one of her first commissions since starting to paint semi-professionally in Avila and spent her whole day focusing on the piece — it’s a landscape, oil on canvas, based on a crumpled old Polaroid the client got from his grandparents of the boardwalk when they lived in Avila years before. It’s nice. Maya’s proud to do it. 

She and Shawn expanded his studio when the space next to his came available. Now it’s their studio. Mostly, she adds her artistry to his instruments, adding little painted elements or even much larger ones, like in the case of that first piano Shawn built. She ended up adding a whole gorgeous Avila sunset mural on top. It sold for a lot (!) more than expected. Her business acumen has also helped them in their new ventures together. 

Tonight is a welcome break from it, though. They’ve both been working themselves so hard to finish pieces commissioned by some of Margaret’s San Francisco finance friends. But tonight, back at Emilia’s like nothing ever changed and at the same time like they’re brand new, Shawn plays her song. 

Not her only song, obviously. He’s written her many over the years. This is the new one, the one he started a decade ago, tripped over through that first hazy summer and finished around the time they decided to move in to Maya’s cottage together. She’s heard it before, whispered into her hair, plucked quietly against the backdrop of sea and sand on their daybed outside. Never like this, in front of a crowd of strangers who mostly all know their story. 

Maya watches him smile as he sings the words like he always does, like he has a secret, like he got the girl in the end after all the trouble. It makes her smile too. 

Shawn takes a breath, suddenly aware of Maya’s eyes on him from across the room, though he hasn’t looked up since he began playing. 

“Don't know why I tried, ‘cause ain't nobody like you, familiar disappointment every single time I do…” 

She must’ve tucked into their new favorite table right as he started playing, or else she would’ve pressed a good luck kiss to his temple like she always does before he performs. She insists he doesn’t actually need luck, but they both like the tradition, anyway.

“Every single night my arms are not around you, my mind's still wrapped around you. 

Baby, tell me when you're ready, I'm waitin'. Baby, anytime you're ready, I'm waitin'...” 

He knows where she is without searching, so when he tilts his head and finally opens his eyes, she’s there, staring him down like he’s something magical she’s never seen before. His face heats, because even after all these years, being the sole focus of Maya’s attention makes his heart race. 

He catches her gaze with his and the corner of his mouth ticks up in a tender smile. Memories of the night before race through his mind and send a shiver down his spine; memories of staying up far too late to make love over and over until sleep pulled Maya under, with Shawn easily following. 

His breath hitches, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of her as he continues to sing the words he’s already pressed into the curve of her neck while tangled together between their sheets. 

“Even ten years from now if you haven't found somebody I promise, I'll be around. Tell me when you're ready, I'm waitin'...” 

Maya’s lips switch around a shy smile. She knows, somehow, when he’s looking at her like that, that he’s thinking about last night.

Last night is just the latest in a long thread that they’ve had since reestablishing their relationship. They’re hot and frantic or lazy and sensual and completely perfect. They’re the kind of nights when sleep holds no appeal at all, that touching each other is the only kind of satisfaction they need.

A curl flops over Shawn’s eyes as he plays and sings right at her. She grins for real because she can’t help it and props her chin up in her hand as she watches.

A pair of warm, flabby arms wrap gently around her shoulders and she feels the weight of a chin on her head.

“You know,” Emilia’s gritty voice says softly near Maya’s ear, “I think the two of you are my favorite thing that’s ever happened in this little beach town.”

Maya rubs Emilia’s arm and nods. “I think I agree.”

Emilia winks at him from her perch above Maya’s head. Shawn flushes, still unable to control the rush of blood to his cheeks each time Emilia looks at him with that mysterious twinkle in her eye. He watches the women murmur to one another, and his heart beats a little faster, just enough to feel against his ribcage. 

But before the galvanized rhythm can overwhelm him, Shawn closes his eyes and continues to sing. His voice is soft, as though he’s decided to sing the rest of the song to himself. Sometimes it’s the quiet moments with his music that have the most powerful impact on an audience, and more importantly, on the woman he’s in love with. 

“And if I have to, I'll wait forever, say the word and I'll change my plans. 

Yeah, you know that we fit together, I know your heart like the back of my hand…” 

Shawn’s energy shifts. He gets quieter, like he forgets he’s not in the studio playing quietly for her or in their house, sitting at the baby grand piano he built for them as a housewarming gift when he moved in. 

But there’s just so long he can go without looking at her. His gaze is drawn to her, as if pulled by a magnetic field so strong he couldn’t fight it if he wanted. His fingers climb along the piano keys while he watches Emilia press her cheek into the top of Maya’s head. It’s his turn to wink, but he directs it at Maya.

“So baby, tell me when you're ready, I'm waitin'. Baby, anytime you're ready, I'm waitin'...”

She giggles at the way Emilia squeals teasingly in her ear. As Shawn’s voice fades out and the song ends, the restaurant claps politely. Maya mimes whistling at him and continues clapping.

Emilia releases her from her loving near stranglehold. Maya tilts her head up at the woman’s face, grinning ear to ear and covered in sunspots.

“Can I have a coffee milkshake with caramel and whipped cream please?”

Emilia tosses her head back and laughs, a big, strong belly laugh that doesn’t match the finer aesthetic she’s created for her still quirky restaurant since the renovation. They don’t even have milkshakes on the menu anymore -- too lowbrow. But Emilia kept the machine. Maya and Shawn are glad she did.

Shawn manages to catch Maya’s request when he’s heading to their table. He grins up at Emilia, slings his arm over Maya’s shoulders and slides into the seat beside her. 

“I’ll take a chocolate shake, Em, if it’s not too much trouble.” The smile that splits his lips is as sugary as the treats they’ve ordered. Emilia calls it his ‘popstar smile’ when she’s trying to give him shit, but he thinks she likes it more than she lets on. 

The woman shakes her head, but smiles as she wipes her hands on the front of her black apron. “You’re always too much trouble, kid.”  

Emilia gives Maya one last look, something Shawn can’t quite read, then scurries back to the kitchen, repinning her curls to the top of her head as she goes. 

“So,” he murmurs, angling himself towards Maya, “What were you two talking about? I can only assume it was me.” His nose nudges her temple, lips brushing over the apple of her cheek. 

With his heavy arm around her shoulders, Maya curls comfortably into Shawn, resting her hand on his stomach as he peppers her cheek with kisses. She can feel the way he smiles through it, just happy to be close to her. She knows the feeling.

Maya crosses her legs, resting her foot against his calf. She shrugs. “You always think everything is about you. You’re not the sun.”

She’s teasing. He knows she was talking about him anyway. She moves some floppy curls out of his eyes.

“She just loves us, that’s all.”

“Everyone seems to love us these days, don’t they?” he asks with a smile. 

Maya and Shawn are a bit of local lore. The town is small and it talks. Everyone knows about the guy who owned the workshop whose long lost love came back to where they spent a few weeks in love one summer, and how the beach brought them back together. They’re not too nosy, but Maya and Shawn are noticed, and not just by Emilia.

She brings them their milkshakes, making a silly show of pretending to hide them so the other customers won’t wonder where they came from.

Shawn nearly moans. The milkshakes are beautifully decorated, with a smooth caramel drizzle topping Maya’s whipped cream, and a deep brown ribbon of chocolate swirled around his own. 

“Em,” he says with a laugh, “If you wanted to be inconspicuous with these, you shouldn’t’ve made them so pretty.” Shawn grabs his spoon and digs into the homemade whip Em always keeps around just in case he and Maya stop by. 

“Maybe,” hums Emilia, “But y’all deserve a nice treat every now and then.” With that, she drops a kiss to the top of Maya’s head and shuffles off to the busy kitchen. 

“She’s spoiling you rotten, Lemon,” Shawn garbles around a spoonful of milkshake. As he swallows, his mouth stretches into a wide, close-lipped smile, his cheeks ruddy, the corners of his eyes crinkling.  “But I don’t think I can blame her.” 

Maya rolls her eyes, swallowing her own enormous mouthful of espresso-y goodness. She winces at the slight brain freeze and shakes her head quickly before answering.

“Spoiling you, too. She gave you extra whip, I can tell,” Maya accuses playfully, jabbing her spoon at his overflowing glass.

She settles back into his arm and continues poking at her own shake. The restaurant is lively tonight, warm with conversation and good energy. Emilia’s is almost always like that. It’s why she and Shawn love it so much. She may even miss it while they’re gone.

“How much do you have packed?” Maya asks him carefully after swallowing, narrowing her eyes.

They leave for Greece tomorrow. Three weeks of beach hopping around the coast, exploring little towns, enjoying history, even taking some sailing lessons in the Mediterranean.

Maya herself has barely packed. But he doesn’t need to know that.

Shawn wipes a dribble of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. He tilts his head, swirls his spoon in his glass so the rest of his whipped cream mixes with the shake. 

“Packed? For what?” he asks with a quirk of his brow. He keeps his gaze trained on his glass, the most promising method for maintaining his silly rouse. 

A bag full of light summer linens packed specifically for Greece is stashed on his side of the walk-in, where it’s been for a few weeks now. Shawn’s been eager to get away with Maya since even before they bought the plane tickets. Packing his bag so early was a cathartic release for the frantic energy of his anticipation. 

He certainly has more to pack, though. It’s hard, however, when every free moment he has tends to be occupied by efforts to make his girlfriend come as much as possible. 

Maya rolls her eyes and swallows a mouthful of ice cream, elbowing him softly.

“For what, he asks. Like you’re not counting the seconds.”

They both are. They both have been. They don’t lead extraordinarily stressful lives, but they’ve been pushing hard lately. They took on their first commissioned project together, a harp with an intricate design described and ordered by a doting grandfather for his granddaughter. He sent to pick it up yesterday and called the studio to relay his effusive praise personally, letting them know it would not be his last purchase and he wanted to tell all his friends about them.

Now that that project is done, they’re ready for vacation. Maya herself still has some things to toss into a bag. She’s packing light, though. Staying in a series of villas around Greece with Shawn doesn’t call for much in the way of clothes. Some light, breezy dresses, plenty of bikinis, and not much else.

She can’t fucking wait.

She finishes the milkshake with a deeply contented sigh and presses her cool lips to the side of his neck. 

“What are you most excited about?” she coos, the same question she’s asked over and over since they booked the trip -- a fun way to anticipate and daydream as they prepared for their first vacation together since they came to Avila as kids.

Shawn hums. He pushes his own empty glass away and curls his arm tighter around Maya’s shoulders, tipping his head so his cheek brushes the top of hers. 

“I think--” the word is drawn out, as if he really has to consider what might possibly excite him during their trip, “I think I’m most excited about finding a little cafe where you’ll jump up on the table and start singing Dancing Queen to me. Or Mamma Mia. Whichever fits the cafe scene better.” 

Shawn smiles into the kiss he presses to Maya’s head. The scent of her coconut milk shampoo floods his senses and he sighs, content to spend the rest of his life with his nose buried in her hair. As much as he’s looking forward to their trip, nothing beats being nestled together at their favorite table in their favorite restaurant, full of their favorite milkshakes. 

Maya snorts. “Gonna have to feed me a lot of ouzo to get that to happen.”

She has no doubt there will be a lot of ouzo and a lot of cafes. But if Shawn wants Maya singing in public, he’s also going to have to smile real pretty. Which, as it turns out, he’s an expert at.

One of their regular waiters drops the check on their table. Maya lets Shawn put down his card because she’s footing most of their vacation bill, since it was her idea.

“What about you, Lemon?”

“I thiiiiink,” she teases him with a smile, running her fingers against the back of his neck, “Probably all the skinny dipping we’re gonna do in the Adriatic. Or Mediterranean, either or. I’m not picky.”

She nips his jaw and reaches for her purse to stand. They have more to pack, so it’s probably time to be heading back. Maya blows Emilia a kiss and catches the one she sends in return. She makes a mental note to find her a nice gift while they’re abroad. 

“I don’t know about skinny dipping, Lu,” Shawn muses as he guides her out of the restaurant, aiming a friendly wave over his shoulder to Emilia as she bustles around the main dining room. “Those European seas get pretty chilly. And I’ve got precious cargo to protect.” 

She almost chokes on a breath.

“Did you just refer to your cock and balls as precious cargo? Not that I’m disagreeing, but Jesus, Shawn,” she laughs, squeezing his hand playfully. 

Shawn grins, the dimple in his chin popping out. “Bad joke? It was Geoff’s, first. Blame him.” 

He swings their joined hands between them, making sure to keep his pace at a leisurely stroll while they head down the boardwalk. Sure, there’s some packing to do, but Shawn’s not in a rush. The sun hasn’t even set. The breeze is warm, salty, perfect. Maybe Maya will go for an evening surf before they have to get down to business. 

The waves swell, roll in, crash, retreat. 

Maya finds herself slowing her pace to match his. Sometimes she catches herself power walking around this sleepy beach town like it’s Manhattan at rush hour and she has to remind herself to slow down. There’s no need for that anymore, and Maya is so grateful that he’s here to help keep her from sprinting through life.

Maya admires the way his curls rumple in the shore breeze. He squints adorably through the golden hour sun. She thinks about painting him this way and wonders if she could ever hope to capture the colors accurately.

Shawn turns so he’s walking backwards ahead of Maya, their hands still clasped together. “You wanna go for a surf? You didn’t get out there this morning.” 

She shrugs and plays with his fingers while they walk. “Maybe. Kind of just want to stay on land with you.”

He watches her bend and stretch his fingers as he continues his backwards trek. She studies his face, and he knows she’s got her artist eyes on from the contemplative intensity of her gaze. He stays focused on their linked fingers. A look like that from Maya is full of weight Shawn’s not sure he understands. 

He comes close, though, when he writes music about her. 

“Do we have to pack right away?” he asks eventually, swinging around to walk forward again when they near the house. “Let’s get stranded on the beach for a little. Watch the sunset. If no one’s around, I could make you come.” 

Shawn’s itching with the need to savor this last night in Avila, because it feels as though tomorrow will change them. They’ll be a different couple on the other end of this trip. He’s eager for it, to really begin his life with her, but he’s not in any rush. 

They have the time for another sunset. 

Maya’s eyebrows lift. “Well, I certainly think I could make time for that in our very busy, very official pre-travel schedule.”

Maybe they’ll be up late throwing clothes into a bag, dazed and smiley after spending another several hours in bed like they’re prone to do. Maya doesn’t mind. It’s always worth it with him.

They live far enough off the boardwalk to avoid most foot traffic. The house is quiet but warm -- they left a few lights on when they left for dinner, giving it a cozy glow. Maya looks up at it with pride. It was the best thing she’s ever done for herself, buying this house. And now it belongs to them both. It feels right.

The sun is starting to dip below the horizon when they arrive out on the beach in front of the house. She stops and drapes his arms around her shoulders like he’s a blanket, facing them toward the sunset. She looks down at their feet, hers between his, and traces her toe around the inside of his foot.

“Love you,” she murmurs softly. Maya’s not afraid to say it. She saves it for the most special occasions, and for some beautiful, cosmic reason, this feels like one. 

Her gentle words push his heart into his throat. His pulse is loud— drum drum drum— in his ears, and he hides his satisfied smirk in her neck. 

She makes him feel painfully twenty-one again with such simple words. 

But he’s not twenty-one anymore, and he’s pretty fucking glad for it. He was a huge idiot back then, even if he did fall in love with the right girl. He’s better at loving her now, with his newfound, middle-aged wisdom. 

“I know,” he growls into her neck when he manages to find his voice. He bites at her throat, then kisses his way to her ear. “Now stop bragging about it, Lemon, and watch the sunset with me.” 

-----------

Thank you for joining @achinglyshawn​ and I on such a special journey! We loved sharing this story with you and appreciate every message, like, or reblog. 💜 wishing you all safety and love.

@smallerinfinities​ @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn​ @infiniteshawn​ @mendesoft​ @singanddreamanyway​ @alone-in-madness​ @abigfatmess​ @shawnitsmutual​ @awkwardfangirl2014​ @september-lace​ @sinplisticshawn​ @rollingxstone​ @randi-eve​ @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire​ @itrocksmysocks​ @parkerspicedlatte​ @simpledomain​ @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day​ @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280​ @bensbuttercup​ @shawnsmusical​ @paigeasourous​ @tell-me-when-ur-ready​ @softmendesss​ @searchingunderthestars​ @buggy-blogs​ @mendesficsxbombay​ @siennarossi​ @lostinshawnsmemory​ @umbreakablesoul​ @sleepybesson​ @shawnsheaven @desire-to-live​ @jillian-nd​ @shawnwyr​ @curlsofshawn​ @graysonmendes​ @tnhmblive​ @meltingicequeen​

[lotusglass]

So about the ships, is it okay if I ask about headcanons about the ships and how they got together? Thank you!! The ocs are really intresting and I love the ships so I’m very intrigued lolol

 Absolutely! I live for questions like this <333 this is very long so I’ll be putting it under read more. Small warning: a little spicy in some parts ouo;;; and I do apologize if they seem out of character

Leona and Anyu 

They met during a maglift(magical shift? please correct me if I’m wrong;;) practice match, NRC against DCA(Belongs to Phoenix-Manga/phnxart!).  One of the Savanaclaw students on Leona’s team were cheating and Anyu was REALLY not having it;; so of course he confronted him about it, but afterwards it kept happening and then everything went uh...downhill;;;

Since then they became rivals and Anyu swore that she’d beat him in maglift fair and square! The again, she managed to beat him a few times when they spar?? //sigh this girl asks for too much;;;

Though, she can’t help but appeal to his cunning and arrogant behavior, but does her best to deny it when someone brings it up. Like yeah, she thinks he’s cute, but he’s mean!

no chance, no way, I won’t say I’m in love

Even if they’re not dating, they bicker a lot and argue A LOT, but they still care about each other nonetheless, it’s a matter of patience and loyalty mostly patience though

Considering how witty they both are, they subconsciously flirt each other whether it’s one the mag lift field or in their respective dorms, they always have something to say to each other. Even Ruggie can feel the tension before calling them out on it.

Anyu likes to run her hands through his hair when they cuddle, or rather whenever Leona drags her away from studying to go AND cuddle. 

Like a lot people, he calls her herbivore, but also princess while Anyu calls him a fur bag or kitty~ 

He carries her like a fucking potato sack, it makes Anyu Angry, but Leona still does it to push her buttons. 

There’s a decent amount of PDA, but behind closed doors, it’s more...ravenous ouo;;; just don’t be surprised if Leona has hickeys on him or anything 

They playfight A LOT especially after a fight and Anyu is always the one starting it

neither of them know this but their older siblings are already planning their arranged marriage due to politics 

Overall, it’s push and pull between these two!

Azul and Pearl

Ah yes Ursula and Ariel 

Pearl was actually childhood friends with Jade and Floyd so when they visited each other in their first year, she was introduced to Azul.

At first she was pretty neutral about him, but after she heard about his contracts, she had to distance herself a bit, but still remained good friends!

Out of kindness, she dotes on him lot, but Azul’s expecting something out of it, and Pearl always gets upset whenever he asks her

Although she does her best to be more understanding oh him, and ever since his overblot, she’s more doting and more open with him.

Their love is playful, tender, and surprisingly conniving! Being that Pearl is a matchmaker, she likes to ask her octo-baby for some help in pairing couples(aka getting Floyd and Jade to intervene), but in exchange she has to help him out as well whether it’s finding gems to see or sing at the mostro lounge. It’s an equal share between the two!

She lets Azul pull out scams and sometimes gets involved with them, although she pretends that she doesn’t know what’s going on when really, she KNOWS what’s going on, girl wants to make Azul look like an idiot for scamming her one time!

Pearl loves ballroom dancing and sometimes she would get Azul to dance with her, even though he tends to trip on his feet a lot hahaaaa!

They like to make inside jokes and they flirt with each other, although Pearl has a bad habit of getting too friendly with her male clients, which leads Azul having to lecture her about personal space. If it’s the male clients getting too friendly, it’s a whole different story, a scary one actually;;;

Azul tried to kiss her once in the VIP room, but alas Floyd and Jade ALWAYS cockblock him which then leads to Azul lecturing them, and Pearl scolding him for being rude to the twins. he just a kiss from his gf that’s all he asks

shalalala my oh my it’s like the boy’s too shy he’s gonna kiss the girl

Pearl knows what it’s like to be ostracized and bullied. Every so often, she pampers Azul after a hard days work and when he’s upset, she’s very patient and listens to his woe constantly, even if he doesn’t say anything, she’s there

Trey and Clarice

Met during a visit from NRC! Clarice was in the middle of sewing up her gowns on a mannequin and Trey and Cater walked in on her. Trey and her talk a lot about their crafts and of course Cater was just there to take pictures of it, not that Clarice didn’t mind!

Literally husband and wife  

Trey is the kind of guy who’s an ideal boyfriend, constantly helping her with designs and encourages her. While Clarice helps him in the kitchen and whatnot!

But most importantly. she pulls him back from overworking, being vice dorm leader is never easy. Of course she’s no better, Trey can tell when Clarice hasn’t had enough sleep, or when he fingers are sore. Thus, Trey would have to pry her hands off the sewing machine and into a comfy chair

They play around in the kitchen a lot! She purposely puts icing on his face and he chases her around for it. There was also an incident where they played around too roughly and Clarice knocked a bag of flour onto the floor. Needless to say, Riddle was NOT happy when he saw the whole mess

They tend to feed each other sometimes and go as far doing the pocky game. Of course Ace ruins the moment by telling them to get a ROOM.

PDA? They always have their hands somewhere on each other, Trey’s arm over her shoulder, and Clarice’s hand on the small of his back hood boy

Kingsley and Riddle

Kingsley met Riddle when he was a wee first year! He always so obedient and being the dick the Kingsley was, he REALLY tried to influence him. However, Riddle was stronger than that and didn’t buy into his shenanigans like the good boy he is!

Before I go on, I headcanon that Riddle is bisexual or pansexual.

As mentioned, Kinglsey does flirt a lot with Riddle, and it goes as far as calling him pet names and compliments. 

The result it either Riddle storming off with rosy cheeks, or “OFF WITH YOUR HEAD”.

He does care about Riddle’s well-being and has to remind him to take breaks. When there’s a fight going on and Riddle is too busy, he takes care of it for him. He treats his queen like no other.

If they were dating, I’d say he’s one for PDA and will deliberately fluster him in front of other people

Promised himself to tone down his playboy attitude for the sake of his beloved. The last thing he wants to upset Riddle.

They tend hedgehogs and paint teacups together, sometimes have private tea time when they get the chance!

Kingsley is also very much down to punch the daylights out of anyone who dares to hurt his Riddle, not on his watch!

Jamil and Elena

I feel they met during the school festival at DCA. She’s part of cultural dance club and happened to be performing with her dorm leader. Kalim and Jamil were both intrigued and after the performance they managed to talk to her

Elena knows when Jamil is pulling back and she LOATHES that, so often times she pushes Jamil to the point where he’s really showing his bets efforts and only then would Elena be satisfied.

Elena may be a tough girl and rougher than most, but she can be just caring as the next. She would always check on Jamil after he takes acre of Kalim, he works so hard has no acknowledged this??

They have this habit of dancing together during the more quiet hours of the dorm, whether it’s in Scarabia or Magiaoasis(Phoenix-manga/phnxart), they’re moving together. However, Kalim tends them about it, so before they do anything like that, they have to make sure the coast is all clear.

If it’s not Kalim, then Elena is always the first to taste his cooking. Also she’s a horrible cook so sometimes Jamil would help her out, even if it gets a little frustrating

PDA? It’s more private, they only hold hands or Jamil has an arm around her, nothing more or less. But in private? You can bet that Elena is showering him with lovebites and hickeys. Occasional praises, but nothing too far from it. Unless Jamil says, well you know how it goes 👀

The tension between those time is thick enough to cut through. Even if they walk past each other in the halls, their eyes says it all when they gaze at each other.

[justjessame]

Avery Emerson Clay: Hook, Line, and ... Have Y'all Ever Been Bait?!

My new schedule began the next morning, tempered only by waking up in Jake’s arms, and followed by a lengthy shower that was definitely Jake’s way of negotiating for me to behave in the way my dad and brother expected me to. Trust me, if Jake was willing to wake me up this way every damn day, I’d be more than willing to go along with Daddy and Clay’s stupid script with less bitching than my tiny body would put out naturally.

If you’d ever seen Jake Jensen fully naked and covered in bubbles, which you won’t because I’d beat you bloody, you’d understand my compulsion to go with the flow.

While being put into a more malleable state, I wasn’t completely devoid of my own personality. I pulled a few choices for attire for my first day as bait. Since I’d be jogging, then running errands to the office, and - God help us all, shopping, I would need a few wardrobe changes.

“Do you really think that is a good idea?” Jake was barely containing his laughter, and I didn’t really want him to. I was pulling on my first costume, the athletic look, and I knew exactly what he was talking about.

I turned to face him and made sure I was wearing the most exaggerated perky look I could force my face into. “Now, Jake, isn’t the point to make Maxi-poo grab my tiny ass?” The shirt was tight and bedazzled with the word “SNACK” across my tits, it was a joke clearly, something my mom had grabbed on one of her and Dad’s many trips. Something NO ONE ever expected me to actually wear in public. “I have another one in here that says ‘JUICY’, if you think that’s better?” I bit my tongue and he shook his head laughing before coming close enough to kiss me.

“You’re incredible, Avery,” I was on tiptoes to keep contact, but Jake was helpful and cupped my ass through the very tight shorts I’d paired the stupid shirt with and lifted me so I could wrap myself around him. “I’m sure your dad and Clay are going to pop a blood vessel between them, but I think you’re fucking amazing.”

With that in mind, I grabbed my earbuds, my cell phone, and headed off for my extra dose of jogging that I fucking hated. Dad stared at my outfit, but refrained from offering any feedback while Clay lamented the narrow choices that it gave for hiding the tracking device and bug to keep me company.

“So I get to keep Jake inside me all day?” I caught Jake’s eye and grinned at how red and purple he could get in public. “Maybe next time lead with that when selling the op to me.”

“Ave,” Clay was tucking the earwig into my earbud, making them one, “maybe try to keep Jake alive by NOT making him a target for Dad’s fucking rage?” His voice was quiet enough that I was fairly certain Dad couldn’t hear him. “You like him, right?”

I sighed, “yeah, I do.” Which sucked, because pissing Dad off was pretty fucking fun, but getting Jake maimed would suck far worse. “Alright, so I jog down the hill and around the park and then back up the bike path,” I thought the best way to fix shit was to pretend I didn’t say anything bad at all. “If I have to do it more days than usual, I don’t see the point in diverting from the same course.”

“Right,” Dad offered, grabbing my water bottle from the fridge and handing it to me. “While you jog, keep the music to a lower level than eardrum bursting, that way not only Jake can hear you, alright?”

I nodded and he walked me out. Dad stayed with me in the driveway while I stretched, talking me through the finer points of some of the self defense shit that I hadn’t touched in awhile. “But I can’t incapacitate him, right?” I groaned, touching my toes. “The point is to get Max to take me.”

“Take you, but not hurt you, Avery.” Dad stepped closer to me. “Make sure he knows you're a Clay, princess.” With a kiss to my forehead and a pat on my back I was off on my run.

Nothing happened during my jog, or my shopping trip. Aside from mind numbing boredom. I hated to shop. Unless it was for my pets or for a purpose. Mindless shopping because I could? Boring. Glancing at the files I had on the passenger seat of my car, I felt another sigh build. Last errand on my list for day one of my ‘routine’, Guardian Incorporated.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart,” Dad’s voice cut in, as I moved through traffic. Throughout the day, Dad, Clay, and Jake had given me mini pep talks. They weren’t as helpful as they hoped to be, but I couldn’t and wouldn’t tell them that. “One more stop and then you can come home.”

“Yep,” I agreed, pulling into the garage after being nodded through the security gate. “One more chore then fetch and yoga.”

Soft chuckles broke through my earbud and I smiled. “Never thought I’d hear you sound happy about the yoga, princess.” The chuckles belonged to all three men in my life, but the comment was fully Daddy.

“Yeah, well don’t hold me to it for long.” I muttered. Grabbing the files and my employee badge, I beeped my car locked and headed for the bank of elevators in the employee garage.

The first couple of days were simple and non-eventful. I jogged. I shopped. I did errands to GI. We added stops and errands that made sense.

Rose was back at work. She didn’t say a word about the missing practice dummy or about my new schedule, which says a lot about how long she’d been with our family.

Jake had moved into my room, there seemed to be NO point in keeping up some stupid pretense in having his things in a separate room, and forcing Rose to keep it in the same state as a room that actually had a person staying in it.

It was a regular day, at least my NEW regular. Wake up wrapped up in the warmth that was Jake Jensen, get a hot shower to make my day a little easier to face, then dress for a jog that I’d rather not fucking deal with - with an earbud in my head with music and three men giving me their version of motivational advice.

Once I was miserable from the exertion, I’d come home for a less pleasant shower, redress in my next costume change, this time for mindless shopping and whatever bullshit “look at me” errands the men in my family devised for Max to find me doing. A bundle of “files” for good measure next to me in the car, and away I’d go, my earwig in place.

Jake, Daddy, and Clay would take turns to tell me how good I was doing or tell me how fabulous I was in all ways shapes and forms. I’d maneuver through traffic and I’d work through the stores and the shiny happy people that I was supposed to enjoy dealing with on the daily. Spoiler: I wasn’t enjoying dealing with these people on the daily.

Off to GI, where I’d be waved through the gate, onto the employee garage, into the employee elevators and up through the floors. Dropping a file here, there and everywhere until I was back in my car and home. Except, today, I made a different choice.

“What if I don’t park in the garage?” I had to ask out loud, the earwig wasn’t a mindreader, thank fucking God. No one answered, so I went on with my idea. “If I go in through the main entrance, maybe Max will see me. I mean it’s not like he has the same access as I do.” Fucking lightbulb moment.

“Try it,” Clay, the voice of reason, or at this point fucking try anything. “Give it a shot, Ave.”

“I plan on it, bro.” I was pulling up to the curb, hoping that I had the necessary shit for the parking meter. “Let’s hope I don’t get a fucking ticket, OK?”

The light chuckles told me they were tense, but hopeful. Could family members and your boyfriend really be hopeful for your possible kidnapping? Yes, I figured. Yes, they could. I grabbed the files and some change from the cupholder and clipped my badge onto the top folder. Here goes nothing.

I was waiting at the first bank of elevators, holding the files and doing the mental math for how long the meter would give me before I’d have a ticket to pay, when I felt it. The tingle that tells you someone is paying attention to you. Close attention.

The mantra started in my head. “Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.” The worst thing I could do was look, right? I mean if Max was actually here, looking would be the tale tell sign that I KNEW.

The elevator dinged open and I stepped onto it, alone. And as the doors were about to slide shut, a voice called out asking for me to hold it. I just managed, and the person who stepped inside was so benign that I doubted highly that it was the Max that my brother was looking for. This man? This linen suited, perfectly coifed, somehow pansy-assed looking man was a black ops burning psycho? REALLY?

“Do you mind pressing 3 for me?” He asked and I shook my head and tapped the button. “Thank you, Miss?”

“You’re welcome.” I stepped to the right, putting a bit more space between us and focusing on the files in my hand.

“That’s not very friendly,” I didn’t answer, but he didn’t really need me to. “I’d think that the daughter of Guardian Incorporated’s founder would want to put on a more welcoming demeanor for a prospective client.”

I looked up to see him staring down at me with a hint of a smirk on his lips. “I’d expect a prospective client to know that the daughter of the founder is in disgrace right now, so pandering to prospective clients isn’t high on her to-do list.”

“Touche, Miss Clay.” He gave a small tilt of his head, point to me. “I guess I missed that tidbit. Whatever could such a striking young woman do to fall into ‘disgrace’ was it?”

I moved slightly closer to him and tilted my head closer too. “I tasered an employee's balls when he muttered ‘nepotism’ at me a time too many.” A shrug of my shoulder and I moved back to my original position. “Now I work from home, unless I’m forced to bring paperwork in that can’t be faxed or digitally sent.”

He was grinning at me with real amusement now. “Pity, I’m sure you add more than just beauty to the workplace, Miss Clay.”

My floor dinged and I exited the elevator. “It was nice to meet you, Mister -”

“Oh, I think we’ll meet again real soon, Miss Clay.” He was fixing his cuffs and I noted that one hand was wearing a leather glove. “Very soon.”

“I can’t be completely sure,” I muttered once the elevator doors were shut and it started to move to the next floor. “But I’m pretty confident that Max and I just shared an elevator.”