#my mother is coming back tomorrow morning and i hope she can resist until then

[girldumas]

.

[lizhly-writes]

hi. i'm back. and we end up smash-cutting to dinner.

"you're a friend of my son's, i take it?" the woman says, smiling warmly at him like any parent delighted to see that their child has made friends. "tell me about yourself."

oh, she thinks he's her son's friend? that's nice. mc would feel nicer about this if he wasn't currently seeing boss subtitles. in addition, it looks like his level is too low for him to see her stats, which probably absolutely means she can smear him into a bloody paste onto the ground.

[ eliminate DESCENDANT OF THE BETRAYER ]

kill the woman.

the new quest pings uncomfortably in the back of his mind. no penalty, no time limit, and more xp than what killing her son would give, which makes sense, if she's some kind of miniboss and friend(!) is... normal(ish). but it's still pretty small for something really fucking suicidal. is the system trying to kill him?

he's never seen the system react like this. certainly, it's offered him xp for murder before, but there's normally an obvious reason for issuing the quest to begin with. even if they're hostile, the quest isn't issued until he's getting openly attacked. the penalty for losing the fight is obvious -- death, serious injury, etc. so what's this?

"mother."

"i'm allowed to learn about your friends, dear."

[ eliminate RUNAWAY'S CHILD]

kill the boy.

[ kill her. kill him. kill them both. kill them]

the woman makes eye contact and smiles at him. can she hear the notification? she had appeared the moment the quest to kill her son had appeared. was that coincidence or did she know?

he can't afford to freeze up, so he doesn't. instead, he eats dinner, and, in the most natural way he can, unloads his tragic backstory. his own mother, who always held out hope that his father would come for them; her unfortunate death and him being left to fend for himself; her last wish, that his father would acknowledge him. you know, that kind of shit.

the food is very good; the audience is suitably sympathetic. he doesn't really have a lot to complain about. everything seems fine.

his friend is frowning faintly. he's looking at his mother.

you need to get off this island.

"It seems you've had quite a difficult life," the woman says. "is there really any point in going back?"

mc doesn't have a choice but to go back. there's a time limit ticking down in his mind -- he has to go back, whether he likes it or not. he frames this as his duty to fulfill his mother's wish.

"i see. in that case, we can help you along the way. you need to get back home? certainly, it's possible to lend you a boat and some supplies."

[ status effect inflicted: drowse]

what?

[ quest: stay awake

objective: stay awake

reward: --

penalty ???

]

there's -- she's cast a spell. she must have, there's no reason for him to be feeling so tired all of a sudden --

"ah, but in the morning, of course. no reason to set off on a journey at night. it's getting late -- you must be getting tired."

she doesn't act like she's cast a spell. she's acting like nothing's wrong at all, like of course it's normal for him to be tired for no reason at all.

[ status effect inflicted: drowse]

it's getting so hard to move. if he -- splash his face with water, stab himself with a knife --

[ user 002 does not have the requisite ability to resist spellcasting! ]

[ status effect inflicted: sleep]

[ quest: failed ]

"oh dear... i didn't think he'd fall asleep so quickly. menander, could you get him off the table?"

"mother. what did you do?"

"i imagine it's obvious at this point."

"what did you do."

"sshhh... you'll wake him. we can't have that. every growing boy needs plenty of rest. he's got a long day ahead of him tomorrow. didn't he want to get off this island?"

[ status effect inflicted: north? south? where? ]

"then why did you cast that on him?"

"it's good to have friends. it's not good to take chances."

"he's fine. you know he's fine. you liked him, right?"

"being likable doesn't actually mean being not dangerous. you know it's not safe to let anyone else here."

[ -1 directionality! ]

[ -2 directionality! ]

[ -4 directionality! ]

[ -8 directionality! ]

[ status effect inflicted: exile from the island]

thinking about transmigrators again.

we have our mc, reborn into a difficult childhood. he is a bastard son of a noble bloodline, desperate to prove himself and gain recognition. he's read this story before. it's one of those classic power fantasies where a downtrodden normal guy becomes awesome and gets the girl and destroys anyone who dares to doubt him. he's got a system and he's got a level up feature and he knows how this is supposed to go.

except... there is something wrong here.

the starting conditions are.... too hard? it's not like there was a system in the book, so he can't directly compare, but there are just too many quests in here. a couple of them, he recognizes as certain plot points, but the rest -- no. and the failure conditions for these...

why are the penalties so harsh?

he's the protagonist, he knows he has a good ending ready for him if he gets far enough. but of course, that's the problem: can he get far enough?

he's only level 1. he should be going through the starting tutorial. but almost all the penalties involve him suffering major injuries or nearly dying. the protagonist did not go through all of this in the beginning, he knows this. there's something really wrong.

he tries. he tries. he tries. get better faster strong, as quickly as he can, because he knows he won't survive if he doesn't. he gets desperate. he gets clever.

he isn't clever enough.

he loses one of his gambles and fails one of his quests. the penalty is getting tossed into the sea -- and he does not last long in the water.

boy drowns.

...well. almost.

[tomhardyspinkyfinger]

The Good Girl and the Gangster: 4

Summary: Alfie tries to prove to Y/N he isn't worth her affection. It backfires.

A/N: Chapter 4! I hope y'all enjoy! I wanna try and get the fifth chapter out soon but we'll see how that works out hahaha. Please please let me know your thoughts! Hearing your opinions on this story is what encourages me to keep writing!

Tags: @woofgocows @buttercup32sstuff @rikki-b-lake

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

"I don't want to marry Jacob. I want to be with you."

A beat of silence.

"No you don't, treacle." Alfie muttered. I huffed and dropped my fork on my plate.

"That's shit! Don't tell me what I do and don't want, like I'm some stupid child! Why can't you just respect me as a grown woman?" I questioned.

"I do. That is why you do not want to waste your fuckin' time on a right bastard like me. I'm no fuckin' good." He defended.

"That is not your decision to make. I want to be with you. You need to be man enough and reject me if you don't want to be with me instead of formulating some bullshit about being a bastard." I spoke, crossing my arms.

"Right. Come out with me tonight. If my crowd doesn't scare you off, we'll talk, yeah?" Alfie spoke, interlocking his hands and leaning forward on the table.

"Well.. what do I tell my father?" I questioned.

"Tell him you're stayin' in Camden to fuck Alfie Solomons." He replied with a grin. I huffed and pushed back a laugh.

"That is not what I said. I said I want to be with you not I want you." I corrected.

"Ain't what you was sayin' with my tongue buried in your cunt." He shot back, lowering his voice some. My face flushed and I looked away, getting aroused again at the idea of his beard scratching the skin of my thighs.

"Gettin' distracted? I'll pay the tab and we can go at it again." Alfie teased, pulling me out of my haze. I laughed and rolled my eyes.

Alfie paid the bill and instructed me to meet him at the address he left on a napkin for me. He wanted to drive me but I insisted my father would find out and lose his mind. I had never lied to my parents like this, so it needed to go smoothly.

I entered the temple after a short walk in the early-evening humidity and saw my father arranging some books. He saw me enter and kissed my cheeks.

"Hello my love, how was shopping?" He questioned, holding my arms gently in his hands.

"Fine, I actually ran into Mabel. She is staying in town with her aunt. She invited me to stay with them for the night and have dinner, would that be alright?" I questioned, growing anxious.

"I don't know.. your mother would not be very happy, and temple is tomorrow morning, you never miss temple." My father spoke.

"Father, I am an adult. I will attend temple with Mabel and her aunt. Mother will be fine, we could use the space apart anyways." I practically pleaded.

"You're right about that, your mother has been horrid about the wedding. Don't tell her I said that." My father spoke with a smile. I chuckled and my father kissed my forehead before releasing me.

"Alright darling, go and have fun. You call the house and I'll be back here to get you as quick as possible." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his protectiveness. I nodded and bid him goodbye before practically skipping off to Alfie's house.

I knocked on the door and he opened, wearing slacks and just his white shirt. I smiled at him and stepped inside. He shut the door behind me and watched me as I examined his home. It was a quaint but well-decorated town home. I entered the living room with Alfie following.

"Daddy's angel ain't so pure, is she?" Alfie teased, wrapping his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest.

"I think that was pretty obvious earlier." I joked. He chuckled deeply and spun me around. He leaned in close to my lips and my eyes closed.

"Let's go, party starts soon." He spoke, pulling away. I huffed and let him lead me to the car. We drove, talking about anything and everything until we stopped at another townhome. All the lights were on and I could hear music and people talking from the car. The sun had set completely now, but the night was still young. Alfie helped me out of the car and walked us into the home.

The chaos struck me immediately. The room was packed with all kinds of people, most smoking, drinking, or snorting a powder. The men and women danced to the live band squished in the corner of the room, the women wearing very minimal and the men touching their bodies sensually. I looked to Alfie. Before I could ask him the first million questions that popped in my head a woman bounded towards us. She was a short, beautiful pale woman with red hair.

"Alfred! Finally you come to my party!" The woman shouted, wrapping her arms around Alfie's frame. He patted her back and smiled.

"Figured I'd drop in." He responded. She looked to me and lit up.

"Who is this little lady!" She exclaimed.

"I'm Y/N." I spoke, my hand out for her to shake. She yanked me into her arms and hugged me tight. She pulled away and held my hands.

"Name's Elise. Been friends with this old man for years now. Met on the streets. Sweet thing helped me when times were rough. Did he make you wear these church girl rags?" She questioned. When neither Alfie or I responded, her jaw dropped.

"Alfred. Don't tell me this is who I think it is." She looked between us and Alfie nodded. So he's told people about me?

"Oh you dirty boy! C'mon sweets let's get you changed. You can borrow something of mine. Not sure I have clothes that'll fit that beautiful bust though!" I blushed as she dragged me enthusiastically upstairs. We reached a bedroom and she opened the door.

There on the bed, two men were.. servicing a scantily clad woman. The men were naked, one in front of her and one behind while she.. well, you get the picture. The men were kissing as we entered but quickly stopped.

"Christ! This is the wrong room! Second on the right I said! Second!" Elise exclaimed while laughing. She covered my eyes as they changed and left the room. I entered with her and she shut the door.

"That.. that was...-"

"Sexy?" She questioned. My face flushed.

"Well... I was taught that men... doing those things together was sinful." I confessed. She hummed.

"And what do you personally think?" She questioned.

"I think... it's none of my business. You can't help who you love." I shrugged, looking around the well decorated bedroom.

"Speaking of, what're you hoping to get from that big brute you came here with?" She questioned, digging through her drawers. I sighed.

"Long story. Is it obvious we're.. involved?" I questioned. She laughed.

"Absolutely! I've known Alfie a while, never seen him look at anyone the way he does you. He's probably as in love as you are. Here sweets, wear this." She spoke, tossing a dress to me.

"In.. love? That.. that isn't it. I'm just attracted to him." I spoke, moving behind the divider and beginning to change.

"Darling. That isn't just attraction. How did this even come to be? He hasn't told me much, just that you're the Rabbi's daughter and he is intrigued by you." I slid the dress up my body.

"Well, I'm not really sure. We just kept getting closer and learning more about each other and.. he's unlike anyone I've ever met. He's smart and funny and so beautiful. When he kissed me I wasn't even sure I was on this planet anymore." I confessed, smiling at the thought of Alfie.

"Oh sweets, you've got it bad." She spoke. I exited the divider and sat at the vanity, my head in my hands, pushing back tears. She began putting jewelry on me and fixing my hair.

"No time for tears sweets, we've got a man to wow. Why are you crying? Don't think he doesn't feel the same, because he does." She spoke, brushing my hair.

"It isn't that. I'm arranged to be married in a months time." I spoke, a single tear falling down my face as I looked at Elise in the mirror.

"So?" She questioned, adjusting the straps of my dress. It was now that I noticed how revealing it was. It was a velvet black dress, stopping at my thighs and showing excessive cleavage.

"So? I'm getting married Elise!" I laughed.

"Years ago I was in a loveless marriage. He was a decent enough man, but I was unhappy. I left and was outcasted by the catholic church I attended. I worked on the streets selling myself for a while until Alfie found me in a cold alley and took me in like a stray. I own one of the hottest clubs in Camden Town now." She explained, rubbing my shoulders. I smiled gently and she continued,

"You can't trap yourself in an unhappy situation for the benefit of someone else. I wasted years of my life denying who I was until Alfie rescued me. He's rescuing you too, he's just hesitant because he hasn't been this way, ever." I nodded, pondering her words.

"We should get back to the party. Are you sure this dress is suitable?" I questioned, standing and looking down at my outfit.

"Sweets, if I wasn't taken I would devour you. Those breasts will bring Solomons to his knees. You'll be screaming in pleasure by the nights end, I'm sure of it." Elise spoke. I looked away.

"Oh god, you're obviously a virgin. I'm sorry I'm such an idiot." Elise huffed.

"No no, it's alright. Today we.. did some things and I desire more. I'm nervous but he makes me feel safe. Have you two ever...?"

"Oh god no! I've slept with many but Alfie encouraged me to be myself. I've been happily involved with my partner, Jesaline. Not to worry sweets, sex isn't difficult. It is beautiful and powerful when you love the person." I smiled and thanked her. She kissed my cheek and escorted me downstairs.

I spotted Alfie quickly, he was sitting at a table with a few gentleman, playing cards and smoking. He wasn't facing me so I walked up to him and placed my hands on his shoulders. The other men gawked and whistled.

"Christ Solomons, where'd you find such a woman?" One man questioned. Alfie turned around and looked me up and down, standing up and pulling me into his arms, practically shielding me.

"The fuck are you wearin'?" He muttered.

"You don't like it?" I questioned with a knowing smirk.

"Wipe that fuckin' smile off your face, treacle. When we get back to mine I'm devouring that sopping cunt until you can't fuckin' walk, do you understand?" He whispered in my ear. I nodded and clenched my thighs.

"Come dance with me, Alf." I requested, switching the topic so my knees didn't buckle from arousal. The music had slowed down, and couples swayed along the floor.

"I don't fuckin' dance, dove." He spoke. I smiled and pulled away from his arms.

"That's alright, I'll ask one of these fine men to dance with me." I announced to the table. They jumped from their chairs quickly, and Alfie pulled a gun.

"Christ Alfie!" I exclaimed, eyes widening at the weapon. I had never really seen a gun this close. It was alarming but I didn't feel unsafe.

"Sit the fuck down. I will shoot you." He grunted. They all sat and he sheathed his weapon, pulling me to the middle of the floor and swaying with me.

"Still want me?" He questioned. I brushed over the gun in his waistband.

"You can keep trying Alfie, but you will never scare me. This is all new to me yes, but I'm not naïve. I know this is how some live. You don't. You're trying to shock me into backing out of this. The fact is Alfie, I don't give a fuck who you are. I love you to your core. I've known you for a handful of weeks but I know that you are what I need in my life. You can call me childish, or tell me I don't know what love is, but I love you Solomons. Not Jacob or anyone else." I confessed. still swaying to the music in his arms.

His lips met mine, his hands cupping my jaw gently. We kissed passionately, the chatter and music becoming invisible to us. I felt like I was spinning into a cloud of joy. He pulled away and looked into my eyes, brushing my hair out of my face.

"I love you treacle. I do. Fuckin' shouldn't. Need you more than I've ever needed anythin'." He confessed.

"Take me home, Alfie." I spoke, my eyes telling him what I wanted. We began moving towards the exit, bidding Elise goodbye on the way.

We drove in silence, anticipating what was to come. We arrived at the house, Alfie escorting me to his bedroom, kissing my neck and any exposed skin he could find.

"I need you Alfie."

[starryhyuck]

dangerous game. (m)

pairing: dilf!jaehyun x younger!reader

words: 1.9k+

summary: jaehyun is your father’s co-worker, but it’s not your fault that he’s undeniably hot.

genre: smut

warnings: older!jaehyun, younger!reader, car sex, public sex, creampie, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy

“It’s not like he’s your dad, you know.”

You glare at Sookyung, who’s innocently sipping at her glass of champagne. You pinch her arm and she squeals.

“He could be! He’s just as old as my dad,” you comment, eyes roaming over Jeong Jaehyun’s figure.

He was just recently hired into your father’s corporation and proven himself to be a worthy asset, his dimples charming everyone who comes his way. He’s built up a strong relationship with your parents, bringing over his daughter to hang out with you sometimes. You wonder if he’ll always see you as a kid — a friend of his daughter’s to have play dates with.

Speaking of the devil, Haerim bounces over and smiles at you and Sookyung. Luckily, Haerim got her looks from her mother so you don’t feel so odd when you gaze over at her.

“How are you two doing? I’m kind of bored,” she comments, fingers gripping her own champagne glass.

Sookyung gives you the eye and you know what she’s thinking — you practically sped home from college just to stare at Jaehyun all night, jumping at your father’s invitation as soon as he called.

“We’re doing fine,” Sookyung replies, and you grow wary of her mischievous smile. “How about you and your dad? Any luck with finding him a date?”

Haerim shakes her head. “Nope. He’s probably just not ready to move on yet.”

Sookyung grins. “Maybe he just hasn’t met the right girl.”

You glare at her. Haerim shrugs.

“Yeah, maybe.”

—

It’s only a few weeks later when you come home for Christmas. Your father greets you at the door and your mother lets you know they have company over. You try to keep your resolve when you see Jaehyun at the table, his smile taking your breath away like it always has.

“Jaehyun’s spending Christmas with us,” your father mentions as you take your seat.

“And Haerim?” You ask, eyes locking with Jaehyun’s.

“At her mother’s for the holidays,” Jaehyun responds, dark eyes gazing at you. You nod, and as soon as you dig into your meal, your father and Jaehyun are chatting it up. “That’s crazy, Doyoung. I couldn’t imagine any of the investors buying that crap.”

Your father laughs and your mother leans over to speak with you.

“I want you to be nice to Jaehyun while he’s here. He’s having a rough time, first holiday after the divorce and everything.”

You smile. “I’ll keep him good company, I promise.”

She pats your cheek. “That’s my girl.”

It’s later in the night when you keep your promise, knocking on the guest room door. You’ve taken Sookyung’s advice and luckily packed all of your best underwear, matching bra and all. You know deep down you shouldn’t get your hopes up, especially since Jaehyun is still learning to live without his wife.

All those thoughts are thrown away, however, when he opens the door. You grin innocently at him.

“I hope you’re enjoying your stay, Mr. Jeong. I was just checking up on you.”

He smirks, leaning against the doorframe. “Is that so? Well, thank you for being such a hospitable host.”

Sookyung’s words bounce around in your head, still lingering when you called her after dinner. Flirt. Remind him you’re very mature for your age. And wear that red thong I bought you for your birthday!

You laugh. “Yes, well, I think my father would be upset if he knew I wasn’t being very friendly.”

He chuckles and nods his head. “We can’t have that, can we?”

“No, we can’t.”

Your gazes lock, and you swear his eyes darken a little. He opens his mouth to say something before you hear footsteps. Your father comes around the corner, smiling and placing his hand on your shoulder.

“I can see you’re treating Jaehyun nicely.”

“She was,” Jaehyun answers. “You raised her well, Doyoung.”

“I hope so,” your father laughs, placing a kiss on your head. “Listen, Jaehyun, we’re going out tomorrow to get all the groceries we need to make Christmas dinner. I was wondering if you would tag along with Y/N to find a suitable tree for the living room.”

Your eyes practically light up, and Jaehyun chuckles.

“I think that would be fine,” he nods, gaze returning to you. “We’ll leave in the morning?”

You smile. “Sounds good.”

—

Car rides with Jaehyun are more arousing than you expected. You’ve been on edge since you’ve been on the road with him, mainly because you’re unsure of how to make the first move. If he ends up not even liking you in that way, he could definitely tell your father and further humiliate you.

“You’re quiet this morning.”

Your head darts to look over at him, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. “Oh,” you laugh awkwardly. “Just a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Care to enlighten me?” He hums.

This is a very dangerous game.

“I just- um-“ you pause, trying to comprehend your thoughts. Jaehyun chuckles at your internal struggle. Oh God. What if he just sees me as a kid? I’m wearing this uncomfortable thong and all he sees is his daughter’s little friend-

“I don’t think we can,” he comments, taking you off guard.

You frown. “Don’t think we can what?”

He sighs. “I want to be with you in that way, but your dad-“

Your eyes widen. “Wait wait wait. You like me? I mean, you like me like that?”

He smirks, taking his eyes off of the road for a mere second to glance at you. “Yes, I like you like that. But it’s too complicated. You’re young, and-“

You scoff. “I’m not that young.”

“You’re as young as my daughter,” he reminds you. “And your father and I are good friends. Plus, he has all the power to fire me whenever he wants, and I don’t think I can afford to lose my job right now.”

Sookyung’s voice grows louder in your head. Make him want you. Show him he can’t resist.

Your eyelashes flutter closed, fingers drifting down to your core.

“Y/N, what are you doing?”

You ignore him, one hand slithering into your underwear and stroking your folds gently. You throw your head back and moan. You can feel the car swerve a little.

“Y/N, you shouldn’t be doing this. I’m driving, this is dangerous and I-“

“Touch me, Mr. Jeong,” you beg, opening your eyes to stare directly at him. “Please?”

It isn’t long before he pulls over on the side of the road and leans over the console to press his lips against yours. You whimper when his fingers tug on your hair, exposing your neck to him.

“Such a little slut,” he hisses, lips attaching to your neck and sucking gently. “We could’ve gotten into an accident.”

“But we didn’t,” you remind him, guiding his hand to your core. “Can you fuck me now?”

He growls. “Filthy little mouth. Does your dad know you talk this way?”

You shake your head. “No, daddy wouldn’t like that.”

He curses lowly and you know you’ve got him. He pushes the seat all the way back and climbs until he’s hovering over you, tongue desperately exploring the expanse of your mouth. He replaces your fingers with his, digits slowly playing with your folds before sliding two into your waiting hole. You whine into the kiss and he pauses briefly.

“You’re not a-“

“Virgin?” You raise an eyebrow. “No. But don’t tell daddy.”

He growls, attacking you once again and curling his fingers upwards. You’re both lucky he’s pulled over to an abandoned part of the town, and his tinted windows giving you even further security.

“We have to be quick, baby,” he whispers breathlessly. “Still have to bring a tree home.”

The clothes come off quickly after that, your hands gripping Jaehyun’s shirt and flinging it over your shoulder. He laughs at your eagerness, palming at your breast and kissing your mound.

“Such a pretty body,” he murmurs, lips darting over your nipple. You moan and arch your back.

“Yeah? Prettier than your ex-wife’s?”

He smirks. “Prettier. Younger. Hotter.”

You whimper when he throws your dress to the side, fingers dancing over your choice of underwear.

“Isn’t that pretty? You wear that for me, sweet girl?”

You giggle. “Only for you, daddy.”

He flips you over, smacking your ass along the way. You enjoy the way he manhandles you, pulling your hair back and tugging it harshly.

“Is this how you like it? Exposed like a whore for anyone to see? What would your parents say if they saw you like this?”

“What would your daughter say if she saw you about to fuck a girl the same age as her?” You counter.

He smiles. “She wouldn’t like it, that’s for sure.”

You feel his tip prod your entrance and you moan, gripping the headrest of the passenger seat. Jaehyun kisses your shoulders, cupping your breasts and sliding into you.

You cry at the stretch, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he enters you. He’s thick. And huge. Definitely the biggest you’ve ever taken.

He curses in your ear. “Fuck, baby. Your pussy’s so fucking tight.”

“Never-“ you gasp, catching your breath when he sinks deeper and deeper. “Never had someone this big, daddy.”

You both groan when he bottoms out, lips parting at the pleasure you’re receiving. You feel so full, and Jaehyun’s cock is like a fever dream.

“Jaehyun, please,” you beg, aching for him to move.

He follows your order, grabbing your hips and snapping into you. You moan loudly, the sound of his hips connecting with your thighs echoing throughout the vehicle. He feels so perfect inside of you and you blubber his name over and over again.

You imagine how sinful you both look, with Jaehyun fucking you desperately in the passenger seat of his car, where Haerim probably sat when he used to drive her to school everyday. You whimper at the thought as Jaehyun drills into you, panting in your ear.

“Feels so good, baby,” he praises you. “Wanna fuck you all day.”

“Will you?” You ask, whining when he nudges against your sweet spot. “Will you fuck me when we get back home?”

“If you can stay quiet,” he chuckles and you giggle with him. He groans when you clench around him. “You going to cum for me, baby? Show me how much you want it, sweet girl.”

You fall apart around him, squeezing his cock for dear life as you orgasm. You’re completely spent but Jaehyun still plows into you, chasing his high. You prod him a little.

“Please, daddy. Want to feel you cum inside me.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, his voice dropping an octave. “Are you on the pill?”

The beat of silence is deafening. “What if I wasn’t?”

He groans. “Don’t mess with me, baby. I’m going to explode.”

“Wouldn’t you like to see that? Your cum dripping down my thighs at dinner, trying not to let my dad see? What if he found out I was pregnant? What would he do then?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaehyun hisses. “Baby, I can’t. I’m going to cum.”

“Knock me up, Jae,” you giggle, pushing back against him. “Show everyone how filthy you are, getting a girl half your age pregnant with your child. What would Haerim think?”

He pushes deep inside you and cries out, shooting ribbons into your waiting womb. You smile deviously, pushing further back onto him so none of his cum would spill out. He’s still cumming after a minute, and his warmth fills your stomach.

You grin. “Had a lot to give me, didn’t you?”

He growls and leans down, nipping at your ear.

“I’m getting you pregnant while I’m here, you little minx.”

“Looking forward to it.”

[chrisevansjellybeans]

Ransom x fem!Reader

Warnings: none (yet) some swearing

Part One

You’ve never wanted to punch somebody in the face so bad until you met Ransom Drysdale. The smug, arrogant, jerk-face had been a thorn in your side since grade school. You both grew up in the Boston area, your parents sending you to the same private schools all the way through high school. You had run in similar crowds but no matter how much your mutual friends tried to get the two of you to get along you never could. For good reason though.

Your family owned and operated Cloak and Dagger Publishing, the direct rival of Ransom’s family’s publishing house, Blood Like Wine. Unlike you and Ransom, your families liked to keep the rivalry in business and not in life. Your father, Jackson Y/L/N and Harlan Thrombey were actually great friends who just liked to rib each other when it came to business, but were proud of the other’s success regardless.

But for some reason you and Ransom could never get to that level of friendship. And you weren’t in any rush to fix that.

Especially when he was pulling shit like this.

You groaned as you opened the door to your office only to see the smirking son of a bitch sitting in your chair, feet propped up on the desk and your favorite fountain pen twirling between his fingers.

“Maria, you’re fired.” You joked to your assistant who nervously looked at you from her desk right outside your door.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N! He just-”

“It’s fine. I know.” You sighed before walking fully into your office, letting the door close behind you.

“Good morning, honey.” Ransom’s voice was sickly sweet.

“Is it?” You snapped. You walked around your desk and pushed his feet off. “Get up.”

“You’re not being very kind to your guest, Y/N. What would dear daddy say about your terrible manners?” Ransom teased but stood up nonetheless. You glared up at him as he stood to his full height.

“Guests are usually wanted and invited, Ransom. Neither of which you are.”

“Honey, you hurt me.” Ransom feigned pain as he gripped his chest. You wanted to stomp your expensive Manolo Blahniks on his toes every time he called you that. It started your junior year of high school and maybe if it was anyone else you would have thought it was a term of endearment but he said it in such a condescending tone you knew it was anything but.

“What do you want, Drysdale?” You let out an exasperated breath.

“Is it so hard to believe that I just wanted to visit an old friend?”

“Ransom, please. Unlike some people I actually have work to do.” You moved around him and sat down, pulling out your laptop. You looked up at him as he watched you with intense blue eyes that made your stomach flutter, annoyingly so.

“I’m actually here for business and not pleasure, honey.” He smirked as he sat down at the chair across from you. “I’m here to formally and personally invite you to Bleeding Hearts.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. Bleeding Hearts was the Thrombey annual charity gala that they hosted at Harlan’s expansive, hidden mansion. Your parents had been going every year since Harlan first hosted it and you had started going about five years ago. You would never tell Ransom, but you loved Bleeding Hearts. It gave you an excuse to wear a beautiful ball gown-albeit rented-and to feel like a beautiful princess like the ones you had read about growing up. Harlan always hired a full orchestra to play the most beautiful classical pieces throughout the night and it was like stepping into a time machine. You didn’t understand why Ransom had to come all the way down to your office just to invite you to something that you were already going to.

“I’ve already had Maria send in my RSVP and donation, Ransom. So thank you for the courtesy, but it really wasn’t needed.” You rubbed at your temples, a tension headache now forming from all this ‘excitement’ so early in the morning. And before you’ve even had a sip of your coffee.

“I know. And you gave a nice amount this year. Did daddy finally up your monthly allowance?” He smirked.

Just one punch. Just one and then I’ll be satisfied. Technically he’s trespassing, it could be called self defense.

“Goodbye, Ransom.” You blocked him out as you opened your email and began typing away. You got about two sentences out before you felt your laptop being shut against your hands.

“I wasn’t done.” Ransom whispered, you didn’t realize how close he was until you looked up. He was now leaning over your desk, one hand on your laptop and one hand on the edge of the desk closest to you.

“Shame.”

“I’m here to ask if you wanted to come...as my date.” You snorted out a laugh and laughed even harder as a look of annoyance crossed over his face. He stood up and straightened out his shirt almost nervously.

“God, you’re funny. Now please leave. You’ve already wasted so much of my time with this little joke.” You rolled your eyes as you opened your laptop again.

“I wasn’t kidding, Y/N.” His words were sharp and his eyes blazing.

“Neither was I. Get out of my office, Ransom. Or I will call security.” You glared right back at him.

Ransom looked like he was about to say something but decided against it. He tapped his fingers against your desk and gave you a mock salute.

“See ya around, honey.”

“Close the door on your way out.” You muttered.

You clenched your fists as he left your office, leaving your door wide open. You could hear him laughing his ass all the way down the hall.

Damn you, Ransom Drysdale.

“Y/N, I am so sorry. He just kind of walked in.” Maria rushed into your office, almost tripping over her far too high heels.

“Ria, it’s fine. I know how he is.” You waved her off, giving her a sympathetic smile. “Please, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay…” she said nervously. When you gave her another reassuring smile she relaxed her shoulders. “I have to say though, he is really sexy.”

“Maria.” You sighed. “Get out.”

“Sorry.” She squeaked before exiting your office, closing the door fully.

You leaned back in your chair and let out a long breath. How had today already been the longest day and it wasn’t even nine?

“Good afternoon, sweetheart.”

“Good afternoon, dad.” You smiled as your father snuck his way into your office.

You and your dad had always been close. When you were younger he called you his “little shadow” because you loved to follow him around throughout his day. You would sit in on meetings and you loved when he would let you pretend to lead the team briefings in the morning. It was only natural that you would follow in his footsteps and work for Cloak and Dagger.

Your father always pushed you to be your best. He didn’t let you take shortcuts to get where you were today in the company. You worked your way up and proved your worth and made your father proud.

“What’s this I hear of Ransom Drysdale stopping in this morning?” He sat down across from you.

You rolled your eyes. “Because he doesn’t have anything better to do than irritate me.”

Your father laughed as he slid in his glasses up to the top of his head and then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two have been fighting like cats and dogs since you were kids. Will this feud between the two of you ever end? And can it be soon? I made a bet with Harlan that you two would finally stop by the time you were twenty-five.”

“Glad to see that my torture has been amusement for you and your little buddy.”

“Just teasing, sugar plum.”

“Please, let’s talk about anything else besides Ransom Drysdale. I’m begging you.” You gave him a warning look over the top of your computer.

“Fine by me.” He clapped his hands together and leaned forward. “How’s it going with Brooke Archer? Has she committed to C&D yet?”

Brooke Archer was an upcoming mystery novelist. Critics called her “the Agatha Cristie of our time” and rightfully so. You had read her first two novels and finished them within a day, completely entranced by her style of writing that had you guessing till the end. She was notoriously self-publishing but now that her books were blowing up she had finally made the decision to sign with a major publishing house. And your father had tasked you with landing her.

“I have a lunch meeting with her tomorrow. I think this could be the closing meeting.” You said confidently.

“Good. I’m proud of you, sugar plum.” He tapped his fingers on your desk. “And please text your mother back. She’s freaking out over what to make for dinner tonight.”

Confused, you pulled your phone out of your bag. You sighed when you saw that you had thirteen missed texts from your lovable but definitely eccentric mother.

“You’d think she’d know what I like by now.” You joked.

“What can I say, she’s a perfectionist.” You dad laughed before saying goodbye and exiting your office.

As you were typing out a response your phone dinged with a new message.

I hope you’re thinking about my proposal from earlier. Wasn’t kidding around this time honey.

Your thumbs hovered over the screen. How the hell had Ransom even gotten your number?

And like I said earlier, neither was I. The answer is no.

He responded only seconds later:

No ugly colors, don’t want to clash with my suit.

You had to give it to him, the man had tenacity.

You’re annoying.

Ransom only responded with a winky face. You shook your head as you exited his chat and went back to responding to your mother, barely noticing the smile that was covering your face thinking of that annoyingly handsome pain in your ass.

[ggreactionsandscenarios]

hi can irequest a no.20 for dreamcatcher ot7. Thank you

Dreamcatcher x Reader

Chapitre 1 : Jiu

Prompt n°20 : babysitter

Which one ?

"Seriously mom I'm not a child anymore, I don't need a babysitter !"

"I know you’re not a child but I'm not letting you home alone for a whole week Y/N, I rather have you angry at me than dead."

Your mother sighed as she continued preparing her luggage, your parents were going on a vacation just the two of them for their anniversary. The only problem was that your mom didn't want to let you stay alone at the house.

"Just see this as an opportunity to make new friends, okay ?"

You didn't bother responding, she wasn't listening anymore, her bag under her arm she was already ready to leave.

"So your babysitter is coming tomorrow morning, don't forget to lock the door tonight and unlock it for her to come in the morning. But most of all be nice to her, I'll see you on monday sweety don't be a brat. Bye."

And just like that they were gone, letting you alone for the week. You really hope those vacations won't be horrible and that the babysitter will be cool.

You did enjoyed that lazy afternoon alone sadly it was the first and last of the week because from now on you were going to spend the rest of your holidays with a babysitter.

That's the reason why you were up at 8am and not enjoying the comfort of your bed this morning. As said you had to welcome the new comer and even though you weren't really fond of the idea, you still had manners.

So when that purple hair girl came knocking on your front door you put on a warm smile and opened the door for her to come in.

"Hi, you must be Y/N. I'm Jiu, nice to meet you sweety."

First of all, hold on, where does this girl comes from ? You were actually wondering how in hell could your babysitter be looking that good. As much as you wanted to dislike her, her joyful tone and happy face couldn't go unnoticed.

She was a true beauty indeed but you needed to keep in mind that you were to spend seven days with her and couldn't just look at her like a thirsty dog.

As you had yourself back on track, Jiu was already making pancakes as if she was living there since forever. Not able to say anything you just sat there watching her cook.

From time to time she would look at you and offer you a smile.

“You know, you can come help me rather than stare at me ?”

Say you were embarassed wasn’t even an understatement at this point.

“I’m a terrible cook.”

“That’s only because you didn’t learn from the best. Come here I’ll show you how it’s done.”

You complied after all learning a few things wouldn’t hurt, well that would have been true if you weren’t so clumsy.

“Ouchhh that burn.”

“Oh my god ! Let me look, why on earth did you think it would be okay to take it with your bare hands ? It was literally on the stove few minutes ago Y/N”

Jiu was fast to take your hand and bring you to the sink to put it under cold water. You didn’t know if it was because of how close you were or how she was taking care of you but she somehow was looking even more beautiful right now.

Her brows were furrowed with concern and she was inspecting your hand with the greatest attention. Her hair were falling over her eyes and you couldn’t resist but put it back behind her ear resulting in making her look back at you with a confused face and a slight blush over her cheeks.

You coughed, embarrassed to have done such a thing without thinking.

“Sorry, anyway it’s okay Jiu I think I’ll survive don’t worry about it.” 

It seems like you weren’t the only one to have let your thoughts take control over you, Jiu shaked her head before nooding and withdrawing herself from you a little.

You got the hint and made your way upstairs to your room after lunch, finding some excuse to escape the tense atmosphere that had took place in your kitchen.

Later Minji came get you out of your room, she was feeling slightly guilty for yelling at you earlier. You, on the other hand were too busy overthinking the way you react to being close to the girl to mind the lecture she gave you.

Was that falling at first sight ?

"Hey Y/N, are you alright ? Can I come in ?"

The timid voice of your babysitter made you realise she must have been knocking several times without you noticing.

"Yeah yeah come in."

When she opened the door, Jiu's eyes were avoiding yours, looking everywhere around your room rather than you.

"Jiu.. ?"

She turned to you, she looked like a puppy being scold. Her eyes were glistening waiting for you to snap at her.

"Why are you crying ?"

In no time the sobs indeed escaped her mouth and she rushed to your side. Her head finding the crack of your neck to hide into.

"Don't be mad at me ! I'm sorry for yelling at you, I..I was just worried and you were hurting and.."

"Wow easy there, you thought I was mad at you ? I was never angry, I was embarrassed that's all."

She looked at you from below before clearing her throat. Her cheeks painted in a bright shade of pink.

"Oh.. hehe okay I'll let you alone then, sorry."

She was about to go back downstairs when you had a urge to keep her from doing so. After all you had a week to spend together so you better learn to spend time together without burning your hand or being embarrassed by her closeness.

"Wait ! Do you want to play Uno or something ?"

"Sure !"

You ended up downstairs playing until late, she crushed you at Uno, she was distracting you to be fair or else you would have won.

"I think it's time to head to bed Y/N, it was nice playing with you but I'm leaving early tomorrow."

You were confused.

"Are you going grocery shopping ? I can go with you if you want ?"

It was Jiu's turn to look at you funny.

"I'm leaving tomorrow Y/N, didn't your mom told you ?"

"Told me what ? Where are you going ?"

"I was your babysitter only for today. Your mom decided to choose seven person to take care of you for a week, each one of us having a day to show her what we got. In the end you'll choose the one you like the most."

"What ?! But we were just getting to know each other !"

"I know, but you know if you want to learn more you'll just have to choose me Y/N."

You were already confused by the odd plan your mom put up but the way Jiu whispered that last part in your ear wasn't helping you process anything either.

That night you got to bed decided to choose Jiu whatever happens in the next days. She was one in a million type of girl and you had that huge crush on her by now. There was no way anyone could get to her level.

Hey, as I told you I'm making it a 7 chapter request one for each members. So here is finally Jiu's which keep disappearing from my draft for some reasons. Anyway I hope you like the first one fron the sequel, give feedback 😊-Ael

[missmungoe]

What’s your idea about Makino’s little ring in the cover of chapter 806?

So I’m not sure if you’re asking me what I think the ring means (in which case, see: https://archiveofourown.org/series/581281), or if this is a prompt, but I don’t think the ring is an accidental detail, and as she had a child during the timeskip, it’s not unreasonable to assume it’s a wedding ring. I have >1.6 million words written about who I hope wears the matching one, but until “that man’s” identity is confirmed, it’s just a tantalising possibility, alas!

But even if the ring doesn’t mean what I hope it does, it doesn’t need to for my imagination to make it so, and just in case this was a writing prompt, here’s a little something I’ve been tinkering with, originally in answer to a completely different prompt, but since they went well together, I combined them:

The thing with feathers, that perches in the soul // Shanks x Makino; rated M (part 1/?)

“Take it off?”

Surprise lifted her voice, her laugh small and startled, but then she’d been caught off guard by the request, made out of the blue one morning.

The sun was taking its time, rising from its slumber with a lazy stretch across her floors, a slight chill still touching the salt air where she’d thrown the windows open. A thick cover of sea mist draped heavily over the water, soft as chiffon where it crept up the shoreline to the foundations of her bar; a protective shroud veiling her little corner of the world, half-forgotten by the rest.

Shanks had been reading the paper while she got ready to open, a routine they’d created, bit by bit over the months he’d stayed, communicated in touches and gestures―the chairs taken down from the tables while she had her back turned; a cup of coffee placed by his elbow before he could request it―no words needed between them in this first, tender hour, and so she’d been startled when he’d spoken.

She considered him across the counter, the glass she’d been polishing cupped idly between her hands. The look on his face was unusually serious, which told her what he had in mind wasn’t roleplay. Not the kind she would have expected him to suggest, anyway.

Unease crept with a shiver up her back, and she had an inkling already before Shanks said, evenly, “If anyone shows up, I want you to take your ring off. And I’m not talking about Garp, although this is probably the only time he’d agree with me.”

“But I don’t want to take it off,” Makino said, tucking her fingers around the hand that wore it, as though that could somehow keep it there.

She saw his eyes going to it, before they lifted to hers, the barest furrow between his brows betraying a rare tension. “It would be safer.”

“But who’s going to make the connection? It’s not like it has ‘property of Red-Haired Shanks’ inscribed on it.”

His lips didn’t even quirk, which was so jarring her own smile fell. She knew him so well, it was only rarely that he ever responded in a way she didn’t expect, but it was becoming clear to her now that whatever was on his mind, it couldn’t be smoothed over with jokes.

She took in his face, his handsome features arranged in a look she wasn’t used to seeing, a hardness about him that didn’t belong here, on her gentle shores―that belonged to a different sea, one that asked different things of him, things she couldn’t ask, and she hated it now for finding him here, and for infringing on her peace as she’d made it.

Her eyes darted to the paper, open on the counter, wondering if something in it had inspired this change, but seeing the way he looked at her, behind the counter that was the only protection she’d ever needed, Makino knew it wasn’t anything in the news, but something they’d both known had been coming for a while. Ever since he’d come back, it had waited in the wings, a silent patron she could ignore most days, too happy to pay it any mind, but there was no ignoring it now that he’d brought it up.

They’d been holding off discussing his departure, even as she’d known it was bound to catch up with them eventually. But while she’d made her peace with him leaving, knowing he’d come back, the thought of giving up the tangible reminder she had of that promise met resistance now.

She’d spent ten years hinging her hopes on nothing but her memories, trying to convince herself she hadn’t imagined the promise he’d made her. Now they were married, and there was more than words binding them, and even the sea had to respect these vows, spoken on the deck of his ship, no church or mortal court to give their blessing, only that bottomless cathedral, and the ancient authority that had witnessed their union.

She felt the metal of her wedding band, warmed by her fingers. Their rings had been wrought from the chain of the anchor that had first dropped in her port twelve years ago, but it wasn’t sentimental value that made her react so fiercely now, at the thought of parting with it.

She didn’t want to take it off―to pretend she hadn’t made that vow, or that the last two years hadn’t happened. The ring was a declaration of what she was, the only way she could declare it, when the world couldn’t know she existed. She refused to give that up, and to pretend she was anything less than she was, even just for show.

“It’s not like there’s any evidence tracing back to you,” Makino said, when he hadn’t spoken. “We don’t have a marriage certificate in the records that they can dig up.” Ben had been the one to marry them; an old sailor’s tradition, shamelessly borrowed with a pirate’s cheerful contempt of the law; the flowers in her hair new as snow, and the sea their something blue. Unconventional by most standards, but she couldn’t have imagined it any other way.

Shanks wasn’t budging. “It’s just safer if people believe you’re unmarried.”

“The whole village was at our wedding, Shanks. Half of them got blackout drunk, but I think they remember.” Her own memories were blurry at best, flowers crumbling under her bare feet, and laughing as he spun her, a wedding shanty that put their vows to shame, and laughter she could still feel in the bottom of her stomach.

The following hangover, though; that she remembered.

Still no smile, but then she heard how her attempted humour faltered, buckling under his seriousness. She didn’t like what it made of his face; the one she only knew as smiling.

“Not the village,” Shanks said, with a look and a pitch that said he knew she was being obstinate, and that left her breath feeling a little faint. He didn’t use that tone with her often, at least outside of more intimate settings, and she didn’t like it being invoked here, and in this way.

Shifting her weight, she squared her shoulders, all of her five feet brandished against his six and more, although even seated, it didn’t give her an advantage, but she saw the way his brow furrowed, as she said, gently firm, “I’m not taking it off.”

She didn’t know if the look on his face was affection or exasperation. “Can’t you just agree with me on this?”

“No.”

“Makino―”

“If anyone asks, I’ll just say my husband is out working the fields,” she said. “What are they going to do, go out and check? Because I can ask one of the farmers to put up a scarecrow by one of the ploughs.”

Her stubborn levity made no headway, his hardened features untouched, but she didn’t give in, her chin lifted as she stared him down across the countertop.

Then with a sigh, “You’d at least have to pick a believable lie,” Shanks relented, after enduring a full thirty seconds of her eyes. His look softened a bit. “And make it a good-looking scarecrow.”

“It could be asleep at the plough,” Makino suggested. “If we’re going for accuracy.” Her smile trembled, before it fell when he didn’t return it.

It was hard to swallow past the knot in her throat, and she heard it in her voice when she said, “I’ll tell them you’re out fishing.”

“And if they stick around and I never come in?”

“I’ll tell them I hope the sea king didn’t get you?”

This time she couldn’t even attempt a smile, and when his expression still didn’t change, she said, without teasing, “Then I’ll tell them you’re in Goa Port picking up a shipment of spirits. You’re a barkeep, but it’s hard getting orders delivered here. It’s a long way to Goa, too. You’ll be gone until tomorrow, at the earliest.”

“And if they come back and I’m still not around?”

She might have made another suggestion, but recognised from the stubborn set of his jaw that he wasn’t backing down.

His face changed then, something like regret chasing across it, there before it was gone, and she didn’t understand why before Shanks said, with a heaviness that held an almost portentous note, “Say that you’re a widow.”

She was surprised by the forcefulness of her own reaction.

“No.”

He sighed. “Makino―”

“No,” she repeated, fiercely. “I won’t.”

She saw that she wasn’t the only one surprised by her reaction. And she didn’t even know why it hit her so hard. She couldn’t claim to be particularly superstitious. Her mother had been too practical for superstition, but she’d also respected the sea; they all did here, who lived their lives beside it. It was a more pragmatic relationship than a sailor might devote himself to, which often had an air of fancy about it, but even if they didn’t read omens from the sky or pray to any gods, there was an implicit understanding among them that you didn’t challenge those forces lightly. They were thankful for fair weather and a good catch, but they didn’t invoke the Fates here, or seek to challenge them.

But the man seated across the counter from her had the authority to do that; the one who’d carved a place for himself on a sea most never lived to sail, one of few who could claim the kind of power it took to challenge that old authority.

She wasn’t like him. She knew what was owed; a debt she’d been paying for twelve years, for wanting him. She didn’t want to invoke that word, the fate that was all too common for those who gave their hearts to sailors, in case she invoked prophecy along with it.

Putting away the glass, Makino pressed her palms over the polished countertop. She saw how they shook, and the still-new gleam of her wedding ring where it circled her finger, but then she hadn’t been wearing it long enough for it to get scratches.

She didn’t want that to be their marriage, taken off when the going got tough, forever keeping its shiny new exterior. She wanted it to show signs of wear, of work, and love―of actually being a marriage, and not just when it was convenient, or safe.

“I’m your wife,” she said gently, although the fervour behind it refused to bend against her own fears. “I want to be your wife, even if I’m here and you’re not―”

The words faltered on her tongue, but then there was a reason she’d been avoiding thinking about him leaving.

Shanks’ look softened, some of the tension in his brow yielding as he said, understanding, “The ring isn’t what makes you my wife.”

“I know that,” Makino said softly. Turning her hand, she gripped his fingers. He wore his ring now, but she knew he wouldn’t take the risk when he left. But she understood that, even if part of her rebelled against doing the same. “It’s not like I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I know it’s a risk. What I’m saying is that I’m willing to take it.” To be what she was, she’d accept the danger that came with it. That was her marriage vows. Not empty platitudes about sickness and health, only the simple, unembellished truth.

Shanks said nothing, his gaze on their hands, but the look in his eyes like he wasn’t seeing a ring but a shackle, and a different kind of prophecy than the one she feared.

She decided to try a different tactic.

“If pretending is what you want me to do, I could always get someone from Dadan’s family to stand in as my husband,” Makino said, and saw him look up, the slightest tightening at the corners of his eyes betraying his otherwise unreadable expression.

Turning his hand over between her own, she traced the sword-callouses in his palm, the softer pads of her fingers catching against the rougher skin. “Magra, maybe,” she continued, and watched the barest flex of his fingers. “I’ve heard he’s quite handy. We could tell people we met when he helped me carry a keg from the storeroom.” Lifting her eyes found him watching her, but she only met his gaze calmly, as she asked him, “What do you think? Would he make me a good stand-in husband?”

His eyes held hers, her gentle challenge noted, the look in them somewhere between knowing and warning, and this time it sent an entirely different kind of shiver racing up her spine.

Undeterred, she lowered her eyes to their hands, smoothing her thumb over his knuckles, pale under his sun-darkened skin. “Maybe he could help me out around the bar. To keep up appearances.”

Flicking her eyes up to his, she went in for the kill. “He could even stay in the guest room. Just to be safe.”

His whole look darkened, and her stomach did a thrilling little flip.

“Don’t like that idea, hmm?” she asked, and tried to pretend her voice didn’t shiver, but it was hard when he was looking at her like that. “Me with someone else.” She trailed her fingertips across the back of his hand, her own so small she couldn’t even cover half of it with all her fingers splayed. “A different man in my house.” A fleeting caress to his wrist felt the tendons in his forearm, pulled taut with a strain that left her feeling suddenly short of breath, even as she said, demure, “And my pantry.”

“You’re playing a very dangerous game, wife.”

The pitch of his voice had goosebumps pebbling her flesh, his naturally deep timbre touched with a note of warning that stirred something deep within her, although she couldn’t tell which was the fiercer feeling, desire or relief, finding her cheek finally parried with something other than that hard expression that couldn’t be coaxed into yielding, no matter how gentle her touches.

“Well,” Makino said, and even teasing, the sincerity was real when she told him softly, her small hand gripping his, mapped with the evidence of his life, their marriage included, “I don’t mind a little danger.”

Then, this time without teasing, “I married you,” she said, and didn’t care that her voice trembled now. She wasn’t hiding her feelings. “And I’ll be careful, but I won’t hide what I am, or pretend that I’m something else. Or someone else’s.”

Bearing the weight of his eyes, she didn’t shy away from them, or from the truth as she spoke it.

“I’m yours,” she told him, fiercely, and felt the way his hand tightened under hers. “And if they come here and they already know about me, nothing I say or do will change their minds. The ring won’t matter. And there are things I can’t hide that easily.”

She glanced towards the crib behind the counter; the one they’d fashioned out of an old barrel of their captain’s favourite whiskey. She’d found the gesture both characteristically inappropriate and undeniably perfect, but then she’d spent her first years sleeping in a liquor crate while her mother worked. And their child wasn’t just the son of a pirate; he was the son of a barmaid, too.

She saw Shanks’ gaze going to it, and the baby sleeping within. And it was more than her lack of protection that weighed on him, she knew, but as long as he was who he was, there would be a risk in being associated with him. Even retiring wouldn’t change what he’d been. Not in the eyes of the current Fleet Admiral, anyway.

And since it wasn’t something either of them could change, she was determined to make the best of the situation, but then she was good at that.

She thought it was time to remind him just how good.

It was still a little while before they were due to open, and smiling, “You could always help me practice my ruse,” Makino suggested, and saw his brows lifting, bemusement at what she had planned easing some of the tension from his features.

Leaning across the counter, she trailed her fingers along his wrist, following the contours of his arm, and the distracting tautness of corded muscle under her fingertips, “My husband isn’t here, officer,” she said, looking up at him through her lashes. “It’s just me: a very lonely barmaid with a very spacious pantry.”

Her face fell when he pinched his lips, before his grin shattered his whole composure, and, “Wait,” she said, drawing back to stutter, “That sounded better in my head. What I meant was that―”

A broad hand reached around the back of her neck, pulling her in for a kiss that stole what she’d been about to say, and muffling her startled laugh, although his own was quick to follow, deep and rough where it rose from his chest, the kiss breaking when he couldn’t contain his grin.

Drawing back enough to look at her, he sighed, rough fingers slipping from her neck to tuck her hair behind her ear. “God, you’re terrible at this,” Shanks said, with such a fierce affection, her heart constricted. “Completely unconvincing.”

Balancing on her toes, the edge of the counter dug into her ribs, but the discomfort was fleeting and unimportant. Her smile trembled on her mouth, inches from his, his beard brushing her jaw as she murmured, “I know.”

Closing her eyes, she kissed him softly, her hands cupping his face, no pretence this time, only the honest truth, offered with all of herself, the only way she knew how.

He’d moved before she could react, the kiss breaking only for a second, and she’d barely had time to catch her breath when his mouth claimed hers again, his arm wrapping around her as he pushed her back towards the storeroom, and the door where it sat ajar.

They stumbled over the doorstep, fumbling between sloppy kisses, like they were in that moment younger people with less to lose, her little laughing shriek muffled against his lips when he hoisted her up onto the shelf where her ledger lay open, and she couldn’t contain her giggles even as he shushed her through grinning kisses, knowing from experience how little it took to rouse a three-month old baby but unable to help herself, something wild and reckless pushing like wings against her ribcage, refusing to stay hidden, wanting out, fearless in its desire, and its will to claim it.

They hadn’t brought a lantern, and the light hadn’t reached this far into her bar, the storeroom cool and dark and the heavy shelves keeping her spirits and secrets, the crates digging into her back as he pinned her to them.

“This is very rakish behaviour for a married woman,” Shanks rumbled, releasing her from the kiss, her breath hitching when his hand wrapped around her thigh, pushing her skirt out of the way. “Someone might mistake you for a pirate.”

Makino hummed, finding her balance on the shelf, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck as she swung her legs, her boots and stockings impishly bared, and saw how it drew his eyes, before she eased them apart, her smile small and demure, and utterly unconvincing. “Imagine that.”

His eyes held her, his features darkened by the shadows of her pantry, making his scars look more pronounced, but the look beneath was gentle as Shanks touched his brow to hers. His thumb traced the hem of her stocking, and the glimpse of bare skin beneath her skirt where he’d pushed it up.

The feeling from before seized her, that fearless thing, like wings waiting under her skin. And maybe it was easy to be brave here, within the walls of her pantry where it felt like nothing could touch them, but even knowing differently didn’t change what she felt, as Makino told him, soft, “Ask me again.”

His look changed, a sudden intensity in it that made her glad she was sitting, but she didn’t look away, accepting the full weight of the truth behind it, unfearing of what it meant to be loved like that, and by someone like him.

Bending his head, his mouth covered hers firmly, stuttering her breath with a gasp, a command behind it that left her hands shaking where she’d curled them around his neck, and if she’d had any more clever remarks prepared about stand-in husbands or navy officers, they fled her mind now as she melted.

The big hand around her thigh tightened its grip, his wedding ring digging into her skin, as though he could imprint something that couldn’t be taken off or hidden, that was written on her skin, on her soul, and if she could have formed the words, she might have told him he already had, but they were lost when his hand slid up her thigh to part her legs, finding her with a shuddering breath that she felt in the way it left him.

And this was another unspoken language they’d made, communicated in touches―her legs parting to him in welcome, and his hand pausing, his fingers already half inside her, asking; her breath hitching as she lifted herself up to kiss him deeper, her hands threading through his hair as she gave herself, a silent affirmation that told him to take―no words needed as he entered her, carefully even if it had been months since their son, but she appreciated the restraint he showed, even with all of him unravelling under her hands, that iron-clad control included.

Her legs wrapping around his waist pulled him deeper, her gasp stuttering with a faint little plea as he filled her to her limit. And if she hoped he’d leave something in her it was a private thought, begged with her breaths as she took him inside her, each thrust a little harder, the bottles stirring in their crates as the shelf creaked, a steady rhythm growing in tandem with her gasps.

Her hands left his jaw, fumbling with the front of her stays as she slipped loose the little hooks until it popped open, and he was already reaching for her, his fingers a shock of warmth where they slipped past the low cut of her blouse to cup one of her breasts, tiny in his hand, his sword-calluses rough where he caressed it, and her shivering moan was well received, from the deeper groan that left him, as Shanks slowed his pace, touching her as he took her, until the shelves were rattling.

Bending down, he kissed her chest, his lips seeking the wide valley between her breasts, her flushed skin pearling with sweat. His beard scuffed her breast as he pulled it free, and she gasped, arching against the shelf as he curled his tongue around a painfully sensitive nipple, her lips parting over his name where it left her in a whimper.

He came like that, her skirt shoved up her hips and her silk stockings slipping down her legs, spread to him where she sat, the pages of her ledger crumpled and damp beneath her; the stereotype of the lascivious tavern wench, but she embraced it now, shockingly indulgent in her own lewdness, watching him as he finished with deep, pulsing shudders, a groan leaving him that had her toes curling in her boots.

His eyes slitted open, the grey steel muted, but even then his full attention was arresting; a single look enough to dismiss everything else in the world, as though she was the only thing in it.

She watched as they swept across her, her breasts bared to the air and her thighs spread, his cock still inside her, but she didn’t squirm or try to hide, only allowed him to see.

Bending forward, Shanks kissed the parting of her hair, his breath winded as he leaned some of his weight on her. His knuckles brushed her cheek, catching the tears that had spilled over without her notice. His ring was cool against her skin; wrapping around the back of her neck, she felt how they shook.

Carding her fingers through his hair, she felt him exhale, but he didn’t let her go, just held her like that, the protective frame of his body between her and the door, hiding her from view, and nothing could have touched her there, in that moment.

His fingers trailed down the dip between her shoulder blades. Her blouse clung to her skin, the air within the storeroom damp and smelling of them, but she couldn’t even worry that someone would stumble across them, although had enough presence of mind to think that she should probably fix herself up before their first customers arrived, but was distracted by the deep chuckle that left him, and his voice where it rumbled into her skin,

“Where’s your husband now, barmaid?”

Her laugh trembled, and her arms tightened around his neck, pulling him closer and pressing her nose into the hollow of his throat. She loved him like this, freed of worry, if only for a little while. And that was her power; the only one she could claim, but it wasn’t a small thing in this age, to command peace.

And she knew how he expected her to react, because he knew her better than anyone, and never let an opportunity to make her flustered pass him by.

But she knew him, too, and like him, she knew exactly how to nudge him off balance. Which was why she said, demure as anything, “He’s ploughing his wife.”

She felt the hand on her neck pausing, the slight stiffening in him betraying his surprise, before his shoulders convulsed, as Shanks bent forward with a laugh.

The sound filled her, loud and lovely, but a softness about it that was hers, that tender, half-winded thing. She thought the whole village had to hear it, and that it would wake the baby, but she didn’t care, her own laughter helpless, hearing his, and feeling the way his arm tightened around her, which said more than any other gesture or word, even as Shanks murmured roughly, “I love you.”

Cupping his face with her hands, she pressed her forehead against his. “It will be okay,” Makino said, and didn’t care that she couldn’t make that promise; that there were other forces that wanted their say. But she wouldn’t hide from her choices, and him least of all. “You’ll see.”

Shanks said nothing, only held her, but he didn’t disagree this time, which she counted as a small victory, and it was what gave her the courage to quip, “And if anyone asks, I’ll tell them my husband can’t be held down. His heart belongs to the sea. It’s just the way things are, in this day and age.”

His eyes found hers. In the dim light, they looked darker, but she knew the look in them, and like the laugh, that was hers, too. “I thought we agreed that we were going for accuracy,” Shanks said. A tender smile curved his mouth, as he told her roughly, “And that you’re a terrible liar.”

Her grin couldn’t be contained, splitting her face, wide and without shame, and his.

The sound of the bat-wing doors swinging open reached them, followed by their first customers arriving, and her grin fell as horror widened her eyes, before she scrambled to pull her stays closed.

A voice from the bar drifted through the door―“Huh? Where’s Makino-chan?”

“That’s odd,” said another, as her mortification deepened, recognising one of her mother’s oldest patrons; a man who’d seen her toddle around in diapers. “Red-Hair’s not here, either. They’re usually open by now.”

Shanks’ grin grew, and she saw the punishment for her disobedience in the gleam in his eyes, and hissed, “Shanks, no―”

But she wasn’t quick enough, as he turned his head towards to call out, “She’s coming! Or she will be.” And before her horror could fully sink in, added brightly, “Just give me a few minutes to finish; I want to make sure she does.”

Her hands clapping over his mouth didn’t succeed in muffling his laughter, but then even her embarrassment couldn’t hold out against the grin that split his face now, which held no trace of his earlier seriousness, as he nipped and kissed her fingers until her mortification dissolved with her laughter.

When they emerged a few minutes later, after she’d blankly refused to let him get her off first (although had agreed to revisiting it after closing), it was to find their regulars waiting, knowing looks exchanged above poorly-stifled grins as she with every ounce of prim dignity she possessed asked them if they wanted their usual, all the while ignoring Shanks’ eyes following her as she made her way between the tables. Although having taken their orders, she caught the fond murmur as she made for the bar―

“Married life suits her, doesn’t it?”

“Aye, it does. Shame Em ain’t here to see it.”

Her smile ruined her prim composure, but she claimed it for herself, and kept her chin high as she walked to the bar where Shanks was waiting, leaning back against the kegs.

“What?” he asked, when she reached him, lifting up on her toes to steal a kiss; not something she usually did, shy about public displays, unlike him, and relished in his surprise at her brazenness, shaping his grin, a gentler thing than in the storeroom earlier.

Her own smile was small, as she lowered back on her heels, her head tipped back to look up at him, noting the dish-towel slung over his shoulder, a different kind of captain, with no sea underfoot, but a captain still.

“Nothing,” Makino said, before reciting, “One egg over easy, and―”

“―one sunny-side up, hash browns on the side of both, and a single serving of bacon, because old man Nakamura is watching his cholesterol.”

At her look of surprise, he only smiled, and bent his head to kiss her once, before he made for the kitchen, a grin thrown over his shoulder, leaving her staring after him, and wondering how he could have ever expected her to pretend to be the person she’d been before him.

The doors swinging open drew her gaze to his crew, and her smile blossomed as they greeted her, loudly and cheerfully. And there was no doubt in their minds what she was, catching their cheeky bows and tipped hats, but she didn’t shy from their reverence where it named her, and more clearly than any ring or vow.

“Hey, where’s that husband of yours?” Yasopp asked her, when she appeared at their table to take their orders. Someone had given him the baby, awake and peering up at all the faces around him. Yasopp made a face at him, and when he got a gummy little smile, asked him in a sing-song voice, “What’s his name again?”

“Keeps slipping my mind,” Ben agreed, grinning around his toothpick.

“Wait, who are we talking about?”

“Makino’s husband.”

“Oh, right! That guy.”

The others joined in, feigning forgetfulness, their laughter growing in volume, until there was nothing left of the quiet morning, dissolving like the sea mist as the sun claimed its seat in the sky.

Her playful look warned them, although her smile indulged their cheeky insubordination, knowing well just how far it was from the truth. Because she could imagine their reactions to the suggestion, however teasingly made, about a stand-in husband in their captain’s absence, endearingly protective, and not just of her. She would spare poor Magra that.

“He’s here,” Makino said, and heard in the words the fleeting truth, but didn’t care if she wouldn’t be able to say the same a month from now, or two. He’d be home again soon, with the tide. They all would.

Emerging from the kitchen, Shanks took one look at the room and stopped, a different kind of concern furrowing his brow now as every grin within turned towards him. “What did I miss?”

Coming over to where she was standing, he put the tray he was carrying on the table. The look he gave her said he had his suspicions, and that her innocent smile was fooling no one.

Then a gleam entered his eyes, and Makino knew she was in trouble even before he chirped, “Did you tell them about your plan to get a stand-in husband in my absence?”

Their grins fell, and Makino closed her eyes.

Poor Magra.

“A what?!”

.

.

.

She didn’t get a stand-in, but she didn’t take the ring off, either―a small act of rebellion, but it was the only thing she could do in opposition to the system that governed their world, and the laws that would punish her for her choices. And maybe there was a little pride there, too, but then loving him was her greatest crime, and she’d accept all charges against her, pleading guilty to whatever court would see her put on trial, mortal or otherwise. Those were her wedding vows, too; the ones she hadn’t spoken aloud to him.

Her bar saw the occasional new visitor, on their way to Goa or further still, who’d seen the lights from afar and decided to have a look, but there was only one who asked about the ring, and who didn’t bat an eye when she told him her husband was currently across the island signing off on a shipment. He’d only remarked positively on their bar, and said that no tavern in Goa Port he’d been to had been as hospitable.

(She hadn’t questioned his manners, unfailingly good, almost military-like; hadn’t looked closely enough at the set of his shoulders, that proud bearing she’d known since childhood, from the grizzled marine who’d ruffle her hair until her kerchief sat askew and who’d sneak her gifts behind her mother’s back.)

Garp would have seen through him, she would realise later, but she’d been so busy trying to keep up appearances, she’d forgotten to question if her visitor was doing the same.

She was getting ready to open―had just finished lifting the chairs off the tables and had gone into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee when she remembered it wasn’t necessary, and had instead gone to wring out the rag to wipe down the counter when she heard the bat-wing doors swinging inwards.

Ace was asleep in his crib, safe under the counter behind the curtain she’d pulled closed, and she didn’t pause at her early visitor, as emerging from the kitchen, she called out, forgetting for a moment that she was alone, the we invoked so easily, even weeks after he’d left, “I’m sorry, but we’re not open yet―”

The words cut off, as she came to a halt.

She could smell the cigar smoke from across the room, the butt smouldering like the embers in her hearth, an almost unnatural glow in its burning eye where it fastened on her like a brand.

The white coat was the first thing she noticed, but she would have recognised him even out of uniform, the straight shoulders and the flower tattoo peeking out from under his shirt, the garishly patterned kind that reminded her of Garp, but that was where their similarities ended.

He was flanked by two officers, their caps pulled low over their brows, but she recognised the one on the left, dark-haired and dimpled and refusing to meet her eyes, his hands white-knuckled around the rifle he was holding. He’d loved her cooking so much he’d asked for a fourth helping; had said it reminded him of his sister’s, who he hadn’t seen in years.

The Fleet Admiral took her in, a single sweep of his eyes across her announcing his feelings, something far more personal than simple contempt in the furrow of his brow. Judge, jury, and executioner; he’d already decided her charges, and what her punishment would be, for the choices she’d made. The only crime she’d committed, but for a man like him, it was enough.

And she’d been right. In the end, the ring hadn’t mattered.

“Arrest her.”

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

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

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[imagine-loki]

What About Trust, Chapter 9

TITLE: What About Trust CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 9 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki owns a bookshop on Midgard. He had to do something there to try and avoid getting any attention. But he’s not fond of having customers, is rather grumpy and guarded. But then he meets a bright, bubbly and trusting young woman who doesn’t recognise him. To his dismay, he finds himself becoming rather fond of the mortal.  RATING: M

  Cleo wasn’t sure why she felt so nervous. She had never felt nervous about being around Loki at all before, so why now?

She paced back and fore in her flat again, making sure it was clean and tidy enough for a guest. But she also didn’t want him to think she always lived like this, so didn’t go completely nuts with putting away her books and vinyl’s, most of them were spilled out onto the floor around her record player in the corner of her living room.

‘God, I hope Luke doesn’t think less of me when he sees this place.’ She muttered to herself and nibbled on her nails.

His apartment had really surprised her with how large it was, it was stunning. She was obsessed with his den though. But in comparison, her flat was… small and boring. Though she loved it, or she thought she did until she saw Loki’s place.

But she was also thinking about the kisses they’d shared those three days ago… The development in their relationship just from that morning. If it could even be called a relationship? She wasn’t sure. She hadn’t seen him since then as she had been working, but she had tomorrow off so thought it was a good idea to invite him over for dinner so she could cook this time.

Now she was wishing she’d asked him out somewhere instead.

The buzzer going off alerted her that it was far too late to go back on now. But when she rushed over and answered through the comms, hearing his voice instantly put her at ease and made her feel fuzzy inside.

‘Come on up.’ She said happily as she pressed the unlock button for the door.

By the time she got to her door, Loki was just coming up the stairs. He surprised her by giving her a bunch of flowers and a box of chocolates.

‘Aww, you big softie.’ She grinned up at him.

He leaned down and kissed her gently on the lips, making her heart flutter. ‘I can be soft when I want to be.’ He smirked, making her laugh.

‘Come on in.’ She stepped back and motioned him into her flat. ‘It’s uhm… Nothing special, especially compared to your place.’ She said sheepishly.

Loki shook his head. ‘Nonsense, darling. It’s perfect. So homely and cosy.’ He grinned as he looked around, loving how compact it was. It felt secure. The only reason he had a larger place by choice was to try and impress Thor, which did the trick.

While Cleo put the flowers into a vase, Loki took the time to have a nosey through her books and records. He also found a drawer that was filled with photographs from over the years, of her with family and friends. It made him smile to see.

‘Oh god, you found the dreaded drawer.’ She laughed as she brought a drink through from the kitchen for them both.

Loki grinned as he continued looking through some of them. He found some baby pictures and cooed over how adorable she was as a baby, while she just hid her face behind her hands the entire time. Then to her relief he finally joined her on the sofa. She had music playing, she’d set the record player up earlier before he arrived.

‘Who’s this playing?’ He asked curiously, rather enjoying the poppy type of music. It was annoyingly catchy he thought.

‘It’s Maroon 5. They’re one of my favourites.’ Cleo grinned. ‘Do you like them?’

Loki shrugged nonchalantly. ‘They’re alright, I suppose.’ Making her laugh.

‘I hope home-made pizza is ok for dinner. I’m not the best at cooking, but I have been told my pizzas are the bomb.’ Cleo said when the timer went off in the kitchen.

‘Sounds wonderful.’ Loki assured her, then a mischievous smile broke out. ‘I’m sure it won’t be any worse than the pizza from the takeaway in piccadilly gardens.’

‘Hey! That place is abysmal and should not be allowed to remain open.’ She growled at him as she headed through to the kitchen.

Loki chuckled. There was a place that was well known for how bad its pizzas were. How it was still even open was a complete mystery to everyone.

His eyes widened when he went through to the table to sit down and he saw the pizzas. They looked amazing, and smelled even better.

‘The tomatoes and onions are home grown.’ She said proudly as she passed Loki a plate and napkins.

‘I’m impressed. But let’s see what the taste test does.’ He teased her and cut a bit off to try.

She waited with bated breath to see if he would like it or not. His face was rather passive as he savoured the taste and evaluated it. But he went over the top, just taking his sweet time and humming now and then. Eventually he swallowed it, then made smacking noises as he continued to ‘taste’ it.

‘Now you’re just being a dick.’ Cleo grumbled at him, glaring across the table at him.

His face broke out into a large grin and he laughed. ‘I couldn’t resist… But wow, this is one of the best pizzas I’ve ever tasted, honestly. It’s delicious!’ He said and tucked straight into more.

Cleo beamed in delight as she started on hers as well.

‘I made the tomato sauce for it myself too, again with my own tomatoes.’

‘Very impressive indeed. But there is just one, little bad thing…’ He said before quickly eating a bit more. She felt her stomach drop. Oh no…

‘You are going to need to make me pizza on a daily basis now, because this is far too good for a one off.’

Cleo laughed and felt relieved that that was the only bad thing.

‘I’m not sure about daily, but I could certainly try weekly or fortnightly at least.’ She suggested.

‘Pizza date night sounds a delightful idea for a weekly occasion.’ Loki winked at her, making her blush.

‘Only if you do waffles weekly for me?’ She asked innocently and fluttered her eyelashes at him.

‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’ He purred. ‘Do I take it that means I can stay the night?’ He chanced asking, wolfing the last bit of his pizza down with a moan.

‘If you want to… of course you can. I don’t think I have a spare toothbrush though…’ She trailed off when Loki reached into his suit jacked and pulled out his toothbrush, a cheeky glint in his eye as she burst out laughing.

‘Ok, you’re prepared.’

‘Always.’ He grinned, then his eyes landed on her plate. She hadn’t touched her last bit for a few minutes. ‘Are you going to finish that?’

Cleo laughed again and slid the plate towards him. ‘Be my guest.’

-

After dinner and a glass of wine, Cleo took Loki down to her garden plot to show him what she was growing.

‘I thought you said it was a small plot you had?’ Loki nudged her playfully with his elbow.

‘It is!’

‘It’s quite substantial in my eyes.’

It was a good size. She had two rows of carrots, a row of onions and three rows of potatoes. Along with some strawberry plants and a raspberry bush. Surrounding the paved area where the greenhouse was, she had some potted flowers and borders with some perennial shrubs in it as well as some annual flowers at the front, it was really beautiful. The vegetable plants were covered with netting to stop the birds getting them. She had a small greenhouse where her tomato plants were growing, along with a few cucumber plants as well, that were slowly starting to grow.

‘What are these?’ Loki asked as he pointed to a tray with lots of tiny seedlings just sprouting.

‘Marigolds. They’re one of my favourite flowers. I bought a window pot for outside my bedroom, the sun always hits it for most of the day. So I plan to put them into there once they’re ready.’ She said excitedly.

‘Are these lava pebbles?’ He asked as he scooped up some of the light, small, pebbles that layered the shelves in the greenhouse.

‘Yep. They hold the heat really well and some moisture, they’re perfect for when everything is in early stages of growing.’ She nodded.

‘I really wouldn’t have taken you for much of a green thumb, being honest.’ He smirked. ‘But this is all incredible. My mother would’ve loved you.’ He blurted out.

‘Did she enjoy gardening?’ Cleo asked as she leaned against the shelf, feeling warmed inside that he thought his mother would love her.

‘She did enjoy tending to her gardens.’ Loki nodded and smiled fondly as he thought about her. ‘Especially flowers… You would’ve loved our gardens we had at home.’

Cleo reached over and lightly touched his hand with the tips of his fingers. He looked down and smiled as they tangled their fingers together.

‘She sounds like she was a lovely woman. You speak really fondly of her, it’s really nice.’ Cleo said quietly.

Loki felt a little tight chested, but he focused on Cleo. ‘I… I really miss her.’ He admitted. ‘I didn’t exactly do her proud when she was alive.’

Cleo frowned and squeezed his hand. ‘She would be proud of you now. Owning your own bookshop, with an amazing apartment.’

Loki smiled at the way she was trying to make him feel better. He wished he could open up to her properly, that she knew…

He turned more towards Cleo and tucked her hair back behind her ear, then he cupped her cheek and leaned down to kiss her. Their lips moulded together slowly, tasting each other. Loki slipped his other hand around her to her lower back, he gently pressed her into him so their bodies were flush together.

When they parted, she was rather flustered and so was he. He rubbed his thumb up and down her cheek and smiled. Then she started laughing a bit.

‘What is it?’ He raised an eyebrow.

‘It’s just… You’re too tall. I was on my tiptoes there and still could barely reach you, like out of a movie.’

Loki chuckled and simply kissed her again. Making sure to lean down even further this time for her.

They went back inside after sharing a few more kisses in the greenhouse. Loki plucked one of her books from the shelf and sat down on the sofa to read aloud to her. She loved his voice, so was in utter heaven when she lay down with her head on his lap. He couldn’t resist stroking her hair while he read, it was such a peaceful position to be in with the woman he wanted to be with. Neither of them could imagine a better evening, or better company.

Cleo was definitely starting to see a real soft side to him, that she had known was there from the start really. Though she would always love his mischievous and snarky attitude, too.

The two of them stayed up quite late, reading books and listening to music. Talking about some songs and the meanings of certain lyrics. Bickering playfully about some of it, too. When it was time for bed, Loki assumed he would be on the sofa.

But when Cleo got into her pjs she went to the living room and saw Loki in his boxers, sorting out the cushions on the sofa. Her breath was caught momentarily as she looked at his body, she knew he was strong but she never realised how fit he truly was under his clothes.

‘Uhm… You uh, can share my bed if you want? There should be room. The sofa isn’t exactly the comfiest.’ She said a little shyly.

‘Are you sure?’ Loki asked, surprised but pleased she asked.

‘Of course.’ She nodded a bit over eagerly, making him grin as he walked over to her. ‘Though you are warned, I am a fidget while I sleep. So I am not responsible for any injuries that may occur to you during the night from possible kicks or punches.’ She said as she headed into the bedroom and got into bed.

Loki threw his head back with laughter as he followed her though. ‘Well, there is only one solution for that.’ He growled and leapt into bed with her under the quilt, she started giggling when he grabbed her and pulled her back flush against his front and he playfully, and lightly, bit her shoulder.

‘I will just keep you locked in my arms for the night… For my own safety, of course.’ He hummed and nuzzled his nose into her hair.

‘Of course, for safety.’ She giggled. Though she had a feeling that he was big on affection, it seemed, once he got to know and trust someone. And she certainly didn’t mind that, at all.

She went to sleep with the biggest smile on her face as she was encased in his protective and warm embrace. Though it took a little while for her racing heart to calm down enough for her to sleep.

[covenlegacy]

Fanfic about Taehyung from BTS. Tarot based.

"One day and one fight"

It was almost a normal morning.

Only the sun shone brighter than usual, it was much easier on the soul. A little nostalgia led me far into the depths of my consciousness, throwing up pictures from my memory.

On a morning like this, you want to breathe easier until you remember that you quarreled with your wife yesterday.

The understanding of the stupidity of the dispute, the desire to explain things increase along with irritation. "Did you have to blame me for everything?" The guy thinks, getting up hard from the bed. Time is gone. He will take her as if she were peeled.

If the hell he didn’t apologize, then her resentment for a long time. But he also pleaded not guilty. Damn pride.

- Fuck! - the guy shouted maliciously, throwing a pillow at the wall, breaking some kind of terribly expensive vase donated by his parents. With a groan, sinking back onto the bed and realizing that another scandal awaits him. - I'm not fucking human or what? I had a crazy day too!

Memories of yesterday's quarrel, drove through the memory like a dump truck.

All loud insulting and caustic statements. Thank you all for the good memories. He swallows a lump of resentment and dials an emergency number. After a short beep, a familiar female voice was heard in the receiver:

- Mom, what should I do? - quietly, overpowering himself, he calls the one who will solve all his problems.

***

Hours later, Taehyung walks over to the restaurant where his mother has made an appointment for them. Or she just threw off the address, he didn’t go into it, he just knew that everything would be fine when he found her, looked into her eyes, and explained everything.

He enters the hall, slowly looking around, pulling the mask over his face. He sees her for a long distance, and goes to her. "Found", he thought, and walked with a brisk step. "The day seems to be getting better."

- I brought you a latte and a croissant. A pleasant-looking man in a business suit sits down beside her, a sweet smile on his lips.

Everything inside turns over in misunderstanding, and the hope that it seemed. All feelings scream that this should not be so. The head is empty, and the guy himself sits down on the next table unnoticed.

"Yes, what's wrong?" He looks at his thoughts, rudely cutting off all the voices in his head, literally freezing in place. Ordering not to move, but for now just listen.

- I checked your documents, in principle everything is clean. Can take the matter to court. The property is yours. I guarantee.

Taehyung doesn’t understand how his heart can collapse down, but it seems that he is no longer in his chest. He does not even notice how he turns pale under the mask, trying to calm down and control himself.

"So you collected money not for a trip, and you collected all the documents ... For this. That's a bitch."

With the last of his strength, he tries to leave unnoticed, not noticing the man who is seeing him off with a sly look.

Leaving the restaurant, immediately getting into the car, the guy tries to write something to the very one that threw him so hard, and they made all sorts of promises to that fucking priest.

He spits on the case, after a couple of incoherent attempts, going to the inbox reading messages from work, and about the possible move that she so dreamed about.

- Your mother, for whom I tried? He is typing through clenched teeth, putting the last full stop.

"I actually thought that we would go together"

"But you don't deserve this bitch"

"so that I don't see you anymore at MY home, damn it"

"Tomorrow, what would you come and pick up your things"

"you can keep the gifts for yourself, whore"

Without waiting for an answer, he transfers... "his already ex" wife to the black list, and does not even understand where he is going. He does not know how he breaks the car, and how he ends up in some kind of bar, tipsy to zero. He checks his wallet and phone, and doesn't resist being led into a taxi.

He doesn't know where he is, he doesn't even know the girl he's kissing. And he's unlikely to know. The thirst for revenge is still seething in his veins when the phone rings, and he reluctantly picks up the phone, moving his tongue barely.

- Yes, uncle? - Damn, he's not my uncle now. "What is he doing here?" - Did you want to ask something? - Immediately turning to the point, the guy says.

- What are you and where are you doing? What kind of donkey are you?! - A loud cry knocks out all the alcohol completely, there remains only an unpleasant cold on the back. "Something happened."

- Your wife is in intensive care and you are drinking there?! Are you completely nuts?! - Undisguised panic in the voice of an adult man was transmitted to him. Taehyung immediately jumped out of bed, and running down the stairs was already calling a taxi, thinking that he would run faster.

All his thoughts are only in that moment. "If I", "why did I leave."

- Please, let me not be late... - He mentally went through all the gods, the universe, the cosmos and whom he could think of.

At the entrance to the hospital, the guy is met by his mother, who says that now everything is in order, when she sees her son's pale face and shaking hands. He lets go a little, but the guilt gnaws from the inside, burning through the organs. He is holding on with all his might so as not to cry, in front of the entire congress of relatives.

“God Taehyung, when did you want to tell us?”

- So you got so drunk about this, God guys, little children.

Everyone started chirping, talking. There was no tension, no grief and no sorrow. The puzzled boy did not understand what was happening until his mother whispered in his ear:

- 3 months. If you bring her to this point again, I will break all your hands so that I can’t use the phone. - She kicked him lightly with her palm in the direction of the ward, and then he went on cotton legs himself. Now not understanding what comes from the word at all.

- Baby, how are you? - he went to the bed, looking at the fragile figure of his wife, swallowing a lump of guilt, fears, and in general everything that he experienced during this fucking day.

- Better than it could be. - An icy look and the same voice.

- Sorry. - Not knowing what to add or say, he just says the first thing that comes to mind. Something that needs to be said a long time ago. - My contract was terminated.

- What?! - she screamed in disbelief, looking indignantly at the guy. - Today? You on this...

- No, because you were going to divorce me. And grab the house.

- Em. This is a legacy.

- Why didn't you tell me?

- This was a surprise. When did you want to tell me?

- All two months, I honestly wanted to, but you planned to go on vacation like that. I could not.

- Two months. Are you kidding me? - The girl jumped out of bed as if she wasn’t lying pale in the hospital and shot a pillow into the guy. What do we live on then?

- Well, I actually told you yesterday to be more economical, but you ... - The guy stopped mid-sentence, realizing that an extra word would be said in vain. - In general, we are bankrupt. Your legacy by the way in the subject.

The girl sat back down on the bed, resting her hands on her knees. She was used to shocking gifts, but this was the first time. He had never been so irresponsible about money and everything in general. "What's happening to him?" - thought the girl hard looking at her husband.

- Mmm... I was offered to move to California, and I already found an agency. They paid a penalty. The first time will be difficult... But I hope...

- You're hiding too much from me, idiot.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

One Night🌙6

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (to be warned later in series), nocturnal playtime, unwanted touching.

This is dark!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: One night changes your entire life.

for @kittykatlow​‘s 200 Follower Celebration

Note: I’m working on more drabbles and Eye of the Storm! But for now, enjoy some Andy.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your appointment went as well as it could have. The doctor ran bloodwork and several other tests as Andy nodded knowingly as if to say ‘I told you so’, which he also did aloud several times after. The drive home was a reiteration of what you should, and more enthusiastically, what you shouldn’t do. 

It was really starting to feel like he believed you were an actual child. Your own father had never talked to you in such a way. You couldn’t say the same for your mother but even she could reel it in long enough that you didn’t feel like a complete moron. Andy just seemed to latch onto every mistake you made and sink his teeth in until he tasted blood.

And like the teenager he treated you as, when you got back to his house, you stormed up to the guest room and slammed the door. You fell onto the bed and screamed into the pillow. Oh yeah, that long lost adolescent rage returned. Then it all drained from every inch of you and you rolled over to stare at the ceiling.

You could hear Andy below. You listened to him moving around, the decisive click of his polished leather shoes. He climbed the stairs and you heard him stop outside your door. He sighed and retreated to his own room. Your day off an you’d spend it like this; raging at your new warden.

The knock on your door made you flinch. 

“Hey,” Andy’s voice sounded decisively through the door. “I’m going into the office for the rest of the day. I’ll be in around six.” He paused and the handle jiggled but didn’t turn. “You know where everything is.”

You didn’t answer him. You waited until he left, the footsteps on the staircase, the front door, the soft rollover of his car engine. You sat up and pulled out your phone. A single voicemail; your parents’ number.

“Hey, kiddo,” Your dad’s voice rose from the speaker. “Your mom wants to know when you’re getting the rest of your stuff.” A slight pause and a cough. “You know I don’t care and you take your time but if she asks, I told ya to come get it… Love you.” The line buzzed. “And your mom loves you too but she’s just as stubborn as you, you know? Well, anyway, uh, bye.” Another glaring silence. “Oh, and it’s still my house. I’ll be happy to see ya, kiddo.”

You saved the message and dropped your phone to bounce on the mattress. You put your head in your hands as you tried to resist the overhwelming swell of sadness that overcame you. You didn’t care about your stuff and you couldn’t bring it here. You wouldn’t. Sell it, toss it, you didn’t care.

You sat up and dropped your hands to the bed in defeat. You were such a fuck up.

🌙

You avoided Andy for a few days. You found excuses to stay in your room when you weren’t working and even spent a good deal of time in the backyard, weeding the overgrown garden. It didn’t matter. Autumn was close and most of the plants were dead. It must have been her job, or maybe a cherished hobby.

Aside from Andy’s prickly nature, she made it harder. That stranger; Laurie. You were an imposter in her place; usurping her as she laid in a hospital entirely unaware. You only knew what the press put out. He never said much about it. Did you really expect him to? All he ever spoke about was you, the baby, and everything you did wrong.

After a rather long day at work, made longer by your suddenly returned appetite and the smell of cinnamon and coffee, you returned to the house and found yourself back in the yard. You sat at the patio table and scrolled through your phone. 

Felicia wanted to meet up the next night. You hadn’t told her yet. If she took you for drinks, as she always did, she’d figure it out pretty quickly. Well, why were you hiding it? You wouldn’t be able to for much longer. You already felt a little bigger, wider at least. Would it be so bad to tell? To not be alone?

You swiped away her text and bit your thumbnail. You’d think about it and send your answer before you went to bed.

The screen door clattered and you sat up straight. You looked up as Andy emerged and strode across the deck. He had a beer in hand and placed it on the glass table as he neared the other side of the table. His tie was gone, his top button undone, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows.

“Here you are,” He said as he pulled out a chair and sat. “How was work?”

You shrugged and turned over your phone. “It was work,” You sat back and crossed your arms. “Do I ask you? Is that the right thing to do?”

He chuckled and popped the cap of the beer and took a swig. “Well, it was an exciting day. Had a defendant attack the judge. Didn’t get very close but a they took him out,” He turned the bottle on the table. “He got me good on his way out, even if he missed my face.”

You let your arms fall to rest over your stomach. You didn’t know what to say. Did he want pity? Surely you couldn’t relate to his courthouse crusades.

“Well, that sounds… scary.” You offered.

“It happens. Not a lot but you can never predict people,” He took another gulp of beer. “What are you doing out here? It’s gonna rain soon.”

“Yeah?” You looked up at the grey clouds. “I never minded the rain much.”

He was quiet as he picked at the label of his bottle. His toe tapped and he pushed his shoulders back.

“Your mother came to see me,” He said gently. “Said something about tossing your stuff out on the lawn.”

“Shit,” You winced. “She shouldn’t have--”

“You haven’t talked to her?”

“And say what, exactly? She made her feelings about me pretty clear.” You played with the case of your phone as you turned it over. “My dad called me but… I don’t care about all that shit.”

“We can go get it. It’s not--”

You laughed and shook your head. “Why? You’re so eager to erase my former life, why would you care?” You threw your hand up and planted your elbow on the table. “It’s just books. A few stuffed animals. I never really could afford much of value. The poor pauper girl.”

“I never--”

You stood and slid your phone into your pocket. You still wore the plain black shirt and matching pants from work. Your fly was half undone to relieved the pressure and your shirt had caught in your waistband. You pulled the hem down and pushed in your chair.

“I’m hungry. I’m going to get changed and make something to eat.” You said.

You left him there and went inside. After slipping into some leggings and a loose tee, you swept into the kitchen and surveyed your options. Some linguine with chicken and spinach. That didn’t sound too bad.

You pulled out a chicken breast and the cutting board. You put the water on boil and heated the frying pan. You started to chop up the chicken into chunks as you heard the back door. Andy appeared and set his bottle down across from you as he stood on the other side of the island. It gave a hollow clink; empty, already.

“So, what are you making?” He leaned on the marble.

“Pasta,” You answered curtly. “You have any hot peppers? Hot sauce?” You opened the fridge. “I wouldn’t mind something spicy.”

“Check the door,” He said. “You must be past the nausea. You know, I always heard the cravings were the worst part. I never really considered pickles anything to drool over but---”

“Stop, please,” You interjected as you turned back with a jar of banana peppers. You could dice them up and mix them into the sauce. “It’s miserable. All of it.”

He sighed and stood straight. He rounded the counter and opened the cupboard. He added oil to the pan and it crackled. He put it back and turned to grab the spinach and rinsed it in the colander. He set it on the counter and turned back to watch you slice the chicken.

“You gonna keep this up?” He asked.

“What?” You set the knife down and dumped the chicken into the pan and washed your hands..

“You gotta try to meet me halfway,” He turned.

“Meet you halfway? Andy, christ,” You spat as you stirred the chicken and seared it. “How much more can I give you?”

“Bit of courtesy, maybe,” He said. “I’m trying here but you won’t even--”

“There you go again, speaking to me like a child. I am not a child. Let’s start there,” You pointed at him with the spatula. “You should know that.”

He considered you, his blue eyes drifted then returned to you. He gave a small smile. “I definitely know you’re not a child.”

“I’m serious.”

He nodded and exhaled. “Alright, I’ll try to ease off.”

You squinted at him. “I really wanna believe you will.”

He scoffed and brushed past you. He went to the fridge and grabbed another beer. He flipped the cap off and leaned against the door.

“I’m a lawyer. I can’t help it.” He shrugged. “But for the sake… of the baby, I’ll take my foot off the pedal. A little.”

“Cool,” You set the spatula down. “So you won’t mind if I go out tomorrow night. My friend Felicia wants to have dinner.”

“Dinner?” He repeated. You raised a brow. “Yeah, fine. That sounds like fun.”

“Great,” You smiled and grabbed the linguine noodles. “And you know, you’ll get a night to yourself. Win-win.”

🌙

You texted Felicia after dinner and for the first time in a while, you felt excited about something. So excited you found it hard to settle down. A bigger problem because you had an opening shift the next morning and you were already constantly exhausted.

You laid in bed and tossed and turned. You stared at the ceiling, then rolled over and stared at the window, then tried laying on your stomach until your leg fell asleep. It was at least an hour of endless turmoil, trying to force yourself to doze, before you just resigned to blinking into the dark.

You listened to the gentle spatter of rain. As always, Andy was right. It was really annoying. You sighed and peeked out the window as the rivulets streamed down the glass. The moonlight shone through the droplets in silver orbs. You turned onto your side and counted them, hoping it would coax you to sleep.

Then you heard it. At first, you were certain it was nothing. The wind, maybe. But it continued, steady, slowly mounting. The heavy breaths coated with sultry groans. You froze and craned your head to look over your shoulder as you listened. You’d left your bathroom door open without thinking and could hear a little too much through the one at the other end.

You dropped your head back to the pillow as the voice continued; deep and drawn out. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on; what the only other person in the house was doing. Andy was only human after all. Well, you’d fucked him almost on sight. You were no saint. Yet it felt so wrong, hearing him like that. Worse that as you closed your eyes, you could only imagine him in the other room with his hand…

You pulled the duvet over your ear and pressed your head to the pillow. You felt a tickle between your thighs and squeezed them together. Ignore it, just listen to the rain. But his voice only got louder and louder until it finally peaked in a sharp grunt. Your lips parted and you shuddered. He was done, thank god.

It was silent for a few minutes, all but the gentle patter of rain. Then the bed groaned through the wall and soft footsteps. You were tense as you listened, moreso as you heard him near the other side of the bathroom door. 

Shit, he had to clean himself up and… 

The door opened and you heard his feet on the tile. He let out a growled and cranked the sink on. Your door was still wide open. It sounded as if he was right beside you as the water flowed and his breathing evened out. He turned off the faucet but lingered in the bathroom.

Then he stood in the door to your room. You could feel him there, looking at you. You were thankful your back was to him. Slowly, he crept closer and you felt him looming over you, just at the side of your bed. Your nerves were on fire, every hair on your body was on end.

The blanket moved just a little as he tugged at it. You made yourself stay still as he paused, waiting for you to react. He let out a long breath and yanked harder to dislodge the duvet from under you. You squeezed your eyes shut, terrified. You should say something, do something, tell him to fuck off!

He bared your leg and the cool air raised goosebumps along your skin. Your shorts offered little coverage and had ridden up your ass. He let the blanket rest on the other side of your leg and his fingertips grazed your calf and thigh. He touched your ass and pressed more firmly against it.

Then suddenly he recoiled. You heard him swallow and he pulled the blanket back over you. He turned and retreated into the bathroom, your door clicking closed behind him, the second which led into his own room. The silence was pierced by his muffled voice.

“Shit.”

[telli1206]

The Heart Will Follow (Chapter 2)

Jay’s never had a crush...until he met Carlos. And now he can’t stay away.

Carlos doesn’t know what to make of Jay’s presence, yet. But what should he do, exactly, about a boy that’s both cute AND terrifying?

A collection of Jaylos isle meetings, inspired by this beautiful headcanon I came across randomly that I can’t get out of my head. And thank you to @hersilentlanguage for motivating me to post this!

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2: It Was Only Me And You

Evie tilts her head slowly, trying ever so gingerly to cast a subtle glance over her shoulder. Once she catches a flash of dark eyes, she whips back around. She tries to keep her actions as casual and composed as possible, but Carlos quirks a brow when he notices her mouth tipped open in surprise.

“He’s looking over here again. He’s-yeah, Jay’s definitely staring at you.”

Carlos sighs deeply and scrunches his eyes closed, letting his body slink back lax in his chair.

“Really? W-why do you think he keeps, doing that?”

Evie chews on her lip for a moment, examining Carlos carefully as his eyes flutter open to meet hers.

“Who knows.” She waves off the topic, leaning forward to help Carlos tackle the massive pile of books on his desk. “But there’s no point in worrying about it right now, is there? We have to get you home so you can catch up on these assignments.”

Carlos blinks, staring at her with a surprised look. He starts to turn, as if debating a look behind him, to see what Evie saw, but instead shifts back quickly and straightens up in his seat.

“O-ok. I guess. There is a lot here for me to do.”

He grabs his bag, smiling gratefully as Evie starts to stack his books so he can easily slide them in.

“Thanks, Evie.”

Evie feels a warmth bloom in her chest, and she has to fight down the happy curl that’s making its way across her lips. She only officially met her new friend a couple of hours ago, and already she feels giddy with excitement to have found a fellow kind soul on this dump of an island. She only wishes that she had a chance to meet him sooner. The fact that Carlos was hidden this whole time in the mansion just across the way from her seems like a travesty - a friendship that she’s really needed, and been deprived of.

Her resistance to smiling ebbs away the more she watches Carlos. He’s stopping every time he picks up a book to let his fingers trace across the letters on the cover, brown eyes alight with wonder, before carefully tucking his new treasure safely into his bag. It’s definitely slowing down their exit from class, but Evie can’t help but marvel at how excited Carlos is for school. It’s adorable. 

And she finally has someone she can ask to study that won’t look at her like a complete freak for actually wanting to do her school work.

Evie’s knocked out of her thoughts by a loud snort from behind, obnoxious enough to startle her and make Carlos flinch. Her eyes narrow at Mal, who flashes her a steely glare while dragging Jay along past her and Carlos. 

Jay’s constant presence makes Evie uneasy. Even as Mal pulls him by forcefully, he’s still staring at Carlos. And now he’s close...too close for her comfort. She tenses when she sees the thief leaning in even closer to her friend, only relaxing when Mal firmly yanks him away, earning space between Jay and Carlos. 

Evie comes around the desk to stand by Carlos, making a fuss under the guise of helping him more, but secretly hoping for protection for him that can come with her proximity. Carlos smiles gratefully at her, happy for her help, but also glaringly oblivous to the fact that he’s still in the sights of his dark-haired classmate.

“Come on, Carlos, we should head home. By the way, can I tell you how excited I am to have someone to walk home with? Especially since it’s you.”

Carlos ducks his head, hiding a shy smile as he slings his hefty backpack over his shoulder. Two books are still in his hand, and he ignores Evie’s comment (other than the light flush dusting his cheeks, which Evie still notices) in favor of chattering excitedly about his first Poisons and Potions class tomorrow.

His animated talk is the perfect distraction, allowing Evie to guide them quickly away from prying eyes. She hooks a hand under Carlos’ elbow the second she sees Mal and Jay lingering against the lockers. She isn’t sure why they’re still hanging around nearby, but she’s not about to stay and find out.

“-so I know we probably can’t bring materials home, but do you think the teacher might make an exception if I offered to clean up the room for them or something? Because there’s an acid that’s good for cleaning concrete that I could really use. Mother would love-”

Evie’s half listening to Carlos, nodding and humming accordingly so he continues while she’s keeping a watchful eye. She fixes as heated a glare as she can muster when she catches Jay’s eye, feeling mildly satisfied when his eyes widen slightly in surprise.

She lets her glare shift then to Mal, hoping for a smiliar reaction, but is less than surprised when instead the girl’s face scrunches in anger, and a mocking tongue pokes from between her pinkish lips. 

For a second Evie thinks how much fun it would be to just bite at that offensive pink tongue, and to bruise those small, pouty lips with pressure from her own. Mal would be shocked, no doubt, and the painful groans would be music to her ears...

Wait...painfulshrieks. Why is she thinking about Mal’s groans?

Evie shakes her head dismissively, returning her focus to Carlos and his chemistry babbling. She’s having trouble holding onto his elbow as his gestures become more wild and exagerrated. His nose is scrunched and his cheeks are flushed and red from barely taking a breath between sentences. It makes his freckles stand out so much more against the brightening skin. 

He’s so cute, Evie thinks, stealing peeks at him as they walk. With beautiful brown eyes and lips like his, she has no doubt her friend will have at least a few of the kids at Dragon Hall crushing. Hard.

Her thoughts suddenly shift to Jay, and the looks he was giving Carlos. His stares. The creepy closeness. And her breath hitches in her throat.

Maybe she’ll have more to worry about with Jay than she originally thought.

———

“Evie? I appreciate you walking with me, but isn’t your home...right there?”

Carlos points back to the dusty sidewalk Evie had just hurried past. It’s dirty and quiet and isolated like it’s barely even looked at, let alone used. And yet, there’s still a light disturbance in the softly settled dirt that bares an eerie resemblance to Evie’s high-heeled shoes.

Yes, Carlos surmises. Those are definitely her heel prints and that’s most definitely her turn off to get home.

But her fingers are fidgeting and her gaze is scattered. She’s quietly shaking her head No but refusing to look at him at the same time.

“Evie? Is...is something, wrong?”

She finally looks up at him, her bottom lip pulled tight between her teeth. Carlos catches a look of concern before Evie relaxes and flashes a toothy grin. It seems...forced? But Carlos decides not to question it.

“Of course not, Carlos! I’m fine,” she chirps, still smiling at him. “I just want to make sure you make it home ok.”

She covers Carlos’ hand with her own and smiles warmly, and Carlos is practically beaming from the attention. 

He was overjoyed when his mother finally agreed to let him attend school. But he had never imagined that going to Dragon Hall would benefit him even more than just advancing his education. 

But now, he has his first...friend. And it’s already better than he could have hoped for.

“Evie, how do you think I made it home before today?” he teases with a little smirk. “I’ll be ok, I swear. Besides, if your mom’s anything like mine, she’s going to be royally pissed if you’re late. Am I right?”

Evie sighs, casting a troubled glance towards her castle, and Carlos knows his assumption was spot-on. Not that he’s surprised, really. He would have been more shocked to find out Evie had kind, loving parents than the latter.

But to Carlos, that only begs the question why Evie would want to go against her best interest to stay with him.

“Get going,” he urges again, pointing towards her castle. “I want to walk to school with you in the morning, so don’t go getting yourself in trouble, ok? I’m not about to lose a fr- uh, person, I just found over something so trivial.”

Evie cracks a smile, clearly not missing Carlos’ almost slip-up. Evil, hopefully he didn’t already ruin things by flat-out announcing his desperation by using a word only saved for the weakest of islers.

“Ok, I guess you’re right,” Evie chirps, and Carlos breathes a sigh of relief at the smile still bright on her face. “You’ll be careful though, right? Just...watch your back.”

Carlos raises a brow. “Of course. But...what do you think’s going to happen, Evie? I’m like, 50 feet from my front door.”

Evie bites her lip again, letting her eyes scan behind them, over alleyways and their quiet, abandoned path. She pauses for a moment to narrow her gaze on one darkened corner, and Carlos can feel his heart thudding harder in his chest as he examines her movements. But she finally eases her stance and turns back to face him.

“It’s...nothing. Really. It’s just - anything can happen, right? I worry about everything,” she dismisses with a chuckle. “I’ll..um...I’ll see you tomorrow, ok? Do you, want to meet here? At 7? And...walk to school, together?”

Carlos immediately brightens at the idea, Evie matching his wide smile with her own. 

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Evie presses her smile down, offering a short wave before turning to follow the path towards her castle. Carlos watches for a moment, instinctively checking to make sure she’s safe before heading his own way. But he can’t help noticing her eyes continually darting back to that corner, as if waiting for something...or someone to emerge from the darkness.

Carlos tries to shake off his nerves as he watches Evie’s figure disappear around the mildly crumbling brick of her castle. After a final pause to listen for any sounds of distress, he takes a deep breath and starts the rest of his trek to Hell Hall alone.

At least, he thinks he’s alone.

And the muted silence deludes him into believing that that’s the case...for a while, at least. It’s not until he’s just about to ascend the steps to his front door that a distinct crunch of dry leaves behind him leaves him frozen in his tracks.

“Heh. Shit.”

Carlos spins on his heel, and comes face to face with...Jay? 

“Um..what’s up, short stuff?”

Carlos huffs at his words, his fists clenched as he tries his best to stare down one of the most intimidating boys at his new school. There’s no way he’s about to show fear when Jay’s right in front of his own home.

Wait, why is he at his home?

“W-what do you want?” Carlos presses, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “I-I know my house looks...big, but I don’t have-”

“Is the bitch home?”

Jay takes a slow step forward, and Carlos swallows. He’s barely a foot away now, and it feels so close. He can almost smell the sweat beading on Jay’s brow. He keeps his eyes trained down, with a blurring focus just below Jay’s chin, so as not to concentrate on the smirk he knows he’s giving him right now.

“Y-yeah. And she’ll probably beat my ass, a-and yours too, if I don’t get inside right away. I-I need to make...h-her dinner.”

Shit. That sounded so weak. Carlos dares a peek at Jay’s face, and it surprised to see the smile wiped away, and Jay chewing on his lip. He looks almost...worried.

And he surprises Carlos further by taking a generous step back, his arms raised in surrender.

“Well, wouldn’t want that now, would we?” Jay teases, and Carlos curls a sneer at his mocking tone. “Now, now, calm it down freckles. I’m not gonna get you in trouble, ok?”

Jay drops his hands into his pockets, hunching over to rock on his heels some.

“Doubt those eyes of yours would be so pretty with nasty purple bruises around ‘em. Until next time, then?”

Jay pulls out a hand to issue an awkward salute, quirking a smile as Carlos tilts his head, eyes narrowed and confused.

“Bye bye, Carlos De Vil.”

Jay turns and shuffles slowly down the path, kicking at random pieces of dirt and rocks on the way. He keeps his head down, refusing to look up or even cast a single glance behind him.

But Carlos stands unmoving, still staring at the weird thief with long, dark hair that’s tangling in the dry heat. He’s trying to make sense of what just happened, but all logic that could explain what just happened is lost on him. 

Did Jay just say his eyes were pretty?

[charincharge]

I Don’t Want To Wait, eight

rowaelin high school bff masterlist

Based on the prompts:

“Okay, I know I’m evil and all that jazz, but I have standards too.”

What are you smiling about?

“He’s late,” Rhoe grumbled, his eyes flashing in annoyance as they flicked to his watch. Aelin sighed from her spot on the couch and rotated her brace-covered wrist. It was a minor sprain, the most minor sprain; she wouldn’t even have been injured at all if she hadn’t reflexively held up her hand against the deploying air bags, but when Rhoe had received a call from Aelin that she was in the hospital, he’d gone a bit ballistic. And his former surrogate son was pretty much persona-non-grata in the Galathynius household at the moment.

“Dad,” Aelin warned.

“I’m allowed to be mad,” Rhoe repeated for the hundredth time that week. “When I let that boy—” Rowan had apparently lost his name privileges for being a minute late. “—drive you around, I expected you to be returned in a single piece.” He shook his head, repeating the same speech Aelin had heard every day for the last week. “I have one single treasure, Aelin. The most valuable treasure in the world, and when that treasure leaves the house, I expect it to come back to me in perfect condition.”

She wondered how long this would go on. How many days of penance Rowan would have to pay before Rhoe forgave him.

Aelin sat up straighter at the sound of three raps on their front door. While Rowan used to just swing the door open himself, he now knew better. Aelin threw him an apologetic smile from the couch, her eyes trailing over the tightly sewn stitches above his eyebrow. They somehow made him look even more handsome.

“You’re late,” Rhoe said, looking expectantly at the white paper bags in Rowan’s hands.

“Sorry, sir,” Rowan’s eyes were tired. It’d been a long week. “I had an extra delivery this morning and…”

“No excuses,” Rhoe snapped, causing Rowan to nod nervously as he laid out the food on the coffee table for Aelin. Her eyes lit up at the feast in front of her. As part of his punishment for his “reckless driving,” Maeve had him doing breakfast deliveries before school all week, which ended in something special for Aelin.

She felt somewhat guilty that she was benefiting so much from Rowan’s accident, since she was a hundred percent positive that it was her own comment that had caused Rowan to become distracted and not see the car stopped at the red light in front of him. But, as she smelled the chocolate stuffed french toast, she couldn’t resist smiling.

She also wasn’t complaining that in her dad’s overprotectiveness, he’d assigned Aelin-watching duties to Rowan for his late-night shifts.

“I don’t need a babysitter!” Aelin had scoffed, while her heart pounded with glee at the notion of extra time with Rowan.

“What if you need something from the top shelf and fall and sprain your other wrist?” Rhoe had argued.

Rowan was more than happy to agree to Rhoe’s terms, immediately clucking and fretting over the couch-bound Aelin like an overbearing mother hen. It should have annoyed her to no end, but she was secretly enjoying every single second of his fussing.

“I’m working a double,” Rhoe said with narrowed eyes at Rowan, who nodded succinctly. “I’ll be home just after midnight.

Rowan cleared his throat nervously, and Aelin paused, fork midway to her mouth to gape at her friend. “Sir?”

Rhoe’s eyes narrowed warily. “Yes?”

Rowan ran his hand through his hair, tugging at the ends slightly. “I, uh, just wanted to ask you if you wanted me to come here tomorrow?” Rhoe frowned, his lips turning down at the question. “It’s just that tomorrow is prom, and if you want me to come here, I totally will. But I should probably tell Lyria today.”

Aelin felt her stomach clench uncomfortably at the mention of the L-word. She’d been so busy enjoying the extra attention from Rowan all week that she’d forgotten about prom. About the circumstances that led to this whole ordeal. Maybe her dad would tell Rowan he couldn’t go. She felt guilty about even thinking it, but she couldn’t help but hope it. Even just the slightest bit.

Rhoe rolled his bright blue eyes. “Don’t be stupid, boy.” Rowan flinched slightly at the way Rhoe addressed him. Seemed he clocked losing name privileges too. “You’ll take that girl to prom. You made a commitment, and I would hate to think you’re the type of person who doesn’t follow through on promises.”

“Yes, sir.” Rowan’s eyes flicked to Aelin, who was still holding her breath in anticipation. “I can still bring breakfast in the morning, if you want…”

Rhoe clapped Rowan’s shoulder just a smidge too hard as he smiled. “Nope. I took tomorrow off. You have fun at prom.”

Aelin exhaled as her dad finally left and Rowan slumped down onto the couch next to Aelin as she poured the extra side of chocolate onto her French toast and dug in.

“Your dad is fucking terrifying,” he said with a shake of his head.

“He can carry over a hundred pounds up as many flights of stairs, Ro. You should be terrified of him,” Aelin laughed through her sweet chocolatey bite. “He can definitely take your scrawny ass.”

Rowan’s mouth popped open. “My ass is not scrawny!”

Aelin poked his thigh with her toe. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Stand up, so I can take a better look.” She winked as Rowan shoved her foot away from him.

“Aelin…” Rowan’s cheeks flushed pink as Aelin wiggled her eyebrows. He bit his lip, tugging at the skin there, looking annoyed.

“What?” she asked, wishing so badly that she could jump into his head and hear what he was thinking.

“I have to get up to get you a napkin,” he said, looking at the chocolate that had splattered onto the table, “ And I know as soon as I stand up you’re going to stare at my ass,” he grumbled, and Aelin let out a loud cackle.

“I would never,” she said through her laughter.

“You’re such a liar,” he said, poking her shin.

He was right. As soon as he pushed himself off the couch, Aelin’s head snapped in his direction, but he spun around to walk backwards so she couldn’t get a good look.

“Ha!” he said, a victorious smile appearing across his face.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “Come on, Ro,” she pouted. “I’m injured. The least you could do is let me get a good look.”

“I hate you,” he chuckled, his cheeks now a deep red as he continued to trail backwards into the kitchen.

“You know what they say whenever you walk by,” she said through her giggles. “There goes Orynth’s ass. Everyone gets a piece.”

He flicked her off as he grabbed a handful of napkins with his other hands. “Please,” he scoffed. “I know according to your dad I’m evil now, and all that jazz, but I have standards. This ass is for my eyes only.”

Aelin cackled. “I’m now just picturing you staring at your own ass in the mirror, being like… damn, that’s a good ass.”

“I don’t have a full-length mirror for nothing,” he said with a wink, leaning over the coffee table to clean up the chocolate splatter.

Aelin couldn’t resist leaning back and peering behind him, trying to get a better look. She sighed happily.

“Ace!” he yelped, standing up straight and spinning around again, covering his rear with his hands. Aelin was laughing so hard that her stomach was starting to hurt. “I’m telling your dad that you’re the evil one.” He tried to say seriously, but soon enough Rowan was joining in the laughter, tears rolling down both their cheeks.

As he smiled at her widely, helping her from the couch, that sudden pang of desire sprang up in Aelin again. She’d been able to control it for the most part, and neither of them had mentioned the conversation that had caused the crash in the first place. She wasn’t sure she could even imagine how the rest of that discussion would go. But she was glad to put it to the backburner for a tiny bit. At least until she felt more comfortable with it again. That hadn’t deterred Lysandra from texting constantly and asking when Aelin would like her first lesson. Luckily, Aelin was able to stave her off for a little while longer – at least until her wrist completely healed.

Rowan slung Aelin’s backpack over his shoulder, carrying her books as they walked to school, enjoying the balmy morning.

Once they arrived, Rowan led them to his locker instead of hers, and Aelin frowned. “Ro, I have to put my books in my locker.”

He shook his head. “We have world history first. I’ll just put them here, and we’ll come back together after.” He looked as his watch. “We walked too slow.”

“Sorry my leg span isn’t four thousand feet,” Aelin said, laughing at her best friend. He complained that she walked too slowly, but really he was just too tall for his own good. He didn’t realize how fast he got places simply by having longer legs.

Aelin clearly hadn’t looked at Rowan’s locker in some time, though, because she was shocked by the decorations on the inside of the door. It was dotted with photographs of their group of friends through the year – but, Aelin noted she made a prominent appearance in the center of the door, in a picture of just her and Rowan. It was from Yulemas break. Aelin’s favorite holiday; but she’d never seen this photo before. It must have been taken at the tail end of Maeve’s Yulemas party, when Aelin had fallen asleep after too many sweets and rum-laced eggnog. In the photo, Aelin’s head rested carefully on Rowan’s shoulder, her eyes closed and face relaxed in slumber as Rowan smiled softly at whoever was behind the camera.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked, and Aelin shook her head.

“I like your pictures.”

“Oh,” he said, returning her smile. “Yeah, Aunt Maeve printed a bunch out for me.”

“Mr. Whitethorn, Ms. Galathynius,” Principal Havilliard bellowed at the other end of the hallway. “You’re late. Again.” Aelin and Rowan sighed simultaneously. “Your second infraction this week,” he continued. “Don’t make it a third, or I’ll see you both in detention next week.”

Aelin wanted to tell Principal Havilliard off. It wasn’t her or Rowan’s fault for being late, exactly. They both had single working parents, and with Rowan’s car in the shop for the next few weeks, they had to walk over two miles to make it there. She was gearing up to say something snappy back, when Rowan dragged her down the hall, away from the offending school administrator.

“Not worth it, Ace,” he mumbled.

They managed to make it through the rest of the day with no other incidents, unless Aelin counted getting a C on her Ancient Languages oral exam an incident – which she didn’t.

“So, RoRo, you excited for prom?” Wes asked Rowan from the driver’s seat. Technically, Aelin wasn’t supposed to be driving with any of her friends for the rest of the year, but her dad was at work. And she couldn’t bring herself to walk another two miles home.

Lysandra’s eyes met Aelin’s in the backseat of the car, and Aelin purposefully looked out the window to avoid her face doing anything she couldn’t control.

“Uh, yeah?” Rowan asked. “I guess.”

“Dude,” Wesley laughed. “You’re going to prom with a cheerleader, who’s been all over you for months, and you guess you’re excited?” Next to her, Rowan shrugged silently. But Wesley was only spurred on by Rowan’s lack of enthusiasm. “Should we pick up some condoms for you on the way home, or do you have some?” Wesley asked, and Rowan inhaled so sharply he started coughing. “What?” Wesley asked, looking at his girlfriend, confused, and rubbing his elbow where Lysandra must have pinched him. “I’m just saying. I heard it’s tradition to get a hotel room after prom…”

“Rowan would never be so cliché,” Lysandra interjected, her bright eyes flashing to check on Aelin in the mirror, but Aelin refused to look anywhere but out at the trees passing by out the car window as she steadied her breath. “Right?”

“Right,” Rowan repeated quietly.

“Doesn’t hurt to have some on hand,” Wesley said. “OW, what the fuck, Lys?” he yelped.

“You’re such an idiot,” Lysandra mumbled, just barely audible over her exasperated sigh.

“I’m good,” Rowan spoke up, clipped.

Aelin couldn’t control herself as she looked over her shoulder and took in her best friend’s paled face, staring at the roof of Wesley’s old sedan.

“You are?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound too high.

“Yup,” Rowan replied, still refusing to look down at her.

“Smart boy,” Wesley laughed.

Lysandra’s eyes flicked to Aelin again, filled with worry, and Aelin shook her head slightly.

But Wesley raised a fair point that Aelin hadn’t even thought about during her busy week. She’d been so worried about Rowan and Lyria being at a dance together, arms wrapped around each other intimately, that she hadn’t even considered the implications of what would happen after prom?

She couldn’t believe how stupid she’d been.

Despite looking forward to their late night “babysitting” all day, Aelin’s mood was completely soured by the conversation in the car.

She overcooked their pasta, couldn’t settle on anything to watch, and gave terse replies to every question Rowan asked.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he finally asked, after finishing loading the dishwasher, and Aelin grunted a sure. He turned on Clueless, one of Aelin’s favorite movies and relaxed back into the couch.

To his credit, he made it all the way through the movie, which Aelin laughed about 500% less than usual at, until asking Aelin what was wrong. But Aelin wasn’t sure what to say. She couldn’t exactly tell him she was stressed about the prospect of him having sex with Lyria. She didn’t think he’d really do that. He’d said on multiple occasions that he barely knew her. And sex didn’t seem like a thing Rowan would just do with someone he barely knew. But, then, why did Aelin feel a pit of dread sitting deep in her stomach? Nothing about his answers had reassured her. And Rowan was changing. She never thought Rowan would abandon her at a party either, and he did that easily.

“I’m just tired,” she replied, yawning loudly and throwing all her acting skills into her performance. “It’s been a weird week. I think I’m going to head to bed. I’ll see you Sunday, right?”

Rowan crossed his arms as Aelin got up and started heading up the stairs, his bowed lips frowning and pinching his beautiful face.

“I thought we told each other everything,” Rowan said, annoyed. Aelin paused her feet on the stairs, looking over her shoulder at him. He was hunched over and still frowning, angrily glaring at the darkened TV.

Aelin cocked her head to the side, thinking of all the things she’d censored from Rowan in the last few months, and thinking that he’d probably started doing the same.

“I thought so, too.” She paused, looking at the way Rowan tensed at her words. She smiled sadly, and trudged upstairs to bed, not bothering to let him reply again.

~*~

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[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

just full on bodies you with a semi NEW FIC JUST DROPPED BABES

we are leaving cute high school world and entering pain town. this story will have mentions of self harm and suicidal ideation. Please take care of yourselves and don't engage if that sort of content is triggering to you. (be nice to yourselves, i love you)

The worst year of his life starts out the same as so many good days, it almost makes him dizzy to think back on. He feels, later, that a start to this much torment, this painful, should have begun completely fucking miserable, but it had been just any other day. It starts the same way so many days before it starts. His eyes open. He’s in his bedroom, in his bed, like normal. He’s staring up at his black ceiling, wrapped up in his bedspread. His phone buzzes, and he groans, reaches for it, scans messages. A good morning from Barbara, an unread goodnight from Adam, a text from that talent agency that there was something they could use his voice for. He throws back his blankets, rubs sleep from his eyes, and dresses.

In high school his uniform had been an oversized striped hoodie, but for his birthday a few years ago, Charles had bought him several nice dress pants, suit jackets, and collared shirts, and he’d sort of settled into that as his new everyday. He likes how he looks, because this shit is expensive, custom, made to fit his more generous frame, and both his partners always say he looks handsome in a jacket and tie. (Sometimes Barbara yanks him around by the tie. Sometimes Adam snaps his suspenders.) And besides, his dad had taken his preferences into consideration, because all the pieces he’d been gifted had that pattern he was drawn to, thick black and white stripes that absolutely stand out in a crowd. He dresses quickly, throws on his suit jacket over his pinstriped shirt. He adjusts his tie, and gives a grin. Too many teeth, too sharp, and he waves a hand in front of his mouth, and tries again. Human teeth. There we go, B-Man. He lifts his legs, not especially in the mood to walk, and begins to make his way downstairs, for breakfast. He passes by Lydia’s room, and considers harassing his sister, but he remembers how bad he needed his Saturday sleep-ins at fifteen, and takes pity on her, floating past her door silently.

His father, always an early riser, is already in the kitchen, making a pot of coffee, and Betelgeuse lets his feet hit the floor, so that his heeled boots clack against the kitchen tile.

Charles knows the sound, doesn’t even turn around. “Morning, BJ. Any plans for today?”

His relaxed, not exactly actively working lifestyle is not his dad’s favorite, but he’s got a long time, a lot longer than any other person, to work a job. He's just enjoying the time he gets with all his favorite breathers, before he doesn’t have it anymore. At least, that’s always been his excuse. It's not that he can't find work, or that he’s unhirable to a normal job, it’s that he’s trying to enjoy life. Obviously.

But there's good news this morning.

“Got a text from th’ agency. Some voice work,” he grunts. His insanely gravely voice is not always in high demand, but it's been getting some attention lately, mostly because the last commercial he did voice over for, he had to sing, and the request for more of that has been promising. The big goal is some acting gig, on stage, preferably, but he’d take TV, too. He loves the attention, he loves the rush, he loves entertaining. Unfortunately he’s got a demonic aura that makes breathers nervous on principle. He knows if he could just get a break, he’d have a lot to give… but he’s maybe not working on getting that break as hard as he could be.

“Very nice,” Charles finally turns, and smiles, clearly approving. He sets a cup of coffee in front of his son, and BJ glances at it. “Be a pal and wake your mother up?” “This early? On a Saturday?” He squints. “You tryna take me out via Emily attack?” “We’ve got that check up to go to,” Charles says. “I don’t want to be late.”

He shrugs, takes the cup, and vanishes from sight, appearing upstairs, next to his mother. Emily is still wrapped in the bedsheets, snoring lightly, but he knows the trick to rousing her. The coffee cup is waved around her nose, allowing the aroma to hit her senses, and, eyes still closed, she reaches for it. He pulls the cup back.

“Come on, ma,” he scratches gently at her scalp. “Time to get up.” “Coffeeeee,” she groans, reaching at it blindly again, and he grins, and walks backwards, setting the coffee on the dresser, across the room. “Coffee’s over here, Deetzy,” he tells her, and she finally cracks an eye open, and groans. “Evil. Evil son.” “Yup,” he agrees, easily. “Come on. Chuck says you got some appointments to keep.” His mother groans, and kicks back the sheets, before standing.

He’d been twelve, and herself only about thirty when she’d found him, and now, ten years later, at 40, her age is showing, a little. She’s been growing in gray hair for the past few years, and it hasn’t taken over her natural sunshine yellow, but it’s becoming a bit more noticeable, and the slight lines forming around her mouth and eyes are a new addition to her features. Chuck’s aging in much the same way, but with fewer laugh lines. The hair at his father’s temples is going gray, and if he really looks, he can see the beginnings of salt and pepper in his father’s beard. He doesn’t like looking for it, though, and doesn't like the feeling gnawing in his guts at seeing his parents age. If he had his way, they’d stay frozen in time, the way he probably will. Demons don’t age, past a certain point, and he’s pretty sure he’ll be hitting it, soon enough.

He watches his mother shuffle across the floor, and claim her prize of coffee. She takes a long sip, and then groans. “I don’t want to go to the doctor,” she complains to him, and he pats her shoulder. “I know, ma,” he gives her a very sympathetic smile. “But you gotta. Or Chuckles will throw a fit. It’s just a check up, right? No biggie.” She rubs at her temple, and winces. “Getting old sucks,” she tells him. “I’ve been having the worst headaches, recently.”

When they make it back downstairs, Chuck's got breakfast going, and Lydia is sipping her own coffee. Black, like her heart, she always says. He passes her by and ruffles that mop of long blonde hair. “Beetle breath,” she greets him, as he takes a plate from Charles, and sits to eat.

The voice over work isn't as big a deal as he was hoping. He adjusts his tie, fiddles with the collar of his pinstripe dress shirt, and steps out of the booth. “Fuckin’ peanuts,” he complains, and his agent just shrugs. “Gotta start small, BJ. We need someone to do some crooning for this other comercial, some car sale, or something. You feel like playing Sinatra for a bit?”

Not especially, but he does it anyway, and then meets Adam and Barbara for lunch. Adam’s taking classes for business management, and he’s just about done. He wants to take over his grandpa’s hardware store, outside of the city. Way outside, actually, in some little town in Connecticut. They’ve got shared plans, shared dreams, and all of it hinges on this little store in this little town. BJ isn’t too worried. His boyfriend’s hobbies come and go, but Adam really, really enjoys woodworking, and getting to own a place like that sounds like getting to own his own playground.

Barbara, meanwhile, is stuck in clerical work, which she finds mind numbingly dull, but it's a steady paycheck, and it’s afforded her a ticket out of her dad’s place, so that’s something. She and Adam share a tiny studio apartment in Queens, and for all the time Betelgeuse spends there, he might as well live there, too. But three people in a studio isn’t any of their idea of a good time. Speaking of…

“I was on zillow, today,” Adam starts, and he and Barbara lean over with varying degrees of interest, as Adam shows them his phone. It’s a house, predictably, but a nice one. Old fashioned, and a little creeping looking. He likes it.

“She’s a bit of a fixer upper,” he says, admiring the house. “But the price is right, and look at all this character. Classic Queen Anne, with the original crown molding! Tons of space, lots of room for the three of us.” “Maybe a forth,” Barbara smiles brightly, and he matches her enthusiasm. She’s wanted to be a mom since he’s known her, six pretty amazing years, and while a lot has changed in that time, her maternal desire is as strong as ever.

“Maybe a fifth,” BJ grins, wiggling his eyebrows at her, and she flushes. “One from each of my boys.” She agrees, and she reaches across the table, for his hand, which he gives her. Adam takes her other hand, and they’re lost in that fantasy for a moment. He’s not actually sure he can give her what she wants, since he’s not exactly human, but Adam can, at least. And he gets to be part of it. Goddamn, he’s lucky.

“So? Tell us about this commercial you just did!” Adam smiles at him.

“S’not a big deal, just some radio ad,” He tells them, but he’s flattered that they’re always overly enthusiastic about his bit parts. “I heard you on the radio in the office, a few days ago!” Barbara remembers. “My coworkers couldn’t believe that was your real voice! You make such a good villain.” Of course he does. He keeps the smile on, because he knows Babs, knows that she means it in the sweetest, most lovey dovey way possible, but he’s never going to play the hero, because no hero sounds like a demon. He can’t get in his head about this, not right now. Not when the weather’s so nice, and he’s sitting across from the people he loves the most.

“I am the villain, babes,” he grins at her, and stands, leaning over to kiss and rub his stubble into her neck, until laughing, she pushes him away.

“Maybe you should come to the office with me, tomorrow,” Chuck says, over dinner. BJ resists the urge to stab himself through the eye with his fork. “M’not that into real estate, pop,” he tells him, and Emily smiles. “You know BJ’s an artist.” “I just think if he gave it a try,” Charles says, looking to his wife. “That he’d excel at it. I mean, good lord, all real estate is, is making deals and fast talking. He’s built for that sort of thing.” Betelgeuse grimaces. “But then I’d have to spend any amount of time around your coworkers, an’ those other big money creeps.” “Those big money creeps write the checks that paid for this house, BJ,” Chuck reminds him.

“I’ll be sure to send Maxie Dean a fruit basket.”

“Skip the fruit, just send that freak ass a basket of snakes,” Lydia says, and he grins. “Do not do that.” “Psh. Whatever, dad,” he pitches his voice into a teenage whine, and his father gives a dry smile in return. “So, that doctor appointment?” Lydia looks to Emily, and their mother smiles. “Got some scans done, no biggie. Checkups just suck. I’ve been having those migraines, recently, but the doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal.”

He’s staring down at his mother, in hospice, and those words echo around his mind. No big deal. The doctor didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. Just a couple migraines. Just some dizziness. Just some nausea. Just a tumor. Just another breather’s life, coming to an end.

Her bedroom is dark. The curtains are drawn. He’s sitting to her left, Lydia dozing to her right, and Emily is sleeping, dozing lightly. Chuck’s talking to the nurse in the hall. The last twelve months are a blur. He can’t remember individual days, can only remember when those test results came back. He remembers, vaguely, holding her hand during treatments. But there’s nothing any breather alive can do about the tumor, about the placement of it. At least she’s at home, at least she’s laying in her own bed. At least she’s not stuck in the hospital. Her sun colored hair is gone. Her smile is gone. That mischievous glint in her eyes is gone. All Emily does is sleep. All they can do is wait. read the rest of this chapter, plus the second one i couldn't help but post, over here, on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/32243065/chapters/79911316

[poedameronloverx]

General Grandma

Heeey everyone, me again with some more bad writing. This all came from a random idea I had about Leia being a grand-mother to Poe and readers daughter. I started off on a total roll whilst writing it, but then I wasn’t feeling well for a few days and I lost my way a bit so I’m not 100% happy with it but I wasn’t going anywhere with it so I thought that I’d share it anyway.

I hope at least someone out there can enjoy it <3

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Solo Reader

Warnings: Mentions of having a child

Word Count: 8508 - yikes!

Leia Organa had many titles, General, Princess, mum, but her favourite one was now Grandma. From the second you'd given birth to your daughter 3 and a half years previously, Leia was completely smitten with her grand-daughter. Shara Dameron was a little ray of sunshine throughout the base, her energy and infectious laugh kept everyone's spirit's high, especially Leia's. Shara loved her grandma, she wanted to spend time with her whenever she could and could quite often be seen following Leia round base. There weren't a lot of children in the resistance, and the ones that were there were all older than Shara, so she didn't have any friends her own age to play with. It was something that always made you sad, the older kids weren't interested in playing with a 3 year old but she always had her grandma and her favourite droid BB8 to keep her company if you or Poe were busy. Meal times were the best part of the day, if you and your husband were both on base, no matter how busy you were, you made time to eat together and spend time with Shara. She was sat on Poe's lap chatting happily about her morning and how she'd been playing with BB8 and Uncle Finn. She told you in detail about everything they'd done, Poe chuckled and buried his face in her dark curls as she mentioned that Finn had tripped over BB8 and fallen.

“He hurted his hand but I kissed it better for him” she explained

“That was really nice of you” you replied “I'm sure that made him feel lots better”

Poe glanced across the room and smiled as he saw Shara's favourite person approaching.

“Look sweetheart, here comes General grandma!” he said

“Grandma!” she squealed happily

“Hello little Miss Dameron” Leia smiled, taking a seat next to Poe and happily grabbing hold of Shara as she quickly abandoned her place on Poe's lap in favour of sitting with grandma. “How was your morning?”

She launched back into her stories of her morning with Finn, causing Leia to laugh at the details.

“Can I come with you after lunch?” she asked

“Of course you can my darling” Leia replied “I've got you some paper and crayons so you can do that drawing you mentioned yesterday”

You smiled. The resistance didn't always have a lot, but your mother always made sure her grand-daughter didn't go without. They had the most beautiful bond and it warmed your heart every time you looked at them. You knew there was a gap in your mothers heart caused by your brother leaving, but Shara was slowly starting to mend it. Ever since your daughter was born, Leia always made sure, where possible, that one of you or Poe was on base at all times. It was very rare that the two of your would go off on missions together. It was something that put your minds at ease, knowing that if something happened to one of you, the other would still be there for Shara.

Leia had some work to do before she could fully dedicate her time to Shara, but the little girl didn't mind. She happily skipped along next to her grandma, singing away to herself as Leia made her way round base to get a few jobs done. Once the General was finished with her work, she headed back to her quarters to spend some quiet time with her grand-daughter. She set up the crayons and paper on the desk and helped Shara onto the chair.

“I can't wait to see what pictures you draw my darling”

“I'm going to draw the best picture for you grandma!” Shara beamed

“Remember and draw some for mummy and daddy too” Leia smiled “I'm sure they'd really love that”

“Ok, and BeeBee too!”

“Yes I'm sure the droid would love a drawing” Leia chuckled. Shara really was her fathers daughter, she had the highest respect for everyone on base, especially droids. BB8 had loved the little girl from the second she was born, he would sit protectively by her crib whilst she was a baby, he rolled closely behind her as she learned to walk and he played with her when her family members were busy. If it had been anyone else, Poe would've felt betrayed that his droid had a new best friend but seeing his daughter playing with BB8 made his heart feel full enough to burst. Leia always had a smile on her face when she watched Shara interacting with all of the droids, so many people just brushed them off or found them an inconvenience, but not Shara.

Shara jumped off the chair once she was finished her drawing and skipped over to where Leia was on the couch reading.

“This is for you grandma!”

Leia smiled and took the paper from her, there were a lot of scribbles and two stick people. “It's wonderful”

“It's you and me!” Shara replied “Look, that's you there” she pointed at the taller stick figure

“I love it” Leia replied “Thank you, I'll put it on my wall” she stood up and pinned the drawing to the wall of her room “Now I can see it all the time”

Shara smiled, her giggles filled the room as Leia sat down and pulled her into her lap, tickling her as they went.

“Grandma? Can we play dolls?”

“Of course we can” Leia replied, setting her down on the floor, “You grab them and set them up”

Once you and Poe finished work, you grabbed some food for yourselves and Leia and headed to her room. Leia called for you to come in when you knocked. You smiled at the sight of your daughter curled up on her grandmas lap, fast asleep.

“She's been asleep about 20 minutes” Leia said “She had some food a few hours ago”

“Might as well leave her sleeping then” Poe said “She looks content enough. All that time with you must've worn her out”

“Yeah sorry we're later than usual” you replied “We both got caught up”

“Never apologise for giving me longer with my grand-daughter” Leia replied “Every second with her is one to be treasured”

The three of you ate dinner, occasionally chatting about your day but mostly just enjoying spending time together. Once you'd finished eating, you could feel yourself drifting off. It wasn't long until Poe felt your head hit his shoulder. He smiled fondly at you, and then at his daughter.

“What's on your mind?” Leia asked

“Gods I just love them so much Leia. I didn't think it was possible to love this hard!”

“You have two wonderful girls Poe” Leia replied “You're a lucky man, I might be a bit biased though”

Poe chuckled “I'm the luckiest man in the galaxy. They're everything to me”

“And you're everything to them. Y/N loves you so much, I've never seen her as happy as she is when she's with you. And Shara thinks the world of you”

“I'm behind you and my droid on her list of favourite people. But to be fair that's a pretty good list of people to be behind”

“Your mother would be so proud of you” Leia said “You're such a good man, one of the best in fact, and Y/N and Shara are lucky to have you in their life's. We're all lucky to have you!”

Poe smiled as he felt you move next to him, squishing your face into his arm. “Shara might look like me, but she takes after her mother” he said, seeing his daughter was doing the same to Leia's arm.

“My precious girls” Leia smiled, running her fingers through Shara's curls.

“I should probably get them to bed” Poe said, he gently shook your arm until your eyes fluttered open “Come on Sweetheart, we need to head back to our room so you and the little lady can get to bed”

“I can't believe I fell asleep. I'm sorry”

“Don't apologise” Leia said “It's been a crazy few weeks”

Poe took Shara from Leia, letting the little girl shuffle in his arms until she was comfortable. You leant forward to hug your mother. Leia kissed your head.

“I'll see you tomorrow mum”

“Give Shara a goodnight kiss from me”

Shara began to stir as you entered your quarters. Poe adjusted her in his arms.

“Daddy”

“Hey sweetheart, we're going to get you ready for bed now”

“Where's grandma?”

“She's in her room” Poe replied with a smile “You spent lots of time with her before you fell asleep. And you'll see her tomorrow”

“Mama?”

“Mama's over there, checking on BeeBee” he moved so Shara could see you. “Do you want mama to read you a bedtime story?”

“I want story from you and mama” she replied sleepily

“Alright, let's get you changed for bed”

Shara managed to get two stories out of you that night. Her big brown eyes always got you to give into her, much like her father. You watched her for a while after she fell asleep. Even when the galaxy felt like a dark and horrible place, Shara brought such light into your life and to everyone around her. Poe stepped up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“We did that” he whispered “We really made a perfect little human”

“I love her so much”

“Me too” Poe replied “And I love you. And our little family!”

[not-poignant]

hello! *peruses unasked flower asks* ummm, if you could give me a Canna, Cock’s Comb ehheeh, Common Boneset, Norwegian Angelica and Rosemallows please! :)

(Okay I love that little eheh at cock's comb tho)

Canna: Do you have any tattoos?

*

I do! A giant 'RESIST' in capital letters down the inside of my right wrist, that I actually got long before any actual 'resist' movements over the past few years. I got it around my 21st birthday (actually like a year later) mostly to mark all the things that I'd already survived at that point, and how much of my life philosophy is based off a position of resistance - resisting wanting to kill myself, resisting the darkest paths, resisting my own body when it grows tumours, and so on.

As it's aged, its lost some of it's sharp corners and stuff, but I still like it, though I mostly forget its there now. I'd like to get more tattoos at some point, but money is a big barrier, they're not cheap! (Which is good, because hopefully it means tattoo artists are being paid well).

*

Cock’s Comb: Favorite font?

*

I don't really know. I use Times New Roman the most while writing (I know, I know), so I guess that's my favourite because I'm voluntarily staring at it for hours and hours every single day. I hate Calibri and often have to force-change documents to another font to be able to edit them, if they come to me in that font. But I also used to write in Calibri, until I had the revelation that I hated writing in Calibri, lmao.

When I was a teenager, and had far less fonts to choose from, I was a passionate fan of Courier New and that's still my favourite font to set poetry in, which I think is an 'old habits die rather hard' thing, lmao.

*

Common Boneset: What are you looking forward to?

*

I'm looking forward to thunderstorms, whenever they next come.

I'm looking forward to going down south with my mother, though I'm apprehensive about it too, and hope it goes well. I expect it will be exhausting, and an experience, and worthwhile. That's the end of July.

I'm looking forward to a week to myself and I'm not sure when I'll get one.

I'm looking forward to tomorrow (at least right now).

I'm looking forward to the next time we go to Kumo and have more of those Japanese souffle pancakes because souffle pancakes.

I'm looking forward to going to bed tonight.

*

Norwegian Angelica: Tell us about your mom.

*

I've always had...an interesting relationship with my mother. Though it's very good now. But there are lots of long stories I'm going to cut short here and say that around 11 or 12 years ago I was fed up, and sent Mum a lengthy email (because I couldn't trust I'd be able to speak clearly in person without breaking down and crying) saying that if she didn't get on board with acknowledging the PTSD and where it came from, and didn't confront her own demons in that, I was going to walk away from her and our relationship for good, and I already had my estranged relationship with my father to prove that I wasn't bluffing.

In retrospect, this probably sounds like an incredibly cruel thing to do, but I can't describe to you the years before that, my childhood, the things that led to me making this decision. Only that when I made it, I didn't know what else to do.

But then the most amazing thing happened, and unlike about anyone else in my family at the time, Mum got therapy, and she got help, and she faced her demons, and she decided that she was going to learn about her child instead of doing what she'd been doing in the past. And from there we grew a real relationship. And quite a few years ago now, we started catching up once a week, every (usually) Friday morning.

She's one of my best friends now, I love her to pieces, her bravery and courage in being willing to face up to some hard truths (including - among others - that my father and her husband was abusive), as well as her sheer strength recently going through breast cancer with such humour and grace only a short period after I went through my own cancer journey, like, she's such a role model to me.

I could never have expected that. I loved my Mum growing up, but I never felt like she knew or saw me as a person, which I don't actually blame her for, she sure was Going Through It herself, in a way that I could not appreciate fully as a child, because she protected us from those realities that she experienced and suffered through as best as she could. And now I think she really does try, as I try to meet her where she is in turn. And we see each other as people, not as family roles, and that to me...has an ineffable, lovely quality. Which is, incidentally, why I'm taking her down south for her birthday, so we can spend even more time together.

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Rosemallows: What’s your favorite memory?

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I don't know that I have one. Oh wait, I think...I do, so let's just preface this first though.

The problem I have here is that I've had a life full of depression and PTSD (no literally, my post-trauma started showing in early childhood), and both things can actually cause memory loss or poor memory coherence (unless the memories are traumatic! Do not recommend).

However, I have a glimpse of a memory between me, Glen and Putu, shortly before Putu was bound to leave for Melbourne (for good, he hasn't come back except to visit), where we spent the whole day together, except a break in the afternoon for me to sleep, because true facts - I cannot get through a day without sleeping for several hours in the afternoon.

There was something so golden and perfect about that day. I remember startlingly for me, sitting on the couch and tired and sore (we'd spent the day going to dim sum and then later walking around Kings Park) basking in a feeling I couldn't recall having felt before, and then I think I turned to Putu and Glen and said with some amazement, 'I think I feel content.' And Putu and Glen were like '...yeah...and?' and later I had to admit to Glen I'd never felt the feeling before. Golden and soft, like a cloud.

I think I've felt it once more since then, but I don't remember when. And I don't think I'd felt it before then, either. I would not wish my brain chemistry on anyone. But I'm very glad I got to share that moment with Putu, who is a very close member of my chosen family, for all that I don't get to see him very often anymore.

I can't strongly recall the feeling of the emotion itself. I remember describing it to myself in my head, in complete sentences, and those are the sentences I'm sharing to you now, because my verbal memory is much better than my emotional memory (I have quite serious alexithymia, which would surprise no one, but it's better than it used to be).

And I am relieved that my brain did actually hang onto the moment, mostly because I chanted to myself like a prayer: please don't forget this please don't forget this please don't forget this remember your position on the couch remember where Putu is sitting remember where Glen is sitting remember what you said and remember the time of day and remember what came before.

And, now, I do.

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From the flower asks meme!