#only one kind of attractive available to women (and every woman must be it)

[tomurakii]

I do think character design diversity is important but pls let's not act like the boys in dandadan are diverse when they're all skinny white-skinned generically attractive boys with ONE exception

The point of the post wasn't even so much diversity as it was just character distinguishability. Whether you think Okarun's design is "attractive" or not he still has notably different features and a different build from Jiji, meanwhile Momo and Aira are identical aside from their hair and eyebrows.

And then there's obviously the aliens.

Where the male ones look weird in their base forms and have even weirder transformations, but the one female alien just happens to be a girl with antenna 100% of the time.

This weird need for female characters to be one specific kind of attractive all the time just gets in the way of decent character design.

[obscureoldguy]

This Is Where I Live Now

Our country is broken. And I now live among the human pieces of our broken nation. I am harbored now in a cheap motel where the signs of heartache and broken lives are all around. This place attracts the down and out because it offers a cheap weekly rate.

There are several regular homeless people who wander about the grounds of the motel as well as the adjoining local strip malls.

There are single mothers with young children living here from day to day, or from week to week. Some of the women own old automobiles with the cliché cartoon family decal affixed to the back window, but with the father figure scratched away with a razor blade, leaving only the stick figures of a mother and one or two children.

There is a whole population here of teens; living in a hotel with their parents- so many that the local school system sends a school bus here each weekday morning and then again in the evening. Imagine being one of these teens- the embarrassment they must feel about where they live, and how because of this, they probably never invite their classmates over after school… Instead, I see some of them playing with each other, with soccer balls, in the parking lot from time to time.

There is a fellow here who does not rent a room, but instead lives out of his Ford Bronco, along with his sweet female pit-bull Lucy, because the parking lot of this motel is a safe place in which to park all night and not be hassled by the police to “Move on- you’re trespassing.”

At a nearby strip mall there is a homeless man with an entourage of six filled to the brim shopping carts full of his belongings. Each of the six shopping carts are covered in hanging plastic bags full of the accoutrements of his nightmare life. From what I can see, he seems now to be so out of touch with reality that he never speaks to anyone. His daily routine subsists of moving all of his six carts from one side of the nearby intersection to the other side, and then the next day, moving them all back again. It is very distressful to see a human being reduced to such a condition. I often wonder where he relieves himself..

At the edge of one of the parking lots where this fellow stations himself each day is a small sign which reads:

“Daycare Available- Four Months To Six Years Old- Until Midnight M-F. Call 555-111-2222”

Until midnight. Until midnight… What kind of a society forces a young mother or a single father to have to work up until midnight in order to support themselves and their child. And what sort of a society allows a child to grow up in a situation where she or he does not see their parent every weekday from early in the morning, until very late at night. And what does that do to a child, in the long run- being raised this way?

****

I could not pay my property taxes. Instead, I kept hoping I would win The Lotto in order to pay what I owed. And yes, as you can tell, I suppose I never really grew up.

I have been a professional actor most of my life. When I was thirteen years old, I joined a professional theater company, headed by a lovely English woman named Joan. 

At that time, I began hand writing what I thought would be a very great screenplay in a journal notebook. At age thirteen, I really did not know whatI was doing, but that of course, did not stop me. With the optimism of youth and innocence, I was sure that my story was brilliant.

One day I told Joan about this project of mine, and asked her if if she would mind reading my screenplay; as I would be very interested to hear her comments upon it. In her lovely upper class English accent she said;

“Oh yes, Richard, I would be delighted to read it. I am rather busy right now, but I will most definitely read it with pleasure, and then I shall let you know what I think of it. Just allow me about two weeks, alright?”

At the close of two weeks I came upon Joan one day and asked her if she had finished reading my screenplay and if so what she thought of it. With a terribly serious look she said to me;

“Come into my office, Richard.” I followed her into her private office, and she closed the door behind us. She then sat down at her desk and motioned for me to take a seat in the chair across from it. Then with a voice full of grave sobriety, she looked me straight in the eye and said;

“Oh Richard- you have GOT to get out of that house, and away from your parents as quickly as you possibly can.”

Having been an only child, I had no siblings to whisper in my ear

“Um, you know that mom and dad are quite crazy don't you?”

I truly do not feel comfortable blaming my mother or my father for my predicament in this late stage of my life; it feels like a cop out to do so. Rather, I accept responsibility for the situation I now find myself in. Still, I do often wonder how my character would've differed from what it is now had I been blessed with different parents, with very different ideas on how to raise a child.

I will write more later.

[i-am-a-learner-with-a-passion]

"FACTS YOU SHOULD KNOW ABOUT YOUR MAN’S SEX LIFE:"

Most of the time, you complain that your husband’s demand for sex is too frequent. You feel his crave for sex is similar to his need for food and you can’t help but wonder if sex is the only thing he thinks about. Men and women in the areas of sex are wired differently. With these variations in mind, all you need to do is to know how men see sex and understand how to relate with your own man.

Sex is one thing husbands would ask more of. Almost all husbands wish their wives can step up their sexual abilities and give them more at “bed time”. Your husband’s case is not different. Ask him and you will be surprised he is likely to be among the 92% of men who say they want more of sex.

💢 Sex of yesterday is for yesterday. While you are still enjoying the fulfillment of yesterday’s sex, your “lover boy” is already thinking of how to get another one. Remember, every man has a sex drive that is stronger than the average woman.

💢 A man’s sex drive is one of his strongest drives. You need to know that only a few things matter to a man than his sex life and the sex drive is stronger than any other “drive” in his body. This is the reason nothing really matters to most men whenever they want sex.

💢 Every man wants his wife to be romantic and involved in bed. No man will love to have a “bedroom failure” as a wife. No matter how religious they are, they want romantic, exciting and tantalizing wives.

💢 He needs routine sexual gratification the same way his wife needs routine acts of love, care and kindness. Just as you want him to be kind to you; he also wants you to be available in bed at least 2 or 3 times a week. Crises arise when the wife wants the act of kindness before sex and the man wants sexual gratification before an act of kindness. My word for you wife is; break the cycle. Give him s3x, and see if he won’t show you more love and care.

💢Virtually every man experiences arousal, attraction and temptation seven times a day. Let him fall into your hands, not into the hands of a strange woman. Help him manage his sexuality.

💢Men are moved by what they see. Let your husband be attracted to you. Never allow his secretary to take your position; dress nicely. If you are alone in the house put on skimpy dresses, sexy underwears; let him be moved towards you. Dress up in front of him. Make it “The-more-you-look-the-more-you-see” affair. Dress slowly to the extent that he will notice you. You are in your palace, “you own your husband.

💢Wants the wife to be actively involved in sex. Almost 90% of men said they will be more motivated if their wives can get involved in the bedroom. They said unanimously that they hate “dry and drab” women in their bedrooms.

Your man wants you to be involved during foreplay and love making. He wants you to roll your body, turn, raise your laps, roll your buttocks, hold him, put your breast in his mouth, moan, talk, gibber and show that you are really enjoying him. Make him feel like a real man.

*💢Men are more aroused when their wives seduce them* _Most men enjoy sexual invitations._ Surprise your man by inviting him; become the “seducer” and see how happy he will be. *Don’t be ashamed to flirt with your husband; be his mistress, his concubine.*

*💢More than 70% of men want sex at least 2 or 3 times a week, while more than 60% of women want sex 2 or 3 times a month. This is where wisdom comes in for you as a woman. If you must keep your man, protect your home and send strange women far from your husband, then you must learn how to improve your bedroom performance.* _Be among the 40 % of women who are enjoying better relationships with the husband._

[zeresouq]

INDIAN WOMEN AND THEIR COLLECTION OF ETHNIC KURTAS

Call it Kurtas or Kurtis, they are the staple wardrobe choice for most desi women who want to effortlessly slide into any event, in any weather, and at any time. It is that one perfect outfit you can style with any trendy bottom wear of your choice. These versatile tunic garments are called timeless for a reason, as they are super-comfortable, elegant and easy to wear. The ease of styling while staying within your comfort, is the reason why Kurtas are often the go-to choice for women when it comes to ethnic wear.

Indian Ethnic Wear is no longer limited to just festivals and customary events. As Kurtas are ready-to-wear stitched tunics, working women, or perhaps, all desi women across the world have incorporated kurtas into their daily wear. Kurta styles may come and go, but their rise to popularity marks a huge shift in the Indian ethnic diaspora. Ask any desi woman, and her first choice in ethnic wear would always be a Kurta. This re-invention in women’s fashion explains how desi women are more open to donning Ethnic Dresses on the daily given the vast options available in modern and young, contemporary indian clothing.

MUST-HAVE TRENDY KURTA STYLES FOR FASHIONISTAS

Kurtas are usually adorned with embroidered necklines, bright colours, and lightweight materials if you're looking to make heads turn your way. In fact, you can count your blessings, since kurtas can be worn in a plethora of creative ways, and the "not-so-basic" hemlines available mean you can add a little whimsy to your ensemble. Understandably, you wouldn't want to stick to one particular Kurti design. For the sake of variety (which is appreciated by everybody), we present to you a list of some of our favourite Kurti styles:

Straight Kurtas:

The most popular kind of Kurtas, which may be long or short and often reach the calf, waist, or hip, are the Straight Kurtas. Its basic kurta pattern is flattering on all body types since it creates the illusion of length by making your body appear slimmer. Both short and long kurtas can be best styled with a pair of jeans or wide-legged palazzos. Mostly these styled kurtas have three-fourth length sleeves, with slits on either side. Even high flare long skirts would go well with these kurtas if you are about to attend a wedding or any traditional event. Straight Kurtas exude sophisticated, professional vibes, pairing them with some high-rise or straight pants or trousers make them fit for office wear as well. They are light, breezy, and better preferred to wearing instead of casual shirts or jeans in the sweltering weather of the Middle East! ZERESOUQ brings in for you a large collection of such straight kurtas that fit into every taste and occasion. They are available in printed styles, block prints, solid hues, gradient colors, trendy premium-quality fabrics as well as embroidered ones. You may create a look that is not only more versatile but also more appealing by accessorising it with sling bags, high ponies, and a pair of stud earrings.

A-Line Kurtas:

A-line kurtis are now one of the most popular styles of Kurtas among younger women. The design of the Kurta features a flare that extends down from the waist, creating the letter A when combined with the length of the Kurta. It may be available in a variety of lengths, including those that reach the knee, the ankle, or the calf. The fact that an A-line Kurti may be worn to any event, be it a day spent at the office, a day spent celebrating a holiday, or just a day out and about, is without a doubt the best feature of this type of garment. Kurtis with an A-line profile are very attractive when worn by women whose bodies are shaped like an apple or a pear. For a style that is both more adaptable and attractive, pair it with some light Jhumkas and flats.

Angrakha Kurtas:

Throughout the historical periods, one of the most common garments worn by musicians was called an Angrakha Kurti. It is a historically significant clothing style that represents a more authentic rendition of Indian ethnic attire. In the same way that kurtas were formerly a traditional element of the clothes worn by men in India, Angrakha-style kurtas and tops were also traditionally worn by a significant number of men. These garments were then embraced by the womens fashion industry to portray liberalism and equality in women. In light of this, the women's Angrakha Kurti has a chest-wrapping jacket in the form of a robe, complete with two flaps that either contrast or are identical to one another. These flaps overlap one another on the side of the breast or, in certain cases, on the waist, where they are secured by Ribbons, tassels, or straps. Currently, members of the current generation adore the Angrakha Kurti to such a degree that they have started wearing it as part of their typical everyday wardrobe. You may simply mix Angrakha Kurtis with churidars, leggings, or even Dhoti trousers for a look that is appropriate for both casual and work settings. Angrakha Kurtis make for terrific work or casual wear. If, on the other hand, you are searching for something to wear to an event, some options you may consider are heavier embroidered versions of Angrakha Kurtis, boho earrings in a variety of colours, and embroidered Punjabi Juttis.

Kaftan Kurtas:

Kaftan Kurta design is a new style of women’s Kurta, inspired from the Kaftan Gowns worn by both Turkish men and women, now holds itself as one of the current most trending Kurta styles. It is another historical dress style garment from Central Asia that is exclusively designed to be worn in hot weather regions. Today, regardless of the weather, Kaftans have become a must-have in every woman's wardrobe. Kaftan style Kurtas are very sophisticated and comfortable garments as they are easy to wear on various occasions. This is the ultimate summer outfit you can wear to beaches, picnics or anywhere else. The best part about kaftan Kurtis is that they are very breezy and light, making you feel like you’re floating. So whether you want to lounge at home or wish to go out with friends, kaftan Kurtis can serve it all. We’ve got you an exclusive premium collection of latest Kurtas in different fabrics such as Cotton, Georgette, Satins, Chiffons and more.

As one of the leading online ethnic stores, we are on the constant lookout for the best styles and designs that serve your fashion fancies and make you stand out from the crowd. This is why our kurtas range from basic everyday kurtas to designer ones, to fit your budget and body!

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS ABOUT ZERESOUQ KURTAS:

Q1. I want to buy an Indian dress, which dress would be best to start with?

Kurtas are the ideal approach for a newbie to start their Indian clothing collection. Every Indian woman wears kurtas, flowy tunics that are comfortable in tropical climates. Kurtas are easy-to-wear, easy-to-carry, body-fit, occasion-versatile, and match well with palazzos, trousers, leggings, long skirts, jeans, or jeggings. If you can't tolerate heavier garments and worry about your outfit all day, start with kurtas. Keep up with the trends with a Kurti from our new arrivals section. ZERESOUQ offers kurtas in a wide variety of patterns, fabrics, and colors cuts and designs, such as in Anarkali, straight, asymmetrical silhouette along with front or side slits, that cater to your style!

Q2. What is the difference between Kurtas and Kurta Sets?

Kurtas are long loose collarless topwear worn by women of the Indian Subcontinent usually paired with any type of bottom wear of choice may it be ethnic or contemporary. Kurtas can also be styled with dupattas or scarfs. However, Kurta Sets are a complete set of dresses that consist of a Kurta, a bottom-wear and/or a dupatta. They are available in 2-piece kurta sets or 3-piece kurta sets where women do not have to worry about pairing their kurtas with matching bottom wear and dupatta.

Q2. How to style a kurta in versatile ways?

Kurtas come in over 30 varieties that can be styled in many different ways. The most popular ones - Straight Kurtas, A-line Kurtas, Symmetrical and Asymmetrical Kurtas, Anarkali Kurtas, Tail-cut Kurtas, Floor-length Kurtas, Angrakha Kurtas, and Kalidar Kurtas - go well with straight palazzos, trousers, culottes, long skirts, dhoti pants, shararas, and even jeans. If you want to dress your Kurta without a dupatta, you can wear a front-open jacket with full or half sleeves, long or short shrugs, fitted jackets, or even capes. Kurtas are beautiful because they have no footwear rules. Block-heels, flat sandals, and wedges will keep you fashionable.

Q3. Do you have plus size Kurtas?

Yes, Plus size kurtas on ZERESOUQ are available in sizes from 3XL to 7XL.

[priyadigi22]

There Is A Color And A Type Of Clothing That Blends Well For Every Occasion. The Best Part About Women’s Clothing, In Particular, Is The Variety Of Styles, Colors, And Choices Available On The Market. It Has Long Been Known That Indianwear Is The One Type Of Clothing That Blends And Pairs Perfectly With Any And All Kinds Of Occasions. In This Category, Designer Kurtis Have Long Been Known And Praised For The Style And Overall Effect That They Bring To A Woman’s Wardrobe. These Simple, Yet Elegant, Pieces Of Clothing Have Been The Leading Style Of Indian Men And Women For Years. Here’s A Quick Guide To The Best Colors To Add To Your Kurti Design Collection.

Designer Kurtis: A Must Have

Kurtis Are One Of The Most Simple And Elegant Types Of Clothing That One Can Wear. Made From A Variety Of Materials And Available In Thousands Of Different Styles And Colors, These Are The Go-To Outfit For Most Women. Kurtis Are Known To Blend With Any Occasion And Any Time Of The Day. For The Comfort They Provide To The Wearer And The Style They Represent, These Pieces Of Clothing Have Been Preferred.

Designer Kurtis Are A Must-Have. These Kurtis, Which Can Be Bought Easily Through Wholesale Kurtis Online Websites, Are Available Either As Pre-Stitched Garments Or As Dress Materials. Some Of The Reasons Why These Are A Must-Have Item In Every Woman’s Wardrobe:

They Are Comfortable To Wear And Available In A Variety Of Colors And Styles.

Wholesale Kurtis Online Are Affordable And Everyday Wear.

Kurtis Go With Every Occasion And Event. Designer Kurtis Are Differently Made To Fit And Suit The Requirement Of The Event Or The Time It Is Worn.

With The Right Color And The Right Styling Per One’s Body, These Kurtis Look Flawless And Are Instant Confidence Boosters For The Wearer.

Designer Kurtis Are Made Such That They Can Be Accessorized With Anything To Make A Complete Outfit. 

Universal Designer Kurtis Color Guide

There Are So Many Colors That One Can Choose From For Their Designer Kurti. Through Proper Mixing And Matching, The Ideal Type Of Leggings That Go With Kurtis, The Number Of Combinations Is Infinite. Kurti Designs Offer A Variety Of Colors And Variations, But Not All Colors Suit Every Body Type And Skin Tone. For This Reason, We Have Compiled An Ideal Guide On The Types Of Colors That Are Universal For Indians.

Dark Tones Like Navy Blue

The Indian Skin Tone Calls For Something That Can Contrast It Properly. Navy Blue And Other Similar Tones Belonging To This Category Are A Perfect Match For Indians. This Color, Along With All Its Hues, Is Known To Not Only Complement The Skin Tone But Also Make One Stand Out. 

Some Of The Best Designer Kurtis Come In Dark Tones With Beautiful Gold Or Silver Embroidery Work On Them. These Kurtis Which Can Range From Long To Short Ones Are Ideal For Everyday Wear. Made Mostly From Cotton, Wholesale Kurtis Online Is The Best Destination For Women To Fill Their Wardrobe With The Indian Aesthetic.

White

For Indians, There Is No Replacement For The Color White In One’s Wardrobe. White Has Long Been The Go-To Color For Indians During The Hot Summers. All Skin Tones, Not Just Those From India, Complement White, Which Is Known As The Color Of Purity. Kurtis That Are White Are Light And An Ideal Choice Of Color For Every Type Of Occasion. 

White Is Usually The Base Color For Designer Kurtis. In Fact, There Are Entire Kurti Designs Catalog That Are Segregated Under The Category Of White. White Kurtis With Different Types Of Work, Including Mirror Work, Are A Favorite Among Indian Women Who Want To Have A Stylish And Attractive Wardrobe. 

Plum, Peach, And Pink Hues

The Indian Skin Tone Was Made To Be Garnished With Shades Of Pink. Peach And Plum And Other Light Hue Pastels In This Share Are The Go-To Choices For Many Women. These Soft Pastel Shades Are Perfect For Any Weather (Especially The Summers) And Are Either Aligning Or Contrasting To The Indian Skin. 

The Best Part About This Color Is The Subtlety In It. As A Base Color, It Is Simple And Radiates Elegance Like No Other Color That Is Available In The Market. With The Right Type Of Accessory, These Designer Kurtis Can Be Show-Stoppers And A Stunning Combination For Any Occasion.

Where To Find Wholesale Kurtis Online

Wholesale Kurtis Online Is A Huge Market For Women Looking To Build Up Or Upgrade Their Wardrobes. These Websites Host A Kurti Design Catalog With A Range Of Kurtis, Dress Materials, Sarees, And More. The Best Part About A Wholesale Kurtis Website Includes The Quality, Variety, And Affordability Of All The Items Enlisted.

For Designer Kurtis Which Usually Cost A Lot In Terms Of Purchase From A Retail Store, Wholesale Kurtis Online Is The Ideal Option. The Sites Have A Variety Of Choice With Specialized Styling Partners And Recommendations According To The Inputs And The Purchasing Pattern Of Customers.

Out Of All The Websites That Sell Designer Kurtis, SM Creation Is An Ideal Choice. A Website That Is Not Only Verified By Thousands Of Customers In India And Abroad, But The Site Also Has Unbeatable Credibility To Its Name. For Those Who Are Looking For An Affordable Yet Diverse Range Of Range Designer Kurtis, SM Creation Is The Ideal Choice.

In Conclusion,

Designer Kurtis Are Stunning And Comfortable. Compared To Normal Kurtis, These Are Different In Terms Of The Work And The Make Of The Kurti. These Kurtis Are Appropriate For Any Occasion, But They Are Most Commonly Seen At Special Events. For Women Who Wish To Build A Wardrobe Of Ethnic Wear, Having 2-3 Designer Kurti Pieces Is A Must.

As Far As Color Is Concerned, No One Color Fits All. However, There Is A Range Of Colors That Are Suitable For Most Women With Indian Skin Tones. These Include White, Black, Navy Blue, Olive Green, Pink Hues, Pastels, And More. The Best Way To Find Out If A Color Matches The Skin Tone Is To Check The Amount Of Contrast And The Overall Feel Of The Clothing. We At SM Creation Recommend Building One’s Ethnic Wear Wardrobe From Wholesale Kurtis Online Stores That Offer A Range Of Options To Customers.

[gisachi]

Hi ^^ I know that your requests are now closed but I was thinking that, given you have written jealous Shinichi, I would very much enjoy some jealous Ran! Maybe you can mix it with one of the prompts? Just throwing the idea out there, no pressure. Delete this if you don't feel like it, it's okay really. Thank you for writing these amazing fics, the shinran fandom is in your debt. ❤️

So this is the last (!!!) and longest (!!!) of the kiss prompts, and I dedicate it to multiple-requests Anon and to this Anon. I hope both of you still see this. It took me a while. ^^;;

P.S. Special thanks to @artycreaty for keeping this in check. You are awesome. 🥰

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. 46. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart. (6,489 words)

.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She has hundreds of reasons not to. They’re merely childhood best friends. Life would be much easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven. Shinichi absolutely doesn’t look at her that way. And so forth.

She wonders why they’re even friends in the first place. If their parents hadn’t enrolled them in the same kindergarten, she was certain they wouldn’t even be on speaking terms. He lives in a world of grisly books and crimes, she in a world of martial and visual arts. Their hobbies don’t overlap. They excel in different fields. They enter the same university with completely unrelated majors. The only bond they have in common is their shared history. Literally bonded since they were four, until now at nineteen.

So when she sees him all jolly around his newfound circle who hold the same interest in Holmes or detective work, it shouldn’t surprise her as much. It’s part of university life, it’s normal, they expand their horizons, and Ran understands that it hits much differently when they bond with people who like the same stuff they do. Something she’s aware they cannot share a hundred percent.

She’s proud of him, and she absolutely has no right to feel jealous, especially when she sees him around taller, prettier, more interesting women from his course block. There is no reason for her to look away with a heavy weight in her chest everytime the women get giggly and touchy while he’s absorbed in narrating his stories.

Everytime she does, she reminds herself of how he didn’t seem to mind when she was casted as the protagonist of their high school play and the leading man was the handsome Araide-sensei. Or how he simply shrugged when she fawned over the brother of a classmate because he looked so much like the karate senpai she was crushing on. Or when she secretly caught Sonoko dragging the detective behind gym after P.E. to confront him about his opinion regarding an upperclassman courting Ran and his only response was, ‘She can like whoever she likes, Sonoko. I’m not her boyfriend.’

He never showed her any sign of jealousy, therefore he must not be into her. Simple as that. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him differently. Getting snarky just because he received sixteen new fan mails again, more now that they’re in uni, and two even coming from the popular criminology seniors he is often teased to? Or ignoring him unprecedentedly just because his eyes followed the back of a woman with long chestnut hair and voluptuous curves? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s bound to be attracted to someone else. This is a pill she ought to learn to swallow eventually.

Eventually.

“Shinichi-kun, you never told us about your scariest case yet, tell us about it?”

Kaori closes her notes and so do the other two girls across her, and Shinichi’s eyes twinkle. He truly seems to enjoy study sessions with the little group they made consisting of some of his and Ran’s coursemates because they love listening to his stories.

“At the top of my head is this murderer disguised as a bandaged man, and he targeted us one by one…” and so the detective drones. Ran pauses typing and reminisces quietly. Ah, that one from summer three years ago. I was almost injured by that crazy man during my sleep but Shinichi woke me up in time.

“Ran-san,” Shun, her friend and coursemate, mutters beside her, also stopping his typing to listen to the detective’s story. “It’s ridiculous how popular Kudou-kun is with the girls. He’s full of wild adventures.”

“Yes, he is,” Ran says, smiling. “He’s been a girl magnet ever since high school.”

She watches as Kaori inches closer to Shinichi, listening attentively, chin on her palm and flirtatious smile on her lips as the detective rants on and on.

For the third time that afternoon, Ran looks away.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She does, everyday, but it’s hard when he smiles at her, cares for her, holds her in a way she’s never seen him do for anyone else. It gives her hope every time the girls cling to him but he never touches them back, whereas he automatically slings his arm over her shoulder because she’s afraid or cold or he simply feels like it.

Then again, maybe she’s giving herself too much credit. Perhaps it’s a free pass for being around him for too long. She even gets to spend time with him during weekends and holidays. It isn’t special because it’s normal.

And that’s all she’ll ever be, a normal girl in his eyes.

“Ran? She’s pretty special.”

Ran reacts to the mention of her name and catches Shinichi looking at her. “She appears quiet but she can kick anyone’s ass without breaking a sweat. It’s bad if you cross her,” Shinichi gloats with a grin.

“Oh my god, really? We can bring her with us then!” Kaori claps her hands in excitement.

“Ah... But she won’t like that,” he follows up, wary. Ran has missed the topic they were talking about and now she’s curious.

“But ghosts aren’t real and Mouri-san can give them a good beating!”

“Gh-Ghosts?” The color in her cheeks drains, eyes freezing at Shinichi who has probably already expected that reaction, for he sports that same look of concern as those times he had expressed whenever she joined him in his way-past-bedtime elementary school adventures.

“We’ll investigate an abandoned house I always pass by walking home,” Kaori explains. “Last night I saw a faint cigarette light at the second floor window. It might be a fugitive or a homeless person or a ghost, who knows?”

“You don’t need to come if you don’t want to, Ran,” Shinichi assures.

Gulping, Ran contemplates whether going with them will do her any good. It’s a nice change, it’s been a while since she last tagged with Shinichi in his cases. But she isn’t exactly proud of shrieking like a little kid in front of serious criminology majors who may feel like she’ll drag their covert investigation down if she joins.

“...I’ll pass,” she answers meekly, and his coursemates sulk except Shinichi, who offers her a smile of understanding.

“Man, I thought we’ll be able to see Mouri-san in action!”

“That’s ok, maybe next time. We still have Shinichi-kun!”

“Shinichi-kun will protect us, ne?”

“Hah. Right. Invite Hakuba too, use him.”

“Oh c’mooon, Shinichi-kun!”

Ran closes her eyes, struggling to zone their voices out.

In her silence, Ran ponders if she has made a wrong choice.

.

.

Ran has no right to be jealous. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him this way.

The following weekend, Shinichi narrates what happened in their late-night investigation. Hakuba wasn’t there so Shinichi was the only available guy as usual. Ran refuses to hear any more details, both of the haunted house and secretly of the girls chancing onto him during the investigation. Shinichi is puzzled.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nah, just swamped with work.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to assist?”

“No.”

Her replies are curt from the couch of his house, not looking at Shinichi on the other end as she mindlessly cleans up her digital sketches. She hates how snappy she sounds but her brain is too absorbed with conjuring spiteful imaginations to even think of masking her annoyance.

“Ran, hey. Look at me.”

His low voice freezes her from drawing, and she slowly looks up to meet Shinichi’s serious eyes.

When this happens, she knows he’s reading her. She inwardly chants a prayer because now isn’t a good time. Whatever time isn’t a good time. She doesn’t know what to say when she’s aware everything she’s been feeling is irrational and unfair. She’s being selfish.

“You’re… stressed.”

“No, I’m… Eh?”

He scoots closer, an arm’s length away. “Your dark circles are more prominent now, you need a break.” His eyes turn a soft blue. “Let’s have dinner out? My treat.”

Ran is surprised, to say the least. The last time he invited her out was two weeks ago. She’s become so used to seeing him around others that any initiative from him sounds too good to be true.

“But I need to finish this project by tonight.”

“Let’s have food delivery then!” Shinichi announces, not rattled by Ran’s indirect refusal. “I know exactly what you want. Ramen and shaved ice.”

Her eyes thin at the absurdly goofy expression she knows he makes when he’s being mischievous. “Clearly you’re ordering that ramen for yourself. I only like shaved ice.”

“Damn! Miss Detective gets it.” A mile-wide grin stretches across his face, earning an eye roll from the half-smiling woman. “Let’s eat together on your short break, please?”

He leans within a respectful distance and she sees his smile better, pair of kind eyes locking with her overworked ones. “It’s been a while.”

Her heart throbs for him. So much.

She caves - of course she does - and breathes her acquiescence.

After two long weeks, they have dinner together, just them and Shinichi’s ramen and Ran’s donburi and shaved ice, Shinichi taking a spoonful of dessert from the cup when she isn’t looking and Ran snatching a slurp from his take-out bowl and laughing when he catches her.

With how heartfelt his laughter is in her presence devoid of any mysteries, Ran knows she’s probably giving herself too much credit, but for once she wants to believe she is the cause of why Shinichi’s happy.

Just for that night, she gives it to herself.

She’ll change the dark colors of her digital artwork to brighter ones after they eat.

.

.

Despite everything, Ran finds it difficult to contain her recurring jealousy.

The more she shares precious time with him, the more it gets harder to suppress the selfish emotions. What is so unsatisfying about being the best friend is that she is only the best friend. No more no less. At the end of the day, she isn’t the one he gets to cuddle with, to tease then kiss, to tell ‘I love you’ to, romantically.

“I love you.”

Ran feels her heart about to leap out of her chest.

“But please. Stop. Tearing. The. Cushions!”

The little furball he has scooped underneath a throw pillow wiggle from his grasp. The kitten and detective engage in a brief staring showdown before it jumps away to hide under a farther couch.

Snapping out of reverie, Ran watches her childhood friend slink dejectedly onto the partly scratched furniture. He’s fortunate enough that his mother isn’t around to give him a long lecture on Why Pets Aren’t Allowed in the House 101. She can always take Yukiko-san’s role and reprimand him for it, but as for this and the cat, she finds herself not wanting to intervene.

“Kaori-san sure is taking her time with her parent’s permission. By the time she does, Momo would’ve shredded all the pillows in this house.”

“You named the cat?” Ran asks, amused.

“She did.” He thinks for a moment, then sniggers. “Actually I did. I suggested a random name. She took it.”

Ran merely hums. What can she say? They’re getting close. Close enough to team up as parents to an adopted kitten.

“I’m surprised you also agreed to keep Momo when you never took in animals before.”

“Kaori said she’ll treat me to the latest Detective Samonji movie this weekend if I do. Can’t resist that.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then he turns to her.

“Wanna join? I can ask her to count you in since you’re kinda helpi—”

“N-no need,” Ran quips, “It’s—It’s fine.”

“No really,” Shinichi insists, “Kaori-san has a lot of money, she—”

“I’m going to Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum with Shun-san this weekend... so... I can’t.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“It’s, um, for a project,” she bolsters.

“I know.” The faintest smile graces his lips. “It’s your thing. Both of you.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that.

“Shinichi, you’re a detective, right?” she blurts out of the blue.

“Yeah...and?”

Then deduce what I feel. Here and now.

“Then you’re going to enjoy that movie!” Ran forces a beam, giving Shinichi a thumb of approval. “And you can discuss it with Kaori-san over dinner. I’m sure you two have a lot to say about it.”

Shinichi’s eyes linger on her, reading her like a book, and Ran has her mind reeling again, afraid to be read.

“Yeah, we do,” he finally says, ending the conversation.

Only a few words are uttered the rest of the afternoon.

Momo resurfaces and curls beside Shinichi.

Momo’s purring is loud, but Ran’s shattering heart is louder.

.

.

Ran must not feel jealous. She is not a girlfriend.

Because she isn’t a girlfriend, he’s free to fall for and date anyone else. Who is she to gatekeep him? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s one big catch. Ran believes she’s a big catch, too. With the way she loves dearly, her future boyfriend is going to be very lucky.

Her future boyfriend is not going to be him.

“...mber the required fieldwork in one of my majors I told you? We actually go by batches. The first batch did theirs last month. The second batch was last week… and I— Ran, are you listening?”

“Ah! Yes,” Ran notices they have already reached her station and are now walking two blocks to her apartment. “Your fieldwork, right?”

“...Yeah,” he carries on. “I’m in the last batch... This whole winter break.”

“I see, I understand.” She smiles, getting what he means. No Christmas or New Year’s Eve together. The first time since they’re four. It’s fine, honestly. If it’s a required activity, then there’s really no way to go about it. She isn’t going to lash out just because she can’t be with him in her most favorite time of the year.

“And Hattori-kun and Hakuba-kun will be with you?”

“Hattori did his last month. Hakuba is in the previous batch. I’ll be stuck with the girls.”

Ran’s heart momentarily squeezes. “Where will your fieldwork be?”

“In Akita.”

Her pupils constrict. “That far?”

“Yes... so to cut on expenses, Kaori-san offered her house for me and the others to stay while we’re there—”

Kaori. Again with the tall, beautiful, intelligent Kaori. She bets it’s amazing to spend the holidays doing what he loves and with Kaori beside her, snuggling with him by the fireplace in a romantic snowy night and she might even confess, and it’ll be a great catch for Shinichi, and he’ll return with a girlfriend, and—

“Kaori-san is lucky.” The words flow out of her mouth, unbridled.

Shinichi looks at her. “Lucky?”

Ran remains quiet and keeps walking. It’s dangerous to say anything. She only has one thing in her mind and she doesn’t want to say it out loud. She has no right.

“Ran, hey.”

She doesn’t stop walking.

“Ran.”

She ignores his call.

“Ran… you’re jealous.”

She stops walking.

“Excuse me?”

“...You’re jealous…” Shinichi repeats quietly.

A contrast to his calm tone, his irises beset hers in the cold twilight and Ran attempts to shield herself but her bag and umbrella are in the way. She thinks of turning away but her feet are frigid like icicles, and Shinichi steps closer.

For the third time, he declares, “You’re jealous.”

Hearing her thoughts echo through his words renders her speechless.

It seems to take a moment before Shinichi’s brow arches, lips curl up as his eyes refuse to stray, and she hears a faint exhale even, like he’s exasperated, and suddenly he’s smiling - or is he smirking? sneering? - and...and...

It stings, is her immediate reaction.

For the longest time, she’d wanted him to take a hint. But if she had known this was how he’d react, she’d rather live a life having him oblivious of her emotional struggle. Dealing with that is more tolerable than witnessing him gaze her down in blatant mockery. He sneers as though he’s about to crack a joke and move on and forget such a laughable matter. That’s the last form of acknowledgment she wants for her honest feelings.

Heartbreak and shame and pain build up in her chest like a volcano closing eruption. Water begins to cloud her vision. She clenches her fist tight on her umbrella and Shinichi notices, and he takes another step forward.

“Ran…?”

“I am not, and you’re a fool.”

In a span of a breath, she’s sprinting in the opposite direction, tracing the path where they have walked, ignoring the distant yells of her name behind her. She runs and runs, and as she runs farther, with her thoughts muddy and breath short and dry, she wonders if she may have overreacted.

If he’s done that on purpose, screw him. If not, screw her.

After all, they are merely friends and she has no logical reason to act this way.

“Stop... running... will you!”

She hears heavy footsteps close in. It takes all the energy Ran has to prevent herself from turning her body around but his strong grip overpowers her.

“Let me go!”

“Why are you running?!”

“I can’t...deal with you!”

“Why? Was I right?”

“Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter!”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I am your best friend!”

On another occasion, she would’ve successfully jilted away and run farther, but Ran is floored when he yanks her into a one-armed hug, so floored she drops her umbrella to the snowy ground.

“Stop saying that!” he hisses in her ear, frustration apparent.

“What are you— Let me go!”

He hugs her tighter.

“If you don’t let go in three seconds, I will screa—”

“I am happy!”

Ran stops struggling, eyes widening in shock.

Icy huffs tickle her neck as he half shouts, “I’m happy you feel that way!”

“You’re...You’re happy because I’m suffering?”

“What? No! I—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How?” The hurt in her tone is impeccable, prattling muffled against his chest as she spares him no moment to butt in. “You think I wanted to feel this? That I enjoy griping in helpless jealousy? And you’re rejoicing that I am? How full of yourself can you be?!”

“That’s not...You don’t underst—”

“I do understand! I understand that I am so incredibly stupid for catching this disgusting heap of emotions for an obnoxious, stuck-up deduction maniac that is my best friend and maybe it’s better after all that he never, ever sees me the way I see him!”

“Stop saying that, Ran!”

She thinks he has broken away, but he drags her back with an insistent tug, crashing his lips onto hers as she stumbles into his arms.

All willpower rippling through her disintegrates quickly like snow in high heat.

An impatient pop resonates as he separates, eyes slowly opening, breath thick and ragged.

“I know that is not how we explain things, but does that explain anything?”

She hears it. The madness. But more than madness, yearning bleeds through his voice so much that her frustration turns into physical pain. Blinded by an all-consuming ache, she tips her chin and presses her lips back against his, demanding for cure in the wrong place. Shinichi freezes, then relaxes. He moves his hand to her nape, four fingers in her hair, thumb treading her jaw.

They look like a scene in a movie.

Under his umbrella and hidden from view, they communicate through brushing lips and tilting heads. His mouth closing over hers with gentle force, her hands splaying across his chest, heavy with something that makes his heart pound under them.

She is so lost in the chase and his tender embrace that for a second she forgets she is kissing her best friend.

Best friend.

This doesn’t explain anything. It worsens it.

She pulls back, ending what she has so recklessly started. “N-no, I’m— No.”

She pushes him away, gathers the stuff she drops, and runs without looking back.

“Ran!”

He shouts her name. Twice.

On the third call, his footfalls die down. On the fourth, he stops running.

She doesn’t.

.

.

Thirty minutes before midnight, Ran stands outside his gate, boots buried half foot under the snow as she rings his intercom for the second time, thinking to herself how foolish she must be to cut communications with him for a week and then show up his doorstep looking miserable like a stood-up date.

It’s the start of winter break.

He’ll leave for Akita in ten hours.

She needs to give his Christmas present before his departure.

She’s crazy, pathetic, still frustrated, and hurtfully in love.

“Oi. You better have a good explanation for why you’re buzzing at goddamn midnig—”

“Shinichi.”

His surprised gasp is apparent even through the intercom. A rustle follows and with a croaky voice, he responds. “...Ran.”

Surely he isn’t expecting this. Not after the tantrum she threw days ago. He probably thinks she hates him more than ever. But what she truly feels is more overwhelming than all negative emotions combined, and may god grant her all the strength to address it all, tonight.

“May I come in?”

“The house is—The house is a mess I, um. I’m packing my stuff for...”

“I’ll help you.”

“...”

She’ll understand if he decides to turn her down. But the answer that follows the deafening pause is a low and quiet ‘Okay’.

Despite psyching herself hours before she came, courage wanes when he opens the front door and gate in his pullovers. She is welcomed in, and the trip up his room is wordless. Shinichi only talks when he points out that he’s already packed clothes for two days and will need help for two weeks’ worth. He lamely laughs when he instructs her to pick the tops and layers, and he’ll take care of the pants and underwear.

On a normal instance, she would’ve humored him and they would’ve been talking right after. Now she simply pulls an empty smile and then they fall back into silence.

She supposes he’s trying to act unbothered, to treat what happened a week ago as a one-and-done glitch in their friendship, never to be discussed again. She cannot fault him when she’s trying to do the same. But it’s not easy when in the stillness of the night the echo of their altercation howls, raging persistently in their ears.

What has he been thinking of for the past week?

Has he been kept up all night by the words she said and the words he left unspoken?

Are they still friends? Will they still be friends after this?

The kiss... What about the kiss?

So many questions. So little words. So little time.

Ran is seated on the floor, folding shirts and stuffing them neatly in his duffel bag. Her back faces Shinichi who is sorting out bottoms in his cabinet. She senses him sit on the floor, back against her but not touching. Neither dares to speak first.

A ringing phone cuts the silence.

“Mm, still awake. Good for two weeks right? Gotcha. No, I’ll meet you girls at the station, no need to fetch me. Pfft. I can walk. Ok, see you tomorrow.”

If Ran wasn’t so hyperaware of where she is and what she’s done, her mood would’ve shifted to the one she’d been trying to avoid. Now isn’t the time to think about that. Midnight sneaking out to go to his house is something she wouldn’t do even on good days. She scans her bag on the far couch, deliberately bringing a bigger one to hide his gift. Maybe she can just sneak it in his bag and leave once she’s done and he’ll discover it only when he’s prefectures away. Brown has always suited him, and he’ll definitely find the overcoat useful as spare protective gear.

That’s right. She always cares for him like this. She is his best friend first, and... and nothing second.

“Don’t just leave after putting your present in my bag. At this hour, I can’t let you walk home alone,” he says swiftly.

Ran’s eyes fly wide.

“How did you…”

He doesn’t say anything and continues with his business.

Again with the throat-drying silence.

Something in Ran’s gut compels her to speak, but she is surprised when he does first.

“I... I don’t like Kaori-san. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ran stiffens, pausing mid-motion from folding. “I’m not…”

He leans his back completely against her and she shudders, voice reverberating through her skin. “Ran, if you could just hear me out.”

Unable to talk and move, she does.

“Kaori-san and the rest... They know I love mysteries. They know I want to build my own private detective agency. They know my favorite Holmes’ story is The Sign of Four. They know how many crimes I solved in Tokyo. All the information about me which anyone can read from the internet and newspaper and from what I told them when they ask, they know. Ran, you know all that. All that and more.”

He angles his head to the ceiling as if he’s talking to someone there. Ran supports his weight, curling to her knees as she silently listens.

“You know of my first ever deduction because Christ, my first deduction was about you. You know of the two cases which haunt me until this day because I watched the culprit die in front of my very eyes. You were with me the nights I locked myself in here thinking about them. You know of the interesting, the boring, the absurd cases, everything, because I told you or you were there. You know of the odd way I play the violin while I ponder over a case. You know I forget to eat when swamped with new books to read. I have three copies of The Sign of Four but the one I keep beside my bed and read almost weekly is the one you gave me on my tenth birthday and that is all I need. You know me for me, Ran. Everything about me that is off the record, the good and the bad, you know all of those. Only you. The same way I do... about you.”

She feels him crane slightly to the side, addressing her.

“Ran.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Ran’s heart almost completely stops beating.

“I love you,” he whispers, “more than I am even supposed to.”

All words seem to have fizzled out of her vocabulary as she sits still, stunned at what she’s hearing.

“I’m happy growing up with you, studying with you, bickering with you, acting stupid with you, investigating with you, eating with you, napping with you, hugging you, holding you, taking care of you, simply... being with you. Before I know it, it’s not the cases or Holmes or mysteries that complete my days, it’s you.

“For you to keep repeating that ‘best friend’ phrase, I…” He lowers his head.

“For who knows how long, I’ve loved you as that and more.”

Someone pinch her because in no way can this be real.

“I was happy thinking you’re jealous because it meant a sliver of chance you feel the same way. We could’ve remedied the misunderstanding easily, Ran. We could’ve talked it over like we always do. But I was stupid and emotions were high and in the end I… kissed you…” he takes another deep breath, “But—but you kissed me back, and my heart couldn’t stay still...”

Pulse drumming loud, Ran tilts her head on the side where he leans, wanting to see the slightest expression he makes as he continues.

“If my deductions are wrong and you’re mad for a different reason, and—and you returned that for a different reason...” she hears the pang of remorse in his tone, “then please forget I ever said anything and I’ll leave myself to die in humiliation once I’m out of your sight.”

He lays one palm flat on the floor and she notices.

“But if my deductions are right and you were indeed jealous, I...” She feels his head swivel enough to feel his warm breath fan across her cheek, before shifting back front and releasing a slow, guttural exhale he’s kept contained within.

“I’ll wait... until you accept it. Accept me.”

Ran may have choked on her throat for how long she’s held her breath.

In spite of herself, she knows she doesn’t need to think of what to say. She had it all in her head before coming here. Yet expressing it out loud is a different matter.

She isn’t ready, but when will she ever be ready? Shinichi undoubtedly isn’t too. Yet here he is, laying the groundwork for her, no holds barred and a stuttering mess at that. How she plans to build from it is the question she asks herself next.

Inhaling as though bracing herself, she places a hand beside him, pinky slightly grazing his.

“I didn’t... You never showed any signs.”

Careful and calm, he extends his little finger over hers. She doesn’t flinch, and both hands crawl closer until two fingers overlap.

“Either I’m a great pretender or you’re incredibly dense.”

“I’m...I’m not dense.”

“I’m a bad actor, then.” He slides his hand further.

“I was trying so hard to be a supportive best friend for you.”

“I sensed that but ignored it because I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You did though. Now we’re here.”

“Would you rather we aren’t?”

“I would rather we spend the last weeks of this year talking like normal than being stupid idiots before you leave.”

“It’s just two weeks, Ran.”

“Two special weeks I would’ve wanted to spend with my best frien-... with you.”

Without knowing it, his hand has completely nestled atop hers, four fingers curled between her thumb and index finger.

“Ran... You must really hate the idea of falling in love with me.”

“Eh?”

“You’re so wrapped with the thought that we’re simply best friends that you hold your love in chains as though it isn’t permitted to grow.”

“I… I didn’t want to ruin the only connection we have-”

“Two friends falling in love are still friends… They are also more. You cannot ruin an indefeasible connection. Friendship and love may be the only bond we have, but they’re the most important bond of all.”

Ran falls quiet.

“Geez…”

He releases a thick sigh, brushes his thumb across her splayed fingers.

“I have shit art appreciation skills, but I can take you to museums too... as a friend and as a date.” A beat, and a mumble. “Even to better museums than Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum.”

She darts her head sideways, realizing something.

“Were you also…?”

“No.”

Ran doesn’t suppress the heartfelt giggle that bubbles out.

“Shun-san has a boyfriend, Shinichi.”

“I—” he pauses. “I wasn’t asking.” Ran giggles more.

“Shinichi.”

“Yes.”

“I love you too.”

The hand above squishes hers all too suddenly like he’s been blown away and is needing something to hold onto.

“I came here to give your present and to apologize for being so shallow and for acting without thinking and for a lot of things actually... but now I feel there’s no need, because then I wouldn’t have...” She looks down at their intertwined hands.

Before she can return his squeeze, he recoils.

“Oh, y-you do apologize. Running away like that.” He coughs, and she can practically hear the tripping in his tone.

“Aren’t you already used to it? I’ve done it many times,” she chides.

“No. Apologize,” he insists. “And look at me while you do.”

Ran’s stomach twists, heart kicking up a step.

It’s easy to talk without eye contact, but to be requested so after confessions are exchanged—

“Face me, Ran.”

The familiar voice of yearning strums her heartstrings, tone sounding a lot like a plea than an order and Ran finds her head instinctively craning at an angle, hand coiling on the floor trying to calm her nervous beating heart. She feels him shift behind as well.

She takes all her time to face him, partly unsure what to do, partly knowing exactly what she wants to do. Despite the deliberate slowness of their movements, it is when they lock eyes that time truly seems to stop.

Shinichi appears so different, so soulful. His blue irises glimmering, fixated on nothing but her as she reveres him with matching intensity. The same guy she treats as her best friend looks at her with tender love in his eyes, darting down her lips and up like no best friend ever would.

“I love you,” he says, breathless. “Make me your boyfriend.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over her, heartbeat fluttering in overdrive as they huddle on the floor, bags and clothes and time forgotten.

“From best friend to... such a shift-”

“Nothing will be different.” He rests his forehead on hers, gaze of soft blue patient though more intimate now, knowing what they share is mutual. “We’ll still do what we do... With exclusive romantic commitment and sweet nothings that translate to ‘I love you’ in more ways than one.”

She attempts a jab on his chest but he catches her fist, soft but jesting beam all too apparent and she does but play along.

“What about when we fight?” she asks.

“Same. But...” he slides a thumb over her quiet lips, parting them slightly, “I can do this once we make up.”

“...Like right now?”

“Like right now.”

A genuine smile is the last thing she sees before delicate pair of lips lands on hers, capping their one-week fight and their last night of the year together in the best and most unexpected way imaginable.

.

.

Ran keeps telling herself she shouldn’t be jealous.

Not because they are simply best friends, because they aren’t. Not because life would be easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven, because it wouldn’t.

Not because Shinichi doesn’t look at her that way, because he does.

She shouldn’t be jealous because she absolutely has no reason to, is all.

“I haven’t forgotten about your present. I was planning to buy yours in Akita.”

“Stop lying, you totally forgot it.”

“I didn’t. Stop that.” Half-mast eyes rake her side profile, and Ran covers a mirthful grin with her mitted hand holding the umbrella, then yawns. Hours of packing and talking and laughing left them with roughly four hours of sleep. It isn’t like she slept the whole period because while sleeping in his room isn’t new, cuddling while they sleep is. Ran couldn’t simply shut her eyes and heart to that.

“I believe though,” he wraps a hand around her free one, pocketing both of them in his brand new overcoat, “I gave half of my present already.”

“Hnn. That doesn’t count as a gift.” Her hand shifted, coddling his own to a warm fit.

“Really?” A smug smirk pulls up his face. “I believe I am a nice present, Ran. That’s why they—”

“Screw this. You are unbelievable. A humbug. Why do people like you.”

“I know. Why do you like me?” Shinichi laughs as he avoids the swing of her umbrella.

From afar, they see Kaori and the girls at the meet-up point outside Tokyo Station, though they seem unaware of their presence yet. Suddenly feeling conscious, Ran feels the urge to disentangle her hand, but Shinichi holds on, firm.

“Why?” He asks in a low voice.

“I dunno… maybe this isn’t the best time…”

“Isn’t now the best time?” His smile is proud and natural, not one ounce of reluctance visible.

Although she gets what he means, that doesn’t free her of shyness and guilt. Somehow she feels like apologizing to Kaori for… she doesn’t know. She just wants to. Letting her see them like this makes her think that she’s giving her an indirect slap on the face. Shinichi certainly won’t agree because ‘What’s with women and their logic?’, but still, whether or not it’s all in her head, Ran needs more time to prepare for this.

But to her surprise, Shinichi lets go of her hand. They are still a few feet from view when he steps in front of her and turns around. “Maah, fine, I get it,” he huffs, then smiles. “Then, just give me your umbrella.”

The moment she does, Shinichi closes their distance and dips his face onto hers. Ran is given no leeway to gasp as loving lips seal her quiet. It isn’t as long as what they shared a week ago, but the emotions are loaded and full, speaking fond thanks and temporary farewell.

She doesn’t realize she has closed her eyes until he separates, and she’s met with the most tender, most angelic expression he wears only on the rarest occasions. He’s saying without telling that her feelings are valid, she doesn’t have to worry,  and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but her. Somehow, the snow is the sea and fish are swarming around but neither cares because they have already caught each other.

“You don’t have to, silly.” Three layers of pink blanket Ran’s puffy cheeks.

“But I want to.” Grinning, Shinichi hands her back the umbrella. “You don’t like hand-holding. You don’t like being seen. Don’t you think that’s a great compromise?”

“Idiot, many people saw...”

“No, they didn’t!” Upping the duffel bag slung on his shoulder, he steps back and gives her one last goofy beam. “I’ll see you next year, Ran. I’ll call as often as I can.”

Wordlessly, Ran watches Shinichi’s back as he jogs to his waiting companions, who by then have already had their eyes pinned on the approaching figure.

“That is Shinichi-kun! ...And Mouri-san!”

“Ehhh!!?! You’re a thing!”

So much for being subtle, Ran flushes inwardly as she returns the wave the other girls are giving her. At that moment she really does feel immature for her past conduct. All of them are sweet. Even Kaori.

“I knew it Shinichi-kun! Mouri-san is sooo lucky, I’m so jealous!” Ran hears their banter and sees her jab his bicep before acknowledging her. “We’ll take care of him, Mouri-san!”

The Ran from one week ago would’ve had her heart crushed by such declaration, but now she’s nothing but pleased and the smile that forms across her lips is nothing but honest. “Make sure he doesn’t drag your group into a random dead body, Kaori-san!”

“Hey!” surfaces Shinichi’s shout amidst the mincing laughter of the group and the onlooking passers-by, and Ran bids her last wave before they enter the station.

Smiling to herself, Ran returns home, the lingering promise of his kiss committed to memory, knowing that she doesn’t have to get jealous because she has no reason to. Their indefeasible bond is all the assurance she needs.

.

.

.

[rhysismydaddy]

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin. 

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had. 

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard. 

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian. 

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain. 

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting. 

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know. 

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying. 

“Konechno.” Of course. 

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again. 

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death. 

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman. 

My father is an arms-dealer. 

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy. 

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t. 

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty. 

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people. 

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly. 

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer. 

“Starik,” I tease. Old man. 

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York. 

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise. 

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase. 

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital. 

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait. 

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details. 

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé. 

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored. 

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him. 

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option. 

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room. 

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature. 

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more. 

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest. 

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name. 

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now. 

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected. 

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello. 

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield. 

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello. 

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction. 

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave. 

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck. 

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys. 

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official. 

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual. 

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it. 

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[iwannaseeyainakia]

The Moonlight Circus

This was a story I was commissioned to write by an anonymous tumblr user. Thought it would be good to show my writing and see how it changes over time!

trigger warning: gore, smoking, religious and supernatural themes, death, minor profanity

The heel of Morgan’s boots clicked against the checkered flooring of the circus. She made her way to the center of the stage, her stride casual. She readjusted her gray beanie as she climbed up the steps. The plastic name tag below her collarbone wobbled with each step. The words “Moonlight Circus” in Courier New font rested above her first name.  The floor of the stage was filthy; ash and soot smeared into the once pristine black and white pattern. Her pale green eyes followed a line of ash leading to a rusted cast-iron cannon. The smell of burnt flesh lingered in the air.  

She exhaled softly, reached into the pocket of her ‘Metallica’ pullover, and pulled out a lavender lighter and a worn pack of Newport cigarettes. She yanked one out of the box and shoved it in her hoodie again. Her black bitten nails struggled to start a flame before she victoriously held it to her cigarette, finally lighting it. A pewter gray smog released from the very tip, emitting a bitter comforting scent. She lifted her hand to her face, the cig clenched between her middle and pointer finger. As the paper touched her pale lips, the once vermillion embers shifted to a startling violet and the musty gray smoke suddenly turned a mauve tone. Morgan took a long drag of the strange purple cigarette while taking in her surroundings.  

The massive tent surrounding her was a striped pattern of burgundy and eggshell white.  The fabric was contrastingly cleaner than the stage of the ‘Moonlight Circus.’ The seating for guests was discolored bleachers; the aluminum being stained and scratched away by years of usage and lack of cleanliness. Many hot dogs drenched in mustard and bags of popcorn must have been dropped on it. There were multiple stacked on either side of the tent. The elevated stage had an outer ring surrounded by dark crimson foam. A round indoor pool was 15 feet away from her, the bottom of the pool a dirty yellow tint. Scales and confetti floated at the surface of the tainted water. 

 Large LED stage lights were set up at the ceiling of the canvass. Each was about the size of a child and contained a lens of different hues. They dimly lit the stage white. The tent was held up by dozens of rods with a singular large black pole at the center. The fabric bunched together and pulled up; it looked almost as if the very top of the tent was a tunnel that led nowhere, the stripes creating a dizzying optical illusion.  

The circus itself was located in a cheap amusement park; the locals treasured this place. It was affordable and held plenty of memories dear to their hearts. The Moonlight Circus was the main event, the park's pièce de résistance if you will.  

They had crowds of people flood the show every day. Bright smiles beamed on the faces of children and content parents awaited a trip down memory lane, nostalgia a pleasant high. After all, who wouldn’t be entranced by real-life monsters? 

Morgan released a puff of amethyst smoke, gently laying the cigarette between her lips again and keeping it there. She proceeded to stuff her hands in her pockets before an elegant voice called out to her, disrupting her daze.  

“Are you ready for the next show Morgana?” The feminine voice was gentle and motherly. She spoke each word with a grace that held centuries of wisdom. Her thick French accent was gorgeous; her voice matched exactly how she appeared. Morgan casually turned around and sent the woman a closed smile. Guinevere was a being of beauty, a true spectacle to behold. She was a small woman, approximately 5’2, petite but with a stance that conveyed raw strength. Her billowing pitch-black gown strewn behind her as she sashayed her direction. Her arms gently swung at her hips, an opera-length cigarette holder between the dainty fingers of her left hand. The skin of said hand was a pale blue-gray. The center of the long pipe was a silver fading into an intense black; a cigarette burning blood red at the end of it. Morgan glanced at her long dark hair. It was bone straight and swung behind her waist. The fringe of her locks covered her right eye, but Morgan could still make out a piercing iris a startling shade of red.  

“Hey, Gwen. Yeah, pretty much. Is everyone in the dressing room right now?” She inquired as the monster woman stood in front of her. Gwen gripped the edge of her large ebony sunhat, cigarette holder still between her fingers. The brim of the apparel was big enough to cover most of her hauntingly beautiful face. Lace hung half an inch off the seams and thin royal purple sticks of dynamite adorned the outer ring. While the entire hat was an eye-catcher; a nod to her part in the circus, the true emphasis of the hat was the large skull littered with cracks and yellow stains from tobacco. 

“Yes, and they’re taking damn long if I do say so myself.” The skull quipped judgmentally. Morgan chuckled. Gwen was not so amused by her husband’s comment. 

“Hush Pierre. No need to be snippy.” Guinevere jutted her hip out and placed her right hand on it to convey her sass. The skull instead, haughtily laughed at his wife. She rolled her eyes but could not contain the fond smile that grew on her lips, exposing her sharp fangs.  Despite all the time that’s passed, she still couldn’t fight how easily Pierre made her grin ear to ear. “Don’t mind him, Morgana, we’d best be on our way to prepare.” Gwen gripped Morgan’s wrist and tugged her along in the direction of the dressing room. 

Guinevere was the owner of the Moonlight Circus. A wonderful boss indeed, she felt more like a friend she’d known all her life than her superior. She also was a woman with a dream: to unite humans and monsters through entertainment. Humans used to fear the supernatural, loath it with their very being, but in this day and age, they take great pleasure in the abnormalities of the differing species. Harmony is built in this circus; humans come for entertainment and to admire the beautiful, violent specters, and the monster women give it to them. Gwen, a vampire, found joy in making others happy with her performance and her performers. 

 She often sat with Morgan under the night sky, gazing at the stars with a fond expression, spilling her life story to her. 

As a young girl, Guinevere was dazzled by monster kind. Born human, she felt there was so much to be discovered in magic and mythology. She felt it a shame that humanity was so quick to turn a blind eye to something so beautiful due to its differences in appearance. Her inclination in performing arts made her dream of a world where she could use performance to change a deep-seeded ideal within the societal structure. She’d sit next to her window sill, eyes twinkling with delight, wishing upon stars that someday her dream would become reality.  

For a woman such as herself, an objective of that nature was unheard of; impossible even. Nonetheless, she persevered. She wanted to tell the world that as a woman she would create art like no other and she would make a change for the supernatural of all origins. With a cigar between her lips, she rolled up the sleeves of her dress and got to work. She specifically sought out other women of mythological backgrounds for her acts. By 1890, she’d created the “Moonlight Circus” with the help of supernatural people she’d met along the way. In a small corner of Paris, France, it stayed. Given that monsters were still looked down upon by mankind, they’d been spit on, leered at, and dismissed by the public. As decades passed without much luck, her hope slowly began to dwindle. 

Gwen spent many restless nights wandering the streets of Paris, desperately trying to spread word of the big top containing wonderous spectacles to no avail. Just as she was close to giving up an aspiration she’d clutched tight since childhood, an American traveling carnival approached her. The owner, a large man who was only ever seen adorning a velvet suit, believed there was promise in her bazaar. He saw something no one else but Guinevere considered possible: an opportunity for change. In a society where her family within the tent were nothing but social rejects, outcasts; they along with everyone like them could be so much more. The man, kinder than Gwen could have ever hoped, opened up about his beliefs and desire to have her circus as an attraction in his fair. And she accepted with insurmountable glee.  

So, a new chapter for the big top began. With this foreign carnival, she traveled and built up her crew from nothing but sheer will. She continued her exploration and found many monstrous beings with the same ideology to join as performers. Word soon got out of the fantastical bazaar that made its way around the world. As opinions of the inhuman began to evolve with new generations, so too did their desire to know more. And eventually, they had a crowd; an adoring audience astounded by the display of otherworldly figures. Now, the carnival has made its permanent home in New Mexico, USA, and the circus by extension.  

“Think it’ll be packed tonight, Gwen?” Morgan already knew the answer, but figured it would be polite to make small talk.  

“Yes, absolutely my dear.” Guinevere continued to drag her to a slit in the circus tent. She placed her cigarette holder between her lips and used her palm to gently spread the opening, revealing a backstage area. It was renovated to be a dressing room; gothic aesthetic to match the theme, for all the performers pre-show. It was a much smaller canopy structure installed into the side of the main show tent. Despite the ground being grassy terrain, the room itself was well done. Dark oak vanities covered the walls, steampunk and alternative costumes littered any free space, and makeup laid atop every flat surface.  The spherical bulbs lining the mirror of the vanities were all lit a dim white light, illuminating the room enough so it was not pitch black.  

Light chatter and giggles filled the room as everyone who performed in the circus continued to get ready. 

The first person to notice Morgan’s sudden appearance was Gwen’s daughter, Victoria. Her eyes instantly brightened and a large Cheshire grin grew to meet her eyes. Vicky’s poofy raven black dress bounced as she sprinted towards her. The ivory petticoat underneath made the lace skirt fuller and frilly. The undead theme seemed to run in the family; Vicky being the zombie to her mother's bloodsucker and her father's skeletal remains. Her skin and teeth were rotten and oozing. Her hair was almost floor-length, and unbelievably matted. The knots at the base of her skull were so large you could have mistaken them for golf balls wrapped inside her tresses. A pair of filthy copper goggles rested on her forehead, the lenses murky and caked in blood. Between her toothy smile was a large cigar. There was no way to pinpoint the brand, as it was only labeled with a strange rune Morgan had never seen before.  Apparently, she had been taking a drag from the cigar, because smoke began to leak out of the holes in her skin.

Vicky launched her small form into Morgan’s arms. Morgan struggled to grip her as the foul stench her rotten flesh emanated was near unbearable. Swallowing down an audible gag, she smiled at the little girl before placing her gently back onto the grass.  

“Morgan! You’re going to love my act tonight.” Victoria loudly claimed, holding her fists to her chest with a grin still plastered upon her lips. Morgan couldn’t help but return the expression. Vicky was a sweet girl. A demented undead one, but sweet nonetheless. “I’m sure I will, Vicky. You’ll kill it tonight.” She seemed to have chosen the right words, because Vicky’s grin only got wider as she bounced up and down, skirt floating with her movement. She made gestures referencing explosions and tried to explain how her act tonight would go, but her words were so jumbled they were not understandable in the slightest. Her enthusiasm continued to increase alongside her violent movements before her mother placed a hand on her small shoulder.  

“Now, now Victoria, you’re talking so fast no one can understand you, dear. She’ll get to see your performance soon anyway, so let's keep it a surprise.” Gwen chided her daughter sweetly. “Ok, mommy.” Vicky heeded her mother's words and scurried to the side to search for her favorite lighter, cigar bouncing between her decayed teeth.  Cigar smoke trailed behind her figure. Gwen shook her head at her daughter’s antics, gripping the cig holder between her lips to take in a puff of nicotine. 

Victoria was the product of forbidden love between Guinevere and Pierre, a formerly vampiric man she’d encountered while searching for spectacles to join her circus. The traveling carnival had traversed Europe and decided to take camp for a while in the French countryside. Gwen had been overjoyed to be in her mother country again. She languished in the smell of the air and the sounds of nature like music to her ears. On a particularly stormy night, a vampire man with hair as light as wheat and skin as pale as snow knocked at the door of her bedroom within a quaint little inn. She opened the door to see him drenched in rain. The revenant, Pierre, gave her a goofy smile and asked for a part in her monstrous sideshow. 

While puzzled, she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity. Pierre and Guinevere grew close the more they worked at the fair together. They both had a passion for performing and magic. Romance blossomed; eventually, they eloped and she became pregnant. It was uncommon for vampires to conceive children, let alone with one of mankind. Guinevere was a woman of adventure and risk, so she took this new development in stride. In the excitement of her family growing larger, she decided to have Pierre turn her. Neither realized the possible problems that would arise from changing her into a vampire while bearing a child.  

And so, when Victoria was born, she was sickly and frail in every sense. Her genetics were corrupted by the change her mother took on while carrying her. Her personality, though, could be described as nothing but robust. Vicky as a toddler would often act as if she were not terminally ill; watching the acts in her mother’s circus with enraptured eyes, even participating in the choreography herself from time to time. 

Guinevere often spoke of a time in which Vicky had climbed into the cannon without anyone noticing and failed in trying to light it with one of her old cigars. She had rushed over in a panic, tearing her from the barrel before the flame grew closer. She checked over her body and, once assured she was not injured, inquired what she had been thinking. Victoria, the overzealous little girl she was, could only laugh with a large smile plastered on her face. “I wanted to fly mommy!”  

As she grew older, her body deteriorated. By age five she could barely walk. By six she couldn’t at all. At seven, she no longer had the energy to speak. At the young age of eight, she could only watch the performing women with a blank smile before she passed. For days they grieved over her. They left her cadaver laying on her satin bed sheets as she was before her death, in anguished hopes they could find a way to bring her back to them. After tirelessly searching for any form of necromancy that could revive her, Guinevere entered Victoria’s bedroom to adjust her as she did every day. Only to be startled by her daughter sitting upright and speaking to her.  

“Mommy, can I go play at the circus now?” Victoria bounced off the bed with newfound strength in her rotten limbs. Gwen could only rush to hug her baby who was with her once more. Undead, but with her despite everything. From that day on she allowed Victoria to become a full-time member of the bazaar. The human (zombie) cannonball. With a body that could be put back together, no working pain receptors, and a passion for explosives and theatrics, she fits the part flawlessly.  

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

The smaller tent was filled with a variety of supernatural women, the circus only having female staff. While most continued with their activities, some turned her direction and welcomed her. The parts in the circus were relatively small compared to most other acts, but the integration of monsters and mankind made up for it.  

Every single person handpicked by Guinevere herself, the cosmetologists, background musicians, and stage crew were all fairies. They each had varying sizes and shades of iridescent butterfly wings, and tight thigh-length dresses made from leaves and spider silk. While not as small as fae are typically depicted in human literature, they reached only about 3 feet and hovered above ground with a light flap of their appendages; they had the grace of hummingbirds. Faes are known for their artistic and musical capabilities. There were twenty-three pixies on set, all of them being gentle girls with a heart of gold. Their love of all life made them a wonderful asset to this circus promoting coexistence. Currently, they fluttered around tidying the room and freshening up the faces of the main performers.  

The ‘clowns’ of the act were all young shapeshifters. All fifteen of the women were from different cultures, shapeshifters being in a large majority of mythology; making them unique despite the similarities in capacities. Their abilities were used to shift them from playful clowns to dangerous animals to be used in other’s acts. While their personalities were all very different, each of them loved performing at the Moonlight Circus. Some spoke amongst themselves, shimmying into tight leotards and fixing their updos. A few of them, though, struggled to keep Victoria from swallowing handfuls of gunpowder. Especially with a lit cigar in her mouth.

“VICKY NO-” A wet splat hit the wall and a giggling head rolled at their feet. The shifters looked in disgust at their blood-stained clothes and scolded the decapitated head of the little girl. The others just laughed at the normally terrifying sight. 

 Morgana turned her eyes away, cringing internally, but knowing full well she’d be back on her feet in a few minutes. 

The main acts were very typical of a circus; the women enacting them were anything but. The designated tight rope walker was an Arachne woman named Magnolia. Her form was that of a tall human, her body could only be described as pear-shaped. Despite her form being humanoid, she had skin that was a smooth charcoal black and a spider abdomen attached to her lower back. The abdomen was a sunshine yellow covered in symmetrical white spots on either side. The pedicel connecting it to her body was the same tone as her skin. She also had eight spindly appendages protruding from the middle of her spine, each striped black and yellow. Magnolia had shoulder-length wavy hair a banana color with frayed strands of spider webs tangled within. Despite the frightening six extra eyes lining her temples, she was a kind eccentric woman. As the aerialist, the tightrope she walked during each performance was a magnificent braided rope made of her webbing. Magnolia was sitting on a cushioned stool, twisting her thread into a complicated bracelet, only glancing up to grace Morgan with a polite smile and greeting.  

Delane and Clio, however, wasted no time in rushing to make conversation with her. 

“Yo, Morgan! We’ve been looking for ya. Can you help me into this wetsuit?” Clio loudly proclaimed, simultaneously carrying her lover, Delane, in her arms bridal style. The duo is the aquatic performers of the show. Clio is a water nymph with connections to the Greek god Poseidon. She willingly took on a human female’s appearance, but that could not hide the divine aura that radiated off her very being. She had a lean build but still held all the strength a creature with holy connections such as herself should have. Her head was bare of hair and her ears pointed in an elf-like fashion. She stumbled around in a limp bedazzled wetsuit pulled up her hips halfway, the skin of her upper half an olive tan.  

“Seriously dude, I’m struggling here.” 

Delane was a mermaid, a perfect match to Clio’s Nereid. Her Prussian blue scaled tail hung limply over her girlfriend’s arm. The trawl half of her body closely resembled a koi fish. The caudal fin was long and thin, like fine silk flowing with the movements of Clio’s jerks. A dorsal fin ran down the back of it, getting smaller as it reached the end of her tail. She also had multiple pelvic fins running down the sides; the fins at the top were much larger than the ones at the end. They were all light cyan. The scales from her tail ran up her stomach, becoming much more scattered as they reached the dark skin of her breasts. Her hair was a short black pixie cut with a shaggy top, ending at the gills just below her chin.  

“Yeah, uh, maybe hurry before she drops me, please.” Delane nervously spoke. She wore a necklace composed of seashells and stones from the shore of her home, matching Clio’s own as a symbol of devotion between them. Together, they enacted a beautiful water-based act that captivated every audience we had.  

Morgan laughed at Clio’s predicament before moving to help her into the suit. Just as she got a grip on the neoprene material a strong voice halted them.  

“You could’ve just asked me, Clio. Here I got you.” Large calloused hands assisted her in her efforts. Morgan turned her head to Anastalia. Anastalia was the strong woman act of the circus. Like many of those hired here, a part of her resembled that of mankind, but she was very obviously not human. Her upper half was the build of a shredded woman: pulsing muscles, large bulging breasts, defined abs, intimidating biceps. She looked as if she was carved by the gods themselves. Her bottom half, while just as muscular, was that of a black stallion. Her four large hooves clapped against the ground in a deafening display and her dark tail broke the sound barrier like a whip. The hair atop her head was a dark brown with a sheen that made it glint in the light. Her long straight locks cascaded down the flesh of her shoulders a similar shade, reaching the small of her back.  

Anastalia peers up from the suit to bicker teasingly with Clio. She galloped gracefully in circles around them, admiring her handy work. “Eh, to be honest, I think it needs to be a bit bluer at the hips.” She quipped thoughtfully. Clio and Delane exchanged a glance and giggled in unison. Clio responded, “You’re one for detail, but let me tell ya, you don’t look it.” She lets out a boisterous laugh, keeling over slightly, causing Delane to screech in fear of being dropped and grip her shoulders tighter. Anastalia only rolled her eyes.  

“Har har, laugh it up, I’m not just a brute. I’m also an artist.” She struck a pose that had Clio cackling harder and Delane protesting louder. Morgan shared a laugh with them, her sides aching. Loud footsteps behind her turned her attention away for a moment. “C’mon Lanira, hurry!” Vicky, seemingly back to normal after spontaneously combusting, ran and jumped in a very abstract dance with her friend. Lanira, an incorporeal little girl resembling that of a cartoon witch floated around her at a much slower pace. “I’m going as fast as I can Vicky.” Lanira’s tone was much less enthusiastic. She had a slight cockney accent. 

Her dark flowing gown had no shape to it, more like a sack made of cotton. Her sleeves puffed out and tightened below her palms that gripped onto a translucent 19th-century broomstick underneath her. She twirled around with Victoria, who was still jumping around and flailing in her interpretative art form. Her wide-brimmed hat had a large peak at the top that dipped down at the very point. It was navy blue and held a wide variety of jewelry and trinkets that dangled down. Bits of cloth hung off the edge with pearls woven into it.  

Lanira had become a ghost after a ‘mishap’ with one of her spells backfiring. As the magician of the big top, she experimented with plenty of dangerous enchantments. One moment she was but a mangled corpse of a girl with crippling insomnia, and the next she was a spirit with large eyebags, continuing with her act as if death had not just occurred before everyone’s eyes. As the specter of a young talented sorceress, she must have expected this possible outcome and kept a few “tricks” up her sleeve. She kept with her act even after her untimely demise, even increasing the intensity now that death was no longer a possibility.  

Morgan took a long drag of her cigarette and continued to gaze in amusement. Lanira half-heartedly attempted to keep up with Victoria, the zombie child still lost in her own little world.  

“Alright, everyone! It’s time to get this show on the road once more, as they say.” Gwen chuckled at herself lightly. The room erupted in conversation and scrambling to get in costume in time. The pale woman approached her once more. “Will you please start allowing entry, dear?” She nodded at her, cig between her lips bobbing. “Of course.” She smiled and made her way out of the dressing room.  

The flap quietly closed behind her form as she made her way to her ticket booth. She could still hear the loud conversations and shuffling from inside the room. Her steps echoed throughout the stage. The entrance to the inside of the show floor was a large rectangular cut-out with a flap hanging to the side that could be zipped up. The outside of the tent was the same striped colors as the inside, illuminated by the setting sun. The tent performed almost all day, but their largest and most spectacular show was always right after the sunset. It was also the most packed of all their performances.  

The ticket booth was a wooden structure painted red and white. A gigantic sign in the shape of a ticket was placed on the roof displaying the name of the circus. It sat in front of a zig-zagging gate that led to the entrance. She opened the door and stepped inside, admiring the long line that had already formed. The crowd was a diverse amount of people. Some were singular people showing up alone for the show. Some were human couples on a date or parents with their ecstatic children bouncing with joy. There were even some couples that were interspecies; a human and a not-so-human person lovingly interlocked their hands.  

She opened the window of the booth and started accepting tickets from each person. One by one they approached the stall, handing in their crisp voucher, and making their way through the gates to pick up snack food and be seated. The sound of kids giggling and adults speaking with a grin in their voice was heartwarming. Memories were being made here time and time again; the atmosphere never changed. She never got tired of seeing happy faces coming to experience the wonders of the Moonlight Circus. A small crescent moon adorned each ticket that she received and stashed away in a box beside her.  

It took a good long while before each person who had previously bought a ticket was granted entry. She let out a sigh and sucked in some more smoke. She released a lilac cloud into the evening air. The sky was a dusty orange making way for the black of night. She continued to smoke while idly wondering if a storm was brewing. It seemed as if their best shows were when it was pouring rain and thunder broke through the cheers. The sound of Guinevere’s muffled voice over a speaker broke through the silence she’d been basking in.  

“Ladies and gentlemen! I thank you for coming to see our fantastical performers tonight! We hope to amaze you just as every crowd before.” Her words were a cue for Morgana. She laid the cigarette between her lips once more and strode her way into the tent. The tips of her fingers graced over the edge of the tent fabric for a split second. The control panels for the lighting were tucked into another miniature tent attached to the side of the main structure. She could see the sprites flying above and moving the large spotlight from the cameras beside the panels to follow Gwen’s moving figure. The stark white luminescence made her look more ethereal than before.  She continued on, cigarette holder still wedged between her thin lips. 

“We have an awe-inspiring act for you all!”  

“This beautiful lady here did most of the work.”  

Her husband quickly added to her dialogue. “Hush my love.” The crowd quietly chuckled.  

“It’s true.”  

“Pierre!” 

“Sorry, sorry!”  

The audience roared with more laughter.  

Under the dim lighting of the rest of the stage, she could make out the two fluffy skirts of the little girls waiting for their first part in the choreography. One was fidgeting and prancing around in the dark, not only disguised by the lack of light but the cloud from her cigar. The other floated just above the ground, flying around the other body in circles. Morgan placed her fingertips on the switches and pushed them up very slightly. The area brightened enough for the stage to be somewhat visible but kept the two hidden from their awaiting audience.  

“Each of our performers is a woman with grace, power, and most of all, a love for their part here.”  

Recovering from her husband's unethical interruption, she made her way up to the round platform on the stage. The spotlight followed in sync. She turned suddenly to face the stands, her skirt twirling above her feet.  

“We give you our best and only our best!” Gwen spoke into the microphone with glee, her visible scarlet eye piercing the crowd. “The Moonlight Circus has been our pride and joy for many decades. Tonight, we strive to show you exactly why!” She gave them a beautiful motherly smile.  

“Now please.” 

“Stay seated and enjoy the show!” She and the skull of her husband atop her head spoke in unison. She extended one arm behind her, bent the other in front of her middle and bowed.  

“Hey, hey! Careful please!” Pierre screamed as he slipped down slightly. The audience responded with laughter as before. The spotlight shut off and the stage was dim once again, other than the shine of Guinevere’s red cigarette. The crowd went silent. Her footsteps echoed on a different part of the stage. She could very faintly make out dainty shoes running up the steps and hopping into the cannon. One of the two figures was missing from their spot to the side. 

Morgan’s fingers danced on the panel, letting excitement coarse through her. She couldn’t fight the adrenaline rush before each performance commenced. She hadn’t been working there for more than two years, but this circus had become her family. Her home. Each person here has proven to her that the impossible is only so if you believe it is. And each show was a testament to how far they’d come. This circus act alone has been a large part of the progression that’s been made between the supernatural world and human society. They’re more than just a tent of sideshow freaks; they’re artists embracing their bodies and talents to better their lives, and many others.  

She grips the lever with resolve. She knows that to an outsider they may be passing entertainment. But that was progress by itself. This place is a part of her now. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Morgana pushed the handle forward. It clicked in place. The stage lights flicked on in a magnificent spectrum of colors. Gwen’s right hand is extended to the wick of the cannon, holder lighting the end. Her daughter’s tangled mane of hair is just barely visible from the lip. A deafening boom shatters the atmosphere and the show begins.  

[nightwingmyboi]

I'll always remember Devin Grayson as the woman who wrote Nightwing getting raped by a supervillain and then tried to pass it off as "wasn't rape, just nonconsensual"...which is LITERALLY THE DEFINITION OF RAPE, YOU HACK!

MSL: Male rape is a topic rarely touched on in comics. Why is it suited to bring it into Nightwing?

DEVIN GRAYSON: For the record, I’ve never used the word “rape,” I just said it was nonconsensual (I know, aren’t writers frustrating? *smiles*) [x] 

Yeah there is no other word for what happened in Nightwing #93 other than rape...I can’t imagine why she would say otherwise. She did technically apologize, but that was ten or so years later. So she eventually, finally did come out and just admit what everyone already knew, but she was still way too late to actually fix any of the damage she caused with how she completely mishandled things. I also don’t think her little apology begins to cover all the issues I have with her. 

Devin’s characterization of Dick is just so, so freaking twisted to me. Really, I don’t think there is a Nightwing writer I despise more than Devin Grayson. The interviews I’ve read from her give me the creeps:

DG: The way I think about him [Dick], he likes everyone, he’s sort of a contact junkie - just this incredibly physical (and attractive) person who lives wholly in the corporeal plane and responds with - processes things in - his body before his head or heart. I imagine that he can be hypnotized by a touch the way other people can be stopped dead in their tracks by the sight of money or the promise of true love. I think he likes kicking and kissing in almost equal measure - except kissing edges out ahead because you can do it for longer and it leads to nicer things. [x]

Yeah that’s fucking unsettling. This is Devin being gross and projecting her sexual fantasy’s onto Dick. And she very much invented this extreme view of Dick as obsessively physical. Pre-52 Dick was always written as a master strategist, an unparalleled leader, one of the best detectives in the world, outside of Devin’s writing. Her fantasy version of Dick doesn’t mesh with that...Dick wouldn’t be capable leader if he’s “thinking with his body” (whatever that means) all the time. He’s survived this long because he’s intelligent and logical. Frankly, Devin’s take on things doesn’t even make any freaking sense. But it gets worse: 

DDG: I’m writing a novel for WB right now that he’s in and I have one scene where Batman has to stop a fight before it gets out of control, and most of the people he can just yell or glare at, but with Dick, he just stands really close behind him and Dick freezes. That’s not supposed to be a sexual thing (though it is kinda hot! ::laughs::), it’s an understanding on Bruce’s part that his physical proximity will speak just as quickly and loudly to Dick as his voice, maybe even be processed faster.

What the actual fuck. You’ve probably guessed it based on how that little scenario played out. Devin ships Dick with Bruce. 

DG: And now think about being a very physical and naturally gregarious and loving person and growing up with someone like Bruce. Then add in the confusion about his status - a “ward” is something you stop being the minute you turn eighteen. Having already lost his parents and then hurling into adolescence at the speed he did...in my personal version of the story, he develops sexual desire and social anxiety about the future at the same time, and this leads to tremendous confusion, on his part, about his role in Bruce’s life. He can’t be a ward forever, in the back of his head he knows he won’t be Robin forever...what is he to this man who is at once his best friend and personal savior, personal god? “Son” is what they eventually settle on, but I think when Dick was in his late teens, the idea of “lover” must have run through his mind (which means, really, as we’ve already discussed, it ran through his body).

Wild that Dick is usually written as incredibly intelligent and emotionally cognizant (was able to puzzle out Damian’s complex motivations and needs when no one else in Damian’s life could for example) and yet Devin thinks he’s not able to sort out that he’s not supposed to make sexual advances towards his father. And by wild I mean stupid as fuck. And, just fyi, Devin goes with the version of events where Bruce took Dick in when he was eight years old! So he’s pretty fucking young when this is all happening! Just when you thought it couldn’t get more disgusting. 

Eventually, much later, Dick gets distracted by other relationships and is able to ease up enough on Bruce for Bruce to relax into his own comfort-level of kindness and affection again (once the threat of sexuality has been removed) and they carry on more or less unharmed. But the relationship remains incredibly powerful and intense for Dick, who ends up feeling apologetic, rejected, and confused on top of all the other issues we already know exist between the two of them. Dick responds to Bruce - or really I should say Batman, since that’s who his relationship is with - on every single level.

So, according to Devin, Dick views Bruce as his “personal god” and is incredibly submissive to and possessive of him. That’s why Devin’s writing is littered with scenes like this: 

Gotham Knights #17

Where Dick acts incredibly awkward and “apologetic” about dating Barbara, because of how he previously made sexual advances towards Bruce in Devin’s fantasy world. Also with Devin, Dick spends a lot of his time stuttering every time Bruce is in the room, even though he’s usually a smooth talker, very chatty, and that’s because of the supposed “intensity” of Bruce and Dick’s relationship. And then there are scenes like this: 

Gotham Knights #18

Where Dick uncharacteristically and disproportionately loses his cool at the slightest insinuation against Bruce and is reduced to an angry hot head. Dick has been noted to be incredibly level headed; he’s also famous for being a mediator among the hero community...this behavior is a complete departure from the way he would normally act under other writers. Dick’s also been one to level plenty of criticisms towards Bruce himself. This sudden personality change where Dick thinks Bruce can do no wrong, where no one can criticize Bruce in Dick’s presence without him absolutely blowing up, where he suddenly can’t control his emotions over the littlest things...it really exists primarily in Devin’s writing. It’s incredibly OOC behavior and it’s rooted in Devin’s sexual fantasies frankly. 

Devin’s writing is also where Dick, despite being incredibly dedicated and monogamous in all of his previous relationships, suddenly became a womanizer. Literally, everyone was written as wanting to get into Dick’s pants: Rose Wilson was reduced to a giddy teenager because of Dick, random women in the streets would comment on how cute Nightwing was, a mob boss’s daughter who was only 15 years old was obsessed with Dick and made advances, Dick had a one night stand with Huntress because she reminded him of Bruce, Bruce called Dick “Hunk Wonder,” Dick undressed in front of fucking Deathstroke (and there was a newspaper with “Richard Wilson” on it as a sly little wink towards the audience), psycho vigilante Tarantula is obsessed with Dick to the point of raping him, the list goes on. If you want more samplings of how freaking disgusting and sex-obsessed Devin was when it came to Dick, look no further than her gross Inheritance book, where she ships Dick with everyone from Green Arrow to Aquaman (here are some quotes if you’re a masochist). And since Dick “thinks with his body” or whatever, Devin’d write him as receptive (or very oblivious) when it comes to this attention. 

Gotham Knights #10

Nightwing (1996) #107

Another thing that made me extremely uncomfortable is how Devin would always have strangers and villains, especially older men--people who Dick very much did not know and wouldn’t appreciate being in his personal space--be all grabby with him. Please leave him alone. 

Nightwing and Huntress #2

There Dick is, “hypnotized” in place by Huntress’s touch. Kill me. It is also especially messed up that Devin suddenly turned Dick into some sexual, warm-blooded hot head at the same time as she decided to introduce him as Romani. 

Q: How could him being Romani be used to inform his characterization?

It reinforces his “otherness” where Bruce is concerned in what I think is a useful, interesting way...It also presents the opportunity for there to be a slight chip on his shoulder, which maybe speaks to his scrappiness. It also maybe gives him a slightly deeper way to relate to someone like Helena--someone who is white but other--and gives the people who love (or lust after) him a potential cultural excuse for feeling as bewitched as they sometimes do. I also just love the idea of Bruce occasionally calling him “hot blooded” just to mess with him, because Dick would of course deny being so in an extremely hot-blooded manner. [x]

Her feeding into the fetishizing of biracial individuals is just disgusting and wrong. If there’s a racist stereotype available Devin really goes out of her way to make sure she includes it in her writing huh. 

Gotham Knights #20

And Bruce being a racist jerk is not charming Devin, it’s terrible. Barbara used slurs also, and was very dismissive of Dick’s reaction to Bruce’s actions...that was also horrible. It’s awful that Dick’s own family would apparently treat him this way. Obviously, Dick isn’t the only one that Devin would write out of character. 

It’s all just so messed up to me, I can’t stand it. When I first read her comics, even when it wasn’t blatant like above, I would feel something subtly off...and once I read her interviews I can’t help but notice these horrible underlying insinuations in all of her work, in so many seemingly “innocent” scenes. There are a lot of big things she’s known for (her horrible treatment of Dick’s Romani heritage and his rape for example) but all these subtle, insidious little details that people don’t even really register...they are equally frustrating to me. Seeing sects of the fandom pick up these details (like, the idea that Dick doesn’t understand personal boundaries, the idea that he’s a hot head, the idea that he’s a womanizer, etc.) when I know a lot of it stems nearly solely from Devin’s crappy characterization and writing of Dick...it’s hard. 

Q: Further to that, if Dick is gay, what kind of guy is his type?

DG: ...Type isn’t as important as passion and opportunity. Because of his psycho-sexual makeup, the other key factor would be a sense that he means something to that other man, that his “surrender” is making that man happy, allowing him to bring pleasure to someone (as he was never allowed to do for Bruce). There’s also a sense, if I may be so bold, of needing to be “caught” and “held down” - this going back to the trauma of losing his parents...being strong and passionate and heroic and virile and loving with a woman is fantastic, he lives for that. But he lost both parents. There is also a part of him that longs to be pinned down and loved a little bit savagely and hurt just enough to reassure him that he’s alive. Man, I’m totally gonna get fired when this comes out....

Literally makes me want to barf. That is supposed to be a professional, official writer at DC. Could go on forever. 

[peachyteabuck]

under cover of darkness

summary: a 24-hour convenience store, the night shift, and the man who gets you through day. 

a commission for @lovelycarose​

pairing: eliot spencer x reader

words: 5510

trigger warnings: mentions of a break-in with canon-level violence, fluff, mentions of an unspecified chronic pain disorder

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

There are some good things about the night shift. It’s easier to balance classes and your precarious mental health, plus the pay wasn’t terrible – a few extra bucks per hour were thrown your way after eleven and before five.

So you kept with it, one earbud in so you could listen to music while the hours ticked by at a pace so slow it felt like some supervillain had not only completely frozen time – but was also determined to thaw is at room temperature.

That was another thing about the night shift – the customers. It was mostly regulars, or tourists who forgot something at home but didn’t want to spend airport prices for a travel sized container of deodorant. None of them really stick out, none interesting enough to stick in your brain for long as you mindlessly pack their various items into white plastic bags.

That is, until he starts coming in. Tall and impossible big – it’s hard not to marvel at him as if he was a breathtaking skyscraper, like you had never seen something so magnificent. His flowing dark brown hair, his tight jeans…it’s all nearly too much for eleven-at-night-you. (Also for “I haven’t had sex in so long and I think I’ve eroded the ridges on my vibrator from using it so often and holy shit I would do anything to have that man under/above me” you, a you only made stronger and more desperate by how late it was and tired you were.)

He walks around with the confidence not often seen in newcomers, your eye used to college students too drunk to stand up perfectly straight. You’re used to people stumbling around with eyes-half closed, rubbing their temples as the bright white lights feel like cheese graters shaped like ice picks against their already hurting brains. You’re used to watching them stumble around, using some Neolithic instinct to find the cool fridges where they’ll rest their faces against the glass for an oddly long amount of time before opening it up to grab as many Gatorades as they could hold before attempting to grab one or two (or five) frozen pizzas, never able to access the higher order thinking necessary to understand that maybe grabbing one of the baskets by the entrance is important.

Or, on the other end of the spectrum you’ve come to know as normal: soccer moms searching for alcohol for their husband’s post-game barbecue. Moms with large dark circles under their eyes who probably read (and watched) the Fifty Shades movie unironically but still feels weird when their husbands suggest having sex in any position besides missionary with the lights off. Moms who went to college just to meet some mediocre-looking frat boy who votes Republican just because his father did and thinks thirty seconds of oral is enough foreplay.

They don’t spend as much time in the store as the drunk/high students, but it’s still just as entertaining watching them grab the food and drink – but not before lingering in the makeup aisle, staring at bold shades of red and waterproof mascara and the bright hair dye whose advertisements have terribly applied photoshop.

No matter the type – no matter the customer – they were nothing like the man who stood on the other side of the store, staring intently at your soft drink selection. None of them were beefy men with crumpled grocery lists, permanently furrowed brows, and the most beautiful five o’clock shadow you’ve ever seen. None of them wear thick black work boots that make not a single sound as they walk around the store, none of them wear jeans that are so criminally tight around a perfect ass.

Not even a perfect ass – the perfect ass. It’s symmetrical, looking as if it was drawn by a pin-up artist in the 50’s whose specialty involves drawing super buff men in poses meant for petite, slender women with perfect curves. As he walks you half expect sparks to form on his backside as if you were in some kind of Anime, or for each individual cheek to bounce up and down on their own asynchronous accord. Normally you’d be terrified of being caught staring – of him turning around and catching your eye and mocking someone like you for having the nerve to be attracted to him.

But that doesn’t happen, because for once in your life the universe is kind to you. For once in your life you’re allowed to listen to music and stare dreamily at the hot guy who checks the ingredients on every snack dip option you have available before choosing three different ones with a small, disappointed huff.

You watch him with that same silent intensity as he fills the bright red carrier he grabbed without a sound when he first strutted in, the packaging of the items crinkling being the only way to track his location when he steps out of your eyeline. If your boss wasn’t the one on security cameras you’d be angling all of them to follow him around the store, your eyes hungry for another look at him at whatever angle and whichever quality you could get. You feel like a fangirl obsessed with some boyband, your heart rate determined by the amount of the mountain of a man you can see between displays of holiday-themed candy and cheap make up.

You’re not sure how long it is before he’s approaching your counter (time appears to have lost all meaning the second he stepped into the store), but whether it had been five minutes or five years, he still takes your breath away. As he steps closer you realize he’s fucking massive – something your grandmother (a wonderful woman, but one lacking when social situations called for, among other things, any kind of brain-to-mouth filter) would call a “shit brickhouse.” He doesn’t even need one of the baskets as he prowls the aisles – scanning every item like a lion watches the Sahara through tall grass. It’s hard to look away, to go back to the book you’ve been trying to read the same page from since long before the little automated bell above the door had announced the man’s arrival – but the only distraction before had been the tiny, exhausted voice in the back of your mind that was shaming at you for not sleeping before the night’s shift.

Now, though, the voice has quieted to allow your tired eyes to follow him, pupils tracing along every inch of him.

The man checks out without a word; shaking his head when you ask if he has a rewards card and paying in cash. When you give him $7.26 in change, your hands touch for a brief moment and you nearly stop breathing – lungs suddenly void of their capacity to hold air as sparks fly from his callous fingertips to the bottom of your spine. He pulls away, eventually, because he has to – depositing the totality of the meager amount of money you’d just handed him into the donation box plastered with facts about victims of domestic violence right next to your register.

The box is made of an opaque deep purple plastic, the coins making a loud clink sound as they crash into the near-empty container. The man stares at it for a moment, swallowing an apparent lump in his throat as his eyes go blank for a fraction of a second before he digs into his pockets and fishes out a thick wad of perfectly folded five dollar bills before stuffing them into the hastily cut slot at the top.

Neither of you say anything as he does so, you too stunned by his generosity and him too occupied with making sure he had no more money hidden in his pockets to try and muster some vague capacity for speech. Still, as he turns and leaves, you cough to clear your throat and call out a loud and slightly hoarse “thank you!” to which he just turns and gives you a small smile in return.

The moment between the pair of you is fleeting but still makes your heart beat rapidly in your chest, swelling until your lungs feel tight against your ribs as you struggle to breathe. Fuck, you think. You haven’t felt like this since middle school when Jamie told you that your Katniss braid was adorable and you followed him around for two weeks until he agreed to take you on a “date” during lunch. You don’t even know this man’s name and you’re fawning over him as if you have another girlhood crush.

God, you need to learn his name.

Luckily, you find out the next time that his name is Eliot, even though the name embroidered in red above the right pocket of his dirtied coveralls says “Evan” in a fancy looped script (whatever, you don’t question it. You regularly wore your roommate’s sweatshirt from her alma mater even though you didn’t attend the university – must be the same thing, right?). That time all he buys is hair ties and chapstick – lots of hair ties and chapstick, just another thing you don’t question – but stays to talk with you about the Robert Frost poem you were annotating.

“Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening?” he reads aloud, smiling a little as he does so. “Is that for class, or…”

“It’s for class, but I’m liking it a lot more than the other obligatory readings for my degree,” you tell him a small laugh. “Do you enjoy poetry?”

Eliot shrugs as he grabs the full bags. “Oh, ya know. Just the occasional piece. You have a good day now.”

You smile as he walks toward the exit, butterflies pounding in your stomach once more. “You too!”

God, you think as he disappears from eyeshot. You’ve got it bad, girl.

He comes in again, irregular in each way except for the fact he arrives. Sometimes he’s clean cut, standing straight as he takes his sweet time wandering the store – as if he has nowhere to be, no need to rush around.

On those days, he buys a lot of things. Duct tape, orange soda, hair ties, sour candy in all shapes and colors. He makes conversation, asking about the book you’re reading or what you’re listening to, asking about your classes when you wear a jacket embroidered with your university’s logo on the front. On those days, he waits a little – even when all his items are bagged and there’s no real reason for him to stay – picking up on anything that would give him another thread of conversation to pull at.

“Something new?” he asks when you dogear one of the first few pages of a poetry book your friend had lent you.

“Yup!” you perk up just at the sight of him, cheery now more than you had been the entirety of the day now that he’s arrived. “Told a friend of mine about the assignment I was working on the last time you were here, and she shoved this anthology into my hands.”

You like those days – you look forward to them each time you step through the large door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY” in large white letters that stand out against the incredibly depressing brown that’s been peeling since the day you interviewed here, spots covered sparsely by the maintenance guy who you’ve never seen. Those days are good, fun – they make you smile hours after he leaves and occupy your thoughts until you go to bed, sometimes even making it into the margins of your notebook when you’re zoning out in class.

Sometimes, though, he comes in nearly limping – at least one eye blackened and dark navy baseball cap pulled as far down his forehead as he can.

It scared you the first time, watching as he grunted with each step, every item he grabs from the shelves seeming like it pained him, his face scrunching into a wince each time he raises an arm above his ribs. You checked his items (bandages, ice packs, gauze, antifungal cream, a few first aid kits) with bated breath, terrified of making his mood worse.

It isn’t until you tell him the total, until you finally look up from your hands – that you finally look him in the eyes. They’re always warm like plate of freshly baked macaroni and cheese (and always make you feel just as gooey), but now appear to be clouded with a type of pain you can’t pin down. He doesn’t say much – or anything – as you bag his items, placing them gingerly into the paper bag as if it was an extension of him.

You try to keep a happy face throughout the entire ordeal, not wanting to push him in case what happened was particularly bad. Eliot gives you a similarly small, but earnest one in return – even if he barely hides the wince in his side as he does so.

But that was the first time things seemed a little off – your first time, specifically – and the others get easier as time passes.

At first, “easier” meant a return to days similar to the good ones – telling him things about your day as you ring up all his first-aid related items. He doesn’t respond with as much enthusiasm, doesn’t have the same witty banter – but gives you a small smile that you recognize nonetheless. But then, as the weeks bleed into months, you learn how to handle both the terrible days, the bad days, and the good days all the same.

It’s on one of the good days that he buys tampons, a piece of every kind of chocolate item you sell, and enough Acetaminophen to knock out a horse.

“Your girlfriend is very lucky,” you tell him, blushing as you bag the items. For a minute you think you’ve embarrassed him, crossed some line as a sickening silence grows between you two like mold on two-week old leftovers in a fridge that was turned off. It’s just as disgusting, too, which is why you’re so happy that he still gives you a small smile when you dare look up from where your scanner’s red line centers on the barcode of one of the tampon boxes.

“Nah, just,” Eliot’s plump lips look so kissable it makes your heart pick up. “A roommate, uh. She needs this. Her boyfriend is doing some game night thing and couldn’t pick it up. So I, uh. I got drafted.”

You give a little snort as you grab the receipt, smiling wide as you place it in the bag. “Well, your roommate is very lucky to have you.”

Eliot laughs as he grabs his stuff, cheeks heating up as he blushes. “Can I kidnap you for a little while so you can come remind her of that?”

In a rare moment of confidence, you lean forward and grin. “Is it kidnapping if I want it?”

The blush rages as he sputters a response, eyes downcast as he turns to leave. You get no witty response back, but the way he turns to wink at you as the automatic doors part is enough of a rebuttal for you to feel satisfied with your quip.

No matter what kind of mood Eliot is in, you look forward to his visits, watching and talking with him. Each evening you get ready for work you wondered if he would come in that night, if you would be able to tell him about the dumb thing this guy in one of your seminars said, or how you won an argument during bar crawl over the weekend using some of the random things he had taught you during the very conversations you now wish to have with him. It’s nice, the nicest thing you have in a long time – and somehow that doesn’t scare you, and somehow that makes you feel even better each time you see him.

But then “The Day” happens, and it changes everything.

The evening of “The Day” you woke up from your pre-work nap with this unexplainable feeling that something was going to go wrong. This feeling deep in the bottom of your stomach that you can’t quite place, one that makes the back of your knees sweat and where your ribs feel just a little tighter. Each and every sound – the cars that drive way too fast down your street, the creaking in your house, the dogs that bark obnoxiously – seem loudly, harsher than usual. When you sit up in bed when your alarm goes off it’s like you can feel the muscles in your back contract, feel the bones in your joints grind against each other. There’s some electricity in the air like when it’s right before a storm – only the sky is clear and your weather app doesn’t predict any rain until next week (and, even then, it’s only a drizzle).

At first you think it’s just a bad pain day; not bad enough to keep you home, or make you forget even the idea of doing anything besides groaning in pain in your bed and taking as many pain medications as your doctor says you’re able to. Still, it’s quite noticeable, and occupies your thoughts as you go through each part of your pre-work routine. Even as you shower, turn on your coffee pot, do the minimal make up required to make it look like you didn’t just roll out of bed or are some Victorian orphan plagued by tuberculosis and possibly a deep sadness embodied by the terrible weather that crashes outside their overcrowded London orphanage – you can’t seem to get rid of the proverbial dark cloud that settles itself between your brain and skull, clouding your thoughts and making your stomach hurt just a little.

It doesn’t get better when you get into work, either. There’s a tenseness in the air you can practically taste – electricity in the air that settles over your skin and makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straighter than the carefully constructed sales display of some B-list celebrity’s nail polish collection, the one you spent hours fussing over during one of your very rare day shifts. It somehow only gets worse when Eliot arrives, whistling some tune that normally would be wistful and happy, but given the context sounds like something straight from a horror movie trailer that invades your otherwise-sweet daydreams for weeks to come; one of those songs that everyone knows but no one knows the name of that sounds really creepy when played slowly over a clip of some old, beat-up doll being held by an adorable little blonde girl with black-out contacts in.

You don’t tell him to stop, but the tune does slow when he notices your tense state when he passes to get to the soft drink aisle. When he gives you a questioning look you just shrug, hoping he forgets (or finds it in himself not to ask) about it by the time he finds what he needs. Judging by the song, lack of list, and spring in his step – it’s a good day, one where he intends to meander around the store and grab whatever it is catches his attention. Today that appears to be anything with sugar, most notably soda in every color but orange.

At some point he finds his way closer to you – more specifically he finds his way to the chocolate aisle, which faces your register – and strikes up a conversation. It’s just small talk, and doesn’t do much to distract you from the twisting in your gut, but you appreciate his efforts nonetheless. The small talk just feels like a dead-end – a polite road to nowhere that feels pointless to engage in. Still, it’s Eliot, so you give half-hearted answers and ask half-hearted questions and hope he doesn’t press you too hard on your slightly-sour mood.

And, because it’s Eliot, he draws a few small laughs and a couple of tiny smiles and it’s…nice. It’s not the usual “Good Day,” but it’s not a bad one, either.

But then it happens. And it happens quick – all of it.

Three men, dressed head to toe in black, enter guns a blazing as if they own the place. They’re wearing masks over everywhere but their eyes, the thick, black material likely silencing their voices if they weren’t screaming at the top of their lungs.

They enter in an oddly-triangular formation – one you’d describe akin to the Charlie’s Angel’s post if you weren’t scared out of your fucking mind. One of them runs to the aisle where you keep cold medicine, the other ransacking the liquor aisle and shoving heavy glass bottles of your most expensive bottles of alcohol into the black duffel bag slung around his shoulder. The last one – the one you think is the leader – keeps his eye on you as he steps closer to where you are at the register.

It’s the scariest fucking thing to ever happen to you, and what occurs next happens too fast for you to describe.

You blink once and find that you’re staring down the barrel of a handgun that’s definitely loaded and definitely has the safety off. The end shakes just a little, as if the robber is nervous, and you wonder why he’s the one scared. Both of your hands are up in the air, elbow bent at a ninety-degree angle while sweat pools at your brow and your bottom lip trembles. It’s the most terrified you’ve ever been in your entire life, and if you had enough in your stomach you throw up, you totally would’ve.

But then – Eliot.

You’re screaming at him to stop, to get away and hide and what are you doing? They’ve got a gun! Get away! You could be hurt! Eliot!

But then you realize that, holy shit, he’s actually taking the guy down. Holy shit, Eliot just punched that dude in the face. Holy shit, Eliot just punched that dude in the gut. Holy shit, Eliot just disarmed that dude while punching him.

It’s only when the guy that targeted you is screaming in pain from a dislocated shoulder that the other two realize something’s up and come rushing towards the man that stands just in front of your register. You’d scream if you weren’t stunned – eyes not sure where to look as Eliot disarms them with the grace of a professional ballet dancer at the same fucking time. He’s fierce but controlled – not breaking any bones but definitely leaving some bruises as he knocks them to the ground and kicks their guns across the carpet.  

It’s then – when the inferior robbers are writhing in pain on the ground – that he grabs the leader by the collar of his black hoodie and pulls the teenager’s wincing face close to Eliot’s raging one.

“I will give you one warning,” he hisses, teeth bared like an angered wolf as he spits. “one warning to leave this place and never come back. If this,” his left hand raises to gesture to you in all your petrified glory. “Nice lady tells me that you have returned to so much as buy a single stick of gum, I will track you down and find you and make sure you pay for the damage you’ve done here today. You got that?”

The still-masked teenager immediately nods furiously, eyes wide with terror and legs already kicking at the ground to leave.

Eliot gives a small, faux smile, and shoves the kid back down onto the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him. “Good, now get the Hell out of here and don’t come back.”

Without hesitation, the would-be robbers scatter as fast as their damaged legs can carry them, clutching their bags to their chests as they rush to their crappy getaway van.

If you weren’t scared shitless you’d admit you’re a little turned on at the feat, especially as Eliot flips his hair from his face as he watches them speed away.

Your boss appears a few seconds later, apparently one more to watch from his safe room in the back than to interfere. Thank Heavens Eliot was here, you think. Facing those three kids on your own – even if they were, indeed, kids – makes your blood pressure spike once more.

“Should I call the cops?” he asks, looking at the wreckage around the store. The only silent alarm is located under the counter where the register is and, given your petrified state, you weren’t one to trip it.

Eliot just sighs and shakes his head, kicking a broken bottle of whiskey that for sure was going to stain the carpet. “No, they can’t do much – those kids probably don’t have a record and I don’t think you’ll get much out of ‘em if they do find the bastards. They’re young, broke, and I don’t know how much priority your case will be given.”

Your boss sighs, rubbing his face. It’s not as if they stole more than a few hundred dollars’ worth of merchandise, but being the victim of a robbery is still both tiring and rage-inducing – especially when someone like him has gone so long without incident.  “But, I, what am I supposed to do? I just-“

Eliot grabs his wallet from his back pocket, reaching into it to fish out a small, professional-looking business card that he hands to your boss. “Call the number there come sun rise and tell them Eliot referred you. They’ll help you out with whatever you need.”

The man who signs your paychecks furrows his brow and reads the block print allowed. “Leverage, Incorporated? They can help me replace what I lost?”

Eliot nods, placing a comforting hand on your boss’ shoulder. “Everything.”

Immediately the man nods and steps away to go out the back exit, leaving you and Eliot in the center of it all.

It’s then – just as you’re alone – where the sun’s just coming up and the large windows in the shop allow its warm light to bath the both of you in a beautiful soft orange. There are no other customers there, and with your boss preoccupied with calming himself down, it really does feel like it’s just you and Eliot – just the two of you with the whole world still asleep around you. It’s nice, perfect.

He’s the one to break the silence, voice gruff as he flashes you a small, shy grin. “So, uh…you want to go for coffee?”

Your heart rams in your chest even louder than when you were staring the possibility of a gunshot wound to the face, the poor organ exhausted as your brain screams at you to accept his generous offer. It takes what feels like an eternity to muster up the courage to do so, but before you can Eliot’s already speaking once more.

“Not that you, uh,” he clears his throat. “Not that you should feel, uh, pressured, or anything. I just mean like, hey, you worked all night and just went through a pretty rough event, and you’re probably tired, and probably pretty hungry as well, and a coffee place just opened up a street away that I’ve heard good things about. I’ve wanted to try it out, for a while actually, and I wanted to, uh, see if I’d have the honor of you joining me…”

“Eliot,” you laugh as you step closer, placing your hand on his face to guide his eyes to yours. “Don’t be stupid. I’d love to go with you,” he smiles and it warms every bit of you. “Just let me grab my bag and clock out, I’ll meet you outside in a moment.”

He sputters through an “okay, sure, yeah,” before you both turn to leave – him out the front doors and you behind the large one your boss had just been hidden behind. Your hands shake just a little as you insert the little card into the dinosaur of a machine, the loud noise and sputtering sound it makes now white noise as you grab your purse and rejoin him outside.

When you arrive at the coffee shop (aptly named “The Bean Spot”) you order a caramel latte with a cheese Danish, Eliot getting a simple black coffee with cream along with a walnut muffin. You wait for your breakfast in relative silence, neither you nor Eliot sure what to say after such an event. When the food and drink are handed over to you, you find a spot tucked in the back with an excellent view of the whole place.

The coffee shop is nearly empty since it’s still so early in the morning – the only patrons coming in, getting their coffee, and zipping off to the next part of their day. It’s nice to be the only inert thing, the movements of the people around you providing a nice cover as they zip past, locking you and Eliot in your own little world as the world stretches its arms and prepares for another day of hustle and bustle.

By contrast, you and Eliot are wide awake, laughing as you swap horrible roommate stories and whatever else comes to mind. He asks about your degree but has enough class not to ask you about your graduation year (a rare feature of conversations these days), talking to you about all the books you’ve read and professors you’ve liked.  

It’s odd – not bad, per say – but odd nonetheless, to be able to talk freely and openly and having him in front of you, within arm’s length as your knees barely touch under the small table. Seeing him in this space, a space more conducive to conversation and watching his hands as they pick at his blueberry scone and watching his mouth as the corners of his lips twist into a smile every so often and watching –

You blush at your own serial-killer-like thoughts, trying to suppress them with another sip of way too expensive but totally worth it coffee.

Eliot notices, because of course he does. “Hey, you alright?”

You nod, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. “Y-yeah, just-“

He smiles warmly, one hand moving to cradle your chin – to guide your downcast eyes to his. “It’s weird, seeing me in a new place, isn’t it?”

Once again, you nod. “It’s not that I don’t-“

“It’s okay,” his smile widens even as he now avoids your gaze, his hands moving to his lap as he fiddles with them. “It’s…I understand. Trust me, I get it.”

You exhale deeply, your shoulders falling a little. “I’ve thought a lot about this moment for, like, since you walked into the store for the first time…to have you here,” you gestured vaguely to the rest of the coffee shop, to the very few customers and baristas chatting about something you can’t hear and don’t care to pay attention to. “It’s…I don’t know. It’s not as if you’ve fallen short of expectations-“

Eliot gives a little chuckle, mumbling an “I sure hope so” with a glimmer in his eye that makes you want to jump on his lap and kiss him right there. Somehow, you find it in you to continue.

“It’s just super, super weird,” you tell him honestly. “And I don’t like it.”

The man in front of you leans forward, placing a hand over yours to calm you down.  

“How about we get out of here,” Eliot murmurs, voice warm and thick like the caramel drizzle over your latte. “I have an espresso machine at my place, and could make you homemade baked goods a million times better than whatever you bought, and we can continue this in a space where the baristas don’t misspell my name on overpriced coffee.”

He gestures to the cup labeled Elliott, wincing as he does so. It makes you laugh, and you nod in agreement. Together you down the coffee and throw the empty cups along with the wrapping for your pastry away. It’s natural – the way the two of you move – as if you’ve known each other for a millennia, as if whatever it is between you two that’s formed is already as strong and sturdy as an oak tree.

Eliot places one of his large hands on the small of your back as you exit the cafe, thumbing at the fabric of your sweater as you wait to cross the street. It’s comforting – just a flash of the fire that he started for you back at the store a mere hours earlier, heat warming your blood from your toes and up your spine. As he guides you to his apartment his hand finds yours, his fingers fitting neatly next to yours as he points out parts of the city you’ve never slowed down enough to see.

You may not have known Eliot for very long, but even within that short amount of time (and even shorter conversations) he had become a safe house for you, one that you could easily make a home.

And, unbeknownst to the other person, the both of you intended on doing just that.

[hookedonapirate]

Through the Rising Tide

Thank you so much for the beautiful graphic @itsfabianadocarmo​!

Summary: The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.

Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle and a questionable past.

The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.

Oh, and apparently their taste in women.

Or rather, one woman.

Feisty.

Blonde.

Gorgeous.

Green-eyed Goddess.

Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother—the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she’s dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse…

Until Liam dies in a tragic motorcycle accident.

Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.

Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.

Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further into the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.

Notes: 

Starts out as Jewelled Swan. Don’t like, don’t read!

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd​​ for looking it over!

This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox, and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take.

The title comes from the lyrics of the song, Lay By Me by Ruben. The particular line goes like this:

"I hope you know through the rising tide

That I'll be here and you can lay by my side"

If you've never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. It's an amazing song and very fitting for this story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFJbLzEtoZw

P.S. In case you're unable to read the shoulder tattoo in the picture above and are wondering what it says—

"There is no happiness without tears

No life without death

And no true love without heartbreak"

Rated: Explicit for smut (including sexual fantasies, masturbation, implied and detailed sex, etc.) and language (lots of F-bombs).

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

Catch up: Ch 1 // Ch 2 //

Chapter 3

One Year Later…

 With a sleepy groan, Emma shoots out her hand to silence the loud, annoying noise coming from her phone. “Ugh…” She drops the device on the nightstand and retreats underneath the covers, not ready to get up yet. She’s never ready to get up in the morning. She rolls over to her other side, seeking warmth from the body lying next to her. She wraps her arms around his torso and buries her face in his chest, not wanting to leave him. But she has to get ready for work. She hates the thought of leaving his arms, though. They fit so well together like this, like two puzzle pieces.

 She knows the longer she lies here like this, though, the stronger the urge to stay will be. She attempts to force herself out of bed. She kisses her sleeping boyfriend’s forehead and starts to get up. His strong arms pull her back to him, his hands latching onto her hips, pulling her on top of him so she’s straddling him. Emma emits a sleepy moan when she feels his thickness pressed against her core.

 “Where do you think you’re going, love?” he asks, his voice groggy with sleep as he wraps his arms around her to ensure she won’t leave him.

 “I have to go to work,” she groans, clearly not happy about it. When he tightens his arms around her, she wiggles in his hold and laughs, trying to free herself, but honestly, she’s not trying very hard.

 He caresses her cheek and pulls her in for a lazy kiss, his tongue sweeping into her mouth to taste her. She moans against his lips, her body tingling and molding to his as she rocks slightly against him, her arousal coating his hard length as he arches his hips into her, seeking more friction. Friction she desperately wants to give him.

 But as much as she wants to get caught up in the kiss, in the effect he has on her, as much as she wants to just give herself to him and ride him into the next world, she really has to get up and go to work. She breaks the kiss, as painful and difficult as it is. “Babe, you’re not making it easy,” she says breathlessly.

 He pouts as he looks up at her, his crystal blue eyes boring into her green ones, not making this any easier. No, the way he’s looking at her right now makes it ten times harder. 

 “Sure you don’t have time for a quickie?” he begs, releasing a small groan of desperation as he palms her naked breast, brushing the pad of his thumb over her nipple, making it hard. 

 “Babe, if you make me late—” Her pleas are instantly silenced when he moves his hands to her ass and squeezes, pressing her more firmly against him. 

 He flashes a devilish smirk, one tainted with mischief that she only witnesses when they’re either talking about sex, having sex or about to have sex. “Then I’ll get to fuck you for the next hour.” 

 Emma had actually planned on getting up, but when she feels Liam’s lips on her neck and his teeth nibbling her skin, when she feels the head of his cock at her entrance, all bets are off. A moan tumbles from her lips and soon, Liam is grabbing her hips and sliding into her. Emma sits up, placing her hands on his chest in total submission and rocks her hips back and forth, eager to have him completely buried inside of her. 

 “Oh, fuck, Emma. . .”

 He reaches for her breasts again and squeezes as she rides his dick. She’s so glad she’d set her alarm clock fifteen minutes early like she always does because she knows nine times out of ten, she’ll let Liam get his way. It's their morning routine.

 But she can’t help it. Her boyfriend is so irresistible. The way he flips her over, sending Emma to her back, the way he pounds into her so rough and hard like he can never get enough of her. The way he kisses her so deeply and passionately, making her head spin. The expression on his face as her walls grip his cock, the way he groans, setting her skin ablaze. And the way he’s kissing her after it’s over, both of them breathless. When he pulls out, the way he kisses every inch of her on his way to her satisfied core, his cum dripping from her entrance as she combs her fingers through his curly brown hair. The way he laps up both of their orgasms from her cunt until her walls are fluttering around his tongue. She can’t help but give in to all of it.

 Emma’s fingers clench around his hair as she screams through another incredible orgasm. “Fuck… Liam!” 

 And once she's able to reassemble herself and jump out of bed before he can talk her into cuddling or going for another round, she immediately hates having to leave him. But now she must.

 Emma throws on some clothes, making sure she’s dressed appropriately in case she runs into her other roommate as she heads to the bathroom. The big, blissful smile plastered on her face instantly vanishes, though, her nose scrunching in disapproval when she steps on something and looks down, spotting a red, lacey thong on the floor outside Killian’s bedroom. A thong that is not her own. 

 What the actual fuck? 

 She grimaces and kicks the fabric aside like it’s contaminated with a deadly virus. She’s not surprised though. Disgusted, yes, but not surprised. Killian is always bringing a different woman home with him, and she and Liam always have to hear the noises coming from his bedroom. Therefore, they never feel bad when they’re going at it in their bedroom, and don’t even bother being quiet. 

 Sometimes she thinks the two brothers are engaging in some sort of weird contest, trying to see who can make the woman they’re with scream the loudest. She gathers it’s a pissing contest between the two brothers to see who’s the better bloke in the sack or to see who has the bigger cock. So Emma always makes sure she’s extra loud to let Killian know just how good his brother is in the sack. And so far, none of the women Killian’s brought to his bed have outmatched her. 

 Emma grins at the thought as she continues to the bathroom to relieve her bladder. She also thinks about how much things have changed since she came here to Storybrooke. She’d never meant to start a relationship with Liam, or anyone for that matter, when she’d ran into him outside his bar the night they’d met. They had exchanged phone numbers and he’d asked her out the next day, to which she’d reluctantly accepted. She was reluctant, not because she wasn't attracted to him—because God, she was—but because she still had a strong fortress surrounding her heart from when Neal had shattered it to pieces. But when she’d learned Liam too was cheated on by an ex, they had bonded over their heartaches, and she thought they could help each other heal. But they did so much more than that. 

 Emma fell for Liam and she fell hard. He’s much like a teddy bear, only soft on the inside, not the outside. He’s kind and loving and warm and best of all, he makes her laugh. When she’d discovered how good he was in bed on top of all his amazing qualities, she thought he was too good to be true. He seemed like the total package. He is the total package. But still, she’d kept waiting for the other shoe to drop; it never did, though. Or at least, it hasn’t dropped. yet.

 Once she's under the shower stream, she’s wetting her hair and singing the first song that comes to mind. Titanium by David Guetta. 

  “You shout it out, but I can’t hear a word you say. . .”

 After nine years, she still sings this damn song. But it’s so perfect for the shower because the lyrics are ones she can easily belt out, the words echoing beautifully off the bathroom walls.

 She’s been singing in the shower since she was eight years old. Her brother would always pound on the bathroom door when she was taking a shower, and yell for her to stop. It was like that when they lived in the same house growing up and it was like that after she moved in with him and Mary Margaret. She has to admit, she misses annoying the hell out of her brother. 

  Bang, bang, bang.

 “Would you stop your bloody awful singing?!" Killian shouts through the door. “Some people are actually trying to sleep around here!”

 Now that she lives with Liam, she has his pain in the ass brother to annoy. As fun as that is, it’s not really the same.

 Emma doesn’t stop though. Instead, she grins to herself and lathers shampoo into her hair, closing her eyes as she makes sure to sing even louder and more obnoxious.

  “You criticize, but all your bullets ricochet. Shoot me down, but I get up. . .”

 Ever since she moved in with her boyfriend eight months ago, Killian has been a pesky thorn in her side. He’s been nothing but a nuisance. From leaving his dirty dishes in the sink to sleeping with a different woman almost every night to pissing her off every chance he gets. He’s always trying to bring her down, always finding new ways to push her buttons. She’s not sure exactly why it all started. Maybe because he’s held a grudge against her since she chose his brother over him. Or maybe because he thinks she’s trying to steal his brother away from him. But either way, she’s not giving him the satisfaction of letting him get to her. Or at least letting him know he gets to her. 

 Emma starts shouting out the lyrics, each word louder than the previous one, purposely trying to get a rise out of him, just like he always does to her. 

 “Shoot me down, but I won’t fall! I am Tit-aaaaan-iiiiiiiuuuuuum! Shoot me down, but I won’t—”

 The whine of the faucet interrupts her, and suddenly she's shivering, no longer feeling the hot water spraying her skin. What the fuck? One second she's rinsing her hair and the next, the bathroom door is slamming shut and she’s just standing there in the bathtub with shampoo dripping down her face and no water to rinse it out with. 

 That damn bastard turned off the shower!

 “What the hell?!” she screeches, her words garbled when the shampoo drips into her mouth. She spits it out and spins around, blindly reaching for the towel on the rack, yanking it off the bar and wiping her face with it. “You asshole!”

 She steps out of the tub, blood bubbling under her skin as she wraps the towel around her body. Okay, pounding on the bathroom door is one thing, but shutting off the water while she’s taking a shower is a whole different level of asshole for Killian Jones! And she won’t stand for it. She’s not letting him get away with this.  

 She marches out of the bathroom and down the hall, leaving a dripping wet trail of soapy water behind her. But she doesn’t give a fuck at the moment. She rips his door open and storms into his room without any sort of grace. She hurries over to his alarm clock, which he leaves on his dresser across the room so he'll have to get up to turn it off. He does it so he won’t be tempted to hit the snooze button and fall back asleep. 

 Killian’s in his bed with the covers over his head as Emma turns on the music and cranks up the volume. She immediately spins around and scurries out of his room, her heart hammering in her chest, but when she makes it to the doorway, she can feel his hand gripping her arm as he turns her around and presses her firmly against the wall, just outside his door.  

 She loses her breath.

 He doesn’t say anything at all; he just stares at her, a mixture of emotions written all over his face. She can’t tell if he’s pissed or irritated, or if the look on his face is just pure hatred for her. Or if it’s something else entirely.

 Emma loses a breath when he closes the gap between them until their bodies are pressed together, his face inches from hers. He still doesn’t murmur a word, just stares at her. 

 She gulps when his eyes flicker over her face, and it almost seems like he’s going to. . .

 No, no, no, that can’t be. She knows for a fact she’s just imagining things, because Killian would never try to kiss her. Not only because his brother is dating her, but because he hates her with every fiber of his being; he’s never said it out loud, but she knows deep down he does.

 Killian’s still staring at her and she’s so stunned in her spot, she can’t even move. As his eyes move to her lips, she swears she stops breathing, her heart pounding in her ear. He hasn’t looked at her with anything apart from hatred since the night they met.

 He quickly amends his stare, his eyes snapping to hers, regret clouding his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispers huskily and releases her, dashing to his room and slamming the door behind him. 

  What the hell was that?

 He may have been able to move, but she feels like she’s superglued to the wall. She can still feel his palms on her wrists like he’s still pinning her, but he’s not.

 “What the bloody hell was all that racket?” 

 The sound of Liam’s voice makes her heart jump into her throat, and she has to peel herself from the wall. When she does, she feels a million times lighter. She blows out a long breath. A breath she feels like she’s been holding this whole time. She turns to Liam and gets on her tiptoes as she wraps her arms around the back of his neck, kissing him chastely on the lips. “Nothing, babe, it was just your annoying brother hollering at me for singing again and telling me how awful of a singer I am.” 

 “Don’t listen to him. You sing beautifully,” Liam assures her sweetly, kissing the tip of her nose. “I love your singing.”

 Emma smiles at his compliments, but her face twists at the memories of Killian turning off the water on her. “I never do listen to him, but that asshole shut off the shower on me while I was in there. And I had shampoo in my hair and it got in my eyes and mouth.”

 She can see the anger spiraling through her boyfriend, his features appalled. “He did what?!” Liam lunges toward Killian’s door, but Emma moves in front of him and places her hands on his chest to stop him. 

 “It’s fine. I got him back.” She smirks. “I turned on his music and cranked up the volume. 

 “I know, I could hear everything,” he grumbles, his eyes focused on Killian’s door. Emma’s still standing in front of him so he won’t go charging in there, but he manages to pound on the door. “What the fuck, Killian?! You don’t go into the bathroom while Emma’s using it! She lives here, too, you wanker!”

 “I already told her I was sorry!” he calls through the door.

 Emma furrows her brows. She thought Killian had said he was sorry for pinning her against the wall and almost kissing her. Or at least, that’s what it seemed like.

 “Sorry, love,” Liam murmurs, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her forehead. “My brother’s a pompous arse sometimes.”

 She can’t disagree with that. This is far from the first time Killian’s been a jerk to her and it won’t be the last. She wishes she and Liam could get a place of their own. What she wouldn’t give to be able to get up in the morning and prance around the apartment half-naked, or even naked if she so chose to be, not having to worry about annoying roommates who only stir up trouble and tell her she’s an awful singer. She knows her boyfriend wants to be close to his brother, but still, how does Liam not get sick of Killian’s shit?

 “It’s fine,” she assures him, looking up into his warm blue eyes. “I just can’t wait until we get a place of our own. Just you and me.” 

 A serene smile stretches over Liam’s lips as he gazes into her eyes and caresses her cheek. “I can’t wait either, baby.” He turns her toward the wall, pressing her back against it, much like Killian had done a few moments ago. Emma moans when she feels Liam’s thickness digging into her thigh. “Then I would get to fuck you whenever I wanted without worrying about my little brother pounding on the wall, telling us to stop.” He lifts her up and she instinctively wraps her legs around his waist as he buries his face in the crook of her neck and gives her a few gentle thrusts. Emma tilts her head back and moans, loving the way his cock feels pressed against her center. He’s wearing boxers, but she can still feel every inch of him.

 “That would be amazing,” she murmurs breathlessly as he leaves a trail of kisses down her neck. 

 “But it might not be such a good idea because then I would never want to leave. I’d want to stay home and make love to you all day.”

 Emma laughs as his words vibrate against her skin. “You’re insatiable.”

 “Can’t help it, love. You’re so bloody gorgeous and perfect. And when you have something rare and precious, you hold onto it and never let it go.”

 Emma’s heart warms, a blissful smile curving her lips. Liam’s sweet lines, no matter how cheesy or sappy, are just some of the reasons why she fell in love with him. He always knows what to say to make her feel special. Emma fists her hands in his hair and pulls his face to hers, capturing his lips for a heated kiss.

 Killian’s bedroom door opens, and he barges through the hallway, bursting their cozy, quiet bubble. “I can’t wait for you two to get your own place either. Then I won’t have to hear you two fucking every goddamn second of the day,” he grumbles as he marches down the hall.

 “Oh, like we’ve never heard you fucking one of your many conquests!” Emma hollers after him.

 “Whatever, I’m taking a shower. I’m late for work and you’re taking too damn long.” 

 Emma’s eyes widen when he disappears into the bathroom, and she releases herself from Liam’s hold and follows Killian, but before she can stop him, he slams the door in her face.

 She’s seeing red as she wiggles the knob and is even more pissed when it’s locked. “You asshole! I have to rinse the shampoo out of my hair since you shut off my shower before I could!”

 He answers by turning on his heavy metal music.

 Emma lets out a frustrated scream and pounds on the door. So much for being at work on time today.

 She’s fucking pissed and about to kick the door, but Liam’s warm arms instantly put her at ease. 

 “Come on, baby, don’t let him get under your skin. Let me make you breakfast while you wait for the shower.”

 Emma relents and goes to her room to grab her bathrobe. She rinses her hair off in the kitchen sink as Liam starts the coffee.

 ~*~

 Killian’s still cursing to himself when Emma’s in the shower for the second time that morning. He tugs on his shirt, hating himself for what he’d done earlier in the hallway. He never should’ve pinned her against the wall and almost kissed the bloody hell out of her, but he’d reacted before he could control himself. 

 When he had pressed her into the wall, she was standing there, dripping wet in nothing but a towel. He can still see the wet spots on the carpet where her hair had dripped to the floor—in his bedroom when she marched in here to turn on his music and outside his door. He’d damn near drooled when he gazed upon the soft swell of her slick breasts, and couldn’t help but notice her pebbled nipples underneath the thin cotton. He could feel her taut nipples against his chest when he pressed himself into her. She was so fucking sexy, and he wanted to pick her up and carry her to his room and have his way with her. Or seeing that she was naked underneath the towel, he wanted to lift her up and just take her there against the wall. It would have been so easy to slide inside of her and just fuck her senseless. Neither of those scenarios was an option, obviously.

 Killian sits on the edge of his bed, sighing into his hands. As much as he pretends to and wishes he actually hated her, he’s unfortunately in love with her. After he found her in his kitchen wearing Liam’s shirt a year ago, he did everything he could to forget about her. He's tried sleeping with other women, he still tries that method, but it never bloody works. It only makes him wish those women were Emma. It makes him want her more. It makes him feel more lonely than he already is.

 Maybe he would've been able to forget about her if she hadn't kept showing up here. And it was bad enough when she and Liam had their sleepovers all the time, but then she moved in eight months ago because she was sick of living with her brother, and Liam was sick of not waking up next to Emma every morning. 

 Killian hates living here with Liam and Emma. He hates having to hear them fuck in the bedroom next to his; he hates having to hear them speak to each other like they’re so fucking in love. It makes him sick. 

 He hates having to witness every milestone in their relationship. He had to listen every time Liam went on about how he was falling for Emma and how she was his soulmate. He had to hear about it when Liam told him he had finally professed his love for her; he had to hear about it when Liam said he could no longer stand living without her, and how he wanted to ask her to move in with him. Liam sought Killian's approval, which he reluctantly gave, and had to hear about Emma’s reaction and how excited she was when she said yes.

 Killian’s had to listen to every conversation Liam and Emma have had when they’re all home at the same time, he’s had to watch them feed each other, he’s had to witness one of them going into the kitchen, grabbing a can of Reddi Whip and heading back to their room countless times. For the past year, he’s had a front-row seat to Liam’s and Emma’s relationship, and he’s hated every fucking second of it.

 In the beginning, Killian had hoped their relationship would be temporary. Emma had been cheated on, too, just like Liam, so they had that in common and it was something they bonded over in the beginning. Killian thought they both just needed to cleanse themselves from their cheating exes, and that they were using each other to do that, but nope. What they had in the beginning went beyond helping each other heal. And Killian can’t blame his brother for wanting something more with Emma. She’s the whole fucking package and Killian knows this just as well as Liam does. It’s the reason why Killian hasn’t been able to tame his feelings for her, even though he knows she’s completely off-limits. 

 He’s happy for Liam, he really is. He’s glad Liam found someone as amazing as Emma. He’s glad Liam is happy. He just wishes he’d never met her at the bar that night. He wishes he’d never set his sights on her so that maybe then he wouldn’t be pining for his brother’s girlfriend. Maybe then he wouldn’t be so head over heels for her. But then again, maybe he would still feel the same way about her, no matter how or when he met her.

 Maybe it’s his fault though. He knows his feelings for her would be so much easier to deal with if he didn’t live with her.

 There have been so many times he told himself he was finding another place to live, but at the end of the day, he talked himself out of it because why should he leave? This was his apartment long before Liam even met Emma. Hell, this was Killian’s apartment before Liam moved in with him. 

 Killian moved here after he graduated from high school and his first roommate wouldn’t leave after not paying his share of the rent for six months. Killian could have gone to court, filled out the paperwork and served him with an eviction notice, which would’ve given his roommate a month to move out. But Killian had another idea in mind that would speed up the process, and all he had to do was beg Liam to go along with it. He got the idea from watching an episode of Friends. The One Where Eddie Won't Go. Chandler couldn’t get his annoying, nut job of a roommate to leave, so when Eddie returns to the apartment the next day, the lock on the door has been changed, Chandler and Joey pretend they don’t know Eddie and they act as though Joey never left. 

 So Killian had something similar in mind. Liam showed up at his apartment and went into the roommate’s bedroom. Together, they gathered his things and started moving them to the front lawn. When the roommate returned later that day, the locks had been changed and Killian opened the door after he heard the incessant pounding and pretended he didn’t remember having another roommate besides his brother. When the guy refused to leave, Liam stood at the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, and his intimidating height and size compared to the scrawny, short lad who stood in the hallway, finally left with his tail between his legs. 

 When Liam went back to his and his girlfriend’s flat that night, he walked in on her while she was banging some other guy in the bed they shared. Not wanting to be reminded of what he’d witnessed when he slept in his bed every night, he’s the one who left and never came back. Liam and Killian have lived together in this flat ever since then. And they never heard from Killian’s old roommate ever again.

 So, why should Killian be the one to leave? 

 Then again, if he stays, his feelings for Emma might become even more difficult to shake off. 

 Right, like he could shake them off. If he could, then he would’ve done that long ago.

 ~*~

 “Killian, can I talk to you for a moment?” Liam asks the next day when he steps into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. It’s Saturday, so neither of them is working, and Emma is out shopping with her sister-in-law.

 Killian’s carrying a mug of freshly brewed coffee as he leaves the kitchen, catching the serious expression on his brother's face and in his tone. He's a bit nervous if he’s being honest, certain Liam’s going to chew him out for shutting off Emma’s shower yesterday. Killian was out the door before Liam could say anything to his face about it. He supposes he deserves the lecture, though; he was kind of an arsehole to her. Okay, he was a huge arsehole. But she was being so loud. And yes, she has the voice of an angel, but it doesn't give her the right to wake up the entire apartment building. Prepared for an arse chewing, Killian raises his free hand in surrender. “I promise I didn’t see anything. I was only trying to get her to stop singing—”

 Liam shakes his head before Killian can finish, and drags a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “That’s not what I want to talk to you about.”

 “Oh. Okay, what is it then?” Killian asks, noticing how nervous Liam appears to be.

 Liam motions to the living room, so they both head to the sofa and take a seat. He draws in a shaky breath and reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a velvet box.

 Killian’s eyes widen in horror as he stares at the object. 

  No, please tell me that’s not what I think it is. Please, Liam. Don’t make it so.

 Killian gulps thickly, unable to remove his eyes from the box. He’s never prayed for anything in his entire twenty-three years of living on this earth, but right now he’s praying that whatever’s in that box is not a diamond ring.

 But judging by the smile cracking Liam’s lips, he already knows the words on his tongue before he speaks them. “I’m asking Emma to be my wife.”

  Heart meet dagger.

 Killian feels like the wind has just been knocked out of him, all of the air in the room suddenly gone.

 Liam cracks open the box, showing Killian the ring. It’s a princess cut diamond with a white-gold band. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

 Liam’s waiting for some sort of approval, but all Killian can do is stare at the ring and feel a stab of jealousy. He knows he should be happy and supportive, but he still can’t help but want Emma to be his and not his brother’s. He knows Liam deserves a woman like Emma, though, and she deserves someone like Liam. He’s a good man, and if Killian were forced to pick someone besides himself, he’d pick Liam every time. And if he had to pick someone for Liam, there's no doubt he’d pick her. But that doesn’t make this any less easy.

 Killian clears the frog from his throat. “It’s stunning,” he says with a smile, trying to keep his tone even. “It’s stunning, just like Emma.”

 “That’s exactly what I think too, little brother.” He blows out a wobbly breath. “I’m so bloody nervous about asking her to marry me. We’ve only been together for a year. Well, almost a year, but I know she’s the one for me, Killian. I know it deep in my bones. I’ve known since the night I met her.”

 Killian wants to say he knows the feeling. 

 How is it even possible he and Liam felt the exact same way about the exact same woman that exact same night? 

 She made her choice though, regardless of the chemistry between her and Killian.

 He also knows how Liam feels because, apart from that first week he and Emma were together, he hasn’t exactly kept Killian out of the loop. So Killian’s known every goddamn step of the way how Liam has felt about her. “How will you ask her?”

 “Well . . .” Liam runs his hand through his hair nervously and stares off into space, as though he’s playing the scenario in his head. “For our one-year anniversary, I want to have a picnic on the lake where we went on our first date. Which reminds me . . .” Liam looks at Killian, appearing a bit skittish about something, “I wanted to ask you if I can borrow your motorcycle.”

 Killian furrows his brows. “But you hate my bike. When I first got it, you kept telling me how dangerous it was, and when I taught you how to ride it, you said you never wanted to be on it again.”

 “I know… but I want this proposal to be special, and I always catch Emma staring at your bike whenever we’re getting into my car.”

 “You do?”

 “Aye. And she’s mentioned she’s never ridden a motorcycle before, so I wanted her to have that experience. I want to do something with her she might enjoy before I pop the big question, you know? So she doesn’t think I’ll be one of those vanilla husbands who doesn’t know how to have fun.”

 Killian’s heart clenches. How many times has he dreamt about taking Emma for a ride on his motorcycle? How many times has he dreamt of having her arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as they rode his bike? 

 “Then after we eat and have some wine, we’ll walk along the beach, and when the moment feels right, I’ll get down on one knee.”

 Killian swallows hard. The scenario Liam is painting sounds absolutely perfect, and he knows Emma will love it. He knows Emma’s not a grand gesture type of lass, and what Liam has planned is the perfect combination of grand and simple. 

 “So, what do you say, can I use it?” 

 When Killian witnesses the spark in Liam’s eyes, he can’t help but say, “Of course. You can use it for as long as you’d like.”

 “Thank you, Killian,” he says appreciatively, clasping his hands together as he leans forward and perches his elbows on his knees. “I also have another favor to ask of you.”

 Killian quirks a brow as he sets his mug on the coffee table. “I’m afraid to ask.” He laughs, but he actually is afraid to ask.

 Liam chuckles. “Relax, I only wanted to ask if you’d be my best man. You’re not only my brother . . .” his face grows serious as he looks Killian dead in the eyes, “you’re my best friend, and I couldn’t imagine anyone else standing up there beside me as I marry the woman of my dreams. I imagine it’ll take a while to plan the wedding, and the earliest it would be is next year, but—” 

 “I’d be honored,” Killian cuts him off, swallowing hard. It feels like Liam just drove the dagger deeper into his chest. 

 As honored as he is for Liam to ask him to be his best man, he can’t stand at the altar and watch the woman of his dreams marry his brother. He just can’t. But he can’t possibly tell Liam that. 

 A big grin overtakes Liam’s face as he pulls Killian in for a big hug. 

 “I’m happy for you,” Killian expresses hoarsely, trying to ignore how crushed he feels. “You deserve it, brother,” he says genuinely. 

 “Thank you, Killian. That means a lot,” Liam says as they break the hug. “Now just hope I can grow some balls to get down on one knee, and pray she says yes.” 

 “She’ll say yes, I know she will, Liam,” he says sincerely, patting his brother on the shoulder. He knows deep down Liam and Emma are perfect for each other, no matter how much he wants to deny it.

 “You really think so?” Liam is asking hopefully. 

 And right now, Killian can’t help but smile. If Liam were proposing to any other woman, Killian would be so bloody happy for him. So he shoves away the fact that it’s Emma they’re talking about so he can just be there for his brother like Liam needs him to be. “Aye. There is no one more perfect for you than her.”

 Liam grins from ear to ear. “At least we can agree on one thing,” he chuckles. “I love her so bloody much.” His face suddenly clouds with something Killian can’t quite put his finger on, and once again, Liam appears to be nervous. “That brings me to the final thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

 “Okay,” Killian gulps. He has a bad feeling about what the next thing might be, though it can’t possibly be worse than telling him he’s proposing to the same woman Killian’s completely in love with or asking Killian to stand beside Liam as he watches Emma marry someone else.

 “I need you to be nice to Emma,” he says in a condemning tone. “She thinks you hate her.”

 Guilt clenches Killian’s heart, and as much as he knows he should be nice to the woman who will be Liam’s future wife, he knows agreeing to be nice to Emma is like agreeing to jump into quicksand.

 For the past year, Killian’s had to pretend to hate Emma because he knows if he and Emma end up becoming friends, then he’ll be tempted to act on his feelings for her, and he can’t let that happen. He can’t do that to Liam. So, there’s only one other option.

 Killian has to move out, and he needs to move out soon. Until that happens, he has to throw on a smile and pretend everything is hunky-dory. “I don’t hate her,” he manages, trying to shove all of his emotions down his throat. 

 “Good, then act like it. If she says yes when I propose, she’ll be your sister-in-law soon, so get used to that idea.”

 Killian tears his gaze from Liam, unable to look at his brother right now. He feels like his ears are bleeding. Like his heart is bleeding. Liam has no idea how much his words just gutted him. He could never get used to being Emma’s . . .

 No, he can’t even think about the idea. He could never consider Emma as his sister-in-law, and there’s no way he could ever be a brother figure to her. There’s just no bloody way. He’s wanked off while thinking about her for crying out fucking loud.

 “You don’t have to worry, I promise I’ll be nicer to Emma.” Even as Killian makes the promise, he can feel himself being pulled in by the quicksand.

 “Thank you, Killian.”

 When they stand, Killian tells him he’s going to the gym. He needs to relieve some of the pain bubbling inside his chest and figure out how the bloody hell he’s going to win this internal battle inside him, or if he ever will. He should have seen this coming though. He knows Liam has been serious about Emma from the beginning.

 He changes into his gym clothes, and once the cool breeze hits his face, once Liam is no longer near him, he can finally breathe, but even then, the surrounding air feels paper-thin. He’s barely able to suck in enough oxygen to make his heart not feel so heavy.

 He puts on his helmet and hops on his bike, driving out of the parking lot and trying to figure out how the bloody hell to get out of this predicament.

 As much as he loves Liam, he can’t fucking do this. Any of it. He can’t be Liam’s best man, he can’t give a best man speech and tell everyone how bloody happy he is for the bride and groom while he’ll actually be dying inside. He can’t live with them for one more bloody second, and he sure as hell can’t be her brother-in-law.

 Which leaves Killian with only one choice.

 He needs to get out of Storybrooke. And he needs to get out soon.

  Tagging people who have shown interest. Let me know if you would like to be added or if I missed you. @itsfabianadocarmo @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @onceuponaprincessworld @viajandosinalas @teamhook @captainswan-shipper88 @jamif​ @katielovesstarcrossedlovers @uhthreeyuh @lfh1226-linda @babyyouremyqueen @sthonour @julesep3026 @fairytalewhispersinmyheart @andiirivera @wefoundloveunderthelight @wickedsw4n @eleveneitherway @eherron14 @ouatpost @transparentclodsludgeweasel @stahlop​

[that-sw-writer]

Empress for the Evening II

PART ONE, PART THREE

Note: I really don’t know how I feel about this but I dislike everything I write so we’re rolling with it

Summary: After a long cycle the First Order Gala was once again upon you, and your thoughts were fixed on Kylo Ren.

But as always there were plenty of sleazy politicians available to pull you away from your memories of kissing the Supreme Leader after the last Gala.  It was time to assert your new position as Queen, and prove your independence.

Word count: 5071

Warnings: pure, unadulterated, tooth-rotting fluffy Kylo

It had been a long cycle. The illness your Father had contracted was more severe than the medical staff had initially thought, and a mere few months after the First Order’s last Gala he had passed away.

In the following months, you barely had any time to process losing him. He had been a widely respected and loved King, but you were quickly forced to step up as Queen – a role which you didn’t feel ready for. Many people told you that authority and leadership suited you, and thankfully you had managed to maintain the high functioning society your Father had for all those cycles.

Despite many nights spent alone silently mourning the loss of your Father, day to day you were in and out of meetings, public appearances and diplomatic endeavours. The steel industry was producing at a higher rate than ever, and you hoped that your Father would have been proud of what you had achieved since his passing.

You faced plenty of insubordination being a Queen of your age, but you stopped it very quickly by demonstrating that you aren’t afraid to exercise your power against those who undermine you. There were however some issues which your advisors consistently brought up which couldn’t be considered insubordinate; one of those was marriage.

It was true, you were young, pretty and heavily sought after by royal families from other planets. But the problem was you didn’t have any desire to marry. Had your Father still been King he would have been advised to marry you off to a planet whom he wished to ally himself with – but he had always taught you not to be a bargaining chip in somebody else’s political game. Now you were the Queen, and you were not about to sell yourself to some stranger in order to please your advisors.

The months flew by, and before you knew it the dreaded annual First Order Gala was upon you once more. This time you would be attending as a Queen rather than a Princess, which gave you plenty of authority to put creeps like Baron Eastley in their place.

As you sat onboard your transport to the Finalizer, your thoughts drifted to the Supreme Leader. The moment he had kissed you outside of your room had played over and over in your head, and the thought of seeing him again made you more nervous every time you thought about it. You told yourself that you were being pathetic – It’s not like Kylo Ren would be spending time thinking about you. It was one night, you had both had a bit to drink, and it was never going to be spoken about again most likely.

You continued to tell yourself this as you approached the hanger for landing. Perhaps you wouldn’t even see the Supreme Leader at the Gala, and if you did you weren’t even sure what to say.

Upon landing you were shown to your quarters for the evening by two Stormtroopers, flanked by your ever-loyal handmaidens. When you arrived at your room, the three women accompanying you were shown to their room next door before bringing your belongings and joining you in your quarters to begin getting you ready for the Gala.

The four of you chatted on as the three women fussed over your hair and makeup, they had been with you through thick and thin – when you were coronated as Queen your court had attempted to assign you new handmaidens, but you had strictly refused. You trusted these women, and discarding them for different people would have broken that trust.

“Do you think the Supreme Leader will talk to you tonight?” Flora finally asked the question on everyone’s lips, and you waited for Jeyne to comment with something optimistic first.

“Of course he will! I bet you’ve been the only thing on his mind since the last Gala!” She beamed at you, and you let out a small chuckle. You hadn’t hesitated in telling your closest confidants about your exchange with the Supreme Leader the previous cycle. You knew they could keep a secret – if anyone from your court had discovered your brief romance with Kylo Ren they would have exploited it for something it wasn’t.

“I’m sure you’re all overstating things.” You gently shook your head, “Last time we had both had a bit to drink and he must have just found me attractive – which is all down to your amazing work.” You praised the three women with a small smile, but they quickly brushed off your compliment.

“Don’t undersell yourself your Majesty, any man would be foolish to turn you down.” Kira looked up from where she was styling your hair and met your eyes in the mirror with a smile.

You continued to chatter along with them as they finalised your look for the evening. Your dress was a shining silver, the area around your chest was made of a sheer fabric which was invisible to the eye, but the silver embellishments were sparsely dotted out around your chest, creating a beautiful illusion. The dress hugged your waist, and the skirt fell to the floor, catching the light as you moved. Your hair fell in cascading waves down your back, and your makeup was done as to compliment your dress perfectly.

“You look incredible.” Kira exhaled a breath, all the ladies were clearly proud of their work – and you were equally as proud of them.

“Thank you, all of you. I’ll never know how you do it.” You smiled at yourself in the mirror.

As was always the routine, just at the moment you were ready to go your escort arrived to take you to the reception hall. Your handmaidens kept to their schedule perfectly every cycle.

“Good luck, your Majesty.” Flora smiled, and you bid farewell to them all as you made your way to the door to meet the Stormtroopers who would be escorting you to the Gala.

When the blast doors opened, your heart skipped a beat and behind you the jaws of your handmaidens hit the floor. Before you stood the Supreme Leader in his all glory, dressed in what you could only assume was the same tunic that he had worn the cycle before.

“I-uh…” You were lost for words, sure you had been mentally preparing yourself to see Kylo Ren again, but not to have him show up at your door before the Gala even began.

“Your Majesty, I know you weren’t expecting me,” He began, seemingly just as nervous as you were, “But I was hoping to escort you this evening.”

You took a second and quickly composed yourself – you were a Queen for goodness sake, not some naïve Princess anymore. “It’d be my honour.” You smiled delicately, and took his arm when prompted.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see your handmaidens exchanging very excited glances as you left.

“May I offer my condolences for the passing of your Father, I’m sure it hasn’t been an easy cycle for you.” He spoke solemnly as the pair of you slowly approached the reception hall.

“Thank you, Supreme Leader.” You looked down, discussing your Father’s passing was still a raw subject, but you’d had plenty of practise at holding it together, “He is sorely missed on our planet.”

“I can imagine.” He replied, “But I also wanted to congratulate you on the work you have done so far. It is my understanding that under your rule the First Order is being supplied with almost double the amount of steel we were before.”

You nodded, “It’s been my first priority to improve worker conditions and boost morale, in turn it has increased production levels. A lucky outcome really.”

“Don’t put it down to luck, ruling suits you. I realised that at the last Gala.”

Your mind drifted back to the pervious cycle when you had swiftly put Baron Eastley in his place, unsurprisingly he was one of the planetary leaders requesting your hand in marriage for his sons.

“That’s kind of you to say, Supreme Leader.” You offered him a cordial smile, which he returned.

“Kylo, please.” He told you, and you nodded. You remembered he had asked you not to call him by his title at the previous Gala, but you didn’t want to assume that things were the same this time around.

There was an awkward air between you both. That elephant in the room that neither of you would talk about, and that was the kiss you had shared.

You reached the entrance and Kylo turned to you, “I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave.”

He had to enter along with the First Order Supreme Council, and you had no desire to join him. “Thank you for escorting me.” You nodded, before adding, “I hope to see you in there.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” He gave a curt bow, and marched off in another direction, leaving you alone.

You inhaled a deep breath and entered the reception hall, many glances being thrown your way.  Perhaps it was the dress grabbing their attention, or maybe it was the fact that you had become Queen so abruptly at such a young age - if these aristocrats loved anything it was gossip.

"Queen Y/N!"  A voice called, "Please, join us!"  You recognised the man speaking as the representative Chancellor of Vardos.  He was standing in amongst a group of other men and women, many of whom you recognised but not well enough to know any of their names.

You nodded, and made your way over to their schmoozing circle, being sure to swipe a glass of champagne from a serving droid on your way over.  Time to paint on the fake smile and act happy to see all of these strangers.

"How lovely to see you all."  You took a small sip from your glass and stood tall whilst they all looked at you like a pack of hungry dogs.

"We were all terribly sorry to hear about your Father's passing, he was a good man."  One woman, who you recognised as a member of the Corellian leadership, spoke first.

"He was."  You knew that you would hear plenty of these comments this evening, despite none of these people truly being sorry about his passing.  When he had died the First Order's allied planets had sensed an opportunity to infiltrate your planet's economy - after all you were supplying the First Order with something irreplaceable.

"How have you found Queendom so far?  I can imagine it hasn't been an easy adjustment to make, particularly alone."  This comment was so pointed it made you feel sick to the stomach, imagine having a young woman rule alone?  Scandalous...

"I've actually settled in very well, thank you."  Your tone was slightly sharp, but you blunted it with a polite smile.  Many of the people here tonight had been begging your advisors that they arrange a marriage for you, but you had been refusing them.

You weren't against marriage, but you wanted to marry for the right reasons.  You certainly didn't want somebody to marry you simply to usurp your power.

"I've actually been speaking to your advisors about my son, your Majesty.  He's a few years older and than you and has plenty of experience-"  Thankfully you were saved by the bell before that sentence could finish.

"Please all be upstanding for Supreme Leader Kylo Ren."  Your head whipped to the doors which Kylo would enter through and applause rang out through the hall as he walked down the elaborate steps, looking completely indifferent as he always did.

His eyes searched the crowd, and eventually landed on you and you could have sworn you saw him wink at you... but that may have been a trick of the light.

As Kylo descended down the stairs whispers began circulating amongst your group, and it was clear that these people didn't know that Kylo Ren had depth to him beyond stabbing men with a Lightsaber.

"I've heard he's killed men just for making eye contact with him."

"You know the scar?  Apparently they could have healed him but he wanted to keep it to make him look more dangerous."

This chatter continued circulating amongst the people stood around you, and eventually they all turned to you to comment - and you cleared your throat, if they wanted something to talk about then you would give them something.

"I'm sure if the Supreme Leader heard you talking about him in such a way he wouldn't hesitate to demonstrate his power to you."  You shrugged nonchalantly, "But for what it's worth I think there's more to him than you all assume.  I wouldn't believe every rumour you hear."

They all fell silent, unsure of how to respond to your comment so they simply ignored it and changed the subject.

The talk turned to politics, and you largely remained silent unless called upon to comment on your planet's economy, which you did so proudly and with confidence.  All of sudden midway through the conversation you noticed everybody staring at you, and you suddenly became very uncomfortable; until you realised that there were looking over your shoulder.

Turning around you nearly collided with Kylo's chest, and he surreptitiously placed a hand on the small of your back to steady you, "I apologise for startling you, your Majesty."

"Not at all," You flashed him a smile, actually relieved that he was here hopefully to rescue you from this conversation, "I should really be more aware of my surroundings."

He slowly dropped his hand from your back before anybody watching could read into the gesture and turned to the group who were all frozen in fear by his presence.

"Thank you all for being here."  He addressed them all, and they took this as their cue to begin pushing their way to be the first to talk to him about the airs and graces of their individual planets.

He allowed them all to finish tripping over their words before clearing his throat, "I actually came here to talk to Queen Y/N."

All eyes were suddenly on you, and they all looked like death glares - jealousy was rising in the air but nobody made any move to stand the in way of Kylo Ren.

"I apologise for interrupting."  He told them all, and once again his hand was at the small of your back, but this time it was to gently lead you away from the crowd.  He came right on time since your champagne flute was empty and you didn't think you could stand another minute of their incessant gossiping.

The two of you walked away from the crowds of people, but it didn't go unnoticed this time around - there were multiple pairs of eyes watching you both.

Very aware of this, Kylo chose not to stand too close to you, which you appreciated.

"I trust you had no interest in remaining part of that."  He raised an eyebrow and you chuckled.  You both seemed far more comfortable than you initially had when he showed up at your quarters.

"Absolutely not."  You replied, shaking your head, "Your entrance actually saved me from a conversation I didn't want to have."

"You don't strike me as the kind of Queen who engages in conversations she doesn't want to have."  He smirked slightly.

"And I don't, but on these occasions I have to make exceptions.  It turns out I can't spend the entire cycle ignoring all these stuck up politicians' proposals of marriage and show up here alone without causing controversy."  You rolled your eyes.

"Marriage?  Are you... betrothed?"  He suddenly interjected, and your cheeks reddened slightly.  Perhaps you had forgotten whose company you were in - you probably shouldn't be discussing such personal political matters with the Supreme Leader.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."  You sheepishly backtracked, "But, um, no I'm not.  My advisors are suggesting I marry, but I don't trust the motivations of these proposals."

"You're right not to trust them."  He mused, plucking two glasses of champagne from a passing serving droid and handing you one, taking your empty one and placing it back on the tray.

"Thank you."  You mumbled, taking a sip, "How do you know I'm right not trusting them?"  You wondered why Kylo was so interested in your political affairs, but equally it was nice for someone to give you an honest opinion.

"I think I must confess something."  He looked nervous, and suddenly very aware of all the eyes that were stealing glances your way.

You noticed Kylo's posture stiffen, "Is there perhaps somewhere more private we can talk?"  You softly asked him, and he nodded, looking relieved that you suggested it.

Taking his arm he led you to the back of the reception hall, where the was a set of blast doors which led to a viewpoint.  It was an enclosed area, which looked out over the vast depths of space - it was a beautiful sight, you never got to see the stars up close.

"Wow..."  You quietly said under your breath, "It's beautiful."

Kylo was stunned by your awe, perhaps he had become so accustomed to living off planet that he under-appreciated it.  In his opinion you were the true sight.

"I apologise, I'm getting distracted."  You shook your head and turned to him with a smile on your face, "Now that we don't have an audience, you had something you wished to confess."  Your heart was racing at the thought of what he was about to tell you, but equally you willed yourself not to jump to conclusions.

Kylo stepped forward and sheepishly reached out to take one of your hands in his, "After the last Gala, I've taken an interest in your planet but really it was you I wanted to know about."  He looked down, suddenly unable to meet your eyes, "You shouldn't be marrying someone from a backwater planet who just wants you for your power, you deserve more than that."

"I do."  You quietly agreed with him, and then you met his eyes.  You knew that everything the others said about Kylo Ren was true - he was dangerous, and powerful but they didn't see this side of him, the side of him that was vulnerable and caring.

Silence fell between you, and you contemplated what to say next.  You felt yourself gravitating towards Kylo uncontrollably and you worried that you were going to fall for the man without any assurance that he was the right man to fall for.

"I have to know; you said you took an interest in me, but I've met with some of your highest ranked officers since becoming Queen... why did you never come?"  The question sounded stupid leaving your mouth, but you hoped it was a valid point.  Of course, he was the Supreme Leader and had plenty of other responsibilities, but if he cared that much?  Surely an exception would have been made.

"I wasn't sure how you felt after the last Gala, I thought perhaps it was just a one off."  He looked so nervous, you found it hard to believe this was the same Supreme Leader who had nearly bitten Baron Eastley's head off last cycle.

He hadn't come to your planet because he was worried that it would be awkward?  You had thought that would be the problem the other way around...

"I wouldn't say it's a habit of mine to kiss handsome strangers."  Part of you was cringing at your corny line, but either way you flashed him a smirk and it seemed to do the trick in making him feel more comfortable.

"That's a shame, because I was hoping you might make a habit of it."  His voice was quiet and raspy.  He released your hand in favour of pushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear and slowly leaned down towards your lips.

You placed the hand not holding a glass on his chest, and shut your eyes in anticipation of his lips meeting yours... but they never came.

Just before the two of you could kiss the blast doors leading to the viewpoint flew open, and within a split second you and Kylo had leapt away from one another, both cursing under your breath.  The whole situation probably still looked incriminating.

"Supreme Leader, Queen Y/N.  I'm so sorry, I hope we weren't interrupting anything."  Of course it was the Chancellor of Vardos and his entourage who had encroached on your moment.  Just judging by the look on his face he knew full well what he was doing, clearly they had all been waiting to follow you this entire time.

Out of the corner of your eye you could see Kylo's fists clenching, so you jumped in before he could show them his temper, "Not at all, Chancellor.  In fact we were just leaving, the viewpoint is all yours."  You gave the most cordial smile, and attempted to move past the group of them.

Just as you brushed past the Corellian representative from earlier, she placed a hand on your shoulder to prevent you from leaving, "You're welcome to join us, your Majesty, I'm sure the Supreme Leader has many other people to meet with tonight."

You knew these politicians and their games.  They were trying trying to keep you there in order to ruffle your feathers, but equally if you left now they would take it as confirmation that there was something between you and Kylo.

You exchanged a glance with him, both of you knowing that you had to split up for a while in order to stop the gossip before it spread.

Kylo had dropped all manners in his frustration and simply grunted before pushing through the small crowd and leaving the viewpoint, which left you alone with the flock of vultures.

"You and the Supreme Leader certainly seem to be well-acquainted."  The Chancellor raised his eyebrow at you.  The entire group of them was insufferable, they acted as though they were above everybody else when you knew that your planet was amongst the most important to be represented.  What they really wanted to was to tear you down, and you wouldn't allow it.

"We had business matters to discuss."  You gave a nonchalant shrug, and he was quick to respond to you.

"It certainly looked like more than that from where we were standing."

You took a moment to sip at your champagne, appearing entirely unbothered by the Chancellor's comment.  "That sounds like an interesting story Chancellor, please let me know how it ends."  Your smile was contradicted by the sarcasm dripping from your tone.

"Perhaps if you were to reconsider one of our proposals of marriage, it would put our minds at ease that you aren't... how do I put this?  In bed with the Supreme Leader."  The Corellian woman spoke up this time and you used all your self control to not smash your glass over her head there and then.

Yes, it was almost unheard of for a young woman in your position to be unmarried, and particularly to be discarding the idea of a political marriage.  But you had your morals, and you were not going to turn your back on them.  You knew the comment about Kylo was just to illicit a reaction from you, so you purposely kept your cool.

"I have not turned down your marriage proposals in favour of Supreme Leader Ren.  If you must know, your group of suitable bachelors have the collective intelligence of a Dewback with no legs.  If I am to rule alongside someone, I will choose who.  I will not be courted by your naive sons and senators who serve as your puppets to take over my economy."  Without another word you pushed past them and left the viewpoint with your head held high.

Once the blast doors shut behind you and you were out of sight you exhaled a breath you didn't realise you had been holding.

You saw Kylo talking to a ginger man who you recognised as the General, but when he saw you emerge from the viewpoint he swiftly made his way to your side.

"Perhaps next cycle I can make it through an entire Gala without somebody attempting to marry me off in order to take over my planet's resources."  You sighed and looked at him, feeling rather defeated.  It was frustrating that you could be so successful, but because you were young and a woman you would never gain everybody's respect.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone with them."  He looked at you apologetically, but you brushed it off.

"You know you couldn't have stayed in there without sparking some ridiculous rumours."  You were certainly ready to retire for the evening, and before you could tell Kylo this he had beaten you to it.

Once again plucking the empty champagne flute from your hand he placed both glasses on the nearest serving tray before turning back to face you, "May I see you back to your quarters?"

"Yes, you may."  You nodded, now past the point of caring if anyone saw you leaving with Kylo.  After all, you could do a lot worse than the Supreme Leader of the First Order.

You took his arm, as was the routine now, and he led you to the door you had entered through all those hours ago.

"I take it you had some choice words for your friends back there."  He smirked slightly, and you exhaled a small laugh.  You never thought you'd be telling the Supreme Leader about how you had insulted a number of his guests.

"I may have compared their potential suitors to a Dewback without legs."  You now realised how ridiculous that insult had sounded, but it did illustrate your point exceptionally well.

Kylo let out a genuine laugh, something you doubted many people heard from him, "That's certainly inventive."

You leisurely walked back to your quarters, but when you reached the blast doors your heart sank... this was reminiscent of the previous Gala, and the thought of going so long without seeing Kylo again was making you feel sick.

"Kylo, I-"  You began, looking down at the floor to avoid eye contact, "-I don't want this to end the same way it did before."

He gently placed his hand beneath your chin and brought your face up to look at him, "It won't, I'm not letting you get away this time."

Kylo was determined not to lose you this time.  When he had heard news of the numerous planets competing for your hand in marriage he was certain that he had missed his chance and you would be attending the Gala with your new husband.  But here you were standing before him, still denying the advances of others.

His hand brought your face further towards his, and within moments his lips were finally on yours - this time with no interruptions.

You reached up and rested your hands at the base of his neck, and he responded by pulling you flush again his chest by your waist.

He kissed you with fervor, his movements were becoming hastier and you weren't complaining.  It wasn't long before you both separated for air but you remained close, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Do you want to come in?"  You breathlessly asked him, not knowing what had come over you to propose something so bold.

"Yes."  He didn't hesitate to respond, and you pulled yourself away from him long enough to take his hand and drag him through the blast doors to your room.

When you were inside Kylo stood and looked at you up and down, his brown eyes were filled with lust and you imagined that yours didn't looks dissimilar.

"You look incredible."  He breathed out, before lunging towards you to capture your lips once again in a hungry kiss.

You gladly fell into his arms and melted into the kiss - somehow even with his tongue in your mouth and hand weaving its way through your hair he still managed to be gentle, as if he were scared you'd break.

He pushed you backwards as you made out, and soon the backs of your legs met with the bed.  With a small push you fell onto the soft mattress, dragging Kylo with you.

He braced his own impact in order to not squash you beneath his massive frame, and the two of you remained there, mouths working in synchronisation.  Eventually Kylo broke the kiss and began peppering kisses along your jaw, and down to your neck whilst his hands explored every curve of your body.  It was as if you were a temple and he was worshiping you.

Meanwhile your hands were slowly running up and down his biceps.  Despite still wearing his tunic and undershirt, you could feel that he was built like a brick house beneath it all.

Out of the blue Kylo pulled his face away and looked down at you with swollen lips, panting slightly, "Marry me."

You were stunned, your mouth unable to form the words at first because you were so busy processing what had just been said.  You reached up and ran a hand through his dark hair, "Are you serious?"  You finally asked, quietly.

Kylo faltered for a moment, fearing rejection, "I mean it."  He eventually responded, before sounding more sure of himself, "You said you didn't trust the motivations of the other marriage proposals, but trust me."

Your heart was beating so fast you thought you must have been dreaming, but this was real Kylo Ren, the man who ruled the galaxy was offering you his hand in marriage.

"My planet..."  You whispered, hating yourself for thinking about your duties right now but you were a Queen, you couldn't just forget about your people... not even for him.

"I'm not asking you to abandon your people-"  He slowly began placing chaste kisses to your lips and jaw between his words, "I would never undermine you as Queen, but you could also be my Empress - we could rule the galaxy together."

"Yes."  You suddenly blurted out before you could stop yourself.  But then you realised you didn't want to stop yourself, there was an undeniable connection between you and Kylo and the motive behind his proposal was true sentiment - not a political move.

"Yes?"  He paused the slow movements of his lips against your skin and looked deep into your eyes.

"Yes."  A huge smile broke out on your face, and a feeling of undeniable joy rose up within you.  

A genuine smile also appeared on Kylo's face, and you had never seen him look so... cute.  You crashed your lips together in an instant.

There were plenty of unspoken details, but you were certain you could overcome them.  Your advisors had been pushing you to accept a marriage proposal, and you could only imagine their shock when you return having accepted one from the Supreme Leader.

Come the next Gala you would be greeting the condescending politicians not only as a Queen, but as Empress.

[callmethehunter]

New Chapter of Maggie and Robert ! It’s pretty long, but I hope it keeps your attention. I promise to make the other ones shorter. ..Your reward? A surprise ending and lots of NSFW.😉 I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it 💖Check out my master post (which I didn’t know how to make- lol) It has the previous chapters . 

Here’s a quick Recap of the end of Chapter 5: What was that obnoxious pounding noise? An incessant banging that pulled her out of her heavenly dream with a jolt. She found herself still on the balcony, laying on the chaise lounge where she now realized she had fallen asleep. Robert’s kiss had felt so real… More loud knocking and curse words from the other side of the front door, which she had inadvertently locked after letting Kathy out.

 “What the fuck, Maggie? ” Steve shouted, punctuating each word with a bang on the door.”Open the door!” Bang Bang Bang. 

And with that, the last vestiges of her dream disappeared like a misty fog that hovers over a darkened ocean. She sighed, disappointed by her reality. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and walked wearily to open the door. Maggie opened the door to let Steve in. —————————————————————– 

New: Chapter 6 Double Trouble 

I told you not to be locking the front door.” Steve brushed past her carrying a large grocery bag. She caught a glimpse of plastic bags inside and knew that he had re-upped in preparation for the show. His people would be in search of some good party favors and he meant to provide them. At a nice profit for himself, of course. Having them rely on him to get high made him feel he held the power. 

Maggie tried to tune Steve out as he recounted how he’d taken the boat from the Bahia Mar marina while Carlos stood by helpless to stop him. The way he told it you would have thought he was part of an elite commando unit. 

“Man, it was like taking candy from a baby…I mean I had to slap him a couple times so he’d give me the deed and key”, he boasted. “He threatened to call the cops, what an idiot! but you know what? Even at the end he was still pleading with me, telling me all kinds of sob stories… like I care, ” Steve said. 

Maggie felt uneasy as she pictured the scene. In an effort to change the subject and lighten the mood, she asked “Did you find all the boat supplies you were looking for? 

“Yea,” he said without elaborating. He grabbed a cold beer from the fridge and sauntered over to her, taking a long swig and peering at her over the bottle. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. 

Oh, here we go, she thought. He walked over to where she was standing and gave her ass a firm slap. Maggie cringed inwardly, feeling no attraction but annoyance. Making love to Steve seemed repulsive to her, especially after her pleasant dream of Robert was so rudely interrupted while in mid-kiss. She started toward the bathroom and said “Hey let’s save it for the boat…it’s already 6 o’clock and I’ve got to shower and get ready to go… and so do you.” 

But Steve was not easily diverted and he came up behind her, encircled her waist and pulled her back so that her ass and his crotch were in contact. Maggie reached for his hands at her waist and twirled around. She gave him a playful look, “Steve, really… we don’t have much time. Let’s wait to christen the boat the right way”. 

“Whatever, Maggie…It’s like I gotta beg you to let me touch you these days”. He grumbled as he went to sit on the couch to nurse both his beer and his ego. “Fuck all that…” he continued. 

She tuned Steve out; she was existing minute by minute until she could lay eyes on Robert; somehow get him to give her a second chance. If only she had just gone to the hotel with him instead of caring about getting home that night! Why had she told him about Steve? She could kick herself for that. Doubts came flooding into her mind. What if he didn’t even give her the time of day? There were bound to be girls all over him and eager to bed him… Oh no, don’t think like that, she told herself. Positive thoughts Maggie, positive thoughts. 

She jumped in the shower filled with anticipation, realizing excitedly that every minute that ticked by was another minute closer to Robert. Her heart skipped a beat. She was already a bundle of nerves. 

Steve gave her the silent treatment as he got ready. He weighed the weed, separated it and placed it in baggies of different sizes so as to have the right amount readily available to slip to his customers. He cut up the sheets of acid into squares and shoved those into cellophane wrap in his leather pouch. While Steve tended to his business, 

Maggie applied a little make-upto accentuate her amber eyes and lush lashes. She put gloss to her full lips and blush on her high cheekbones, which were a testimony to her heritage that spanned all the way back to the Taino Indians. The off-white mini-dress hugged her curves and the high platform sandals elongated her tanned legs. Even she could see her exotic beauty reflected as she gazed into the mirror. She smoothed her dress with her hands, took one last look and thought, Well, here it goes. 

Soon they were in the Camaro headed toward the boat which Steve had already docked at the back of Tugboat Annies after leaving Carlos. He had chosen a corner spot, so as to minimize the number of prying eyes as he served his customers. 

As they entered the venue, her eyes quickly scanned the crowd for any sign of Robert. The place was popular with the locals and she spotted several of Steve’s friends and customers. Good!, she thought, the more people around Steve, the better her chances to be free from his scrutiny. 

Every table in the front area was taken, and there were only a few seats left at the L-shaped bar. As they got closer to the outside patio, it was standing room only. There were tall cocktail tables interspersed and she was able to claim a spot next to one. Steve followed her, carrying two drinks and handed her one. Close behind him came Kathy who had just arrived. She looked amazing in her halter top and jeans. 

“Hey you two! Hows’ it going?”, Kathy asked as she reached them. Steve looked her from top to bottom, his gaze came to rest on her chest for a second too long. That little shit, she thought, and right in front of Maggie, too. He was such a prick. 

Steve’s lecherous perusal of Kathy did not go unnoticed. Not only had it been blatant, it was also not the first time he had checked other women out with Maggie present. Maggie didn’t feel any jealousy. She simply rolled her eyes and motioned for Kathy to come over by her side.

“So where is this Robert person? Have you seen him yet?” Kathy whispered excitedly to Maggie.They both looked toward the small stage set up among the palm trees and the lush tropical plants that grew close to the docks. The small decorative lights and candles made the space festive. Suddenly, Maggie’s heart actually skipped a beat as she noticed Robert checking on the mic and laughing with a burly dark haired guy who was tinkering with the drums. 

She was riveted, unable to move as she took him in… Roberts muscular torso was encased in a flowing fabric, a woman’s blouse it was…her eyes traveled south more slowly, relishing the skin-tight, red and white striped pants that could barely contain his bulge. The vertical lines somehow seemed to converge and draw even more attention to his crotch. By God, she could make out the outline of his cock and the roundness of his balls as clear as day. His virility was in full display, a feast for the eyes. And her body was hungry for it. Her breath caught in her throat and she exhaled sharply, her eyes eager to continue their journey down the musculature of his thighs…those strong legs had held them both up as they made love the night they met. 

“Kathy!, there he is”, she cocked her head “he’s at the mic talking with the drummer!”. 

Kathy’s jaw dropped as her eyes traveled the same route as Maggie’s…and she said under her breath “Oh my God, he’s…gorgeous…!” 

The lights on the stage and the patio dimmed, signaling the concert was about to start. Steve leaned in to say “Come on, Maggie, let’s go to the boat… there’s people waiting on me. Gotta make some cash’ he winked at her, “and bring Kathy with ya”. 

Maggie smiled and said, “Yea, sure, let me get another drink and use the bathroom, we’lll be over soon”. He’d forget all about it and lose track of time once he started showing off the boat and shooting the shit with his so-called friends. 

Maggie grabbed Kathy by the arm as they made their way through the crowd. They claimed a spot near the stage, dead center. She hoped to make eye contact, to make sure he knew she was there. Her mind conjured up scenarios for later… 

Soon after, Robert came out from the side of the stage to stand in the limelight. He shone with an inner light, or so it seemed. They started the set with the song he’d sang to her on the beach. Occasionally, he threw his head back, caressing the mic as if it were his lover. She couldnt’ help but stare at his ample bulge, clearly outlined through the striped fabric. He thrashed around, stretching the mic cord taut in front of him, moving his hips and arching his back. The better to accentuate his considerable endowment. How she ached to have him in her hands and then her mouth…but first things first. She must find a way to connect with him. 

Halfway through first set, Robert looked out into the audience and saw a familiar face. It was Maggie, that beautiful gem of a girl that he had met on the beach. How could he forget the luscious love they made? And how could he forget that she’d turned down his invitation to go back to his hotel? Now, she was staring at him and swaying to the rhythm. 

As they locked eyes, Maggie felt a flutter in her stomach and a tightness in her chest…her cheeks felt warm. She was blushing. As she listened to Robert’s voice amplified through the speakers, she happened to catch sight of Steve laughing with someone. 

The passion in Robert’s voice reverberated to her core. Steve had become a faint and distant speck in the horizon of her mind, totally inconsequential. She felt no allegiance to him or to his mean spirit. She wanted nothing more than to be back in Robert’s arms, sheltered in his warm embrace. 

During the intermission, Robert went down to the side bar. The cold beer he washed down soothed and seemed to lubricate his vocal chords. A pack of girls descended upon him, each girl competing for his attention. And he bantered with them, laughing and being his usual flirtatious self. But in truth, he was distracted, his eyes searching for Maggie. Robert located her. 

Her dark hair was set off magnificently by the off-white dress that hugged her every curve. As he watched her he imagined his hands around that small waist, bending her over while he entered from behind. He had to have her.. he would have her. Tonight. 

Robert gracefully extracted himself from the group of girls and walked towards Maggie. As he got closer, he motioned for her to follow him as he headed towards the back of the venue, where the bathrooms were located. Maggie trailed close behind. 

One of the single bathrooms was vacant and Robert stood by the door, waiting for Maggie. He reached for her hand and led her inside, quickly locking the door behind him, He was the hunter and she was his prey, albeit a willing one. 

“I didn’t think you’d come… but I’m so glad you did, Maggie.” his blue eyes were stormy with desire as he pinned her against the sink kissing her mouth, feeling her up. His movements were fast and furious. 

Maggie caught sight of his obvious excitement which was made even more evident when he pressed himself against her. His large hands held the back of her head, pulling her to his lips and caressing her hair. His touch ignited a fire within her as he slid his hands down her back so as to lift the hem of her mini-dress. 

“You wore this dress just for me didn’t you?” He asked with a smirk, as he kneaded her ass with both hands and ground his hips into hers.“You know it baby… for easy access” she replied. 

She felt his rigid length through the thin striped fabric. Her hands reached down to cup his balls, giving them a good squeeze…massaging his cock and quickly working the zipper, to reveal her magic prize. Maggie felt herself getting wet as she admired him, half naked in front of her. They groped each other urgently. He kissed her hard, while at the same time he pushed the lace of her panties to the side and glided two fingers into her wet core. In and out, then rubbing her folds.

“You are so ready” he said huskily, as he quickly twirled her around so she was facing the mirror. 

He bent her over the vanity, her breasts rubbing against the hard, cold marble, she saw the scene reflected in the mirror. Robert was standing behind her, still clothed in the silky blouse, but completely naked from the waist down, one hand pushing down on the small of her back, and the other guiding his thick cock to her entrance…she felt the hot tip of his manhood plunge into her, filling her to capacity in one deep thrust. Her eyes flew open from the sensation as he let out a moan. 

She would forever remember the vision of Robert behind her, thrusting, grinding his hips, his stomach tensing, and his hands wrapped firmly around her waist. He guided her up and down his rigid length.They picked up the pace, fast and furious, his balls slapping against her ass as he thrust all 10 inches into her. 

“Give it to me” she gasped. She felt as if she was climbing on a rollercoaster, higher and higher until suddenly there was an intense, exhilarating release; wave after wave of ecstasy. 

Maggie was so tight and his girth was enveloped by her warm walls. “It’s so good, dariling, so good… I’m gonna… “ he groaned and plunged deeper and harder -creating an immense heat. He knew he was right behind her as he felt her contract. This pushed him over the precipice. He moaned and thrust one last time as his essence filled her. His legs shook. 

She saw him in the mirror, eyes half closed in pleasure as he bent over and laid his chest on her back. Spent. He swept her hair away from the nape of her neck so as trail soft kisses.. He was draped over her, his soft, golden curls tickling her back…and she liked – a lot. 

At that exact moment, a nondescript van sat parked outside Tugboat Annie’s. Two undercover cops had their binoculars trained on the vessel emblazoned on the back with the name “Double Trouble. They watched a stream of people coming in and out. Someone was brazen enough (or stupid enough) to take out a bag of marijuana and roll a joint right out in the open. Carlos, their informant, had been right, there was definitely dealing going on here. They readied themselves to go inside and take a closer look.

[huihuiheart]

Goretober D25: Horror Hotel - BTS

BTS + Journalist! Female Reader for the sake of certain plot elements

This is a historical au, like America late 1800s and inspired by the Murder Castle, so........

Warnings: Kidnapping themes, murder themes, serial killer themes, death, dead bodies, suggestive themes, nudity, poker, alcohol, crematorium themes.

Word Count: 3,291

Everyone had sent you here when you were looking for a story, heaving a soft huff as your eyes ran the expanse of the building. Sure you’d needed a place to stay, but you also needed a story if you were ever going to break out of the little review columns of the newspaper you worked at. You were tired of everyone dismissing your abilities simply because you were a woman! If all they wanted to do was direct you to the famous Bangtan Hotel then fine, you’d find a story here. After all no place just becomes this popular over night, there had to be something going on. Some secrets that this hotel kept hidden deep inside of it and you intended to find out what those were. 

Collecting up the skirt of your dress in one hand and your luggage in the other you, starting to trudge your way towards the entrance. Your ears tuned into the hushed squeals of gossiping women trying to pick up on whatever details they were sharing about the hotel. Scoffing at their incessant compliments regarding the many bachelors at the establishment, surely they couldn’t call be that impressive nor attractive while in the same place. Let alone all bachelors if they were like that. Your heart nearly stopping though as a chipper doorman scurries down the steps to grab your bag in one hand and offer his arm to help you up them, practically glowing as he beamed a sunshine filled smile your way.

“Good afternoon Miss! Allow me. Will you be staying with us long?” The bubbly man easily strikes up conversation and you feel heat rise to your cheeks, flustering a little at how attentive this godly man suddenly was towards you. 

“Not extremely no, I’m simply here on business for a few days.” You easily return a smile his bright nature rubbing off easily. The doorman very intrigued at your words, but not looking judgmental in the least.

“Ah a business woman! We don’t get many of those around here. It’s quite the privilege to be in the presence of someone so esteemed. If you don’t mind my asking what industry?” He inquires releasing your arm to open the door, following you in with your bag.

“I write for a paper, I’m actually going to be reviewing your hotel. I must say that at the very least you’ll be getting quite the compliment from me, um...” Your voice slowly trails off as you realize you hadn’t gotten his name yet.

“My name is Hoseok miss and I’m glad I could welcome you. You’ll know where to find me if you need any further assistance.” Hoseok tips his hat at you and gives a parting smile before diligently returning to his place. 

You aren’t alone long as the concierge soon greets you a soft smile gracing his lips, dimples filling in his cheeks.

“Hello miss did you have a reservation with us today?” He inquires as you turn your attention to him over the counter. You bag on the ground besides you as you shake your head lightly.

“I do not, I was waiting to arrive in the area to determine which hotel I would be staying at.” You explain returning his smile as he nods in response.

“What is your name and how long do you intend to stay miss?” The man politely asks looking over their guest and reservation lists no doubt, but his eyes never stray from your face for too long.

“Ah Y/LN, Y/N. I intend to be here three days. Reviewing various things during the event in the city. And you are?” You had been trying to slyly catch a glimpse of the gold name tag glittering on his chest, yet every move he made had concealed it just enough to prevent you from getting it.

“Namjoon. I should be down here pretty much whenever you’re in need of anything. I assume you’re intending to review our hotel as well?” Namjoon questions with a soft raise of his brow, to which you simply nod, “Very well, let me check out bookings one last time. This week has been chaotic as you can guess, so I’d like to ensure your stay is as smooth as possible.”

You’re only waiting alone for about five minutes before he returns with a set of keys which he places before you. A little numbered tag attached to them, before he places a little sign in book besides them.

“Here you are, sign there please. Your room will be number 234. It’s on the second floor and quite the prime location between most of our offered services. Is there someplace I should forward the bill to or will you personally attend to it at the end of your visit?” Namjoon’s words are polite and to the point and yet patient in manner, kind as his smile never waivers, it appearing genuine instead of simply another customer service smile.

“Oh it can be forwarded. One moment and I can get you the information.” You pull out your book and slip out the information for your newspaper company, the one that attended to all the bills from your little review excursions. Of course they often weren’t horrible expenses seeing as how places hoped to earn a positive review more often than not.  Namjoon nodding and accepting the paper.

“I’ll go copy this information and bring it back to you. Is there anything else I can do for you this afternoon? Perhaps get someone to take your bags up so you can return to your events for the day?” Namjoon offers and you simply shake your head.

“I’ll be going up to freshen up as well, so it’s alright. Though I might join you again in a few moments with some questions about the services you provide here.” You explain and he nods slipping away with the paper. When he returns he’s not alone though, another man slipping out from the back as Namjoon returns the information to your care.

“Seokjin will help you with your things. Please take your time, I’ll be here whenever you return.” Namjoon nods towards the older man who is already moving to take your bag, seeing you open your mouth to argue he chuckles softly.

“It’s alright Miss Y/L/N. I insist.” Seokjin lifts your bag with ease, shamelessly looking over your form before leading the way to the elevator, which he opens for you before slipping inside and work it. All the while sending a more sultry smile you way than either Hoseok or Namjoon had. Of course that being said so far the rumors stood true in three out of three cases thus far. Upon reaching the door you unlock it and allow Seokjin to set your bag down for you.

“Thank you Seokjin.” You smile meekly, cheeks flaring with heat as he winks at you in return.

“It was truly my pleasure miss. I’ll take my leave now, but if you need anything I’ll be glad to assist you with it. Just give a call.” Seokjin eyes you one last time before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind himself. Freshening up doesn’t take you long, collecting a simple few belongings, your pocketbook, journal, and pencil as you make your way down once more. On the elevator ride down your scramble down a few notes about things you’ve already observed in the hotel. You were patiently waiting to question Namjoon about what else the hotel offers, after he finished with those at the counter, when Seokjin notices your presence and comes over.

“In need of something miss?” Seokjin inquires, licking his lips for a quick moment, before that smirk you’re growing familiar with appears once again.

“I was simply going to request more information about hotel services.” Seokjin nods and takes your arm, guiding you over to a small directory, “Well on the ground level we have a restaurant, along with poker tables, and a bar. While on the third floor we have a sauna, massage parlor, and pool.” 

“Who has access to these services? All the guests, or?” You question looking over the directory to memorize the lay out. Realizing now how convenient your room’s location actually was.

“Yes, all guest do. Staff as well, after working hours and out of uniform. So if you see familiar faces around that would be why. Though for the sauna and massages you’ll have to see Namjoon about booking a time. Sometimes the restaurant will be busy as well, but I’m sure we can always find you a spot in there.” Seokjin explains with a soft smile before noticing the line at the counter is gone, “I’ll be returning to my work now miss, if you have any more questions though, Namjoon is now available.” 

You thank him as he tips his hat and heads on his way, giving you time to head up to the counter, “Hello again, would it be possible to book a massage. I hear those are being very popular nowadays.”

Namjoon chuckles and nods, pulling out one of many appointment books. You had no doubt that the reason things to be running so smoothly was due to the fact that Namjoon seemed to be on top of everything, intelligent enough to keep it all in order.

“That they are. Our masseur is rather famous too, I’ve heard many customers claim his hands are magical. Luckily for you he’s open right now, would you like me to call up and let him know you’ll be coming?” Namjoon’s brow lifts, dimples appearing as he smiles. His hand already resting on the phone even before you nodded, something that was still somewhat of a novelty. You give a small nod and he lifts the device as you thank him, turning to head up to the third floor. Hoping the map you’d constructed in your head based on the directory was accurate. Sure enough, you find yourself knocking on a door with a neat golden label to match the name tags of the employees. Greeted only a moment later with a soft smile from the most angelic looking man out of the four you’d yet met.

“Miss Y/L/N?” The angel himself smiles at you, making your skin prickle with a soft heat as if faint rays of morning sunlight are dancing across it now. The sugary sweet man opening the door further for you to enter when you give a flustered nod. 

“What can I do for you this afternoon miss?” He questions allowing you a moment to catch the name off his tag.....Jimin.

“I’m not entirely sure, these are new but becoming popular fast and I’ve heard you have a good reputation. So I guess I’ll just go with whatever the most popular thing is.” As soon as Jimin hears what you say, you think you see his lips twitch as if he were about to smirk or chuckle at you, but he holds himself back.

“Very well miss, for that I’ll need you to strip. You can place your clothes over there and lay on your front here.” Jimin gestures to a table with a small towel on it, not enough to cover much of anything though, “I’ll give you a moment to get ready.” 

As he leaves you actually hear him chuckle softly at your somewhat shocked and flustered face.  Yet, this is his job and so you trust him as you move quickly in an attempt to be finished before he returns. Laying your bare front down onto the plush table, most of your skin bare for when Jimin returns.

“If anything is painful or uncomfortable let me know.” Jimin practically coos in a sweet voice, getting some oil before his hands find your back to work the muscles there first. Your reactions making him smirk and stroking his ego, sometimes his clients came here for.......other purposes, but you were here to report on the hotel so on the clock he couldn’t let you know of that or of his escapades, in particular the fact he wanted you to be one of them. Not even when his hands elicited soft moans of his name to fall from your lips.

______

“Thank you Jimin, I think I understand what everyone was talking about now.” Your voice is breathless, body still flustered. Jimin chuckling in response again and it appears a somewhat mischievous glint dances through his eyes as if he’s holding a secret. Perhaps what you were looking for to get a story. 

“Oh it was my pleasure Miss Y/L/N. Please don’t hesitate to come again, if you’re in need of any of my services.” Jimin licks his lips before getting the door, despite knowing better he couldn’t help but slip a small innuendo into his statement.

You’re fanning your face slightly as you enter the elevator, trying to compose yourself and make your way down to the first floor once again. You knew that if you wanted details you’d have to socialize. You also managed to strike some luck as you slipped into the area with a bar and poker tables. Spotting the young, wealthy founder of the hotel sitting at one of the tables, nearly alone. It seemed like the ideal situation for you to slip over and start a conversation with with him and perhaps look for something juicy to write on, hoping your charms might be able to help you out. 

“Mr. Jeon?” Your voice is soft as it draws the attention of the man at the table, “Pleasure to meet you. I hope I’m not intruding on anything?”

Jungkook takes your hand, bringing the back up for a gently kiss, “Miss Y/L/N, right? Because truly the pleasure is all mine. Please take a seat, do you play?”

Before you can even say anything the only other man at the table scoffs, “Don’t be ridiculous Jeon, a woman cannot play poker, just as she cannot play chess. Their time is better spent on other things.”

“It really is a shame you say that. I doubt you’ve ever had the privilege to play chess with a woman, she might teach you some thing. I tell you truthfully that the best strategists and poker players I’ve ever known have been women, and one day I would not be surprised if we see them taking over those aspects of life and leaving us in the dust.” Jungkook insists and the man doesn’t even bother to say anything else to him as he shakes his head with a huff and depart.

“My apologies Mr. Jeon, I didn’t mean to ruin your company.” You apologize and Jungkook shakes his head stopping you from doing so.

“Please call me Jungkook, and you have nothing to apologize for. If that man is truly so narrowminded he’s not good company by any means. Now I do believe I asked you a question.” He grins a little as sips his drink.

“Ah, well I’ve never played before, but I’m somewhat familiar from watching.” You admit and Jungkook chuckles motioning for the dealer to go ahead.

“Well Taehyung here is my lucky dealer, so try not to snatch him up from me pretty miss. I’ll gladly teach you how to play. Before long some others might join us too, some of the employees play when off the clock. A few of them are damn good too.” Jungkook laughs, shaking his head before motioning someone else over, “This is Min Yoongi, he runs the bar. Order whatever you’d like on me miss.”

You order something light a fruity, not wanting to drink a lot, even though you’d like the presence of the man running the bar with his beautiful face. Not that you minded being stuck with Jungkook and Taehyung at the table. Jungkook insisted that the first few rounds hold no betting, not even mock betting, to allow you the chance to learn the hands and all. Taehyung occasionally speaking up to explain something to you.  Your drink arriving soon, as you wait for the next round. Yoongi hovering near you as you accept it and turn back towards the table.

“Let me know if you like it or would like something else miss.” Yoongi gives a small nod, but doesn’t leave even as you hum in approval.

“Taehyung give her chips for a thousand on me. I think she’s learned enough for that, she’s rather good too.” Jungkook and Taehyung both chuckle as Taehyung hands you the chips. Yoongi taking a seat near you in the empty area.

“Mind if I see?” Yoongi inquires and you allow him to see your cards, the man leaning over to give you small bits of advice occasionally and helping you pick up the betting part.

“Oh is that really fair? Yoongi’s the best bluffer.” A familiar voice jokes and you turn to meet the face of Hoseok, smiling brightly as he joins the table.

“It’s Y/N’s first time playing, I’m just helping her out.” Yoongi easily dismisses the younger with a soft smirk, knowing he certainly was the best bluffer of them all. The table merry for another couple of hours as you all joked and held a game, before you decided it was time to call it a night, at least for that.

“Thank you gentlemen, I’ll retire now though. See you all tomorrow.” You smile and nod at them as Seokjin steps into the room, meeting your gaze.

“Let me walk you to your room.” He insists and you know there won’t be any arguing with him, from your earlier interactions, so you nod and slip your arm through his offered one and head up to your room. Waiting about fifteen minutes to slip out again, in search of something held secret in the hotel to make a good story from. Sneaking past the pool, you notice that Jimin is swimming there, in the nude. Surely that’d be interesting.....for a review. It’s not enough for a whole story though. You need something good, something BIG! Which is how you found yourself sneaking back behind the front desk, when Namjoon slipped away. Going into the back to look for something, you misstepped though and trigged a trap door sending you plummeting through a dark hole before hitting the ground in a room without natural lights of any kind. Simply lit by a large furnace and a flickering bulb. The smell down here simply rotten, something you didn’t know the explanation for until you turned around to try and determine where you were only to find three dead bodies stacked atop each other. Slapping a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming. You needed to find a way out, you could get your evidence later, but right now you just needed to get out before you were next. You couldn’t find anything though, until you hear something...or rather someone. That person tsking softly.

“Really Y/N? You had to snoop around hm?” You turn to meet Namjoon, who it leaning against the doorframe, the other boys you’d met behind him, “ And to think we all really liked you, were gonna let you off the hook.”

“W-What? W-What do you mean?” You stutter, slowly backing up as they moved closer.

“We pick who to have some entertainment with based off room number, sweets.  Yours was up, but you’re too precious so we were gonna be nice to you.” Seokjin explains, eyes taking in your form.

“B-But now you’re going to kill me aren’t you?” Your words come out as a soft whimper and it causes Jungkook to coo looking at you with a smirk.

“No we aren’t sweetheart, but you won’t be going anywhere.....anytime soon Y/N. You’re stuck with us now.”

[selfhelpskillss]

The Ultimate Guide For How To Make A Guy Want You

Before reaching the commitment, women have to make sure that the man wants them to be with him for any moment. Once he wants you, nothing can keep him away.

The question is how to make a guy want you. Don’t worry, ladies! Selfhelpskills will share with you some tips to strengthen your relationship and ensure your man may want you to be by his side all the time.

Let’s read on to discover!

How To Make A Guy Want You?

1. Be kind

A guy will know you’re the person he wants to have around if he sees your kindness. To maximize the possibility of a guy loving you, show affection and empathy to everyone around you.

You can be kind via little acts. Keep the door for others to pass, be punctual with your plans, and smile at strangers on the street.

When interacting with people, being sympathetic may also demonstrate your kind. Accepting your friend’s apologies without making them feel terrible will be a big plus.

Be kind from your heart

2. Be an interesting woman

You know, if you’re boring to a guy when you’re conversing with him, he’ll rapidly lose his interest. If you’re engaging, though, he’ll want to keep speaking and spending time with you.

Next time, before asking how to make a man want you, ask “Am I interesting enough?” first.

3. Give him private space

Everyone needs privacy, and so does your man. Give him space by pursuing his own hobbies and interests. Make it very clear to him that you have your own circle of friends and hobbies. If he notices that you are self-sufficient, he’ll be more interested in you.

If he invites you for dinner when you already have plans with BFF, don’t reschedule too quickly. If you abandon everything, your boyfriend could think you’re extremely reliant on him. So, just make arrangements with him next time instead.

4. Live your own life

You always hear of “living your own life”, but what exactly does it imply?

Living your own life entails having your own hobbies separate from your partner. This includes things like interests, activities, and even people that you are enthusiastic about.

Have your own life

You have to remind your guy that you love his presence and company. Meanwhile, you also need to let him understand that you don’t require his assistance. Your boyfriend will appreciate you so much if you show him sometimes that you don’t need him so much.

If you truly want him and are willing to give up your life for him, he will immediately realize that he no longer needs to strive for your respect and love.

As a result, for your own life, you’ll be tougher to spend time with and become less available. This is ideal to solve the problem of how to make him want you more.

5. Make interesting conversations

Letting discussions become dull or repetitive is not a good idea. If your conversation appears to be fading, take a break or change the subject. As much as possible, avoid uncomfortable quick conversation.

You may also lengthen your conversation by making questions. For example, he is talking about his favorite movie, you can ask, “What is the movie about?”. A recommendation for watching it together next time is also a good idea.

6. Be yourself

Always be yourself no matter what you are doing. When it comes to character and personality, it’s essential to be yourself instead of someone else.

Be your unique self

By pretending to be someone, you are implying that you are uncomfortable with yourself. Many men will immediately get indifferent if they discover this flaw in you.

You’ll be weary of disguising your genuine nature sooner or later. He’ll be tired of finding out which version is you. He also has no idea about your hobbies or interests.

A good relationship is one that lasts a long time. When a guy falls deeply in love with you, just be yourself straight away. This is how to make a guy crazy about you.

7. Be attractive

When it comes to romance, your looks may make or break you. You must appear attractive to delight a man and arouse his interest in you. This is also an effective and common tip for how to make a guy want you more.

Consider what you’re wearing, how tidy your hair is, and if you’re dressed correctly.

An attractive appearance does not imply body-hugging clothes. In the proper conditions, a T-shirt and jeans with the wind blowing in your hair may be just as sultry as a groomed appearance. The key is to be confident, at ease and pleased with yourself.

Be an attractive girl

If you have to idea how to look best, you can consider these tips:

Choose outfits and a style that is appropriate for the occasion.

Choose clothes that are fitting for the event while also making you feel at ease.

No matter where you’re going, try to look your best. You may never know when you’ll run into your true partner.

8. Read his mind

You must first understand what is on a man’s mind before you can win his heart. This quiz, however, is not simple to complete.

You can find the answer in “His Secret Obsession.” The book will teach you how to make him crazy about you.

This book provides scientifically proven advice on how to understand men. It illustrates how a lady may simultaneously attract and take up a man’s mind.

You’re not going to abandon a relationship that proves to be fruitless. All of the concerns will stay clear in the book.

If you follow the steps in a logical order, your partner will feel like needing you for every moment of his life. Then, the question of how to get a guy to want you is simple to answer.

“His Secret Obsession” must be your lifesaver

9. Listen to him when necessary

It is critical to listen if you want to satisfy your man and make him fall in love with you. Don’t simply speak about it. Find another approach to deal with your anxiety if you speak constantly.

While being with their potential partners, many ladies make the same mistake of speaking more than listening. Of course, the mistake is not only popular among girls. Many guys behave in the same way. However, this is a clear mistake that may easily lose you the guy of your life.

Even a man who isn’t particularly chatty will have something to say. Everyone enjoys being heard. He’ll be unhappy if you keep speaking without offering him the opportunities to voice himself. Making it difficult for him to speak may reduce his possibilities of falling harder in love with you.

10. Be confident

It’s simple to like you if you know how to like yourself. You’re a nice person with unique characteristics. Be sure that you are deserving of love! This is how to get a man to want you.

Never look down on the issue of self. Sure, some women appear to make a living out of trapping men by presenting themselves as victims or vulnerable ladies.

You fear getting left behind if you lack confidence. You must have a sense of self-assurance. It will lead you to get him engaged without anxiety or suspicion of threat.

11. Share with him

It fills you with happiness when you express your hobbies with him. You will surely enjoy yourself while doing it.

When you’re feeling good, those around you feel good too. It’s easily shareable.

So don’t be shy to tell him about what you’re genuinely enthusiastic about. You’re offering him a peek of your true self while you’re doing it. If he’s drawn to it, he’ll build a strong liking for you very rapidly.

Moreover, you’ll feel wonderful then. It will make him feel good too, making him like to be around you even more.

Be comfortable to share things with him

12. Don’t ask for commitment so soon

This is the last tip for how to make a man desire you.

This rule is especially true if you’re having a casual relationship with him and would like to take it to the next level.

However, it’s a good guideline to remember. You can apply it to almost every circumstance with a guy.

Simply put, the guideline is that you must be just as dedicated to him as the way he is to you.

If he’s unsure about making preparations with you, you’re not obligated to follow through. You’re able to pursue the plans you like.

This is all about prioritizing your well-being and self-respect over attempting to satisfy him in whatever way you can. It’s also about expressing to him that you do have a life of your own. If he chooses to stay with you, he must take responsibility.

Conclusion

There are various tips for how to make a guy want you. The ultimate rule is to be yourself, leave some space for both of you, and show him sympathy.

Once you manage to make your man want you, you don’t have to do anything else. Let the man be your hero then!

Credit: https://selfhelpskills.net/how-to-make-a-guy-want-you/

[villainousshakespeare]

Just one bed fluff with a character of your choosing, if it isn't taken yet?! I'm partial to Loki and Tom, but whoever floats your boat in the moment! Congratulations on 200 followers! You deserve them and more, sweetheart!

Sorry this took so long my dear! Hope it was worth the wait. I decided to do Tom for this. :-)

Kicked Out

Rated T - alcohol use, kissing, implied smut

Lots of fluff!

Tom Hiddleston/Reader

The music pulsed around you too loud for the small space. Mechanically you sipped your watered down margarita, trying to push down the depression that threatened to overcome you. If your friends back home could see you now they would be laughing at how excited you had been. Here you were, sitting alone at a hotel bar. This was not how you had envisioned things at all.

It had not all been bad of course. You loved the play you were acting in. Well, of course you did! It was Shakespeare! Even though you had only a bit role you were understudying Desdemona. And the cast was all first rate. You had already learned so much in just a few weeks! The upgrade in quality from your scrappy theater company where it was a struggle to get male performers who came anywhere near the talent level of the women such as yourself to an internationally renowned ensemble boasting genuine stars more than made up for going from playing the lead to a glorified extra.

If only you didn't find yourself feeling so cursedly shy. You had always had a bit of social anxiety, but until this tour it had never been an issue with castmates before. The theater was the one place you had always felt in your element, confident in yourself and able to mingle with everyone. You wished that were the case now. 

Being assigned to room with Tisha had seemed like a wonderful stroke of luck at first. Like you she was on her first international tour, and was therefore playing several smaller parts in the ensemble. She was bubbly, outgoing, and talented, immediately drawing the attention of everyone around her. Unfortunately for you, that everyone included Michael, the actor playing Othello. He had become visibly smitten with her during the first read through, ignoring everyone else to shamelessly flirt with her whenever the opportunity presented itself. You would have been happy for her if he wasn't married with a child. The situation didn't seem to bother Tisha, who carelessly told you that she saw the whole thing more as a career move than a real relationship. What happened on the road, she breezily said, didn't effect real life, except for possibly leading to bigger roles down the line when he recommended her for future shows.

It was none of your concern, you had told yourself. They were grown adults and for all you knew he had an understanding with his wife. The problem had begun tonight, when they decided to take their relationship to the next, inevitable level. You had assumed that when this occurred, as you had guessed from the start it would, they would avail themselves of his room. After all, as one of the stars of the production he had a large room all to himself. Unfortunately for you, this did not turn out to be the case. As a married celebrity, Tisha had explained to you in hushed tones, Michael's meant had to be careful in situations such as this. He could never be seen having a woman enter his room, much less stay over night! Of course you wouldn't mind vacating your room for a while, would you? She had pleaded with big puppy eyes in a tone that clearly said she did not expect you to say no, and had somehow ushered you out the door, blithely commenting that you should be able to come back in a few hours, just knock before entering to be sure. The door shutting in your face had been cruel and final.

So here you were, sitting by yourself at the hotel bar with a bartender who looked like he would dearly love to cash you out and head home. You could have found one of the other actors to let you crash wish them, but you didn't really know anyone that well yet. The insecurity that flooded you when you thought of knocking on a virtual stranger's door and asking to sleep on their floor was too overwhelming.

"Trouble sleeping?" a voice like melted caramel asked from just over your shoulder.

You choked on your drink, splashing a bit of it onto your lap and the bar in front of you. You would have recognized that voice anywhere. You heard it often enough in your fantasies. But though it had been three weeks since you had begun working with him you still could not believe that you were now hearing it in person as well. Never in your wildest dreams had you believed that you would actually book a show with Tom Hiddleston.

Turning on your stool you saw the man himself standing behind you. He was so attractive it made you want to cry sometimes. You had come into contact with other celebrities over the years, and in almost every case seeing them up close and personal had somehow ruined the fantasy of them. In real life they had each just seemed... ordinary. With Tom, it was the exact opposite. He was handsome on screen or in pictures, in real life he was literally breathtaking. From the top of his burnished gold curls to the soles of his well worn grey boots and everywhere in between he was perfect. 

"You could say that," you laughed uneasily, face turning crimson. You had never spoken to him alone before, and never anything other than vague platitudes at the end of rehearsals or addressed to a group at large. 

"Me too," he said, giving you a half grin. "Would you mind if I joined you?"

What could you do but shake your head and gesture to the seat next to you. Pulling out the bar stool he folded his long, lean frame onto it, stretching his legs out. Your feet dangled like a child's from the stool, but his reached the floor with ease you noticed. Damn, but his legs were long!

"I'm always nervous before opening in a new city," he admitted, signaling for the bartender to come over. He ordered a single malt scotch and another daiquiri for you, requesting that the waiter make it with top shelf tequila.

"Still?" you asked, surprised that he would get nervous given his lengthy resume.

"Of course," he shrugged. "Never trust an actor that tells you he's not nervous. He's either lying or not pushing himself hard enough. The day my nerves go is the day I pack it in. The challenge is everything."

"Well, it's good to know it's not just me," you said quietly with a soft smile. You were nervous of course, even if that wasn't why you were there now.

"This is your first professional show, isn't it?" he asked.

You nodded, surprised that he knew. Was your acting that clunky that your lack of experience showed in just your few scenes?

"I watched your audition tape," he told you, grabbing a handful of bar nuts and arranging them on a napkin. "I wanted to come to the auditions, but Ken thought it might make people nervous. I made sure to watch all the tapes though. You were very good. The passion you put into Lady Anne was remarkable."

You blinked at him, all words deserting you. He had seen that? You were quite proud of your Lady Anne, but he was right. It was hard enough to have Kenneth Branagh watching you audition. If Tom had been in the room, you doubt you would have been able to do it.

"Thank you," you said at last after a long pause while he snacked on peanuts. "I had no idea."

"I like having a say in things like that," he shrugged. "When you're doing a show that's this intense, who you're on stage with is a big deal. Also, both Ken and I are firm believers in giving new talent an oppertunity. After all, him taking a chance on me is how I ended up with my career. What kind of person would I be if I didn't pass on the favor. I was the one who pushed for you to be Desdemona's understudy, by the way."

"Really?" you wished the word didn't come out like a squeak.

"Mhm. In fact, I thought you could have played the part. Producers wanted a name though, and I guess you can't blame them. Have to make their money back. Still, you were quite impressive."

You were saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of your drinks. Tom thanked the bartender and asked to have the drinks, including the one you had had before, charged to his room before leaving a large tip on the bar.

"Thank you again," you said, sipping on your new and much stronger drink.

"No need," he waved it off. "Othello was my big break, you know. I played Cassio in a production with Chewitel Eijifor and Ewan McGregor. It was fantastic, but I always wanted to do Iago. I try not to make dream part lists, I'm a bit superstitious that way, but now that I'm actually doing it I can admit it."

"I would think it would be on any actor's list!" you said, trying to hide the fact that of course you knew about his previous Othello, along with every other part on his lengthy cv. "I would like to tackle it myself some day."

"I would love to see that," he smiled, looking sincere. "You have a great facility with the language. And there is no reason why Iago should have to be male. I must say that I greatly appreciate that we live in a time where the gender barriers for such superb parts are beginning to break down. What other roles do you dream of tackling? I promise I won't tell a soul!"

You weren't sure whether it was the alcohol warming you or the way he smiled and listened to you like you were the only person in the world, but you soon found yourself engaged in a long discussion of Shakespeare that ranged from contentious - you would never agree on who the ultimate Richard III was, with you preferring Ian McKellan and Tom being loyal to his good friend Benedict - to the ridiculous. He had you in stitches when he recounted the story of an actor (he refused to name them) who had so completely missed an entrance on press night for Much Ado that Tom and his scene partner had to improve in verse for three minutes. When the poor man had made it onto stage, he had not had time to put his shoes back on. The review in Time Out the next day had gone on for two paragraphs about the social commentary of having a barefooted Don Pedro. By that point you were on your third drink and laughing like old friends, hunched over and shaking with mirth.

"Oh! Yes!" Tom said suddenly, pulling himself up to standing and holding out his hand to you. "Come on!"

"What?" you asked, totally confused.

"This song!" he replied, enthusiasm shining from his face. 

"It's a good song," you agreed, listening to Michael Jackson's Beat It blaring out from the speakers.

"Well then?"

"What?"

"Dance with me!"

"Tom..."

"I refuse to take no for an answer," he insisted, dragging you to your feet and onto the dance floor.

Tom's energy was infectious, there was no avoiding it. Abandoning the last shreds of your dignity you surrendered to the music and the exuberance of the man spinning you around the floor. He was good of course, you had seen it on videos often enough, but he made you actually feel like you could dance as well. Michael Jackson turned into Prince and then Tina Turner as the two of you made idiots of yourselves in the empty bar.

"Last call," the beleaguered bar tender called, ruining the vibe. 

Looking around you realized that he had put up all of the chairs and wiped down the bar. As tempting as it was to order another drink and prolong the fun, you knew that it was not fair to the poor server. Still, you didn't know what to do with yourself now. Would Tisha and Michael be finished with whatever they were doing? Had it been long enough to go up?

As Tom helped put up the remaining bar stools and finished off his scotch you collected your purse. You stared at your phone, trying to decide whether or not to text Trisha.

"Okay, out with it," Tom said, looking at you with an unwavering stare.

"With what?" you evaded.

"The truth. Why were you down in the bar by yourself? And don't say nerves. I've talked to you enough now to know that you are not the sort to drown your anxiety in alcohol."

"You did," you said, not believing your audacity.

"I came down for tea," he said.

"Tea?" you parroted.

"There was no earl grey in my room. I like to have a cup in the morning while I get ready."

"But you had a scotch! Two of them!"

"Well, I would hardly be a gentleman if I let a lovely lady drink alone," he shrugged. "So. Spill it. What brought you down here all by yourself?"

"Um... it was just... a little crowded in my room," you tried to sound as noncommittal as possible.

"Ah, I see," his quick brain filled in the pieces. "You're rooming with Tisha, aren't you?"

"Yes," you answered slowly.

"So Michael has made his move has he?"

"You know?" you asked, somewhere between mortified and relieved.

"Well, they haven't exactly been subtle," he said with a wry laugh. "Also, he has a bit of a reputation. I had hoped it was just rumor, God knows there are enough of those about me, but it appears in this case there was some truth behind it. Don't tell me they kicked you out?"

"They told me I could come back later," you said quickly, trying for some reason to make them look not quite as selfish and failing miserably.

"Why couldn't they just have gone to his room? No, never mind. Foolish question. You poor thing. I am so sorry you have to deal with this. Would you like me to check with the front desk and get you another room?"

"Oh, no, that's really not necessary!" you said. You could only imagine the talk if that were to happen, trying to explain to the tour manager why there was an additional expense on the invoice. True, it was Tisha and Michael who should be made uncomfortable by it, but you just knew you would be the one to squirm from the scrutiny.

"Well, there is only one thing for it," he said, placing his large hand on the small of your back and ushering you out of the bar. "You shall stay with me."

"What?" for the second time your voice, pride of your acting arsenal, was rendered little more than a dog whistle.

"It's no problem," he shrugged, walking towards the elevator and taking you with him. "I have a large single room all to myself. I'm sure it will be much more comfortable than breaking up whatever your roommate and Michael have going on."

You looked away and bit your lip, trying to decide what to do. It was such a tempting offer. Not that you would ever get any sleep in the same room with this man, but at least you wouldn't have to face the love birds.

"Darling," Tom said, gently turning your face to look you in the eye, "you have no reason to worry. I am not Michael. I would never take advantage of a costar. I just want you to have a comfortable place to get a good night's rest before your performance."

"I never thought... Of course you wouldn't take advantage!" you said with a laugh. As if someone like Tom would try to take advantage of you, you thought. It would be hilarious if he wasn't standing there looking like an overly attentive angel.

"Good, then it's settled," Tom's smile beamed at you. "Come on."

And just like that you found yourself in the unbelievable position of movie star Tom Hiddleston showing you into a large corner hotel room on the top floor. The comparison to your small shared double was insane. You were fairly sure your whole room would fit into his en suite.

"Oh," you gasped, not intending it to be audible.

"What's wrong?" he asked, turning to you all solicitous.

"Nothing," you said miserably, trying not to stare at the giant king size bed. You didn't know why you had expected there to be two beds. He had told you it was a single room. As it was there was not even a couch for you to sleep on. Two large over stuffed chairs took up space on the other side of the room, and hard backed ones surrounded the table near floor to ceiling the windows.

"Ah," he said, perceptively following your thoughts. "Yes. One bed. If you like I can sleep in the chair."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!" you blurted out.

"I assure you, I have suffered much worse," he smiled. "If you feel uncomfortable sharing, I will gladly curl up in the armchair."

"No, that's just silly," you said, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "After all, the bed is so big you could fit five people in it. As long as you don't mind, that is."

"Not a bit," he said rubbing the back of his neck. "Now, let me find you something to sleep in."

To no surprise you soon found yourself in a pair of long running shorts and a Legend t-shirt. You surreptitiously pinched yourself to make sure this was real. To be dressed in one of the patented Hiddleston outfits was surreal to say the least. 

You walked out of the bathroom to find Tom sitting on the edge of the bed in his own pair of jogging shorts, glorious broad chest bare. Trying desperately not to stare, you shyly walked around to the other side of the bed.

"Left side alright for you?" he asked, always the gentleman.

You nodded and quickly got yourself under the covers, pulling the blankets up to your chin. Tom turned off the light and got himself situated, leaving the bedding down at his waist. In the dim light you could just make out the whirl of hair on his chest as he curled onto his side facing you. Your fingers itched to reach out and feel it, but you managed to keep them to yourself. You could feel the heat radiating from him, like a live fire warming your body. He reached out gently and touched your face with the backs of his fingers, still staying to his side of the wide mattress.

"It was lovely getting to know you, darling," he said quietly. "Rest well."

You smothered the whimper threatening to erupt and rolled onto your side, facing the window as far away from him as you could get without hanging off the edge. Attempting to ignore the pooling desire in your center you settled in for what was sure to be a long, sleepless night.

When the alarm went off you almost jumped out of your skin. Blearily you tried to sit up, but a strong arm around you kept you anchored to the bed. A murmured curse sounded behind you and the beeping stopped. A face buried itself in your hair as you were pulled closer to the wall of chest at your back.

Oh sweet lord! you thought, as awareness of your location flooded into your brain. Gingerly you opened one eye just enough to confirm that you were half way across the bed in the center of the mattress. You must have rolled over in your sleep, you realized. Which of course meant that Tom had also drifted to the middle of the bed to meet you in what could only be described as he the most comfortable and simultaneously uncomfortable embrace of your life.

He felt divine. He body was all pliant skin over hard muscle, Warm and soft and deliciously scented. His obscenely large hand splayed across your waist, just below your breasts, to rest against the stripe of bare flesh where your borrowed t-shirt had ridden up in your sleep. His legs, those impossibly long limbs you had admired in the bar last night, were pressed against you, one rising up to hook over your own. It was heaven. If only it was intentional. Silently as you lay in his embrace your mind cringed awaiting the moment he woke the rest of the way and realized that the woman in his arms was only you, a pathetic cast mate he had taken pity on when she was cast out of her own room.

When you could bear it no longer, you tried to gently pull away from him. Once again his arm tightened around you, holding you close to him. You closed your eyes and tried to think of a way to delicately extricate yourself. That was when you heard your name, mumbled in his honey warm voice made rough by sleep into your hair.

"Stay," he said, snuggling further into you. "Please."

Well, when he asked so nicely! Really, you decided, when would you ever have such a chance again. Surrendering to the bliss, you allowed yourself to sink back against him. You would soak up these moments, you decided. Save them for when you were feeling lonely, or needed a happy memory to see you through a hard time. After all, what could be better than being held in Tom Hiddleston's strong arms?

It was too short a time before the alarm went off again. Tom swore, lifting his arm from around your body to turn it off. You felt him, more fully awake this time, realize the situation you found yourselves in. His body stiffened and his leg quickly slid off of yours.

"I am so sorry," he said, pulling his head from where it had lain in the top of your hair. "Please, darling, forgive me. I didn't mean to take advantage."

"No need to apologize," you assured him, trying to sound as though this sort of thing happened to you every day. "After all, we were both asleep."

"It's just been so long since I've had a beautiful woman in my bed," he sighed, arm rising to cover his eyes. "My body just reacted instinctually."

"Beautiful?" you heard yourself say, a note of disbelief in your voice.

"Can you doubt it?" he asked, sounding surprised himself. 

"Generally speaking," you laughed, thinking that this man calling anyone beautiful was like the sun calling a lightning bug bright.

"My darling, you are stunning," he said, rising up on his elbow to look at you. "You are also intelligent, funny, and delightful. I thought I had a crush on you before I got to know you last night, but now..."

"You have - a crush?" 

"Damn," he said quietly. "Forgive me. I should not have said that."

Slowly, not daring to believe what you had just heard, you rolled over so that you were facing him. Hair mussed and eyes slightly unfocused Tom looked even more devastating than usual. A light growth of stubble shadowed his jaw, and in the dawn light his freckles stood out against his pale skin.

"Did you mean it?" you asked, stunned.

"There are few things as attractive... as sexy as talent," he said quietly, not meeting your eye. "When I saw you act, well, I could scarce keep my eyes off of you."

"You do realize that you are the most talented person I have ever seen," you told him, shock bringing out your candid side.

"You are very kind," he blushed.

"I am very honest," you answered. "You really think of me like that?"

"I think of you all the time," he replied, looking at you at last. "Often like that. I have spent the last three weeks trying to work up the courage to speak with you. When I saw you sitting alone in the bar last night, I thought someone must have heard my prayers."

"I am in a dream," you said. "I am in a dream and any moment now I will wake up and be back in the small black box theater performing for ten people."

"If you are in a dream than I am too," he smiled. "Darling, I understand if you want to leave. Things with me are never simple. It is an unfortunate side effect of the career I have chosen. But if you are willing to try, I would love to court you."

"Court me?" you grinned at his archaic turn of phrase. "Like with flowers and poems and such?"

"If you would like," he said, surprising you once more. "I have written a poem or two in my day, though I am more adept at songs. They are more forgiving. For now, we could perhaps start with breakfast?"

"Breakfast sound wonderful," you said, realizing suddenly that you were in fact hungry.

"I will order room service then," he nodded. "But first, sweetheart, would it be too forward of me... may I kiss you?"

Unable to speak you nodded your head once. Tom smiled, and reached down to grasp your chin gently between his thumb and finger. With an aching tenderness he brought his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and sweet and full of promise. You felt it all the way down to your toes in ways that far more invasive kisses had never moved you. Your back arched and you molded yourself to him, his free arm encircling you to hold you close. Emboldened by the embrace, you let your own hands find their way around him and to his back where they slid down the naked skin in a caress. With a quiet moan he pulled away, and you briefly felt his arousal brush against your let as he let you go.

"The things you do to me," he sighed, fingers lightly tracing your face. 

"I know what you mean," you breathed, feeling light headed from the kiss.

"I started this leg of the tour irritated at Michael," he confided. "Now I am tempted to send him a thank you gift. What do you thing? Champagne? Chocolates?"

"If we give them all that, won't it just encourage them the next night?" you giggled.

"Ah, now you see my clever plan," he teased. "How else can I hope to get you back in my bed?"

"Tom," you spoke seriously, "clever plans are not needed. All you need do is ask."

"Hmm," he grinned, pulling you close once again. "I am suddenly more happy than I can say that they forgot my tea."

"So am I," you smiled, nestling in against him. "You have no idea."

"Well then," he said. "You will just have to show me. Fortunately, we have months to go, and I for one have never been so happy to start a tour."

As you burrowed back together under the covers you could not help but agree.

@yespolkadotkitty @hopelessromanticspoonie @nonsensicalobsessions @hiddlesholic