#so i spent like six hours Thirsty and Hungry

[subbykittytdick]

i am exhausted n sore. would anyone care to help me shower so i can just stand in the hot water like a little thirsty frog

[lutiaslayton]

Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva

ＰＡＲＴ　１１

〚ＦＩＲＳＴ〛〚ＰＲＥＶ〛〚ＮＥＸＴ〛

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation for the Japan-exclusive novellisation of the movie Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva. The original novel was written by Aya Matsui under the supervision of Akihiro Hino, and belongs to Level-5.

This translation only aims to be a pleasant read for non-Japanese fans, nothing more: I made a few deliberate changes while translating in order to get the writing style closer to what is usually found in English fanfictions, as the Japanese storytelling can sometimes be different than what we are used to.

＊ The Island of Ambrosia

How long had we been on the lifeboat?

It felt like such a long time that I began to wonder if the explosion on the Crown Petone had even occurred.

Was it real? Or had it been a dream that all twelve of us here had seen at the same time?

There were only twelve of us left. First there were me, the professor, Janice, Mr Whistler, the seven-year-old Melina, Amelie, who was said to be a British chess champion as well as a high school student, and Mr Brock with his iconic backpack…

And then, there were the people who had taken the other lifeboat: the former captain O’Donnell; Mr Bargland, who looked in such good health, it was hard to believe that he only had six months left to live; there was the gorgeous Mrs Raidley, and another woman, Miss Annie Dretche, who wrote mystery novels…

And finally, believe it or not, there was Mr Starbuck, the former footballer from the national team who was known as the ‘Legendary Left Leg.’ Any member of the national team was a star among stars in the whole United Kingdom, but Mr Starbuck could not bear talking, or even hearing about his past carreer.

Annie secretly told me why: his ‘Legendary Left Leg’ was tattered with scars from the surgery he had received after an injury… and because of it, he could no longer play football. He had an unwavering determination to play football once more, and this was why he was trying to obtain eternal life.

I had woken up in the lifeboat during the early hours of dawn, and Annie, riding on the other lifeboat next to ours, had been the only other person awake. With nothing better to do, we had spent the time chatting.

By that point, the boats had slowed down, and were now leisurely headed towards the island that had appeared in the distance.

I was hungry and thirsty, but still had enough energy left to talk. So Annie also told me this: Mr Bargland was the president of a giant trading company, the ‘World Fleet’ corporation, and Mrs Raidley was the widow of a billionaire as well as a queen of high society. This lady had said that she was participating in this puzzle-solving game for the sake of making her beauty shine forever…

“I am quite partial to gossip magazines,” Annie concluded, winking at me with a mischievous smile.

Annie herself was a mystery writer, and fairly well-known in the United Kingdom; even I knew that any mystery written by Annie Dretche would always be number one in the sales charts upon release. My mum was a big fan of her works.

“Annie, the first film I ever watched was ‘Murder on the Thames.’ I saw it with my mum in a small cinema in Misthallery.”

I had been kept on the edge of my seat from start to finish, wondering how the protagonist would be able to solve the perfect crime in the River Thames. When I told her, she flashed a very happy smile.

“I think it’s a pretty good mystery, if I do say so myself.”

But then she fell silent. She looked in the distance and murmured:

“Luke, if I could have eternal life, what do you think I would do?”

“Huh? Um, I don’t know…”

It did not immediately occur to me.

“I am going to keep writing masterful mysteries, forever. I believe I can.”

As she said this, her eyes were sparkling against the horizon. I wondered… How old was she?

Definitely younger than Captain O’Donnell. About as old as Mr Bargland and Mr Whistler…

And yet, I thought that in this very moment… she was thinking about death.

Maybe she had too much talent, and not enough time, to live a normal life. There were so many different reasons for people to wish for eternal life…

With this in mind, I too continued to stare silently at the horizon.

We arrived on the island together.

Mr Bargland looked around cautiously. “What on Earth is this island…”

“At first glance, it seems to be uninhabited…” Captain O’Donnell mused.

At that moment, Mr Brock began to dash off. As he was running, he was muttering in excitement:

“Impossible! Could it be? Finally…?”

At the end of his course, he hugged a rock and exclaimed:

“There’s no doubt about it… This is Ambrosia!”

Ambrosia!? I was not the only one to be astonished.

“Ambrosia, you say?”

“Or should I say, this is where Ambrosia used to be…”

For the very first time since I met him, Mr Brock lowered his backpack and pulled something out of it with great care. It was a scrapbook, and it seemed to be an extremely important one to him.

“This is a scrapbook dedicated to the immortal kingdom of Ambrosia, which I, Marco Brock, amateur historian, cobbled together in my spare time from work!”

“It’s so thick…”

“So you’re a History geek…”

Mr Starbuck and Mrs Raidley were both taken aback, but Mr Brock was so engrossed in turning the pages that he didn’t seem to have heard their voices at all. Instead, he soon took out a sheet of paper from one of the pages and aligned it close to the rock he was facing.

“Just look at this! It’s the same crest!”

He was holding a drawing of the incomplete coat of arms. And indeed, there was something carved into the rock that seemed to have the same symbols.

The professor walked up to him and gazed at the crest.

“Indeed, this looks like the coat of arms of Ambrosia. I have seen it before in Dr Schrader’s study.”

Mr Brock’s voice was trembling with excitement and emotion.

“See? It’s here! I finally got my wish!”

Captain O’Donnell was also deeply moved. He looked around the island once more, this time with a completely new expression.

“I never thought I would be able to set foot here in my lifetime… But I see now. This is Ambrosia…”

Mr Bargland’s eyes squinted… then sparkled.

“So the elixir of immortality is hidden somewhere on this island?”

At these words, everybody came still, as if frozen in place. After all, they had just realised… This had been our intended destination all along.

It was then that Mrs Raidley’s voice rang out. “Wait, look over there!”

I followed her gaze, and saw that a table was set up under a tree on the beach. Food and drinks were laid out, ready for a meal.

“Food…”

“And wine, too…”

Mr Starbuck and Mrs Raidley both voiced their excitement, walking up to the table. We all followed suit.

A message written on a small card that had been placed between the rows of treats caught my eye.

“To all participants in the game…” I read out loud.

“Thank goodness… I was so thirsty.”

“Is this a reward for solving those puzzles?”

Everyone competed for a chair, rushing to eat. Ms Bargland was the first to pick up the wine, and he eagerly began to pour it into a glass.

“Or perhaps… Could this be a new puzzle?”

At Amelia’s words, everybody stopped their hands. Mr Bargland’s wine gurgled and overflowed from his glass.

But then, Melina reached for a plate of fruit and… began to eat, carefree. I had never seen this type of fruit before, I wondered if it could be native to this island… Regardless, that was what she was eating. I couldn’t take it any longer…

“…Well, who cares, I’m eating!”

We all took Mr Bargland’s words as permission to eat. We were simply too hungry.

They say that hunger makes the greatest kind of seasoning, and indeed, never had I ever had such a delicious meal.

“Oh, it’s so good!”

“Really…”

Janice smiled, as she tasted the same fruit that Melina had picked earlier. The professor too closed his eyes when I grabbed a handful of food. Usually, he would casually say something like, “A gentleman should always watch his manners, Luke.” But it seemed like today, he would let it slide.

After the meal, I went on a stroll along the beach. My stomach was full, I was happy, and I just… well, I kind of wanted to be alone, away from everyone.

I found many beautiful shells on the beach. And there was no one to pick them up, on this desert island… Well, I could afford to keep one or two.

I could hear Janice’s voice in the distance. She was enjoying a chat with the professor.

“This all feels like a dream… The game, this island… and eating outside like this, with the great Professor Layton, looking at the sea side by side…”

“The part about eating outside… would be quite normal for the archaeological survey class.” Somehow, it sounded like the professor had been saying this as if he were actually asking a question.

“Ruins and beaches are two different things,” Janice replied with a shrug. “But I suppose that ruins are more romantic to you.”

This reminded me of the fact that she used to take classes with him when she was a student. That was years before I met him… She probably had many memories of her school days that she remembered fondly. She probably missed those times by his side.

This suddenly made me feel… very lonely.

I decided to walk away so I wouldn’t hear their conversation anymore. Melina was picking up shellfish too, just a bit further. When looking at her like this, she seemed to be even younger than just seven years old. Did this child really say that she had eternal life…?

I walked up to her and tried to offer the shell I had picked up earlier, but she wouldn’t even look at me.

I pressed the shell to my ear and crouched down beside her, before saying:

“If you do this, you can hear the sound of the waves.”

Melina remained silent.

“Well, that’s what I’ve been told, but… I was never able to hear them properly.” This was an honest confession.

“…I hear them,” she muttered.

Her words surprised me. “Really?”

She brought a shell to her ear and began to sing.

♪

Hm-hm-hm-hm… Hm-hm-hm-hm… Hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm-hm…

The melody was somewhat melancholic, but very beautiful.

I sighed. “That’s a pretty song.”

“…The sea taught me.”

“The sea?”

Did she really hear the song just now, coming out of the shell?

I was about to ask, but the howling of a beast was heard from somewhere.

I looked around in all directions with a start. Just this instant, this had been the sound of a ferocious, cruel… yes. The voice of a wolf.

“Did you just hear…?”

When I turned my head back to her, Melina was gone. I looked around, but she was nowhere to be seen.

I ran up to Mr Whistler, shouting in panic: “Mr Whistler, Melina’s disappeared! She was right here a second ago…”

He did not bat an eye. “She must have gone off to play elsewhere.”

‘Elsewhere’…? He was so careless!

“What is that look for? She will come back.”

I wanted to object, but suddenly… I heard that voice again.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your little break is about to end.”

At the same time, a pack of wolves darted out of the bushes behind me.

“P-Professor! Wolves!”

Mrs Raidley screamed. When the man’s voice rang out again, it was as if he could see how upset and scared we were; and it was tinged with a sinister laugh.

“Now, shall you all be the wolves’ dessert next?”

“R-r-run!”

Everyone else ran as fast as they could, and they did not need Captain O’Donnell to do it. But I stayed behind. The wolves growled and slowly came closer, and closer…

That was when I was struck by a flash of inspiration. If I could try talking to them… I could talk to animals, after all.

People would sometimes ask me how I could have this ‘magical power,’ as they say… but I have been able to talk naturally with the neighbourhood dogs and cats for as long as I can remember. So when they would ask me how… I don’t really know myself. I will simply talk to them when I need to, because I can.

And in that moment, I really needed to.

I jumped in front of the wolves to protect Janice, and started talking to them.

“Grr… Gruh! Garuh! Grruh…”

In proper English… “We’re not doing anything hurtful!”

The wolves replied…

“Gahooo…”

What? Funny?

I had no idea what they were talking about. Usually, I would know for sure…?

“Professor, this isn’t right! They don’t understand me!”

“Someone must be manipulating them.”

As he said this, the professor threw sand at the wolf that tried to attack him. This scared off the pack for a small moment.

“Janice, Luke, we have to go!”

All three of us set off at full speed towards the forest, catching up with the others.

“I, I can’t, run anymore…!”

Annie sounded like she was in pain.

“…Yet you’re running anyway,” Mr Bargland huffed with disdain. “You’re stubborn, old lady.”

　⇚　　　　　　　⇛

[riverdamien]

April

“…And now, after

 the crucifixion, just when they feel that the dream is dead, that their faith is only fantasy, they are told to go

 back to the place where it all began: “Go back to Galilee. He will meet you there!” 

Fr. Ronald Rolheiser

Easter Sunday April 9, 2023

My Dearest Friends,

“Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen Indeed!

This past year has not been easy dealing with the brokenness we find in the world and in our own neighborhoods. In the struggle with my own pain {both physical and emotional}, with my loneliness and fear—my own demons, I have found myself recalling the words of Fr. Ronald Rolheiser, and I return to Galilee:

“Whenever we are discouraged in our faith, whenever our hopes seemed to be crucified, we need to go back to Galilee, back to the dream. .that we had embarked upon before things went wrong.”

I return to the Galilee of the Tenderloin and Haight Street and I simply do what I was called to do some twenty eight and six months ago now—to be a friend in the lives of the homeless  young and older adults.

For in each person, you see the broken body of Christ!

Each pair of socks, every sandwich made, and in the minutes and hours spent with each of these persons, the pastoral care we give shows our respect and appreciation of each one!

I invite you, personally, to see in each of the faces on the next page the face of Jesus and to join me on this journey into Galilee and provide the finances needed for our work!

In Jesus, Street Person and Rebel,

Fr. River Sims

​

“Whipper”

 “Brandon”

​

 Damien”

“Birdman”

​

  Dear fellow Companions Along the Way,

I am the Rev. Michael Mallory.  On April 5th, the second Sunday of Lent, 2023 I was ordained a priest of The Society of Franciscan Workers by Fr. River Sims.  It was an outdoor ordination hosted by the San Francisco Night Ministry Open Cathedral at the UN Plaza.  I was so blessed to have so many people attend and give me encouragement to continue on with that insistent calling from God, to simply be friends and find family in the people that the world has declared unworthy—the hungry, the stranger, the penniless, and the imprisoned.

“For I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.” Matthew 25:35-36

The Rev. Lyle Beckman, preaching at the ordination, said that being a priest is like being a gardener.  The daily task of tending, nurturing and patiently waiting for the garden to grow.  As a person of God, I have experienced firsthand how God has tended and nurtured and patiently waited for me, as God does for all of Creation.  I believe the Realm of God to be the same as that Beloved Community that Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. proclaimed and that no one will reach it, until we all do. 

When will that day come?  No one knows the day or the hour. But I believe that every time we see in the strangers’ eyes an image of ourselves and recognize ourselves as brothers and sisters, that day draws closer.

May God bless you this Easter Season! Be bold and have no fear, for we belong to that one who created all of us.  When the journey seems long and unforgiving, remember that we are together in Christ and only together will we reach that distant shore. 

With all my heart,

Fr. Michael Mallory

“River On the Street”

      Temenos Catholic

P.O. Box 642656

San Francisco, CA 94164

 We are beggars! Please Give!

PayPal

 or www.temenos.org

 .

                                     .

[tropes-and-tales]

The Girl Next Door, Part 1

Characters:  Benny “Borracho” Magalon and F!Reader

WC:  5702

Other Pieces:  This is part one of a miniseries.

CW:  Light angst; fluff; pining baby idiots in love; ‘90′s references.  This is some self-indulgent bullsh*t, folks.  

AN:  Thanks to @thesandbeneathmytoes​ for answering the call when I asked, “hey, you got any young pictures from the Compte-verse?” and she said, “babe, I got you.”

If asked, Benny Magalon can’t remember a time when you weren’t in his life.  

His mother could answer that question:  your family moved into the house behind the Magalon home when you were five and he was nine.  Benny’s sisters were your age—Mia was six and Emma was four—so you were fast friends with the younger Magalon girls.

If asked, Benny Magalon’s first solid memory of you is this:

Benny was eleven; you were seven.  You, along with five other girls, spent the night for Mia’s birthday sleepover.  It had been a raucous evening, a gaggle of little girls in the rec room, hopped up on sugar and greasy pizza and caffeine, shrieking at whatever sleepover games they played.  Benny had hid out in his bedroom, and even listening to his stereo with his headphones on couldn’t drown out the sound of the party.

He woke up in the middle of the night.  He went to the bathroom, and then he went into the kitchen to find something to eat.  He was going through a growth spurt, according to his mom, and he was constantly hungry.  It felt like he had a black hole in his stomach, and he hoped that there was some leftover pizza from the sleepover.

When he went into the kitchen, you were there too.  His sisters’ friend, the one that lived in the house behind them.  You were sniffling quietly, and when Benny flipped on the light over the sink, he could see that you were crying a little.

“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, but his tone wasn’t unkind.  He remembered when he was younger and went to sleepovers—maybe you had watched a scary movie that you shouldn’t have, and maybe you had nightmares, or maybe you were homesick.

“I’m very thirsty,” you told him.  You swiped away your tears with the back of your hand.

“So get something to drink.”

You shifted in your bare feet.  “I’m supposed to ask for permission first, but everyone was asleep.”  You paused and glanced up at him, your eyes wet with tears.  “I have to mind my manners.”

Benny grinned at you.  His parents always cooed over your impeccable manners.  He’d overheard them talking once, though, about how your stepfather, the Major—retired military—was too hard on you.  That it was gross, treating a little kid like they were in basic training, expecting perfection.  That he was far easier on his own kids, your younger half-siblings.

“Did the Major tell you that?” he asked, and you nodded back at him.

“Okay, well…”  He trailed off, opened the refrigerator.  “I’ll get you a drink.  What do you want?”

You refused to tell him, too polite to ask for what you wanted, so Benny poured you a glass of Sunny D.  He grinned when you drank it down in one shot, gave a heaving breath when you were done.

“More?” he asked, and you shook your head.  You handed your empty glass to him.

“Thank you very much for the drink,” you told him, and even though Benny was a kid too, yes—he was charmed by your little old church lady manners.  

“You’re welcome very much,” he replied, and he watched you pad out of the kitchen and make your way back to the rec room.

-----

Many of Benny’s childhood memories include you.  

You were a constant in the Magalon house, growing up:  thick as thieves with his sisters, but you were also a friend to him, over time.   You would come over to see his sisters, but as often as not, you’d drift over to whatever Benny was doing to spend time with him.  

You are indelibly woven into his childhood:  the video games you played together, bike rides around the neighborhood.  You spent time reading in the Magalon treehouse, precariously perched in the oak that bordered your house and theirs.  You and Benny and his sisters would spend hours in the driveway, shooting hoops, playing Horse, and you always made the Magalon kids laugh with the outlandish shots you tried to make.

He had an entire shoebox full of drawings you had done for him, especially when you were younger and would proudly gift your drawings to anyone and everyone you met.  

Benny was the one who taught you how to throw a football, and you were the one who later broke his nose (accidentally) by throwing a perfect spiraling football right at his face.

So yes, if asked, Benny Magalon can’t remember a time when you weren’t in his life….and he also can hardly remember a time when he didn’t love you.  Which embarrassed him for a long time, being a kid—the knowing smirk his father would get when he found you and Benny sitting on the couch shoulder-to-shoulder, playing video games together.  Or the way his mother would call you an honorary Magalon with a barely perceptible nod in Benny’s direction, a wink at her son when no one else was watching.  Or how his sisters would pair off in games, leaving you and Benny as a pair, as if it were a foregone conclusion.

Though maybe sometimes love is just that:  inevitable.  Even if it takes time to come to light.

*****

Growing up was a study in opposites, you would come to realize when you were an adult.

Parents who divorced before you were even a year old.  Both remarried before you were five, both restarting their lives with the inconvenience of you.  Your father solved it by moving to the other side of the country and limiting his contact to once or twice a year.  Your mother was less lucky and had to raise you, though once she married the Major, you were mostly forgotten.

A study in opposites:  the strictness of living in the Major’s house paired with the benign neglect of being the eldest half-sibling in a growing brood of your mother’s second attempt at a family.

A study in opposites:  living in a house full of people and feeling like you were invisible.

A study in opposites:  finding a family of sorts with the people who lived in the house behind you rather than your blood family.

You loved every member of the Magalon family; you loved the way they adopted you as one of their own, as if you were a stray dog they found in their backyard one night.  

You obviously loved Mia and Emma.  The three of you were a fiercely loyal bunch, and they had been your first friends at your new school.  Mia was bossier, and she had strong opinions on everything.  Emma was gentler, always ready to go along to keep the peace.  You fell directly between them, were able to bridge the difference when they went through one of their sisterly spats.

But your heart belonged to Benny, even if you’d never, ever admit it.  Even if you couldn’t admit it to yourself, barely.  

Who can say how it started?  You didn’t like the boys in your school, but Benny was an older boy.  Maybe that was the difference.  He was four years ahead of you, so he wasn’t in your classes, reaching across the aisle to pass you notes with crude drawings in them.  He wasn’t at your recess, refusing to pick you for his kickball team.  Four years was a long time in kid-years, and when Benny talked about junior high stuff—then high school stuff—it was like listening to dispatches from another planet.  Pre-algebra and SAT’s and prom-night lock-ins.  What did any of it mean?

Maybe it was just Benny that was different.  Even as he left behind childhood for the baffling world of adolescence, he was still kind.  He still pretended to love your drawings, even pointing out when you figured out how to shade things so that they looked more real.  He still played Sonic the Hedgehog with you, helped you get through the tricky parts, even though it was a little kid game.  

He still let you watch horror movies with him, even if they were rated R, though he always reached out to cover your eyes with his hand if he judged the scene on screen as too racy or too gory.

“Too young,” he declared, and your vision went black as he covered your eyes.  

“This one’s PG-13 though,” you whined back, and you could hear the smile in his voice when he answered you.

“And you’re only twelve.  As your elder, I have to make sure you’re not being corrupted by violent media, kiddo.”

Kiddo.  A nickname he had for you, which made you feel special, but also underscored that you were just a kid to him.  You smacked his hand away with a grumble, and he laughed.

“You’re not my elder.  You’re not even an adult,” you muttered, and you sank down deeper into the rec room’s comfortable couch.  Crossed your arms.  Glared at the screen.

“Got my learner’s permit.”

“Big deal.”

“It is a big deal.  Once I get my license, I can get a job.  Save up for college.  I can finally go places without mom or dad taking me.”

That was another bewildering difference:  he was talking about dating, you guessed.  With a driver’s license, he wouldn’t be limited to the lame dates of kids who didn’t drive.  He wouldn’t be stuck going to the mall, meeting a girl there, drifting around the food court and maybe buying her an Orange Julius.  The driver’s license was a wider gulf between you and him; he’d finally be able to go places with girls that weren’t you.  

Not that you wanted to date.  Not that dating looked like any fun.  It seemed pretty stupid, actually, putting all that effort into your hair and makeup, as if the boy you were dating didn’t see you sweaty and gross in gym class at school anyway.

You didn’t want to date.  You just didn’t want things to change with Benny.

“Who will watch ‘the X-Files’ with me when you’re out on dates?” you asked glumly, and you could feel him turn to look at you.  You refused to look back and only stared at the television.

“You’ll always be my date for ‘X-Files’ night,” he told you.  He elbowed you lightly in your side, over and over until you couldn’t help but smile and then elbow him back.  

-----

Things changed with Benny, because things almost always change.

He got his driver’s license, and he got a job at the mall.  He got a girlfriend, a girl in his grade named Mia, which outraged his sister Mia, who spent at least a week laying exclusive claim to the name.  When the relationship only lasted a month, you breathed a sigh of relief…until he got a second girlfriend.  Her name was Antonia, and she was gorgeous and popular and mean.  Her father owned a car dealership, so she was also wealthy and always in the latest floor model of car, usually in a flashy red or yellow.

Benny brought her home for dinner one night.  You were seated in your usual spot at the Magalon dinner table.  Your mother and stepfather were away for the weekend for one of your younger brother’s traveling baseball league, and they had foisted you off on the neighbors as they usually did.

“Oh, how cute,” Antonia said as Mrs. Magalon explained the situation of why you were there.  “Benji, you never said your family took in strays.”

You dropped your head and stared at your plate.  You had always thought of yourself as a stray, but it hurt to hear it stated out loud from Antonia’s shiny, glossed-up mouth.  And Benny….well, maybe he was still the sweet boy you knew, but he was also seventeen and a little selfish and very much ruled by hormones, so he didn’t stick up for you the way he would have in the past.  Not when Antonia was sitting across from him with her perfect figure and flawless skin, without a single hair out of place on her head.

After dinner, you pulled Mrs. Magalon aside.  You made up a lie about not feeling well, about wanting to sleep in your own bed that night, about not wanting to sleep on the trundle bed in Emma’s room.  You promised to call her before you went to sleep, and to call her in the morning, since you’d be home alone…

“Sweetie, you know you’re always welcome here, right?” she asked, and you nodded your head quickly against the tears rising in your eyes.  

That night, in your own bed, in your own quiet, lonely house, you wondered what made people change as they approached adulthood.  You wondered why people had to change at all, especially when they didn’t seem to change for the better.  People only ever seemed to get worse and worse, until they were adults and either boring or mean.  Or both.

*****

When Benny got his license and when he started dating, he found himself busy.  School took up a lot of time—he wanted to get good enough grades to get into college.  He ran track passably well, and he worked at the sporting goods store in the mall.  Antonia took up most of his remaining time.

He felt bad to be missing time with you.  His affection for you had faded to a vague, imprecise thing, especially once he started dating Antonia.  You were too young, he thought.  It was probably too much of an age difference, those four years.  There had been a guy a grade ahead of him with a younger girlfriend, and everyone had called him Pedo as a result, called the girl Jailbait.  

It was too complicated a thing, and besides, Benny didn’t think you liked him like that.  If anything, you liked him as family, as a surrogate older brother.

He still loved you, though.  You were still the funny, weird little kid that always made him laugh, that charmed his parents with your good manners, that fiercely defended his sisters against bullies in school.  And he knew you were lonely—often let down by your own family.  He knew how you got your hopes up about promises your bio dad made, and how just as often, you were disappointed.  

Benny hated to let you down too.

That dinner with you and Antonia….Benny realized it a few days later, but he thought he probably let you down.  He let the mean comment of Antonia’s slide, and he didn’t see you for a week.  If he didn’t know any better, you were avoiding him.

Benny had known you forever.  He knew exactly where to find you.

-----

The treehouse in the oak that stood between the two properties had been there for a generation, but you were the one who used it the most:  a refuge for you from the chaos of your home.  You had three younger half-brothers, all in a hundred different sports and activities, so if you weren’t at Benny’s house, it was a good guess that you were in the treehouse.

That’s where he found you.  As he climbed the rickety ladder, he saw you come into view:  your legs crossed underneath you, head bent over a book.  You obviously knew he was there, but you ignored him.  

“You stood me up on Friday,” he said.  He settled beside you, gave you a nudge.  “You missed ‘the X-Files.’”

You made a derisive scoffing noise in the back of your throat.  “Figured you’d be busy.”

“Figured you’re mad at me.”

You straightened up, pushed your shoulders back.  You turned a page with great dignity and said, “I’m not mad at you at all.”

Benny laughed, nudged you again.  “Bullshit.  You’re mad at me.  You’ve been avoiding me.”

“You shouldn’t swear.  Swearing is the sign of a mediocre mind.”

The Major’s words in your mouth:  Benny laughed again, but didn’t respond.  He reached out and plucked the book out of your hand.  It was thick, a tome, and he read the cover aloud.

“’The Executioner’s Song?’  Isn’t that a little adult for you?”

You turned and looked at him finally, narrowed your eyes into slits as you glared at him.  

“I’m in the honors track, Ben,” you spat out, emphasizing his shortened name when you only ever called him Benny.  “I’m not stupid.  I read hard books all the time.”

“No, you’re very smart.  But you are also very mad at me.”  He handed the book back to you.

“What do you care?”

“I care when my Friday night date stands me up.”  A beat, and he jostled you again, this time more gently.  “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up at dinner.”

“Doesn’t matter.”  You stared down at the book in your hands, your face glum.

“If it doesn’t matter, then why haven’t I seen you all week?”

You shrugged, kept your head down.  Your hair fell forward, hid you from his gaze.  He wanted to reach out and brush it aside, but he kept his hands folded in his lap.  He wondered if maybe you were sad that he was busier now, that he didn’t have time to play Horse or make you mixed tapes of music he thought you should know.

“Well, I’m sorry.  And if you want to watch the episode you missed, I taped it for you.”

You turned towards him again, and he could see the blatant hopefulness on your face.  You had the worst poker face he’d ever seen, never able to contain your glee when you played Uno or Hearts and held a winning hand.

“It probably was an alien episode,” you said.  You tried to school your face and failed miserably.

Benny bit back his own smile—you preferred the spookier episodes, the ones about ghosts or monsters to the ones about aliens.

“You’ll have to watch it to find out.”

“I can’t borrow the tape.  The Major doesn’t want me watching that junk.”

Benny looped an arm around your neck, pulled your head against his side.  When you struggled against him, he held you tighter.

“Say you forgive me and we can watch it now.”

“Never!”  Your voice was muffled, and you slapped at his arm.  “I’m going to stay mad at you forever!”

“It’s not an alien episode at all.  There’s a murderer and a detective who die at the same time, and they—”

“Fine!”  You slapped at his arm again, and when he didn’t release you, you added, “fine, I forgive you this time!”

Benny let you go, and he caught the glare you gave him before you picked up your book and made your way towards the ladder.

“Would you really stay mad at me forever?” he asked.  “Forever is a long time.”

You climbed onto the ladder, your book tucked under your arm, and you looked up at him.  “Maybe not forever.  But for a long time, Benji.”

That was Antonia’s name for him.  The way you said it, with a lilt of sarcasm, pinged against his internal radar.  You almost sounded jealous, but he dismissed the thought almost as soon as it entered his head.  

*****

It was okay that you loved Benny Magalon, and it was even okay that he didn’t love you back.  There were plenty of girls in school who loved boys unrequitedly, and having a crush on your older neighbor made you feel normal.  It gave you something to bond over, you guessed, even if you kept the details vague, never admitted that it was the boy who lived next door.

As time passed, Benny drifted away more.  He picked up more hours at his job in the summer, and he did volunteer work to beef up his college applications.  You only saw him sporadically, and every time was like a jolt to your heart.

He got accepted at UC Irvine, and you had spent his entire graduation party moping until he had pulled you aside, hooked his arm around your neck in that companionable way he had.  Being tucked against him, close enough to hear his heartbeat, always made your stomach feel queasy and squirmy.

“I’m only an hour away,” he told you.  “It’s not like I’m moving to the east coast.”

“An hour without traffic,” you replied.  “And anyway, once you get all your new college friends, you’ll forget all about me here.”

“Never.  No way.”

“I’ll probably never see you again.”

“Yeah, probably.”  His soft voice had a teasing tone, and you twisted against his hold to look up at him.  His sisters made fun of him, thought his ears stuck out too much and thought his nose was too big for his face.  You never saw him that way—you thought he was cute.  He glanced down at you, and you felt your face heat up to be caught studying him.

“Since I won’t ever see you again, I burned you a mixed CD,” he continued.  “All of the songs that’ll remind you of me.”

He let you go, and he disappeared into the house for a long moment.  He returned with the CD, and sure enough, there was the list of songs written out in his slanting handwriting.

“There might be a hidden track or two on there,” he said.  “You’ll have to listen to find out.”

You couldn’t have stopped yourself from hugging him if you tried.  You hugged him so hard that he grunted out a quiet oof, but he hugged you back.

-----

It was okay that Benny went away to college, because you drifted away too.  You were still close friends with Emma and Mia, but you spent less time with them.  You leaned into your own future plans.

The Major sat you down once, when you were sixteen, and he gave you a long speech about service to the country.  About how the armed services took serious women seriously, and that you could make a good career of the military if you applied yourself.  He started leaving brochures on the kitchen table, and once, a study guide for the ASVAB.  

Your mother, usually too busy with her other children, would only nod when the Major went on one of his long monologues over dinner about your future.

No one seemed to care what you wanted, so you played along.  You learned to hide your true goals, which was to get a full ride to a good college, move out, and never live on anyone else’s terms but your own.

So you navigated two paths:  the Major put you on a training regimen.  Morning runs, weight training after school.  He gave you thick study guides, quizzed you on military history over dinner.

Then the second, hidden path:  constant studying, late into the night.  As many AP classes as you could take.  SAT prep, and then the SAT’s themselves.  Extracurriculars, volunteering.  A part-time job at a steakhouse where you plastered on a fake-fake smile for extra tips.

You studied with your headphones on, Benny’s CD on constant repeat.  The songs did remind you of him:  ‘80’s hair bands and power ballads—the soundtrack of your childhood together.  

Late at night, you allowed yourself innocent, involved fantasies about him:  the two of you running into each other as adults, him realizing that you weren’t a kid anymore.  Him falling in love with you.  Marriage, kids, a house with a big backyard and a treehouse.  Et cetera.

But those were just idle dreams, not reality.  The reality was that you were constantly exhausted.  You felt adulthood closing in on you.  You felt like the military was a snare ready to catch your foot and drag you down.  

When you felt like that, you went to where you always felt safe:  the people who lived in the house behind you, your second family.  

*****

When Benny returned home, he heard his mom in the kitchen, along with one…no, two other voices.  Mia had only just started her freshmen year at Loyola Marymount, but she must have come home for the same reason he had:  the desire for a home-cooked meal, in dire need of clean laundry.

When he went into the kitchen, it wasn’t his mother and his sisters.  It was his mother and one sister…and you.

He hadn’t seen you in a year.  You had been away over the summer, shipped off on a grueling schedule of summer camps.  A military camp for high schoolers, an academic camp up north.  He had missed you more than he thought he might; college and all its attendant diversions couldn’t quite extricate you from the deep place in his heart where you had been lodged all these years.

You didn’t see him in the doorway, so Benny regressed as he usually did:  he took two quick, quiet steps towards you, then put you in his usual headlock.  You gave your usual shriek of outrage, but you had grown since he saw you last.  You were at least two inches taller, and there was a lean strength that you hadn’t had before.  You twisted against his hold and broke free, turned and gave him your usual playful glare.

Emma and his mother turned at the scuffle, and Emma rolled her eyes.  Benny reached out and ruffled her hair, rubbed his knuckles against her head until she shrieked too.

“Mom, make him stop,” Emma whined, and his mother stepped in to gently pry two of her children apart.

“Mijo, don’t roughhouse with the girls,” she said with a smile.  “They’re young women now.  You can’t wrestle with them anymore.”

“I don’t see any women,” Benny replied.  “I see one little nugget who escaped from the Lollipop Guild.”  He gestured at his youngest sister, still half a head shorter than him and unlikely to grow much more, and Emma flipped him off behind their mother’s back.  

Then he turned and gestured at you.  Really took in the sight of you.  Jeans torn at the knee, scuffed up canvas sneakers.  An oversized flannel shirt over a t-shirt, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows.  You had apparently leaned hard into the grunge scene in his absence.  A pity—he had tried all those years to cultivate you on good music.  All those mixed tapes and CD’s wasted.

“And I see one reject from a Soundgarden video,” he said, and he smiled at the scoff of outrage you made. “So no women here.”

Another scoff from you, this one of disdain.  You crossed your arms and studied him pointedly, your gaze sweeping from head to toe.  “No men here either,” you declared.  “It looks like you shaved a carnival teddy bear and glued it’s fur to your face.”

Benny laughed, a little shocked at the insult, a little jolt at the proximity to the mean flirting that some girls did.  He reached up and stroked the goatee he was trying—and apparently failing—to cultivate.

“I think I look good,” he said, defensive.

“I think you look like one of those guys that hang out at the mall and ask girls if you can take their picture,” Emma chimed in.

“Bet he drove here in a beat-up van with no windows in the back,” you added, but now you smiled at him.

“When do you two get so mean? Mamí, why are they so mean?”

His mother smiled and shook her head.  She turned back to the kitchen sink and said, “they tease you because they love you.”

-----

Benny stayed for dinner, and he pretended his decision wasn’t largely due to you staying for dinner.  

You were much changed, but he could still see the core of who you were:  funny, unfailingly polite.  You asked him a lot of questions about college, and when he tried to ask questions back—he had heard from his sisters and mother about your military aspirations—you only shrugged and didn’t answer.

He studied you closer.  Your face had lost some of its childish roundness, and he could see how your oversized clothes hid your form.  You looked tired, though you tried to hide it behind smiles and good posture.  When you thought no one was looking, you slumped a little, and your eyes took on a sad quality.

After dinner, as always, you tried to help his mother clear the table, do the dishes….but she, as always, waved you away and told you not to worry about it.

Benny nudged you with his elbow.  “Come help me finish up my laundry.  You can fill me in on all the terrible music you’re listening to.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled at him anyway.  “My taste in music is impeccable.”

You followed him down into the basement, the cool, musty smell of it tickling against his nose.  You leaned against the sink and watched as he pulled his clothes out of the dryer, then started folding them.  The two of you stood in comfortable silence, which was one of the reasons Benny did—and always had—loved you. You could tease and chatter away and have serious conversations, but you could also just be with a person, no need to fill the silence with mindless talking.  The older he got, the more rare he realized that was.

“You must be excited for senior year,” he said after a bit.  “Less than a year to go now.”

You looked down at your feet, kicked the toe of your sneaker against the concrete.  “I guess.”

“Then what….West Point, I guess?  ROTC?”  He shook his head and breathed out a low whistle.  “Never thought of you as the military type.”

You glanced up at him.  “Maybe I’m not.”

“Yeah?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

He paused in folding his few ratty towels, and he turned to face you.  “Sure.”

You turned to face him too, and your face was serious.  “I mean it, Benny.  I haven’t told anyone.  No one at all, not even your sisters.”

“I promise.”

You took a deep breath through your nose, exhaled long and slow through your mouth.  “I got an early acceptance to Stanford.”

“Holy shit,” he blurted out.  “Stanford University?”

The corners of your lips twitched into a smile.  “No, the Stanford Technical School for TV and VCR Repair.  Of course, Stanford University.”

“Holy shit,” he repeated.  “Congratulations!”  He reached out his arm, pulled you into a hug.  Felt you hug him back after a beat.

“No one knows I applied,” you said against his chest, muffled.  “The Major is going to hit the roof when he finds out.”

Benny released you, and he asked what you meant.  And you spent the better part of an hour explaining your life since he went away to school:  being pushed down one path, wanting another.  How you played along with the Major’s plan for you to join the military, but how you worked in secret to secure an escape plan.  

You leaned against the sink, him leaned against the washer, the two of you talking seriously.  Talking about real-life adult stuff.

You told him how you had something akin to a breakdown in your guidance counselor’s office sophomore year—Benny remembered the guy from his own high school days, a pseudo-hippie peacenik who used to try and usher the military-bound kids towards trade schools instead.  How the guidance counselor helped you apply to colleges without parental support.  

“It was weird,” you told him.  “For a long time, I was sort of invisible.  Then, I went to high school, and something switched in the Major and my mom.  They finally noticed me, and they had all these ideas of what I’d do once I graduated.”

“So you went from invisible to chameleon.”

“Exactly.”  You grimaced, shook your head.  “They are going to be so mad.”

Benny reached out and laid a gentle hand on your shoulder.  “Maybe, but listen:  this is happy news.  It’s exciting.  You should be proud.”

“I guess.”

It occurred to him that you were right, though.  The Major was a control freak.  He had never let you date, never let you attend school dances.  He kept your television limited to PBS and news channels, so you had always consumed the brain-rotting stuff at his house.  

Who knew how the Major would react when he found out?

“You know my parents will help you,” Benny said.  “And you have my phone number too.  You can always call me, and I’m only an hour away.”

That ghost of a smile again, like you were too tired to give him a real one.  “An hour without traffic.”

He was earnest when he replied.  He squeezed your shoulder until you really looked at him.

“You know I’ll come help you as soon as you call me,” he said.  “Even with the worst traffic.”

“Thanks, Benny.”  That ghostly smile again, but now you looked forlorn.  He thought about how stupid it all was, how you deserved far more from your family than you’d ever gotten.  That it was stupid, you needing to hide such great news.  That any other parents would be over the moon to have a daughter like you.

“Come here, kiddo,” he said, and he pulled you into a hug.  It was easy to hug you, he found.  Easy to pull you into his arms, and easy to enjoy the feeling of your own arms around him.

Then he tilted his head a little, and he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.  It was completely innocent, just borne out of a desire to comfort you, to make you feel like you weren’t alone.  

Benny wouldn’t know it until years later, not until you told him so, but it was your first kiss.  When you tell him, years later, Benny will feel a sting of shame—it was hardly a grand first kiss, nothing that any girl should dream about, just his lips against your forehead for the barest of seconds, in a musty-smelling basement, while his clean laundry sat nearby.  

But when you tell him, years later, you’ll tell him with a dreamy little smile on your face, and it will occur to him that you loved him even then and had thought it a grand thing anyway.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas  @massivecolorspygiant​   @imspillingcoffee​   @amneris21​   @paintballkid711​   @mad-girl-without-a-box​   @bestattempt   @rosiefridayrogersunday​   @strawberrydragon​   @hoeforthefictional​   @greeneyedblondie44​  @leannawithacapitala​   @stardust-galaxies​  @buckybarneshairpullingkink​   @harriedandharassed​  @thatpinkshirt​ @melaniecraig80   @thesandbeneathmytoes​

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Punica granatum: Toji Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

synopsis: a short snippet of a story you all know and love.

wc: 1.6k

tw: none

masterlist

"Are you hungry?"

"No." You cast an angry glance at the monster who is holding you captive. "Leave me alone."

"Perhaps you're thirsty?"

"No." A protective covering of shrubs shields you away from the stench of oakmoss and belladonna emitting from the entity across from you. "Go away." His green eyes shift from your hunched-over figure to the stone-cold floor in front of him.

"I..." His words falter, but you look away from him, focusing on some point in the distance. The hulking god across from you stands suddenly, storming off in the face of your resistance as you call out,

"I'd rather die than live here with you."

But that wasn't all true. Death is so final, so permanent. And you could never bring yourself to do the unthinkable and commit yourself to such an act. However, you did not want your captor to feel any reassurance from your presence.

Discomfort.

You want him to avoid looking at you, avoid talking to you, avoid you completely. Maybe then he would let you go back home to your goddess mother and your life as a humble farmer to the eternal beings of this world.

Maybe then he'd see you were of no value to him among the various others he could have stolen that day.

But Toji Fushiguro is a patient god, you learn, and your hunger strike withers in the face of his persistence.

"You must be hungry," he murmurs, leaning over the couch you're perched on and looking at you curiously. "I have fruit if you want it. And it's fresh."

Fresh fruit. Your stomach grumbles furiously at the offering, but you mask your hunger with a look of disinterest.

"No, thank you." You place your book in front of your face again, the words blurring together as Toji moves around to sit next to you, his black sweatshirt pulled taut over his chest.

"Not even some juice, huh?" You don't reply, still pretending to read the book, when he finally sighs. "Well, I'm going to go to a meeting. I'll be back shortly but in the meantime, my... friend... will be watching over you. In case you try to escape." Again, you offer him no response, and Toji leaves you alone on the couch; the invisible "friend" no doubt just the cameras placed around the property.

You've scoped them out and know where you can hide should you need a place to do something secretive. Three blind spots. That's all you had to do what you had wanted to do for some time now.

You walk into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water before looking over the offerings in the fruit bowl. Bananas, oranges, apples... a pomegranate.

Perfect.

You pluck the ripe fruit from the bowl with ease and retrieve a metal spoon from a drawer. All the knifes had been replaced with notes like "thought you could use one of those, huh" and "not in my house". Little shithead.

You open the fruit and scrape the seeds from inside while you stand between the pantry and the laundry room, right in the blind spot of two cameras. You devour the fruit in record timing, then dispose of it as quickly as you can before downing the cup of water you poured earlier, placing it in the sink, and in full view of a camera.

"I knew you were hungry."

The voice behind you makes your skin crawl, and you turn to face Toji again, eyes wide.

"How did you--"

"Does it matter?" he wonders, taking his hands out of his sweatpants pockets and rubbing them together briefly. "Between the fruit and the books, you're easy to predict. You haven't considered I've planted everything here for you so you'll be more inclined to--"

"You tricked me."

"And?" Your stomach lurches, and you grip the sink edge behind you, vision blurring.

"What the hell have you done to me?" Toji gives you a toothy grin, approaching you slowly and placing both hands on either side of your body. His head dips, the scar on his lips separating as he speaks gently, deliberately.

"You consumed my property. You ate one of the many fruits I grow in the fields of my domain, little goddess. You're mine... at least until I say you're not." Your knees buckle slightly, but you still manage to keep yourself upright, clutching the sink for all it's worth. "Six sections of the pomegranate. Six months out of the year. That's what you owe me."

"Fucking asshole--"

"Careful, y/n," Toji touches your chin, but you snap your teeth at him with the little strength you have left. "It's a shame you didn't eat the orange. But I bet you wish you would've eaten the banana instead..."

His voice fades to black as you slump forward, your body giving out and no longer supporting you.

_____________________________________________________________

You awake in your bed, like most mornings, staring out at the barren landscape of your new home.

"There's no life here," you whisper to no one, eyes blinking slowly. "There's nothing here."

Toji takes his respite in his own room, choosing to remain away from you, especially because you cry. You cry every single day. And when you're not crying, you're laying somewhere, sniffling into your sleeves as you dig deeper into the despair and sorrow of your predicament.

The first time you cried, he didn't know what to do. Toji started with trying to get you to eat something - which was rebuffed with a nasty retort - and ended up watching you sob into your hands, unsure of what he could do to make it better.

"You could let me go," you huffed, but he recoiled, frowning at you as if you had just requested the world stop spinning.

"You ate the fruit," he said, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting his emerald eyes. "I'm sorry, but them's the rules."

"You're not sorry."

"No, I'm actually not."

And from that day on, you vowed to see less and less of him until finally, you remained in your room, huddled under the comforter and staring out of the window from dawn until dusk. You don't know how many days had passed like this, but it doesn't matter.

There would be a time when you would be allowed to go home.

You don't want to be here.

Or so you think.

_____________________________________________________________

The first day you're coaxed out of bed is entirely by accident.

A barking noise draws you out of your trance, and you almost fall out of bed at the sound of something other than another person in the house.

You throw open the door and rush toward the yipping, finding Toji sitting in the living room on all fours and staring down at the little white dog. The tiny thing is staring back at him with wide blue eyes, wholly focused.

"Speak."

The dog barks twice, then a treat is produced from Toji's hand and deposited in front of the canine. When Toji sees you staring from around the corner, brows furrowed, he offers you a look of recognition. The white dog walks up to Toji and licks his face, then sits and waits patiently.

"Throw hands," Toji commands the dog, and it backs up on its back legs, raising its front paws before jumping toward Toji. "I taught it a few tricks." You approach the two carefully, the dog facing you with a wide smile and a wagging tail.

"Hey, little buddy..." you whisper, picking it up carefully.

"His name is Six Eyes."

You and Six Eyes become fast friends, running around the house and terrorizing Toji on occasion. But the best days are spent with Six Eyes in your room, both of you laying out on the bed with a book or something to take your mind off of the punishment you must endure.

Toji rarely bothers you, and you the same. Unless, of course, Six Eyes needs to pee and he can't take him out due to "work", or you need Toji to get his dog food.

But in taking care of the little dog - who is much smarter than he would have anyone believe - you find a softness in Toji you hadn't seen before. Countless times, you find him and Six Eyes napping on the couch or playing "soccer" (which is just fetch with a tennis ball), or sitting together and watching some science fiction show. Your hatred of him doesn't quite wane, but you allow yourself to see him in a different light. One that isn't so bad.

_____________________________________________________________

"Tomorrow," Toji announces while you're sitting with Six Eyes and watching a telenovela. "You're going home tomorrow."

"Wait, really?" He notices the lift in your tone, the way you straighten up and your eyes regain the hint of the familiar glow they had before he stripped it away from you. In his heart, there is deep envy, a deep desire to know what it's like to be thought of as desirable. But he ignores that part of himself, stuffing it down as you hold Six Eyes in your arms and watch him carefully.

"Yeah," he answers, tossing the pieces of junk mail into the trash in the kitchen. "For six months."

"Can I take him with me?" You hold up the dog and the animal stares at him with that stupid "head empty, stomach full" look. Toji clicks his tongue against his teeth and turns away, shrugging.

"Whatever." You respond by placing a few kisses on the dog's head, returning back to the telenovela with a cheerfulness you can't quite contain. And Toji notices it, growing ever so distant with each hour that passes, until he's fully retreated into his room and sulking while reading the volume you had first picked up when you arrived, trying to find a deeper meaning within the words he had never read before.

[blue-bird-kny]

For Thirsty Thursday can I ask for edging with Shinobu? I understand if you can’t do it. I really love your writings!

dk if its because I don’t get enough of her (seriously if you have fics PLEASE send them over) or if its because she’s one of my top characters, but my little Bi heart soars every time I get a request for her. This is probably my favorite thing I’ve written so far so please enjoy~Amanda

Warning: NSFW, Fem!reader, edging, restraints,

( 1.1k+ words)

This all started as a fun game of teasing, Shinobu swearing that no matter what you did, you wouldn’t be able to bring her to her knees, get her to the point of being a trembling mess. “You're too soft for that hunny” she laughed. Well who was laughing now?

Shinobu’s hands were tied securely to the bedpost, her hair tousled haphazardly around her  flushed face. “Ahhh!” Shinobu shouted, desperate to finally reach her climax. You held the vibrating silicone stick to her clit, her legs twitching, literally chasing her sweet release. “Times up” you called again to Shinobu’s horror, her petty whines of protest filling the room; It felt like you’d been at this for a few, tortuous hours. A string of Shinobu’s arousal followed the toy as you popped it into your mouth, “I really thought you’d make it that time” you spoke around the object, “hmm you always taste so sweet.”

Shinobu’s thoughts were in a frenzy, when she offered to let you try after her stupid comment earlier, she didn’t think you’d be this successful. “That was what? Number 4? 5?” you questioned innocently, or at least as innocently as one could with a vibrator balanced against their lips. “Six” Shinobu corrected breathlessly; you both were fully aware that if she really wanted to, Shinobu could rip herself out of her confines, but that would ruin the fun. That would also mean that Shinobu would admit defeat and there was no way she was ready to give in. “Six? Aww I’m sure your poor kitty is tired” you straddled her stomach, caressing her face in mock sympathy. Shinobu flipped her bangs from in front of her face, sitting up as much as she could with a defiant smirk plastered against her plump lips, “ You sound a little too cocky for someone who’s as wet as I am, you haven’t even been touched”. A pout took over your features as you looked away embarrassed, the feel of your sticky juices lathering Shinobu’s stomach.

“Brats don’t get to come” you tried intimidating- that was her favorite nickname for you- “Eh? Is that true? But I’m always so good to you” she continued carelessly, “Just yesterday I-” the sound of the little machine whirring to life cut off her sentence, you turned it on to about half way. You both watched with bated breaths as you brought the pulsating toy against her perky nipple. “Ah-hmph” you swallowed the noise, pressing the toy against her bud. “You talk too much” you huffed, diving back into her hungry cavern, your tongues fighting frantically while you switched between each breasts. Even with your endless stimulation, you knew that this wasn’t enough to get her off, but it was enough to get her painfully close. You took your time exploring her mouth with your tongue, one hand holding your hovering frame while the other stayed tucked between your pressed chest, casually changing the setting of the vibrator with each switch, but never to its fullest voltage. You leisurely swivel your hips in small circles, using her waist as a source of friction, inciting small mewls to fill the air between you two.

You ended your make-out session after sometime, her breast a beautiful tender pink, “Aren’t you a nasty, trembling mess” you purred. Shinobu winced as your hand reached back, swabbing a long strip of nectar only to rummage between your own thighs, bringing the two sauces between your puffy lips. It was all too much; between the sight of you sucking your combined juices, the ever present pressure of your gushing cunt grinding against her, and the ache of her own mound, Shinobu was just about ready to do anything.

“Please”

The poor girl uttered the word in defeat, barely audible over your exaggerated licking. “Huh?”. A rosy warmth spread along her cheeks as she turned away bashfully, “please let me cum” she repeated a little louder. A wide smile graced your features, you leaned forward, afraid that you would never be able to see such an adorably vulnerable expression on your girlfriend's face again. A moment passed before Shinobu moved, raising her face mere centimeters from yours, “Please fuck my dripping pussy” she begged. That’s it, that fucked out, wrecked expression was what you were working so hard for.

“Only because you asked so nicely” you teased, eagerly shuffling down her figure, face to face with her drenched heat; Finally, the main event. You held the thick vibrator, coating it in her natural lubricant before easing the toy in inch by inch. Shinobu groaned in pain, her glistening hole happily accepting the stretch. “Look at that, you took the whole thing in so easily”. You tugged at her clit first, smooching the sore bundle lovingly, before fucking it with your tongue. You switch the vibrator onto its highest setting as you thrust in and out of her throbbing pussy. She cried out loudly in pleasure, her fist clenched tightly in her palm causing little crescent moons to mold the skin, pulling roughly at the cotton binds.

Shinobu came harder than she ever had, the force of her climax causing her to tear through her restraints with a loud crack. Her hips snapped against your face as she rode off her high, the toy buzzing against her g-spot. Shinobu was tremoring from the aftershocks when you pulled the toy from inside her, cum leaking out onto the sheets. “Gorgeous” you marveled at the creamy mess.

“What are you doing?” Shinobu asked, finally regaining her breath. You adjusted yourself back on her waist, sitting on your knees. “Did you really forget about me? I thought you should get a front row seat while I fuck myself since you’ve been so good for me” you moaned softly, the toy was still colored in Shinobu’s cum when you lodged in inside you tight hole. Shinobu smiled fondly; you never failed to amaze her. Your whines grew higher in pitch with each stroke, the powerful vibrations shocked you to your core. Your eyes shut as you cried, fucking yourself onto the vibrator, your juices squlching delicously. With a view so sinful, Shinobu couldn’t help herself as her manicured finger freely roamed your tense muscles, sliding her way to your perfectly pink nub, playing with the small bundle. Your eyes screwed shut, your mouth agape whining loudly in ecstasy, you were sure that all the other girls in the estate could hear your deafening screams. Your body stuttered as you came, your cum puddling on Shinobu’s porcelain skin, dripping down the sides. Your hazy gaze fell on Shinobu’s amused one, the both of your busting out laughing. “Lets go shower, we’re sticky” you called affectionately, leading your spent bodies to your private bath.

After a long, warm bath and changing the filthy bedspread, You snuggled close to Shinobu, the both of you sporting matching pajamas (it was totally Shinobu’s idea). “I won” you taunt with a grin, staring into her brilliant lavender eyes. She shared her famous close mouth smile down at your, her nails lazily tracing random patterns into your bare arm. “Technically you didn’t have me on my knees” she retorted. “Babe!”

[whatissleepeven]

Hey heyyy!~ I hope you're having a good day, Legend! May I request the brothers reacting to MC making a whole meal at like 3am because they slept through dinner and got real hungry,,, Please remember to take good care of yourself!

This ask made me go the humor route with the hcs I'm sorry -

And thank you, I will!! I hope you're doing the same, Dean!

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

Obey Me demon brothers reacting to MC making a whole-ass meal at 3am

Lucifer

Lucifer.exe has stopped working

First you skip dinner, and now you're eating at unholy hours of the morning??

On a school day???

11/10 disappointed and a little angry

"And just what do you think you're making at..." *checks his watch because he will not be caught looking anything but prim and proper* "...three in the morning?"

You stop stirring the pot, looking at him as if you were dead inside. Which, at three a.m., you were. "Mac n' cheese. There's chicken in the oven." You state bluntly. "You want any?"

Lucifer's a bit taken aback at your lack of formality with him, but he finds it...strangely endearing. With a sigh that pierced his very soul, he leaned against the counter next to you.

There's a twitch of his lips, as if he's trying hard to not smile. "I'll have to decline this time."

You drained the pot of noodles into the strainer, giving it a good few shakes as you eyed the oven. "So, next time then?"

He frowned, crossing his arms as he glared. "There won't be a next time, now will there?"

You gulped. You forgot exactly who you were talking to due to your stomach currently dying of agony, but his tone quickly reminded you. "Y-Yeah, there won't be! Promise!"

You were going to break that promise and he knew it. Opting to ignore it for now, he glanced at the oven as the aroma of chicken began to fill the kitchen. "Where did you even find a chicken, anyways?"

"I went to Hell's Kitchen with Beel to find out if they had human food. Asked them where they got it from, and how." You shrugged. "Process of deduction."

"I see..." Is all that he said, watching you flit around the kitchen to make yourself a plate. You cut the chicken, happily adding it to your pile of mac n' cheese.

"Beel, it's ready!" You call out, startling him a bit. He pinches his brow as the sound of footsteps rapidly approached the kitchen, a starry-eyed Beel making his own plate.

He really should've expected this.

"Please don't make this a habit, you two."

He'll let it slide for now, and punish you later on in the day. How could he tell you off when you looked so happy eating a human meal with one of his brothers?

Mammon

All he wanted was to grab a Devil Dew from the fridge. Seriously, that's it.

It was dark, so he flicked on the light switch and shrieked yelled once he saw you casually eating big ziti at the counter.

He has questions, but more importantly...

"What the devil are ya doing, eatin' in the dark?!"

You narrowed your eyes at him, jabbing your fork in his direction.

"Either turn off the light or grab some ziti. I made extra."

Well, it...did look good. It must've been human food from the package you had shipped to the House earlier.

“...Alright, human, but just this once!”

It does not become “just this once”

He took a seat next to you, piling some ziti onto his plate and taking a bite. To be honest, he had peeked into your room to see if you were still asleep and panicked once he saw no one inside, so he spent a solid five minutes running through the entire House to catch even a glimpse of you. 

The frantic energy burnt made him thirsty, so he decided to take a break and come to the kitchen and holy shit this is actually really good -

“...Oi. What’s this made out of?”

- And that’s how he discovered his crippling addiction to cheese.

Seriously he’ll ask you if you’re making ziti whenever it’s your turn to cook

“Sorry if I startled you too bad.” You laughed quietly, watching as he scooped more onto his plate with an awed look in his eyes. “You like the ziti?”

A fork was shoved in your face, close to touching your nose. “The Great Mammon doesn’t get startled, ya hear? A-And yeah...this isn’t half-bad.”

Not gonna lie, you were a bit surprised when he actually sat down to eat ziti with you, but in the words of Beel: “Food always tastes better when you’re eating with friends.”

Even though he has the fattest crush on you but we don’t talk about that here

In the end, you smiled softly at him. “Then let’s do this again sometime.”

“Oh HELL YEAH!!” He cheered, and you knew that you couldn’t ever say no to him. 

Especially not with what he added afterwards in a quieter voice. 

“Just...make sure to eat dinner with all of us too, got it?”

Leviathan

“Is this like that one episode of Demfeed: Unsolved where they tried to put aggro on the spirits by eating their favorite dish at 3 in the morning?!”

You...hated that you knew what he was talking about. The two of you would watch that show whenever you were finished with an anime binge, and you were usually laughing at your own commentary (and theirs) than paying actual attention to the process of catching a ghost. Instead, you just slowly brought the spoon to your lips and slurped up some more cereal.

“...If I tell you yes, then will you turn off the light?”

You swear that you have never seen this shut-in otaku move that fast in your life. In one swift motion he flicked the light switch off, grabbing a turquoise bowl and pouring his own cereal.

He took a seat next to you, stars in his eyes as he began to eat. 

“Let’s summon them together!”

And who were you to say no? You were glad that he didn’t bring up the fact that you basically skipped dinner, content to have this quiet time with you in the present.

You lightly shoved his shoulder with a snort. “Let’s hope that we don’t end up accidentally summoning Lucifer instead.”

“Who will be summoning me, exactly?”

You and Levi freeze. Slowly, you both turn to see the eldest brother standing in one of the doorways with his arms crossed and a murderous look on his face.

The tight smile he gave could bury you both six feet under. “It’s good to see you up and about after skipping dinner. Are you making up for lost time?”

Levi nudged you. You side-eyed him.

Without warning you threw your spoon to the ground and yelled.

“SCATTER!!”

And just like Ratatouille, you both bolted out of the kitchen with an angry Lucifer on your heels. You and Levi didn’t get caught, but the next morning you two had to sit and listen to one of Lucifer’s lectures at the dining table.

- You ended up missing breakfast.

(All it takes is the whisper of that one blessed word, and the two of you would devolve into a fit of laughter. Levi still joins you for your “Cursed Meal Runs”, as he dubbed it.)

Satan

He had seen the light on in the kitchen and wondered just who, exactly, would be up at this time??

Especially on a school night day???

(Actually he assumed it was Beel, but it didn’t hurt to go and check it out just in case it was an intruder, now did it?)

“What is- Oh. I see.”

(As you can tell, he immediately gets what’s going on the minute he spots you eating pizza like it’s the end of the world.)

There’s an amused smile on his face as he sits down across from you. “You’ve finally decided to eat something?”

You swallow the food in your mouth, glancing between him and the takeout box you had delivered from Hell’s Kitchen. “I can’t help it that Belphie wanted a sleepover in the middle of the afternoon! ...Okay, I can help it a little, but still; whenever we sleep, I’m dead to the world for the rest of the day.”

He hums in agreement, knowing the power of his brother’s endless soft blankets and squishy but just right pillows. “Instead of making something yourself, you chose to order pizza?”

You put another slice onto your plate, and was- yep, half the box is already gone. You must’ve been really hungry, he thought. “I just had a craving for it and it hits different at night- hey, stop laughing!”

He couldn’t help it. You were just full of surprises, weren’t you? But that’s what made you endearing to him.

He covered his mouth in an attempt to stifle the noise, eyes softening into something more intimate once they fell on your face again. “Forgive me, you just caught me by surprise. Do you mind if I take a slice? Thank you. Since we’re here, I wanted to talk to you about the show you recommended to me... Fringe, was it? I watched the first episode, and let me say...”

Your late-night (early morning) rendezvous ended up feeling like a date. Then again, anything you do with Satan ends up feeling like a date.

(He also lightly scolded you for missing out on dinner with them because it wasn’t a healthy habit to get into, but he hinted at wanting to do this again sometime with you. Overall, he wasn’t actually mad at you.)

...

(Though, the pizza was delicious. Was it because you were with him? You two would have to order it again sometime soon to “test his theory”.)

Asmodeus

Let me be honest, this man is big on his beauty sleep.

Also, he sleeps like the dead.

However, there was one night where he just...could not sleep.

So he went to go rinse some water into his face in hopes of getting out of this stupor when he heard a rustle from the kitchen.

“...-za! Pasta! Put it in a booooooox!!”

...Was that supposed to be singing??

He peeked his head into the kitchen to see you stirring a pot, quietly singing some horrendous song that you no doubt had shown Levi.

“What in the world are you cooking to make you sing like that?”

Asmo’s voice made you jump a little. With a smile you beckoned him over, only after making him promise to be quiet so that you both didn’t incur Lucifer’s wrath.

“I’m making pasta from Mammon’s frozen Hellsauce Noodles. Uh...don’t tell him.”

Look me in the eyes and tell me this man isn’t a prankster. He literally tried to get you to snap a picture of Lucifer sleeping.

He gave you a wide smile, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Oh, don’t worry; I won’t tell a soul...as long as I can have some, of course!”

- Well. This is rare. Asmo almost never has food at a cursed hour like this, much less spicy food. You nod your head over at an empty seat, telling him to just take your plate.

Once it’s done, you both take a minute to chat as it cools down.

“-nd then he threatened to switch my nail polish out for paint. Actual paint!”

...Isn’t nail polish just paint for your nails? But you kept that thought to yourself, letting the disgruntled demon gripe about a certain shady sorcerer.

Having a late-night meal with Asmo was fun and pretty chill, considering that he didn’t attempt to make one R-Rated joke while you ate. It must’ve been because he was tired, but you were leaning more towards the fact that this must be what Asmo was like when he let his guard down.

It was...nice.

“...Thanks for this, Asmo.”

Asmo smiled like he knew what you meant, but then again...maybe he did.

“Of course, love! Oh, but don’t skip out on dinner again you hear? It’s bad for your health to miss a meal.”

Beelzebub

Hungry boi already knows that you’re making a meal before even you know you’re making a meal

You were getting the pots and pans out to make a feast for yourself when you turned around and nearly screamed. Beel was peeking around the corner, staring at you with intent as his stomach rumbled.

“...What are you making?”

Once you calm yourself, you smile and beckon him over. “I planned on making a big breakfast. I may have missed dinner, but this is one meal I wouldn’t miss for the world!”

You didn’t tell him it was because it reminded you of home, with your loved ones (be it friends or family or, even, just you and your pets). You set to work whipping up some French Toast and bacon, having on numerous occasions to lightly swat Beel’s hands away from the food.

He does end up helping you, though. He tries his best, but he sneaks a sausage from the plate when you aren’t looking.

He thinks he’s being sneaky.

(You know. You still let him do it.)

“Beel, can you pull the biscuits out of the oven?”

“Sure.”

It’s a comfortable silence as you two put together a breakfast feast fit for kings. You ended up making more than you initially were due to Beel’s appetite, but seeing the awestruck look (which was accompanied by a wide smile) on his face as he took a bite of French Toast was worth the extra work.

“I take it you like it?”

He gives you a puppy-eyed look. “...Can we have this later today?”

And, really, could you ever say no to Beel when he asks so sweetly?

You laugh as you take a bite out of your biscuit, eyeing the oven because the last thing you had put in were the cinnamon rolls. “Of course. We should still have enough to do this one more time.”

He beams, going to town on the rest of the food. The whole scene is so domestic that you almost miss his next words.

“Just...don’t skip dinner again. It’s just as important as breakfast, and I like seeing you eat with us.”

- And just like that, you promise him to not skip dinner again if you can help it. The two of you do continue to make small meals at unholy hours of the morning, though, much to the ire of Lucifer.

(Also, whenever Beel is making his midnight runs to the fridge, he now drags you along to see if you’d make something. Whenever you do, he’s overjoyed and giving you all the hugs for your hard work.)

Belphegor

...Listen

Listen -

Homeboi sleeps most of the day away. He’s probably the reason you missed dinner in the first place.

“...I should’ve expected this, really.”

You whirl on him, your dominant hand not once stopping in its stirring. Even though it was early in the morning (not even Levi was up), you had a bright look in your eyes.

Your stomach rumbled loud enough for both of you to hear. Belphie raised an eyebrow, the edges of his lips curling into an amused smile.

You coughed awkwardly. “Listen, do you want chicken noodle soup or not?”

He doesn’t eat, but he does watch you bustle around the kitchen with a soft look in his eyes. Something about the whole scene was comforting, and for once he didn’t feel like falling asleep.

“Soup soup soup soup soup soup soup...!” You chanted quietly, bouncing from foot to foot as if it’d prepare the food faster. He chuckled at your enthusiasm, resting his head on his beloved cow-printed pillow as he stared.

“It’s done!!” You whisper-shout, all but slamming the bowl down as you took a seat next to him.

Belphie glanced over at you in amusement. “Is this going to become a common thing with you?” He questioned, keeping a straight face even as you scowled at him.

“You know the exact reason why I’m here in the first place. Just so you know I’m starving, Sleeping Beauty, so please excuse me as I down this piping hot soup like it’s the end of the world.”

That actually forced a snort out of him, shifting to instead lean his head on your shoulder. “C’mon, you don’t mean that. Why don’t you come sleep with me? It’s too early to be eating, anyways.”

You poke his side with your free hand. “Watch it, mister. Again, why do you think I’m here in the first place?”

He said nothing after that, closing his eyes with a small smile. Even though it was early, he wasn’t particularly annoyed; if anything, he felt...at peace.

He didn’t condone you for missing dinner, especially if it meant that he’d get more tranquil moments like this.

For now, though...let this peace last just a bit longer.

[isthisclever]

Power Jam | Outlander Fanfiction

Chapter 6: Afar

When it came to letting loose with a stiff drink and a good meal, Thirsty Thursday had clearly usurped the crown previously held by TGIF. Or, at least, thus Claire deduced as she stood in The Ridge's lobby, squished between Geillis and Louise on one side and a pair of middle-aged women in business attire on the other. From noon to 4:00 every Thursday, The Ridge lured in diners with half-priced cocktails and a surprise chef's choice appetizer that changed weekly. And as a result, scores of hungry diners arrived early and stretched their lunch breaks to enjoy a meal, a drink (or two) the boss need not know about, and the utter relief of knowing that Friday had almost arrived.

Judging by Geillis's pout and crossed arms, the dense crowd and the beeper held in hand severely dampened any near-weekend relief as they stood, awaiting an open table. "I swear I made a reservation," she huffed.

Louise only laughed, uncrossing her twined arms and lacing her ten fingers with Geillis's. "Don't worry over it, G." A sweet smile dimpled her cheeks. Her mild French accent lent her words a cavalier air. "I do not mind waiting."

"But it's yer birthday. Ye shouldna have tae wait on yer birthday."

"And we will not," Louise answered, sweet morphing into wily. She nudged Claire with her elbow without loosening her grip on Geillis's hands. "We are off today, which means we can wait at the bar, and the time will fly like that," she finished with a snap of her fingers.

Claire nudged her back with a smirk. She'd hired into the Royal Infirmary A&E nearly four years ago, two months postpartum, and had worked alongside Louise on a heart-stopping multi-car pileup her second day on the job. An instant friendship had sprung up, for which Claire -- short on female companionship -- had been all too grateful. Exploring Edinburgh on a random Saturday night out a few weeks later, they'd stumbled upon the Reekie Rollers in their seasonal debut bout. A starstruck Claire had dragged Louise to the after party, where a gregarious Geillis had spent hours going over the finer points of derby. But her green eyes had sparkled just so whenever they'd lighted upon Louise, who had little interest in the game but left that night with G's phone number. Claire, on the other hand, departed with a soon-to-be best friend and a budding obsession. Six months later, after she'd weaned Quinn and was cleared by her physician (and with no little prodding from John), Claire had bought skates and attended her first practice.

So, as far as Claire was concerned, she owed Louise twice over.

Keep reading on AO3

Start from the beginning

[labyrinthsofyou]

for you always

pairing: wong yukhei & female reader

genre: fluff

words: 6, 851

summary: in which you surprise yukhei when he forgets about your date.

+

the thing about wong yukhei is that when he is in deep thought, it is difficult to get him out of it. his thoughts run with the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ and every type of scenario and possibility. his brows will furrow the slightest and he grows so unusually silent that it makes you worry and love him a little more all at once.

to get him back sometimes involves a few kisses, some soothing touches or food because a way to get to yukhei is through his stomach.   

apparently not right now though.

a good solid two minutes since you walked in, your knock on the frosted glass door getting no response from the other side. next to the tv by the door you stand, hoping he senses another presence or smell the food filtering through the space to eventually sit up and see you. but really, you get nothing from him.

your gaze rests on yukhei sprawled on the wooden floor under the dim lights of the practice room. his arm is thrown over his eyes and gives the shirt he is wearing a bit of a rise for you to see a tiny peak of his skin underneath. you watch the steady rise and fall of his chest and for a moment you wonder if he has truly fallen asleep like that until his hands suddenly move to rub across his face as he clears his throat. he lets out a groan that sounds so frustrated and tired and mumbles something incoherent to your ears. 

he seriously doesn’t know.

“french fry for your thought?” 

you make your presence known, the sound of your question gentle to your ears but loud to his. yukhei jolts up and catches your reflection in the mirrored walls and wonders if his tired eyes are making him see things. but then he turns his head to fully grasp the sight of you a few feet away from him clutching paper bags. the small smile on your face differs from the way his mouth parts slightly with confusion. you know his brain is in overdrive, trying to sort through all the dance steps and lyrics and schedules to figure out your presence in front of him.

“what are you doing here?” he finally asks, pushing himself off the floor and dusting off his sweatpants. yukhei runs his fingers through his damp hair before proceeding to move towards you.

you let out a soft chuckle and scrunch up your nose. “you should really check your phone,” you insist with a grin.

yukhei is a handful of steps away when you know realization hits him because his eyes widen and he curses underneath his breath.

he forgot.

when you had mentioned the new restaurant that had recently opened and the raving positive reviews a few days ago, yukhei kissed you on the cheek and smiled brightly.

“we can go check it out,” he had suggested.

you had looked at him uncertainly because his schedules had been packed with practices and flights. the nights you got to seeing him, which hadn’t been much either, drained he had been. 

“it’s okay.” and a grin you had returned his way as your hand reached to thread through his hair to massage his scalp. “maybe when you get some decent rest time we’ll go. you haven’t gotten much sleep lately and if this place is really as good as everyone says it is, then i am sure it will still be open when your schedule clears up,” you had quietly reassured him. 

yukhei had looked at you for a moment then because in his head too long it had been since he took you out on a proper date. all he had wanted was a nice night out with you. 

“it’s a date,” he had promised you. 

then yukhei had held your face in his large hands, squishing your cheeks while placing a kiss on your forehead and lips to shush your protests of rest and much needed sleep for him. 

and now the guilt fills his heart and is written on his very tired face that you see so clearly once he is directly in front of you.

“everything just ran late today. the photoshoot this morning and the interview and i’ve been trying to go over the schedule and they’ve been switching up the choreography and adding to it and i wanted to get it right and-”

on your toes you go to tenderly connect his lips to yours, stopping his rambling and his running mind all the while feeling the pulls on your heartstrings. his messy hair, the dark circles underneath his eyes and the light sheen covering his face, neck and arms with the edge of the collar of his shirt wet, so exhausted he looks. 

too many times he overworks himself. 

when you release his mouth, yukhei doesn’t dare to pull far back. instead he presses his forehead to yours, disregarding the stickiness and sweatiness of it. his hands gently grip your sides, tugging on the denim jacket and pulling your body close. his familiar comforting scent of musk and spring fresh detergent is mixed with the hours he has spent dancing.   

his eyes find yours and how bad yukhei is feeling is evident in his gaze on you. “i’m sorry,” he quietly apologizes. “i really am.”

a soft hum you give him. “i know.” 

your calm and gentle voice has his head spinning because the warm smile you are giving him and the tone of your voice is not what yukhei is expecting and deserving at the moment. “you know, i didn’t even get a proper ‘hello’ from you,” you murmur sweetly.

you watch the corners of his mouth tentatively turn up as the heat rises to his face. “hi,” he whispers.

“hi,” you reply back, leaning up once more to give him another kiss in hopes to pacify the guilt he is feeling despite knowing fully well that this is eating him up right now and will for a little while. 

yukhei stretches his neck slightly forward, his mouth softly grasping on your lips for a mere moment longer until you tug away from him and take a small step back. “i have something.” then one of the paper bags you hold up in front for him and the familiar golden arches printed on the front from his favorite fast food place comes to view. that happy smile of his you love slowly comes out.

“i stood there hoping the smell would have made you look up or something but you didn’t,” you say, your voice laced with surprise. yukhei shakes his head because he really did not notice. you wave the bag as his eyes shift between yours and the food you are holding. “i hope you haven’t eaten yet because if you have, then i think i’ll be upset.” you finish your words with a playful pout that makes him chuckle lowly. 

another turn of his head he gives as he says quietly, “no, i haven’t eaten yet.” not since the lunch he had in the car ride from the station to practice. 

yukhei watches as your face lights up with his response. the food he is about to take and hold for you, but you turn, taking a step forward and glancing from the floor to the couch in the nook of the room before your footsteps move towards the latter. you settle the food on the little white table by the wall before giving it a push until it’s somewhat centered to the seats. you sit on the soft leather, curling a leg underneath you while placing your bag on the empty space beside you. 

but in place yukhei still is as he stares after you, his eyes fill with wonder because he doesn’t know how to describe you right now.

you look up, finding him standing motionless and watching you. 

“baby, come eat. the food is getting all cold.” 

yukhei clears his throat before nodding. he walks over to grab his flannel laying on the large speakers and reaches into the pocket for his phone. across the bright screen he notices the time and the six messages and three missed calls from you and ten and immediately wonders if it’s because of you. 

shitty doesn’t cover how yukhei currently feels.

yukhei takes a seat next to you, lightly tossing the shirt to land next to your bag. he slips his phone into his pocket and makes a mental note to call ten later. he moves forward, wanting to help you take out the food you bought, but the gentle squeeze you give to his knee and your quiet words telling him not to worry motions him back. so yukhei sits against the seat a little more. his body relaxes and sinks into the couch while his hand rests on your lower back and feels the soft material of your denim jacket.

you pass him his favorite chicken sandwich and some napkins that he takes with whispered words of appreciation. “start eating,” you say, turning back to the task of removing all that you had bought. 

yet yukhei waits, in spite of the hunger starting to call him and looks on as you pull out the fries, salads and chicken nuggets along with the soft drinks and two more sandwiches. 

“are you feeding an army?” he questions in amusement at the amount of food spread in front of his eyes. 

you chuckle though, “no, just you and me, babe. we can save whatever we don’t finish, but i figured you would be hungry.” two bottles of cold water you pull out for him to see. “and thirsty. i just wanted to make sure i had enough for us.”

and it takes a minute for yukhei to process your words. “you haven’t eaten yet?” because he thinks that in between all that time waiting for him you might have and you being here is just to make sure he is fed.

you rip the straw wrappers and slip it into the soft drinks, placing his favorite cola in front of him. “it’s not a date if only one of us eats, is it? besides, i wanted to eat with you.” and it’s the truth because with his schedules, the simplicity of having dinner with him means so much to you.

yukhei nods even though your back is to him. almost three hours long he has made you wait, he is certain you probably are starving yourself and that this doesn’t classify as a date anymore. 

you make sure he has what he needs before you pick up a sandwich for yourself and settle back to snuggle into his side, bringing your other leg onto the couch. the hand yukhei had on your back moves to pull you closer to him, erasing the remaining space with his large hand resting on your knee. 

the constant need to touch you and reassure him of your presence never changes.

you unwrap your sandwich with him following, and for a while, silence ensues as the food fills your stomachs. you don’t fail to notice how yukhei finishes his sandwich within minutes or how he eats the salad as if he hasn’t had a meal all day. when he’s dipping the fries between his fingers into the ketchup, yukhei questions you softly and curiously. “how did you get up here?” he plops them into his mouth. 

security is tight here for protection. coming up here is impossible. 

yukhei turns to looks at you. a sip of your drink you take before you give him a tiny grin. “hmm, i pulled some strings.” your teasing response has him staring at you in interest as he lets out a low chuckle. his thumb begins to gently rub the small circular motions on your skin. you lick the corner of your mouth, shifting your eyes to look down at the almost finished sandwich in your hands. 

“i waited for you to call to let me know if you were running late or we just had to postpone…” you say, your voice softening. 

because yukhei is always good with that, letting you know and making sure you were aware of anything that changes.

“i was afraid to call you just in case you were in the middle of something important and i didn’t want to disturb you. and i know sometimes things change last minute. so, i waited for a little bit and you still hadn’t called so i texted you. and when you didn’t respond to them after a while, i called you. i guess you were busy or your phone was silent… because you didn’t answer either.” you glance up then, to see his eyes on you. a faint shrug of your shoulders and a sad smile you offer him. “i was just worried that something happened because you always let me know.” yukhei doesn’t miss the faint crack in your voice. 

you place a hand over his and clasp the top of it. “so I ended up calling ten just to make sure everything was okay. he said you had stayed behind.” yukhei nods along, eyes going down to the food and feeling the guilt picking at him. 

when your gaze rises to find that he’s not looking at you, you tip your head towards his, giving him a nudge to do so. and once yukhei does, you give him a comforting smile. “he came back here to help me talk to security and even bought me up here. i promised him fresh baked cookies and you owe him dinner now,” you finish with a gentle laugh, hoping he will know it’s okay.

but instead, an uneasy chuckle comes out of yukhei, his mind thinking about what you had been thinking during that time. “i didn’t mean to make you worry.” he flips his hand over to intertwine your fingers together. “i really am sorry,” he apologizes once more, his tone deep and regretful. 

you nod at his response. “what’s going on?” you inquire quietly. 

yukhei is silent for a minute, watching the round movements of his thumb before lifting his eyes to you. a weak smile momentarily forms on his face before it disappears.

“i was just having trouble focusing today. they switched up the choreography a few times. everyone was picking it up like that and i just wasn’t getting it smooth like them.” you remain hushed as he lets out a weary breath remembering all the beats and steps he missed. “i just want to make sure to get the dances right. i don’t want to let anyone down.” a shrug he gives you. “maybe just nerves or something. i don’t know,” yukhei frowns with uncertainty and shrugs again, his attention returning to pick through the fries. 

it’s quiet for a moment as you stare at him, feeling the ache in your chest at the pressure he puts on himself. even when he says with the bright beam across his face and his voice confident that he doesn’t worry what others say, times like this you know he hears it all. so much hard work and dedication he puts into every opportunity he is given to prove himself to the people watching him and to make his fans proud. 

“do you know what i think?” yukhei brings his gaze back up to meet yours. with all your heart because you know it to be the truth, you remind him with a grin full of sincerity and certainty, “i think you’ll do amazing.”

the blush on his cheeks immediately rises and the tip of his ears turn red while the corners of his lips go upwards the slightest. “that’s not fair. you always think so,” yukhei says because you always do tell him that. 

you playfully scoff. “because you do. you always do,” you emphasize each word to make your point. 

every time you watch him, he shines on stage. you put the unfinished sandwich down and wipe your hands on a napkin before turning back to him. “today was just an off day, you know. we all have them, so don’t worry. but i do think the lack of rest is also taking a toll on you too. you need sleep, baby.” he hears the concern in your voice and faintly nods in agreement. you raise your hand to stroke his cheek and like a puppy, yukhei affectionately nuzzles into the palm of it. 

“but you’ll be amazing, okay? i know you will be. and i bet by tomorrow you’ll be able to do the steps with your eyes closed,” you tell him, words soft and reassuring. 

his mouth forms a gentle smile before he leans over to pucker them against your cheek. and when yukhei pulls back, he notices the mischievous look you throw his way. 

“so… you think you can spoil me and show me your solo now?” you ask with hope and interest laced in your voice.

the first time you asked him, yukhei had shaken his head with the boyish grin on his face and had said it was top secret. so you give it another try with your question now, wishing for the response to differ. but he laughs, that infectious sound making you happy. “you will see it like everyone else!” yukhei answers as he dips another fry into the ketchup to eat. 

“you know, after i said yes when you asked me out, i expected this as an advantage,” you playfully huff, rolling your eyes. “do i at least get a hint? that’s the least you can do since i’m currently feeding you.”

yukhei purses his lips and looks to the ceiling, thinking of what he can give away before snapping his fingers. he leans over to place his mouth besides your ear, his warm breath fanning against your skin. 

“body rolls,” he murmurs lowly, his tone sultry.

almost immediately you feel the heat rising in your body and your face turning flushed at the thoughts of him doing them on stage. and yukhei shifts back in time to admire your reaction as his perfectly sculpted eyebrows wiggle up and a smirk graces his face. you lightly swat his chest as he tries to covers his mouth to lower the sound of his loud laughter. “that’s all you get! you have to be surprised!” he says between his giggles through his hand. 

the glare you shoot his direction has you earning another kiss on your cheek. 

“tease,” you tell him before shifting to grab one of the paper bags, ready to show him the final note to dinner. but once you turn around to look at him, you find his hopeful eyes are fixed on you.

“you’ll be there, right?” yukhei prompts, his tone the opposite of how he sounded seconds ago.

you are as much as you can. and even when you can’t, he always comes back to tell you about it and it feels like you had been. you hold out your pinky that has him hooking onto it within seconds. 

“definitely. lightstick and all,” you promise with a beam.

yukhei nods, letting out a breath caught in his throat and smiles widely, satisfied with your response. he gestures to the paper bag still in your grasp. “what is that? do you have more food?” he drops the fries in his hand and takes a drink of his cola.

and you chuckle almost sheepishly, tugging out a small insulated bag and pulling out the cup of ice cream made just for two. “surprise!”

yukhei laughs wondering if this is for him or you because of your love for anything sweet. he takes the cold dessert from your hand and eyes the fruits and the drizzling of condense milk over the strawberry ice cream that is his favorite. 

he feels the tug on his heart.

to the smallest details you pay attention to make yukhei thinks right now you just might be perfect. 

“it shouldn’t be too melted,” you insist, hoping the insulated bag actually works. you take out the two spoons and hand him one.

yukhei takes off the clear plastic lid, the scent of sugar and fruits rise through the air. just the tiniest bit soft the ice cream is as he digs his spoon in to get a little bit of everything. but instead of taking that first bite, yukhei holds out the scoop for you to eat. you grin before opening your mouth for it. the satisfied sound you release when the cold and sweetness hit your tongue has him amused and thinking of all the other times he has heard it. 

and once the ice cream is more than half gone and yukhei doesn’t think he can eat anymore, you take it from his hands with glee. he giggles at your insatiable sweet tooth before he rinses his mouth with the water you bought. he stretches his arms up and drapes it behind you, providing you the nook and extra space to curl into him. 

“i always wonder how it’s really like to be in these rooms. you spend so much time here and i see your lives that it actually feels… weird being in here,” you remark, observing the room.

his life in the practice room yukhei describes to you and you see through a phone screen every once in a while. the hours and sweat put into here you see on him when it’s late and he comes through the door with exhaustion painted on his face and when he’s under the brilliant lights on stage giving everything into a performance. 

your comment has him smiling. “it’s nothing much here,” he tells you because really, it’s not much. 

but still, between his words, you know he’s proud. 

yukhei motions to the floor. “that’s the floor you found me on when you walked in.” he points to the music system next. “that’s where we blast the music that you can hear five doors down.” he moves his finger to the water dispenser in the corner. “that’s the same dispenser we poured the coke in and had cola water for about a week.” he laughs at the memory as you murmur your disbelief before his hand waves to the mirrored walls. “and we have those so we can see how handsome and sexy we are when we are doing our body rolls,” yukhei finishes confidently with a beam. 

his descriptions have you giggling as you angle your head up. yukhei glances down to see the sparkle in your gaze and the faint and flirtatious smile. “i think i like the mirrored walls the best,” you whisper sweetly even if your thoughts about it are not. 

it takes yukhei a few seconds to register what you are saying before he raises an eyebrow. “look who’s being a tease now,” he retorts with his voice deep.

whatever concentration he has to muster up tomorrow to get all the dance steps correct yukhei thinks will be nonexistent now because his mind will be filled with you against those mirrored walls. and right now, how tired he is and how he wants you is a terrible combination. 

still yukhei lowers his head, hoping to erase the space between your mouths even if it is just for a kiss. quickly though you move away and stand up, leaving him in surprise and his lips in the air while you are in fit of light giggles. the wink you throw his way has him clutching his heart and feigning in pain. you turn away from him with a chuckle to walk over to the windows to peak pass the drawn shades, admiring the city night and lights from this high up.  

yukhei sits on the couch though, content to watch you begin to walk around the room and explore while taking the occasional spoonful of the sweet treat still in your hands. even if there is really not much in here, he still loves letting you see his life and sharing all he can with you despite how this night isn’t supposed to go like this. and once you stop at the other side of the room, taking interest in the piano you have seen them play with in their video lives, for the first time of the night yukhei notices it. 

that navy mini dress dotted with the pale pink petals you are wearing, that flows pass your hips to stop mid-thigh and shows off enough legs that makes him chew on the inside of his cheeks, is that one you had worn from your very first date together. 

like the back of his hand yukhei remembers that night. 

he can still recall how nervous he had been because all he wanted was for the night to go well. he can still hear his voice when he had blurted out how pretty you looked when he finally approached you in front of the restaurant. he can still smell the delicate bouquet of mismatched floras because he hadn’t remembered to ask what your favorite was. he can still feel your lips lightly against his warm cheek when you had thanked him to hide your shy face from his eyes. he can still picture every smile and that glimmer in your eyes when you laughed at his stories. and he can still replay it like a scene from a drama when he had finally reached for your hand and how they just seemed to fit together.

so enamored yukhei had been with you that night. 

and even now, he still is.

the way excitement drips in your voice when you talk about something you absolutely love. the way your cheeks heat quickly when he stares at you a minute too long or gives you a compliment because embarrass you still get. the way you always let him know what he does to you feels good so he can do it again. the way you trust him every time he takes your hand and you hold onto him tightly never wanting to let go. 

and as his eyes go from you to the leftover food in front of him, yukhei thinks of how in times like this when annoyed he expects you to be because he forgot. but you surprise him with dinner and still wait to eat with him. 

or how tired you should be because he doesn’t see you as often as you both would like. instead when you do finally see one another, you hug him too tightly and whisper that distance makes the heart fonder and reunions even better. 

yukhei doesn’t know if the universe can ever really understand what he feels for you. 

your fingers lightly press down on the black and white keys, the sound of the piano echoes in the room. you twist around then, in hopes of asking him to join you at the other side for a fun impromptu concert or dance. but what you get is yukhei staring at you. and unlike how he was when you first walked in, happy he looks.

“i am in love with you,” yukhei declares, a soft beam illuminating his face. 

he truly is. 

like the sounds from the piano, the words yukhei says echo in the room and in your heart. 

your face heats up and you bite the corner of your mouth while the butterflies form in your stomach. for a minute you stare at him, wondering if he knows how his words will always affect you. 

you move away from the piano to cross the floor back to him. his smile never disappears but only seems to widen as you get nearer. when you are a few steps away, yukhei holds out a hand for you take. the ice cream you place beside the remaining dinner on the table. your eyes never falter from his as you place your hand in his and he tugs you forward to straddle his lap. 

yukhei brings your enclosed hands to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles once and then again. your free hand lifts to affectionately cup his cheek while his goes to the hem of your dress, feeling the material between his fingers before they find their place on your thigh. your position makes him tilt his head a bit up, the lights making the glimmer in his wide eyes so clear. a quiet hum you give him as his hand moves to gently knead your flesh. 

“do you know that?” his question comes out softly in an almost sing song way that makes you unable to fight the breathless laugh coming out. that smile on his face stretches into something almost lovestruck and yukhei feels his cheekbones hurting a little as he repeats again, “i’m in love with you.” 

and yukhei says it as if you don’t know it already. 

but you do.

every time he looks at you with the stars in his eyes. every time he hugs you close and takes a deep breath. and every time he whispers those three words into your ears, you know it and feel it. 

“you’re so cheesy…” your voice trails off while you caress his warm and soft skin.   

you want to tell him more. you want him to know how he has filled your world with so many new experiences and so much wonderments. you want to tell him how in love you are with him too. 

but you don’t know if your voice can uphold to all that though because the way yukhei is looking at you has the warmth blooming in your chest and the sight of him becoming the tiniest bit hazy.

so the only thing you can think to do is bend forward slowly until you catch his mouth in yours. and unlike the enticing kisses when you are tempting him or the tender kisses when he’s about to fall asleep, this one is passionate in hopes that all that you want to say he can feel.

your hand reach for his jawline to tip his head to the position of your desire. his tongue gently swipes across your lips before sliding in. your mouth feels silky and with the added hint of strawberries from the ice cream, yukhei thinks you taste better than the actual dessert of the night.

he lets go of your hand to find its place at the back of your neck and glides his long fingers up to tangle in your hair, cradling your head. the blissful sigh you let out sounds like music to his ears. his touch on your thigh leaves to place at the curve of your waist. his soft grip makes you arch your back while you cup his face with your hand. the notes of citrus from your perfume and the scent vanilla from your body wash surrounding yukhei has him feeling dizzy in the best possible way. 

in between the slick sounds of your wet mouths together, you hear the inhale he takes before he intensifies the kiss a little more. the warmth in your chest spreads to your entire body and the jacket and dress feels too hot to wear. 

you give him a parting suck to his lips before you finally let go. you feel lightheaded as air fights to fill your lungs once more. yet you find yukhei staring intently at you with half lidded eyes and his puffy lips turning into a lazy smile. drunk from your kiss he looks while your face is flushed, the fluttering in your stomach seemingly wanting to stay.

yukhei remains unmoving, his breaths gradually evening out while he mesmerizes your own pair of swollen lips forming the sweet smile. he loves everything he sees in front of him right now. your hands shift for the pads of your thumbs to wipe the mess of your saliva around his mouth. yukhei doesn’t bother wiping his off you though. nor does he try to be subtle as his stare moves from your eyes to your mouth because still so kissable they are him.

“i like kissing you,” yukhei states softly with a pleased grin. 

you feel the heat on your cheeks intensify at his smooth words. and despite how you have wiped the messiness of the kiss off his skin, you shift to give him one more to satiate him. yukhei meets you in the middle to close the gap. 

it’s a gentle brush that moves in slow motion and makes your heartbeat thump a beat quicker in anticipation until he finally closes his plump lips around yours. 

yukhei will kiss you forever if he can. 

a tender nip to your lower lip yukhei leaves before his mouth slowly trails off, grazing your skin until he is able to bury his face into the crook of your neck. he encircles you with his strong arms and inhales deeply.

you let out a laugh that warms his soul, twisting and tugging your squished and trapped arms out from between your bodies. your arms loop around him despite how his hair and eyelashes tickle you and the closeness of your bodies make you still feel too warm. your hand reaches for the nape of his neck to gently scrape your short nails on his skin. closer he hugs your body to press into your touch, clinging onto you like a koala to a tree. 

the irony of this sight if someone is to see this now. how yukhei is inches taller and physically stronger than you in every sense. how he always insists on protecting you and making sure you are okay. but in this moment, all you want to do is to protect him and make sure he is okay.

you wish you can stop time for a little while just to stay like this with him. your head turns the slightest until you are able to place a kiss to his temple.

“i love you,” you whisper softly against his skin. 

and you tell him as if he has forgotten. 

but he hasn’t. 

his embrace around you tightens, your words making him feel like he’s the luckiest in the world. your touch begins to gently run up and down the expanse of his back, soothing the tired muscles. the quiet breaths he hears from you are calming his thoughts and lulling him.

yukhei wonders if any words can ever be enough for you because sometimes, he thinks there might not be. no words he thinks might ever be able to fully encompass what he feels for you, how he feels for you. 

his lips pucker against your neck. 

“i love you more,” he murmurs, his voice warm and deep. 

until he can find those words, yukhei will tell you that. 

a faint smile ghosting on his face you feel even if you are unable to see it. the small space you close between your heads when you rest yours against his. yukhei cannot help but let his eyes flutter shut. the touch you have on him feels too soothing and so good after everything today. he wishes he can teleport and be in a bed now. he wishes  the world will stop turning so he can rest with you.

“if you keep doing that, i might fall asleep right here,” yukhei mumbles into the peacefulness of the room. 

so sleepy he sounds and you think you would let him be if he does fall asleep right now. instead a soft hum you give him as your movements gradually slows down but never stops.

“what time is your schedule tomorrow?” you gently ask him.

silent yukhei remains for a minute until he lets out a breath.

“i have a fitting in the morning,” he mutters but you hear him clearly. he pauses then, trying to remember the schedule that had been presented to him hours ago. “and afterwards there’s another interview and a recording and then practice.” until late he wants to add but doesn’t.

another kiss yukhei bestows upon your skin before he slowly lifts his head. his arms around you loosens but he never lets them drop as he leans back the slightest into the couch. you hold his face in your hand as the other you place on his chest, fingering the worn material of his shirt. his stare he keeps steady to yours when his head turns to press a kiss into the palm of your hand.

“when promotions are over and after the tour, i’ll make it up-” for a second time of the night you silence yukhei with your lips to his. soft and sweet just like him the kiss is.

you don’t want him feeling the guilt over this anymore. even if this is not the night originally planned, you are happy just like this with burgers and strawberry ice cream because you are with him. 

when you pull back with a final peck to his mouth, you give yukhei a soft beam that has his heart wanting to burst. he will make it up to you even when you tell him he doesn’t have to. his nose he affectionately brushes against yours.

“it’s late. are you ready to go?” because much needed rest he needs for tomorrow. you angle your head, tenderly smoothing his hair. “i’ll drive you back to the dorm,” you whisper.

yukhei offers you a short nod. “i’ll leave a little early and get back to the dorm before we’re supposed to leave for the fitting.” his hand covers yours on his chest, fingers closing around it. “i just want to go home tonight.” 

and it takes you a second until you understand what he truly means, feeling your heart melting.

the dorms yukhei stays when he is doing promotions and the schedule is too hectic and too long that sometimes he forgets what day it is.

but with you in the tiny apartment with the shared bedroom, with his green toothbrush besides your pink one in the bathroom and the strip of photobooth pictures of funny faces and kisses is taped on the refrigerator door is where yukhei considers his home. the extra thirty minutes of sleep he will lose from the traveling. but the thought of holding you for a little longer, of hearing your breaths beside him calming him to sleep and waking up next to you and giving you a parting kiss before he heads to work makes it worth it. 

“i like the sound of that,” you murmur almost shyly, face warming once more. 

yukhei sees the sparkle in your eyes you can’t hide.

your lips connect to his for a short kiss before you carefully unfold your legs, feeling your muscles stretch for the first time in a while. yukhei keeps a hand on your waist when your feet touch the floor. you turn, your hand you offer to him to hold as you giggle and give him a little pull up and off the couch. 

yukhei stretches, his long arms extending as high as they can go towards the ceiling. you turn towards the table, the leftover dinner you sort through to make the small pile to bring back home and eventually eat. yukhei throws on his flannel and pushes back his hair. he makes sure the couch is free of crumbs before helping you clean up.

once the mess is cleared and the take home food is placed into the bags, you quickly scan around to make sure nothing is left behind. yukhei gently hangs your bag over your shoulder and feels for his phone in his pocket. he takes the food from you to take your hand, fingers linking tightly together. he shuts off the light and closes the door behind him. the short walk to the elevator at the end of the hall is silent, but he doesn’t mind. 

as you wait and watch the numbers change to your floor, yukhei glances down when you cover up your unexpected yawn. he bends to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips staying pressed to your skin seconds longer than usual. you fix your eyes up at him when he pulls back, your face warming at his gesture. on his face is a smile that is wide and adoring while his large eyes shine under the bright hallway lights. 

“thank you,” he says because all the words spoken tonight, yukhei believes he has not said that to you yet. 

forever grateful he is for you.

the elevator dings and the doors open. yukhei moves first with your steps following him into the metal box. the ground floor he presses once the doors close, the descend beginning your journey home together. you give a gentle tug to his hand, making yukhei look at you. 

you tiptoe and return a kiss to his cheek with your lips staying in place for seconds longer too before you step back to find his gaze. 

“anytime,” you whisper with a smile.

because for him, you will over and over again.

[an-annyeoing-writer]

Chanyeøl x Reader: homini lupus.

Word count: ~3,2 k

Genre: dark, supernatural

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and injury

I’m actually thinking of writing this for some other members. There are some minor events that weren’t explained and I’d like to refer to them in other fics. We’ll see!

Homo homini lupus est.

You didn’t know how long you spent in the same position. Your back ached, you were cold, and the migraine wouldn’t leave you in the last few hours at least, ever since you lost the remaining willingness to move. You tried to walk around the small space at least once in a while to keep your body warmer, and yourself – saner. But it didn’t work, and you felt hungry, thirsty, and exhausted. 

The space was small, but you knew it wasn’t meant to be a prison; more like a pantry, considering shelves along the walls, although empty. 

Sometimes, you heard noises. People walked right behind the locked door, ignoring that you sat there in complete darkness, starving, unable to cry for help any longer. You wished someone would come here just to keep you company, or at least tell you what was going on. But no one did – you were kept here like an animal hunted down, caught and then kept alive until it’d be needed dead. Although it’d at least be given water and food to stay healthy until its time came, and you didn’t have even that much. 

You thought you’d pass out when the doorknob moved slightly; you couldn’t see it, but you heard the faint noise and your face snapped up.

“Let me out” you whispered; your throat was dry, your voice hoarse, as if it didn’t belong to you at all. But you stumbled to your feet, pushing forward and falling against the door next moment, slamming your weak fists against the wood even as the noises on the other side dulled out. You cried out incoherently.

And suddenly, something slammed against the door from the other side, making you jump back. You shook, barely standing on your own feet, as the lock was removed on the other side and the door opened, letting in light that blinded you in an instant.

“Why can’t you just keep quiet?” the voice spoke even before you saw the man in front of you clearly.

“I-I heard a sound…” you whimpered.

“I just tripped, don’t think too much. God, can’t you even be quiet for a second?” You kept quiet, though; you waited for your eyes to adjust, and finally, you made out the silhouette in front of you, a man with one hand still on the doorknob and the other holding onto his side. You didn’t see the exact colors yet, but there was a darker stain on the side of his face, one you confused with a shadow at first, but as you soon realized, wasn’t one. 

“Are you hurt?” you whispered.

He snorted. 

“Still stronger than you, no doubt. Stay where you fucking are.”

“I-I can help” you offered.

“I don’t think so, you can barely stand.” He moved to close the door back and, almost instantly, let out a groan, leaning against the door frame for support. You didn’t hesitate before reaching to him; anything to get out of here, no matter how dangerous the world outside could be with him around. 

His immediate reaction was to push you away and you landed on the cold ground, miraculously not letting out a pained sound. 

He stared at you for a short moment, as if rethinking his previous statement.

“Follow me. Don’t slack off. If you can stand up, that is.”

You didn’t know if you could. But the will to get out of this small space turned out way stronger than all the aches and fear gathered in your fragile body. So you ran after him, trying to remember at least some of the passing surroundings, but in the end, able only to walk behind the man who captured you, hoping that he won’t pass out in the middle of the hall – mainly because if anyone was to find you two like this, your explanations would be quite unreliable without his testimony.

Although maybe, just maybe, it’d give you a chance to escape? 

Probably only if no one else was in the house; you wondered how big the building was, but it seemed cozy, closer to a summer house than a mansion, so it shouldn’t be too big. You didn’t change the floor, but you saw some stairs in the distance. You moved into a cozy bedroom and the man motioned you to wait in the middle, walking to the door in the corner, which, as you saw from your perspective, was a bathroom. He came back soon with a small box – first aid kit. 

He threw the box at you, and you barely managed to grab it; at least these few minutes of stretching your bones helped a little with your migraine, and you didn’t feel as dead as before. In fact, literally the opposite – you felt a rush of adrenaline that urged you to move as the man sat on his bed and exhaled heavily. You looked at him more closely. Although he was holding his side earlier, there was no visible injures there. Maybe some bruises under the jacket, you thought.

The only one was on his face. Blood poured from under his closed eyelid, and it was a scary sight. There was a cut over the bridge of his nose too, but it didn’t look half as threatening. 

The man looked at you with his one, dark eye.

“What happened to you?” you asked. He must have calmed down by now, because he didn’t yell anymore, his posture didn’t look half as intimidating as before. He didn’t say a word as you moved a chair to sit next to the bed and open the first aid kit. You didn’t know, what to do. Shouldn’t he wash his face first?

“I was robbed” he announced.

“What kind of robbery leaves wounds like this?” you huffed.

“It wasn’t a robbery. I was stolen from” he clarified, although, in fact, it didn’t clarify much.

“What do you mean? What did they take?”

“Can’t you tell?” His one eye bored into you as the two of you stared at each other for a few moments.

“Oh.” Who’d do something like this… And what for? 

The man seemed amused.

“They’d gladly take you, too, if they knew you’re here.”

“Who?” 

You completely forgot about what you were here for, simply listening to him, first aid kit left on the mattress. 

“People who don’t like what we are.” This reply didn’t explain much. The man huffed. “You don’t need to know the details.”

“You just said they’re after me, too. Who are they? I need to know more.” You were focused on getting the information out of him. It was not an easy task, you had a feeling you were unlucky enough to meet the stubborn one. 

“It’s none of your business.” 

You huffed with annoyance, picking up a bandage roll from the box and throwing it at him. You stood up and started pacing around the room. As if your head wasn’t already overwhelmed, you had even more questions than before. Nothing had been cleared out, nothing at all. 

“Then why do you keep me here? It sounds like you couldn’t care less about my well-being, then why bother?”

“Don’t be mistaken” the man spoke louder. “I couldn’t care less about you, but I don’t want them getting any stronger. I won’t let them put their hands on you until they’re all dead.”

“How many is all, then?”

“Seven” he answered without hesitation. “Six of which I’m going to kill.”

“And the one?”

“If I kill him, I die, too.” The grin on his face made it clear that he was sincerely amused with making you even more confused than you already were. 

“I don’t understand” you admitted.

“You don’t need to. Just stay where you are, could you?” he shrugged. From the box, he took out some pills and took two, but it didn’t seem like he’d do anything about his eye. 

“What about your…?” you hesitated, briefly pointing at his head.

He shrugged.

“I’ll get a new one, no big deal.”

Just who was he? You had way too many questions. Your fear dissolved a little, especially after finding out he was not as hostile as he seemed at first; interest appeared instead. 

He looked up at you with his one eye and scrunched his nose. 

“You’re useless here. Go back to the pantry.”

You glanced at him, not too happy with the perspective.

“Can I use the bathroom at least?”

He shrugged.

“Do what you want. You’ll die if you try to get out, so in your own favor, don’t.” 

“What do you mean?”

“We’re two hundreds miles from the nearest town, and it’s the middle of winter. We’re not gonna kill you, but it doesn’t mean we’re gonna care if you die. If you go, you’ll freeze to death or starve before they find you. So we won’t care.”

“That’s cruel.”

“Maybe. But we have enough of our own problems to worry about.”

“Can I get food?”

“Do what you want.”

So you did. Maybe it’d earn you a bit more chance to get information out of others who were here. Or maybe it’d just make it a bit more bearable, if you could live normally at least. 

You came to a conclusion that there’s nothing more humanizing than a warm shower.

* * *

You slept on the sofa in the living room of the house. It was a spacious building, as you discovered. A few rooms were locked and no one ever entered them – one of the men shared that they belonged to those who passed away. It scared you to realize that death was not something uncommon to them, but you didn’t dare to ask more questions; these rooms were unavailable to you either way, so you stayed in the living room, a place the inhabitants came to only on those rare evenings when all of them were here. Usually, only one or two were in the house to begin with and they busied themselves in their own rooms. There was six of them. And the one who stayed at home the most was Chanyeøl, with his head wrapped in bandages; he didn’t recover yet so he didn’t go out much. You wondered where they all went in the first place – if it was true and the closest town was hundreds of miles away, where were they going all the time?

Once, it became quite obvious. Sehůn came back home with a dead deer over his shoulder; the animal had no wounds so you worried, what if it was poisoned? Would it be safe to eat it? But the others didn’t question it, just prepared it, and that was the first time in a while you ate something warm and fresh. They didn’t really care that you took some, nor that you sat among them while eating. They never paid you much attention at all, but you didn’t mind – it allowed you to see them at ease, not so scary anymore, just a group of people, maybe not friends, but surely not enemies either, more of associates, living under the same roof. 

You saw them come back home tired and dirty, you saw them laugh at stupid jokes while looking as if they just took a bloodbath, you saw them complain about injures that were simply “annoying”, never “life-threatening” or even “dangerous”. 

And one day, you saw Baëkhyun sit next to Chanyeøl and gently take the bandage off his head.

“It looks good” he spoke. “Creepy as hell, though.”

“You should have gotten me a better one. Seriously.”

“I thought this one would suit you more. We can dig out the other one and exchange so that they match.” The sentence was probably the creepiest thing you’ve ever heard, but the man’s smile made it clear he was simply joking, in his own, twisted way that Chanyeøl seemed to reciprocate, because his lips curled into a grin too. 

They heard you shuffle in the door’s entry and both turned their heads towards you.

Chanyeøl’s bright blue eye stared at you with more intensity than the other, dark one you already knew. 

Baëkhyun was right. It was creepy as hell.

* * *

“Aren’t you getting too comfortable?” 

Chanyeøl sat by the kitchen table, elbow on the glass surface and chin resting on his palm; he seemed bored, so he watched you do the dishes after dinner. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, not even glancing back at him. 

“I could put you back in the pantry at any time and none of the guys would stand up for you. I could even kill you and they wouldn’t care. Why do you do this, then?”

“Do what?” You didn’t seem too bothered with his words. You started to get used to his threats. 

“Act like you live here.”

“Do I not?”

“You’re a hostage.”

“Thanks for letting me know” you replied sarcastically. 

You made barely one step before his hand was on your neck, pushing your face against the fridge. His grip was firm, but you didn’t dare to struggle, trying to ignore the way your entrails twisted in fear. You were starting to get used to it, you just needed more time. That’s what you told yourself. He wouldn’t kill you – you repeated it in your thoughts. He wouldn’t kill you, he doesn’t hate you. You’re useful, somehow.

“You seriously think that it’ll change anything?” He leaned down and let his voice turn quieter – the words he was about to speak were not for anyone else to hear. “There’s seven of them. If I kill the one, I die too. What, do you think, will happen, if I kill the others?”

The words started to sink in. All the domesticity and familiarity suddenly turned poisonous. Not even associates, you thought. Just means to reach his own goal. Did the others know? Should you warn them? Or were they all thinking the same way, working together only for now? Was this how the others passed away? Were they also not useful enough for their life to be more valuable than the death of those who were against them?

“B-but there’s only six of you” you noticed. Your voice quivered.

You felt his breath on your neck, his grip didn’t loosen.

“Do you want to know who’s the seventh? Do you, really?” 

Your body shook in fear, and you realized that you should have started fearing him much sooner than you allowed yourself to.

A smirk.

A push, forcing you onto your knees.

And then, silence. He was gone. 

You had to get out of here.

* * *

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Chën stared at you, amused. It was early spring already, the temperature wasn’t that bad. You picked up the warmest clothes you found, took food and everything else you considered useful. Chën stood in the door’s entry as you walked into the yard; he was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, not wearing anything special, yet not looking half as cold as you already were upon feeling the weather for the first time in ages.

“Chanyeøl said I can go if I want.”

“You’ll die.”

“Or survive.”

“Doubtful.”

“Worth the risk.”

“Is it?”

“I will either live or survive. If I stay here, I will only die.”

“Better later than sooner, though” he shrugged. 

But you didn’t feel convinced. You made your mind, you knew anything would be better than staying here. You didn’t ask for any of this. Were “the others” really even worse than what you had here? You doubted. Especially now, knowing what was their purpose.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” The angry voice startled you, it was the first thing that made you hesitate, but it’s not like you had much time to reconsider.

A hand wrapped around your hair, pulling you backwards and you landed on the  snow with a shriek, the bag falling off your shoulder. 

Chanyeøl stood over you, his face twisted in anger.

“You think that’s funny?” he spat at you; you didn’t think it was, but Chën’s laughter resonated in the distance. 

“Y-you said…”

“Get the fuck up.”

He seemingly resisted the urge to kick your side to hurry you as you scrambled to your feet, head low in fear. 

Chanyeøl stared at you coldly. 

“Get back inside. Now!” he growled. 

You passed by him without a word. Your body shook in fear and cold; maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to leave, after all? Just how far you’d make it anyway? You were so weak. 

Suddenly, a small, weird sound resonated right behind your back, followed by a groan. You turned around rapidly. 

There was an arrow in Chanyeøl’s shoulder, all the way through, its sharp head glistening with red, sticking out of his back. 

The man stumbled backwards and you jumped away in fear before tearing your gaze away to look in the direction the arrow must have come from. 

There was a man holding a bow in his hand. You knew his face. You’ve meet him before.

But you didn’t. It wasn’t the same person, the look in his eyes was not the mocking glimmer you’ve seen in Sehůn’s. Who was he?

Who were the other five men gathered around?

Two dark eyes of Chanyeøl’s nemesis stared at him coldly, and Chanyeøl glared back with hate you’ve never seen in anyone else before.

“Move away from her” the other Suhø spoke. 

Chanyeøl snorted, pushing himself off the ground. Before you could react, his arm wrapped around your neck as he pulled your body against his chest, a human shield. The arrow in his shoulder didn’t seem to bother him half as much as it bothered you.

“Or what?” he dared.

Someone pushed through the crowd of men; a smaller silhouette that stood behind them until now, with her arms crossed on her chest and an unreadable look on her face. 

Yøu. 

Your breath hitched at you stared at hër in complete shock. Shë stared back, also curious, maybe not that confused, seemingly knowing what awaited hër here, but also surprised – it’s not really a situation one can prepare for too well. You couldn’t help comparing herself to hër. Shë seemed prepared, with hër hair not as messy as yours that weren’t treated with a haircut in ages, lipstick on hër lips, a color that suited hër so well, which should suit you too, even though you’ve never considered it before. 

You didn’t have too long to think about it. 

Chanyeøl pushed you forward, as if instantly giving up your own self; as if, in fact, you didn’t matter to begin with. Just means to his own success, as you realized. What did it matter?  He wanted to kill both of you, anyway. Why did he want hër here so much?

The both of you passed by each other, still too shocked to exchange even a word of greeting. 

You couldn’t see anything, your eyes wouldn’t focus enough to keep you aware of where were you going. You thought you’re gonna stumble and fall, but a pair of hands was suddenly on your shoulders, grounding you, a motion so gentle and protective you couldn’t help the tears gathering in your eyes. You missed it. You missed the warmth.

The other Chanyeøl studied your face intently.

“Are you alright?” he asked and you forced yourself to nod slightly, although your legs felt like a jelly. He pursed his lips. “You can rest. You’re with us now. You’re safe.”

Please, reblog if you enjoyed! It’s not much, but it’d help me a lot!

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 15

The day after the party, Nelly stayed in her apartment waiting for a phone call from Buster that never came. She left only to return the green dress, still smelling of Buster, to Carmela’s. His jacket hung on her coat tree. She buried her face in it and inhaled before she went to bed that night, and all of the sensations of the previous night flooded back in an intoxicating wave. 

The next day she went to work reluctantly.  She knocked on her neighbor’s door as soon as she got home to see if anyone had called for her. They hadn’t.

A week passed without a call, then two weeks. She thought that Buster would at least want his jacket; it didn’t look inexpensive. But November went by with no call.  

It was a while before she could admit to herself how silly it had been to nurture the hope that the kiss with him had meant something. In hindsight, her naïveté was obvious. He was drunk, she was convenient, and since he couldn’t convince her to go to bed with him, that was that. It hurt her, of course. She’d replayed the memory of the night in her head countless times, how he’d led her to the grass and handed her the glass of whiskey, how delirious she’d felt when he bit her neck, how he’d held her hand on the loggia while they waited for his butler to bring the car. She felt sure she had not hallucinated the husk in his voice when he’d invited her into his bedroom. In the first few days following the party, the memory drove her crazy. Lying in bed or in the bathtub, she would pretend that her hand between her legs was his.

December came and went. She spent Christmas alone in the apartment, but it didn’t feel like Christmas with the sun shining and the temperatures hovering near seventy. She was used to the bleak December cold of Evanston, shopping with Ruthie and her mom in downtown Chicago as snow slanted down, stinging their faces, and the frigid wind bit through them.  The opportunity to be in The Battle of the Sexes never arose, but on the third of January she received a letter from the casting office telling her that she had been chosen as an extra in John Barrymore’s Tempest. To say she was flabbergasted was an understatement. As she stared at the letter, she became more and more convinced that Buster was behind her turn of fortune. She couldn’t prove it. He was no longer near the United Artists lot, so she couldn’t ask him even if she wanted to—and she wasn’t sure she wanted to. Her dashed hopes after the party had caused heartache enough and moving on was the sensible thing. Whenever she thought of him, she reminded herself that he was a married father and that even if things had gone further, it would have been to no end. The smartest course of action was to forget him and concentrate on the reason she’d come to California in the first place.

The first night of filming for Tempest came a couple of weeks later. First she and the other girls were buttoned into ball gowns made of sumptuous combinations of taffeta, chiffon, satin, lace, and beads. Her gown was of cream-colored satin, and a makeup woman twisted her hair into an intricate chignon with braids that undergirded the rest of her hair. A girdle pulled her waist to half its size and dainty beaded slippers with a modest heel rounded out the ensemble. Not since Buster’s party had she felt so ravishing.

When costume, hair, and makeup were in order, they were driven to the set in Studebakers with two rows of seats. It was now a quarter to six and dark. The girls gabbled in anticipation, but Nelly’s thoughts were in such a tumult that she was too distracted to join in. John Barrymore would be in that ballroom and she looked stunning. She wondered if he would notice her and if he did, how their conversation would go. Most of all she wondered whether she would feel anything toward him. There was no mistake that she had felt something the night that she had danced with him, though it had been eclipsed by her more potent encounter with Buster. Well, she had an angle with Barrymore and it was no better or worse than the angle Buster had played to try to get her into bed. If she was in the same ballroom as John Barrymore, if he chanced to recognize her, she would take advantage of it.

The palace ballroom was a breathtakingly huge set on the United Artists lot, every bit as real as the actual thing. The exterior was squarish and looked Roman in style, with an open-air stone porch and columns that were forty feet high. She and the other extras went up wide stone stairs through a set of towering arched double doors. Inside, there were ceilings even higher than the columns outdoors. A chandelier the size of a small elephant hung from the main ceiling. There were more columns inside, looking as big around as the sequoias she’d seen in her childhood schoolbooks. The ceilings and higher parts of the walls were adorned in frescoes and friezes. Candles burnt in candelabras affixed to the walls. On one end of the room was a bar and a long white table lined with countless glasses, a large, deep punch bowl, and a tub filled with ice and champagne. It was a dazzling sight.

Nelly knew a little bit of the premise of the film. Camilla Horn played a Russian princess. John Barrymore, a peasant turned military officer, was in love with her. The ballroom scene would be the first time they had met since Barrymore’s station in life had changed.

She located her partner Bradford standing against a wall with his arms folded behind his back. They’d been practicing for the past week in a large ballroom on the United Artists lot, and she was relieved that her average dancing skills had drawn no attention. Bradford was good-looking, brown-haired and of medium height, but she had noticed throughout their rehearsals that he was not interested in girls. There was no delicate way to convey to him that she had known many homosexual men back at the Vista and that it wasn’t a big deal to her, though she always tried to do her best to put him at ease. Still he remained stiff and aloof.

“Some place, huh?” she said.

“It’s something,” Bradford agreed, barely looking at her.

“Barrymore here yet?” she ventured. 

Bradford shook his head. “Haven’t seen him, but I don’t think Mr. Taylor’s here yet either.”

They fell into silence and watched everyone greet each other and the women compliment each other’s dresses. Bradford would never engage in more than small talk and Nelly was too excited to join in the other girls’ prattle. She liked them fine, but since she spent most of her time in the prop department, there was little opportunity for her to socialize other than in the canteen, where she listened quietly to the day’s gossip, having nothing to contribute herself and wanting to hear the latest lurid rumors. Barrymore’s marriage was indeed on the rocks as Buster had said and she found herself thinking about this fact more than was probably appropriate.

It was another twenty minutes before Barrymore and Camilla finally appeared, coming through a side door with Mr. Taylor and an entourage. Camilla was wearing a white satin gown with a full tulle skirt, a wrap to match, and earrings that brushed her shoulders. She looked every bit the princess she was playing. Barrymore was in black trousers, matching shiny knee-length boots, and a white officer’s coat with gold buttons. Her pulse quickened when she saw him and she wondered, not for the first time, if she could grow as fond of him as she had lately of Buster. 

However, she had no more time to be fanciful because Mr. Taylor was soon directing them to the dance floor, spacing them at intervals and telling them to remember what they’d practiced the previous days. Someone put a waltz on the Victrola. It played tinnily into the cavernous room and was soon swallowed by the sound of footsteps and rustling skirts. 

The first half hour was a thrill. Nelly relaxed, basking in the feeling of being in the midst of the greatest splendor Hollywood had to offer. All of the cameras were distant, focused on Barrymore who gazed penetratingly at Horn while she danced with a young officer and cast him contemptuous, conniving looks. There was no need to worry if she missed a few steps; trained on Barrymore and Camilla, the cameras could hardly have noticed. 

Camilla was the most beautiful woman in Hollywood that Nelly had seen yet, blonde, slender, and big-eyed with perfect Cupid’s bow lips. 

She could not have imagined how tiring the evening would become as the half hour wore into an hour, and the hour dragged into a second. After performing endless dances with Bradford under that dizzingly high ceiling, having always to smile and look gay, she was hot and thirsty and hungry. Her feet were swollen in her delicate shoes. Though the extras were permitted short breaks every half hour, the communal pitchers of water weren’t sufficient to quench everyone’s thirst and they were forbidden to touch the plenitude of spirits laid out in the tub and on the long tables draped with white tablecloths. The beer, champagne, and other drinks appeared to be for Barrymore’s benefit alone. One scene had him standing at the bar with cameras grouped around as he drained glass after glass. He appeared to be drinking the real thing. She could steal looks at him, but only over Bradford’s shoulder and they couldn’t be long lest she spoil the scene. 

Around the third hour, now close to ten o’clock she guessed, she ceased to care about Barrymore at all. He had by now moved onto the floor with Camilla and the Victrola was trying to be heard over the dancing again. Nelly had only mind for her thirst and exhaustion. She wondered how much more of it she could take. Her lips were chapped and her smiles now felt more like grimaces. Bradford’s eyes looked glazed, though his steps were as sure and strong as ever.

Suddenly, there was a little shriek, a cry of “Mein Gott!, and the echoing sound of something hitting the floor. Bradford stopped and so did Nelly. They followed the other dancers’ eyes to the center of the room. Camilla was sitting on the floor on her behind wearing a look of shock and looking like an upended wedding cake in her disarranged white dress. The cry had been hers. Barrymore was on his hands and knees, laughing and trying to get up. One of the male dancers had to assist him, and when he was on his feet again he swayed. There was no disguising that he was really drunk. After two male extras had helped a ruffled-looking Camilla to her feet, he reached for her waist and again lost his balance, almost taking them both down again. She couldn’t say why, but Nelly was seized by the conviction that Buster had warned her that John Barrymore was like this.

Bradford dropped Nelly’s hand, clearly sensing that this was more than a momentary disruption. Mr. Taylor appeared, standing between the two parties and talking to them and his crew, his face serious. Someone brought a chair for Barrymore and he sat heavily in it. His face looked red. A few of the other dancers attempted light conversation as if the spectacle in front of them wasn’t taking place, but Nelly had no energy to pretend she was interested in anything else. The reprieve from dancing was a blessed relief.

Little by little, chatter began to filter back to Bradford and her: Barrymore was indeed drunk as a skunk and to avoid the cost of reshooting the scene on another night when he was sober, Mr. Taylor was trying to come up with a solution for him to finish his dance with Camilla.

“I need to sit down before I faint,” Nelly said. 

Bradford nodded as if barely hearing her. The pitchers of water had been brought out again, so she grabbed a glass, filling and draining it twice. After the edge was gone from her thirst, she walked to the coatroom to find her handbag, keeping the glass so she could refill it in the washroom.

The washroom was empty save for one other girl. Nelly used the toilet and set to touching up her makeup once she’d washed her hands and had another two glasses of water. Somewhere in the echoing hall outside of the washroom, a clock chimed the half hour and she remembered standing in Buster’s foyer looking at his grandfather clock. Vaguely, she wondered if every famous man in Hollywood drank as much as Buster and Barrymore and, if so, what they were trying to escape from. 

She was carefully coating her lips in Vaseline to address the fine cracks that hadn’t been there three hours earlier when he came in, blundering through the door like an ox.

“Mr. Barrymore!” she said, utterly amazed to see him.

“Oh, hello. Jack, please,” he said, as if he hadn’t just walked into the women’s washroom. His cheeks were rosy with color and his gait was unsteady. 

He stumbled to one of the sinks and she watched in disbelief as he fumbled with the buttons of his trousers. Before she had time to do much more than look away, he was urinating into the sink. She couldn’t seem to move.

“What the hell are you doing in the men’s lavatory?” he said, swaying in her peripheral vision. 

Her face was hot. “Sir I’m sorry, but it’s the ladies room,” she said, keeping her eyes straight ahead. 

The appalling sound of urine splashing into the sink seemed to go on for hours. “Why in the hell would they have urinals in the ladies room?” Barrymore boomed. 

She didn’t like the sense she was getting, one of being around a powerful, dangerous animal. “Sir, they’re sinks.”

“I’ll be damned.” In the corner of her eye, he shuffled and ran the tap. He had finished urinating.

Her thoughts went back to their dance at Buster's party. She’d had a drowning sensation then and had considered whether she might be love-drunk. That feeling seemed very far away now. She looked over and he was picking his nose in the mirror, wiping the contents on its edge. She couldn’t believe she was seeing what she was seeing.

“We met at Buster Keaton’s party in October,” she said, because she was embarrassed and could think of nothing else to say.

“Did we,” Barrymore stated, sounding disinterested as he peered into the mirror.

“Yes,” she said. “We danced and I told you about wanting to star in a talkie of The Taming of the Shrew.”

He narrowed his eyes, as if struggling to remember it. The approaching sound of giggling and the subsequent appearance of two extras through the door saved her just then.

“Mr. Barrymore!” said one of the extras, looking bewildered.

“By Jove, this is the ladies room!” said Barrymore. He’d finished picking his nose and was propping himself up with one hand on the sink.

“He was confused,” said Nelly. “We should take him back to Mr. Taylor.” A little voice in the back of her head asked why she was bothering to defend him at all. “Come here.” She took him by the elbow and gestured to one of the other girls to do the same. He stank of booze and she thought she caught a faint whiff of urine as they led him down the hall and back through one of the sets of arched double doors. She was no longer awed by him. Rather, she wanted to dispose of him as fast as possible. 

In the crowded room, Nelly located Sam Taylor by searching out Camilla’s distinctive white dress. She and the two extras led Barrymore to them. Mr. Taylor raised an eyebrow when they approached.

“I think he needs an eye kept on, sir,” Nelly said, her arm still in Barrymore’s. 

“Found me in the fucking ladies room!” said Barrymore, chuckling.

“Thank you,” said Mr. Taylor. Nelly could tell he was trying not to betray his annoyance at Barrymore. 

She could have stayed and offered more of an explanation, increasing the director's chances of remembering her face, but she’d had enough of playing angles and wanted to get as far away as possible from the dangerous animal that was John Barrymore. As soon as she found Bradford again, she poured out her entire tale. 

“He’s a pig!” she concluded. 

“Good God,” said Bradford, making a face. She wondered if he had found Barrymore as handsome as she once had and was now reconsidering. 

“You’re telling me.”

“They’re building him a sort of carousel now in the courtyard for him and Miss Horn to sit on since he can’t stand straight,” Bradford said. “They’re going to film the dance that way.”

“Looks like we’ll be here all night,” said Nelly, her spirits sinking. If she had gone back in time and told the Nelly Foster of last July that the idea of spending prolonged hours in the same room as John Barrymore would cause her intense dread, she wouldn’t have believed herself for a minute.  

Her prediction turned out to be true. The clock chimed one before Mr. Taylor had the footage he wanted. Nelly was surprised that the carousel hadn’t made Barrymore vomit, but although he swayed off in the direction of the washrooms several times more, he kept down whatever he had drunk.

She piled into one of the Studebakers with the girls and fell asleep for the brief duration of the ride. Back at the United Artists costume shop, she degowned, redressed, and shoved her aching feet back into her own shoes. She lined up for a streetcar with the other girls and sank wearily into a seat when it opened its doors. It was another forty-five minutes before she was home. By now the hour was two a.m. and she had to be up at five-thirty to catch a tram in time for her seven a.m shift in the prop department. She felt like Perrault’s Cinderella, but the magic had vanished before midnight and she was, all in all, relieved to be among her rags and ashes again. Notes: You can watch Tempest here. John Barrymore really did get so drunk during the ballroom scene that he couldn’t stand. “And when we were dancing together in one scene, he fell down with me on the floor because he was so drunk. So they had to build a carousel affair for us, it was a sort of criss-cross arrangement, and we put our arms around each other, looked deeply into our eyes and somebody moved the carousel around so it looked in the film as if we were lost in each other’s arms.”

-Camilla Horn quoted in Tony Villecco’s Silent Stars Speak: Interviews with Twelve Cinema Pioneers (McFarland & Company, 2001) 32. The same page also quotes Priscilla Bonner as saying that Barrymore picked his nose all the time and his face got red with blotches when he was drunk. I did read somewhere too that he once stumbled into the women’s room by accident. Fun fact: Buster’s later paramour Dorothy Sebastian was originally cast in Camilla Horn’s role! Incidentally, the book cited here also has one actress calling Buster sweet and wholesome.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 78

~*~Sebastian~*~

The sun shone brightly when we woke up. I made Emma coffee first and we sat at the bar with fruit and yogurt. I wasn’t particularly hungry. Nauseated, if I’m honest. Emma was going home today. Yes, it was only for a couple of days, but that wasn’t what the problem was. I was afraid of how I would feel when she left. We’ve been together almost a week. We said I love you. Went to a concert with her friends, planned a vacation with mine, and celebrated a month together. Everything is wonderful. I don’t know how it will be when she leaves. Will I be melodramatically sad, anxious, and insecure that while she’s away she’ll figure out she prefers to be without me, or when she leaves will I be glad to have my space back? Realistically, the panic is more likely to come when she leaves France and we’re apart for six weeks. Today’s just a preview.

Around noon Emma was ready to leave. She’d gone through the bags of new stuff and left what she wanted to take to France. No sense packing it home only to bring it back. Especially when she was dealing with her suitcase on the train. Early afternoon was the best time to get her back. I walked her downstairs to her Uber and stopped by the security office to find out where the parking garage was. The security guard walked outside with us and pointed to a keypad on a pole next to the building. I walked into the building hundreds of times and never really noticed the large panes of windows that matched my building was a garage door. The same code that worked on the outside door worked on the garage and my spot was the same as my apartment number. That’s easy.

The Uber driver took Emma’s suitcase and lifted it into the trunk while we said goodbye. “I love you and I’ll see you Thursday.”

Emma kissed me and patted my chest, “I’ll let you know when I’m home.”

“Thank you.” I’m always going to worry about her getting home safe. Can’t wait until there’s snow and she’s driving to work or worse, here. I kissed her again, told her I loved her and tucked her in the car. Stood on the sidewalk until she turned the corner too. Avoided going back upstairs by running across the street and getting a bottle of something. Didn’t really matter what. I wasn’t thirsty. Took a walk around the block to drink my bottle of whatever. Finally, throwing the bottle away in the garbage can at the end of the block, I headed back upstairs.

I walked in my door and stood there with my hands on my hips, waiting for something to happen. Everything looked the same. Felt the same. Not sure what I expected. The apartment wasn’t going to suddenly have a portal to hell open up in between the dining table and couch. If it happened, it would be in the guest bathroom. Maybe my closet. I checked both to be sure. Nope, no portals. What I did find in the master bath was a mauve lipstick kiss print on the mirror. It was at my eye level but on the edge close to the wall. I smiled, thinking how she would have had to crawl onto the counter to put it there. I imagined she’d get the same thrill when she found the notes I’d hidden at her place and school.

A little over two hours later my phone rang. The prettiest girl in the world was calling me, “Hello, beautiful.”

She grinned, “Hey, handsome.  I’m home.”

Emma turned her phone around to show me her family room. “I can see that. How was the trip?”

“Uneventful.”

“Perfect.”

“What have you been up to since I last saw you?” The lilt of curiosity in her voice was funny.

“I’ve been busy. Checking email and seeing everything has changed.”

“You’re very flexible.”

“Not nearly as flexible as you, my love.” We shared a dirty smile. “Now, we’re shooting in Paris instead of London. Which is convenient and doesn’t require a flight. And tonight I’m having dinner with a former spy.”

Her eyes lit up, “That sounds fun.”

“It does.”  I agreed. “I’ve been trying to schedule something with him for a while. Finally worked out. It will be good to get in person and ask questions about all the shit I’ve been reading and watching.”

“I’m excited for you. You can get the psychological emotional part down. I imagine in person makes it easier to internalize.”

Not that I doubted, but she’d been paying attention when I’d talked. Her interest in the how and why of the craft side was as enjoyable for me as it was her. I wanted to show her more. I wanted to know about how she taught too, how she knew what to do and how she designed lessons. Which reminded me, “Add me to your online classroom so I can watch you teach.” There’s the added bonus of pretty much having her “on demand” if I wanted to see and hear her. I had the video from the party with her, Eli, and Boone too. That would make a long night alone a little more . . . stimulating.

We didn’t talk long. I was having an early dinner to allow plenty of time to talk and I needed to shower and get ready. Emma needed to unpack and start gathering things to repack. There’s also the part about she’d just left.

Dinner lasted much later than I’d anticipated. It was awesome. Dan told me stories and let me pick his brain. I told him about my part in the movie and he was able to give me some specifics. Not that I’d play the part exactly as he’d said, but I knew what to avoid, what wasn’t realistic. I liked that because a complete mismatch with reality could put me into my head and that’s the last place I wanted to be.

The next morning I hit the gym and had a good workout. Mirrors everywhere told me I needed more than a little personal grooming before leaving. A haircut was already scheduled and I called the salon to add on what I thought I needed. I had lunch with my manager to go over the next few weeks. I don’t have a full time PR person, but I do have a firm with which I contract. Emily had been in contact with them. About my girlfriend. Amazing how fast my mood went from good to not.

“Seb, don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“The annoyed one where you’re holding in a tirade.”

“I’m glad you recognize the precarious ground you’re standing on.” I drank the last of my wine and crossed my arms across my chest. “I’m going to sit here and be very quiet for a limited amount of time. Talk fast.” I don’t have many tirades. A big part of that is due to the relationship I have with Emily. She’s been with me forever. She knows when to push, when to back off, and when to let me have a tirade. Girlfriends are and always have been a tricky area. Usually, Emily wants me to be more open about a girlfriend. Much like what previous girlfriends wanted. That never turned out well for either of them. Emma was altogether in another class. I wasn’t sullen because I didn’t want to hear about what I should be doing. I was feeling protective and didn’t want business in my personal life. Same issue, different reasons.

“Everything is good. Emma is good. She doesn’t have much of a social media presence and hers is private. Family and friends sometimes tag her, but there’s nothing problematic out there. Once her name is out there she won’t be hard to find because you and several of your friends follow her. It’s a quick find that she’s a teacher, where she works, plays volleyball, has a twin, and has musician friends. She’s known by Pearl Jam fans. They’re protective of all the females in the band’s orbit. Best guess is anything negative is wiped quickly. We called Pearl Jam’s PR people and they’ve worked with her, so we don’t need to. Until something comes up and then we’ll probably have to work with you too. Unless you go silent again.”

I must have twitched.

Emily held her hands out like she was calming a wild animal. “Everyone’s a little concerned because you let Will post something. Oh, and any pictures of her in a bikini are always in a group.” She smiled comically and sat back.

“The ones she sends me are solos.”

“Good to know.”

I sat a second, my blood pressure dropping. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

I nodded and shrugged, “I told Will to post the picture. Don’t know exactly why. I’m happy. I’m in love. I’ve grown. Past is past and I’m moving to the future. All of them.”

“So, the comments and everything. You’re okay?”

“No, Emily, I’m wonderful.”

I waited until I got home to call Emma. She hit voice call. I pouted even though she couldn’t see. “I am at Target replenishing my travel supplies.”

“Sounds fun! Are you in for shampoo and leaving with three hundred dollars worth of who knows what?” Isn’t that the way it usually works at Target?

“I have a list. I’m staying away from parts of the store I don’t need to be in.”

“Smart. What time do you have to be at the court?”

“We’re going to meet for dinner about five. Game at seven.”

“Give Sam your phone so I can pack and watch.”

“I bet if you ask nicely she’ll alert you when something big is going on.”

“I’m a decent multitasker.”

“How was dinner with a spy?”

"Dinner with a spy was" I shook my head and looked up, "fascinating. Books, even non-fiction, and video are good, but watching his expression and mannerisms was so cool. Especially when he had neither." I went on talking while she shopped. She laughed and gasped at the same parts I had. I was excited to see how I could incorporate this new knowledge. We hung up when she was checking out.

~*~*~*~

"Sorry about the loss." I cringed to soften the blow. I knew she didn't like to lose. Who does?

Emma growled, "Frustrating. I want a chocolate brownie or something."

"I think the bakeries are closed." It was a little after ten. "I'll get you one tomorrow."

"You're the sweetest."

"When will you be here?"

"Well before lunchtime. I got everything packed before the game. I'll shower tonight. Get up and be on my way. Do you have plans?"

"Yes. Vanity kicked in. I have a facial and haircut, before therapy. Want a facial?"

"No seaweed."

"Damm, that's what I booked for you."

~*~*~

I spent the morning packing. I’m not a heavy packer. I’ll wear the same thing over and over. I’m working so costuming will be taking care of most of my clothes. I’m invited to the fashion show. Being dressed is part of the package. Emma and I had made a list of places we wanted to see and things we wanted to do while in Paris. I composed an email and sent it on to the hotel’s concierge. I heard back almost immediately. They would create an itinerary and we could adjust it once we arrived. Perfect.

Emma would be back about noon. Our spa treatments and my haircut were set for three and my therapy appointment was around five. I cleaned up around the place. Nothing drastic. I had a cleaning service come in after I go away. I just make sure everything’s put away.  I had my suitcase closed and in the dining area when my text notification went off.

Emma ~ Are you home?

Sebastian ~ Yes.

Emma ~ Alone?

Sebastian ~ Yes.

 I am sensing something is about to happen.

Emma ~ When I get there would you like to play a game?

Sebastian ~ Yes.

 I neither know nor care what she’s talking about. It would be nice to know what I’m going to be playing, though.

Sebastian ~ Could I get more details?

Emma ~ Porn

Sebastian ~ You want to watch porn?

Emma ~ Pretend we're in one. Over the top, things that only work in porn, excessive moaning, name calling, filthy talk porn.

 Fuck. I’ve watched enough porn to know how this was going to go.

Sebastian ~ Yes, I would like to play.

Emma ~ I never doubted you.

Sebastian ~ Are you texting and driving?

Emma ~ Traffic and voice to text. Delivery girl, booty call, escort? Me. This time.

Sebastian ~ I don't know yet.

Emma ~ Text when you do.

Sebastian ~ I love you.

Emma ~ I love you.

 Woman has been away for forty-eight hours and shows back up with this shit. I wasn't a sex-starved horn dog five minutes ago. I wonder what she's wearing? Delivery girl, booty call, escort. I like her choices. I have to seduce the delivery girl. Or be seduced. Booty call would be a repeat. Familiarity without expectations. There are zero expectations with an escort. Well, there are expectations, but only mine. I feel like it's a question of how selfish I want to be and what questions I want to answer after. Booty call it is!

I texted her my choice and that the door would be unlocked. I sat in the chair to wait. Patiently.

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

“Berliner Fernsehturm” * Foto: BernardoUPloud

After her marriage with Frank Randall has failed and Claire Beauchamp flees from her violent husband, she finds refuge in the house of the Fraser/Murray family in Berlin-Wilhelmshorst. But then tensions arise between Britain (which has since left the EU) and some EU member states. All holders of an English passport are required to leave EU territory within six weeks … and suddenly Claire’s fate looks more uncertain than ever.

This story was written for the #14DaysofOutlander event, hosted by @scotsmanandsassenach​

Chapter 5: 14 Seconds (3)

         They had stayed like that for a while - Jamie kneeling in front of Claire, one arm around her and Claire, crying while clutching that arm. When they had separated, Jamie had stood up. He had stepped up to the minibar hidden behind a small cupboard door. There he had emptied four small whisky bottles into two glasses and handed one of these glasses to Claire.          At the end of that evening they did not speak much to each other. Claire asked at some point if he could lend her a T-shirt. Since all his T-shirts were sweaty from sports, he gave her one of the shirts that the room service had brought back from the cleaners that morning. She disappeared into the bathroom with it.          Meanwhile, Jamie sat down at the small desk next to the sofa that had been folded out to form a bed and opened his laptop. Then Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre began writing an email to the management of "In Vino Veritas" ordering a bottle of champagne for a friend's wedding and asking that the Magnum bottle be delivered as soon as he returned. Jamie knew that there would be someone sitting in the basement of the In Vino Veritas office building who would understand this "order" perfectly.          The "special office" (as they called it), which was hidden behind an easily movable wall of shelves full of exquisite wine bottles, was manned 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Between four and ten "employees" of the wine shop took care of the very special "orders" that arrived there from time to time from all over the world.          Jamie also knew that people in the cellar of "In Vino Veritas" would not be happy about this "order". But there was no question that they would do anything to fulfill his "wish".

“Weinkeller” by designermikele

         After he had pressed "Send", Jamie stretched his arms and legs. Then he considered whether he should let Claire in on his plans that very night, but decided to let her sleep for now.

          Shortly afterwards, Claire came out of the bathroom. Out of the corner of his right eye, Jamie saw that she was wearing the big white hotel robe. She disappeared immediately behind the bamboo screen.

         "The bathroom is free now," she shouted.

         "Thank you, I'll be going now," he returned. Then he took his pyjamas out of his suitcase and went to the bathroom.

         When Jamie came back a quarter of an hour later, also wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, there was still a light burning behind the bamboo screen. He lowered himself onto the sofa bed and thought for a moment. Then he turned out the light.

         "Good night, Claire."

         "Good night, Etienne."

         Now the light behind the screen went out.

         Jamie wondered if Claire would be able to sleep that night. He hoped so. Whether he would sleep at all was doubtful to him. Again and again he played out in his mind the plan he had already made during dinner. He was not sure if Claire would accept his suggestion. But he had to try, at least.

         At 5.20 am, Jamie was awakened by the pressure of his bladder. He turned off his smartphone alarm clock, which would ring ten minutes later. Then he went quietly into the bathroom. When he returned, he had put on his sports clothes. He quickly wrote a short message for Claire on a Post-It sticker he put on the bathroom door. Then he  quietly left the room. 

         At 6.40 am Jamie returned from the gym. Carefully he opened the door of the hotel room. But everything inside was still dark. He stopped for a moment and listened. From the area behind the bamboo paravent a slight snoring could be heard. Jamie had to smile. He took his clothes, removed the Post-It sticker from the bathroom door and went inside.

         When he came back into the room just after 7:00 am., Claire was sitting in one of the chairs. She had both legs hanging over the armrest and was drinking in bulk from a water bottle that Jamie had taken from the mini-bar the night before and put on the table. When she had put the bottle down, she yawned heartily and stretched her arms away from her. Only now did she notice Jamie. She flinched briefly and pulled her legs from the armrest.

         "Oh! Excuse me!"

         Jamie smiled. 

         "There's no need to apologize. Good morning, Claire. Did you get … some  … sleep?"

         She looked at him and for the first time since he'd met her, a radiant smile went over her face. 

         "I didn't actually think I could sleep," she said, "but I must have fallen asleep at some point, When I woke up, I heard the shower and I was extremely thirsty."

         "I'm glad you did. Are you, uh ... hungry too?"

         "Not at the moment, but after a shower I could certainly use a strong coffee and something to eat."

         "Good. I'll call the room service.”

         "Thank you.”

         “You're welcome.”

         She got up and went past him into the bathroom. Jamie had to force himself not to look at her. Why should such a beautiful woman apologize for her stunning legs, he thought, grinning like a honey cake man. Then he felt the blush shoot into his face. He picked up the receiver of the room telephone and ordered breakfast.

“Frühstück” by contatoartpix 

         It took Claire almost forty minutes in the bathroom and that could only be right for Jamie. When she came back, he had cleaned up a bit and packed his suitcase. Then the room service rang and brought breakfast. After Claire spread the food out on the small table and Jamie poured coffee into their cups, they started eating in silence. Jamie waited until Claire had had her first cup of coffee. As she finished her first croissant and turned to the scrambled eggs, he thought the time had come to let her in on his plan.

         "Have you thought about," he asked cautiously, "what are you going to do now?"

         Claire didn't answer, but Jamie saw her face darken slightly. He knew that this question had thrown her back into the very reality she so eagerly wanted to escape from. But he could not spare her that now. She took a deep breath, then she said:

         "No, I haven't done that yet."

         "Do you have any obligations?"

         "What do you mean?"

         "Well, professional, maybe? A job where they are waiting for you?"

         "No, I don't."

         Again she was silent and Jamie decided not to pursue this topic further because Claire seemed uncomfortable with it.

         "Are there any friends that you could stay with for a while?"

         Jamie knew that question was dangerous. Claire could say ‘yes’ and then turning down the offer he wanted to make. Still, he chose to ask about it. He wanted to avoid any appearance that he was pushing her on anything. 

         But his concern was unfounded. Claire looked down.

         "No, my best friend ... married an Australian doctor six months ago who's gone back to his home country. She ... now lives in Canberra. And ... another friend of mine ... flew to the Congo last week - with his wife. They're doctors, and ..."

         "The Democratic Republic of Congo? The recent Ebola outbreak?"

         "Yes, they're helping the local doctors ..."

         "I see. And there's no one else?"

         "Well, there are people I know, but I wouldn't confide in.”

         Jamie nodded. 

         "Claire, if you have no work commitments here and no friends to stay with, I have a suggestion ..."

         "What kind of suggestion?"

         "Well, how about a vacation?"

         Claire had to laugh out loud.

         "A vacation?" she asked incredulously.

         "Yes. What would you say if I invited you on a holiday to Germany? I know this is going to sound crazy to you. but it really wouldn't be a problem. My family has a big house, you'd have your own big room with a bathroom. My sister would take care of everything. There are forests and lakes nearby ... very close. You could see Berlin, Potsdam, Dresden ... if you like. Maybe together with my sister and the children. Whatever you like ... In any case, you could keep your distance from the ... situation here and ... you could decide what you want to do in the future on your own time."

“Schloss Rheinsberg” by 70650

         He was silent. Even Claire could not utter a word out of astonishment.

         "But how can this ...?"

         "Don't worry about that. I'll take care of it. I just need to know if you want me to. And I assure you, if you don't like it in Berlin, I will get you a ticket back here. You don't have to worry about that or the cost.”

         "But ...”

         "No buts. Yes or no?"

         Claire couldn't believe it. Was this a dream or reality? Last night she had asked him how far Berlin was from here. 6,000 kilometres he said. What a distance. 6,000 kilometers between her and the monster who still called himself her "husband" ...

         "Do you ... honestly mean that?"

         "Yes, Claire. And I have no ulterior motives. If it makes you feel any better, I have to work during the week and so I'm usually not home. So during the day, you'll be dealing mostly with my sister, the kids and staff. And that's only if you want it. You are completely free to do whatever you want."

         Again her mind was spinning. Could she really trust this man. He had not approached her that night. But would he maintain this restraint if she flew with him to another, a foreign country? But maybe he really only wanted to help her? 

         "You ... said you were flying back to Berlin tonight ... “

         "Yes, that's true, but if we hurry, I can still fix all this. Will you come with me?"

         Did she have a choice? Did she have an alternative? Traveling, discovering another country, meeting new people. All that had determined her childhood and youth, the time she had spent at the side of her beloved uncle Lamberth. And how much she had missed it all. While she thought of uncle Lamb, a verse from a children's opera she had attended with him more than two decades ago suddenly flashed through her mind. It was the well-known last verse from Humperdinck's 'Hansel and Gretel' - 'When adversity rises to its highest, the Lord God puts out His hand to us!’ Without noticing it, Claire hummed the melody softly to herself.

         Jamie, still waiting for an answer, looked at her in wonder.

         "Claire? Yes or no?"

         "Yes," she replied, and her voice had regained a firmness that had been one of her defining characteristics long after she had finished medical school.

         "Yes," she said again, adding, "I'm coming with you to Berlin."

         Jamie's heart was beating faster. Until now he had hardly dared to hope that she would accept his suggestion. And yet it had happened. 

         "All right, I'll make the arrangements. Do you have your passport with you?" 

         "Sure, in my handbag. But don't I need a visa?"

         "Yes. I'll arrange it. You don't have to worry about that.”

         Jamie had got up and went to his laptop, which was still on his desk. The night before, he'd prepared an email for this case. Now he sent it. In this new mail, Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre asked that the bottle of champagne he had ordered be accompanied by a greeting card.

         After that was done, Jamie sat down at the table with Claire again.

“British Passport” by Gustave.iii - via WikimediaCommons 

         "Claire, is it far to ... your apartment and will ... your ... husband ... be home?"

         "No, it's not far, maybe 25, 30 minutes by car. I suppose that ... Frank will be at the university by this afternoon ..."

         "Okay, then please write your address on this piece of paper and give me your passport."

         She did what he asked. 

         "Thank you. Eat some more. We'll have to leave soon to get your things. I don't know if we'll have time to have lunch."

         She nodded. 

         About half an hour later there was a knock at the door and a voice called out:

         "Room service."

         Claire looked at Jamie in amazement, but he just nodded. He put her passport and the note with her address on a plate and spread a napkin over it. Then he went to the door. Claire looked after him and watched as he handed the plate to a waiter. When Jamie returned to the room, he saw her amazed look.

         "Please don't worry. Trust me. I'll explain everything to you ater."

         Claire gave a slight sigh.

         "I guess that's the price I have to pay for this adventure," she said, and put cheese on another croissant before wrapping it in a paper napkin and putting it in her handbag.

       �� An hour later, after Jamie had checked out and paid her bills, they were back in the hotel limousine and had Carl drive them to Claire's address.

“Boston” by thefastandthefanagle          Once there, Claire carefully opened the front door with her key. To her great relief, Frank was nowhere to be seen. Jamie heard Claire exhale freely. He looked around and a chill ran through him. Everything he saw was old, but not in any antique sense. Jamie had a thing for tasteful, antique furniture. But the decor did not have the taste or warmth of an old place. It almost seemed as if it had been furnished in a pragmatic way in the 50's and then forgotten until now. Everything here seemed purely functional, impersonal and cold. It was a furnished apartment, but definitely not a home.

         "Claire, we have to hurry. Where are your things?"

         She pointed up and he followed her up the stairs. When she reached the first floor, she stopped in front of a door for a moment. Then she pushed it open and went inside. Jamie, who followed her, saw that it must be the Randalls' bedroom. But there was no marriage bed. There were two single beds on the right and left side of the room. To his surprise, the sheets were scattered all over the beds. And … there were bloodstains on one sheet. He did not dare to imagine at that moment what had happened here. Now it was time to keep a clear mind, use the time and then get Claire safely out of this danger zone. Afterwards there was still enough time to let his anger about these things run free. When he was back home in Wilhelmshorst, he could maltreat the sandbag in his fitness room with his fists for as long as he wanted. But now ... Then he noticed how Claire had put some suitcases on one of the beds and was now busy packing clothes into them.

         "Claire, when you've packed all your clothes, please pack everything else that you care about. Documents, books, whatever belongs to you."

         She just nodded and put more things in the suitcases. When she had filled three large suitcases, the wardrobe was empty. Jamie carried the suitcases down the stairs and put them down near the front door. When he returned to Claire, she had another smaller suitcase and a backpack filled with documents and other things.

         "Is that all?"

         "That's all I can take with me in suitcases."

         "Is there anything else that belongs to you and that we should keep safe?"

“Box” by bluebudgie

         "There are several boxes in the cellar with things my uncle Lamberth left me, but we'll hardly be able to take them on the plane."

         "Don't worry. We'll get them on another way to Berlin. I'll take care of that."

         Slowly they went down the stairs. But before they got to the last step, they heard someone unlock the front door and enter the house. Jamie saw him first. An obviously drunk Frank Randall staggered towards him and, seeing the strange man, began to scream:

         "What are you doing in my house?"

         A tremendous rush of adrenaline shot through Jamie's body, followed by a rush of rage. He could barely contain himself. He knew it couldn't be. The man he now faced could not be the demon he had fought with years ago in a prison cellar in Edinburgh and to whom he owed scars that would remind him all his life of the time he spent in that dark vault. Jamie's mind told him that Jack Randall, better known as  'Black Jack', was dead. But Frank Randall looked so much like him and it cost James Fraser all the strength he could muster at that moment or he would have forgotten himself.

         But then Frank Randall noticed Claire next to Jamie.

         "You slut, you whore! I knew it! I kneeew it! You're whooooring around with a muscleman, but you're not gonna let meeee have a little funnn with women who are nicer than you everrrrrrrr were. You frigid, cold bitch, you ..."

         He had raised his right arm and was now trying to punch Claire. But before she could duck, Jamie had grabbed Frank's arm and turned it onto his back. The drunk cried out in pain. Jamie let go of him and gave him a gentle nudge. Frank landed, face down, lengthwise on a yellowish sofa. A light cloud of dust rose above him. Claire looked at Jamie in shock.

         "Is he...?"

         "No," he assured her, "he's not dead. He's just dead drunk and will sleep it off in the next few hours. Before we leave, I'll turn him over."

         Suddenly the front doorbell rang.

         Claire looked at him again.

         "Open the front door, Claire. The men will get your bags."

         "The men?"

         "I'll explain later. Go and open. Now, Claire! I'll keep ... an eye on Frank."

         She had a million questions, but Claire decided to just go for it. When she opened the front door, there were five men in overalls that looked like they'd come from a moving company.

         "Mrs Randall's suitcases?" asked a tall man who reminded her of an actor from and who was obviously the boss of this group. 

         "Here you go."

         Claire pointed to the suitcases and two other muscular men stepped in, took the suitcases and carried them to a black van with "New Castle Movers" written on it. 

         "Is there anything else that needs transporting?" asked the boss of the troupe.

         "Yes, down in the basement. I'll show you."

         The man waved at the remaining two men and together they followed Claire into the basement.

“Bellhops loading a truck“ by Bellhopsmarketing - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=75018108

         Thirty minutes later, the men had loaded Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp Randall's entire belongings into the black van belonging to the “New Castle Movers” company. The boss of the troupe had briefly exchanged a few words with Etienne Marcel de Provac Alexandre, then they drove off. Claire would have loved to know who these men were and what they would do with her belongings. But then Frank started to stir again. Jamie turned the drunk man, who was mumbling incomprehensible things, onto his back. He tried to stand up and talked to Jamie. But he just looked at him and Frank sank back into the cushions of the sofa. Shortly afterwards he started snoring loudly. Claire could only shake her head. This nightmare had to end. She wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.

         "Who were those men, Etienne? And what happens to my things?"

         "They are friends of a friend. Your things will be on their way to Berlin in a few hours ... on a cargo plane. They'll probably arrive a day or two after we do. Don't worry, my company will take care of it. Have you got everything now?"

         Claire nodded.

         "Good, then we'll go to the airport now."

         He took her small case and the backpack and went to the door. Claire followed him. She was tempted to look back. But she did not. It had to end. It would end right here, right now. She pulled the front door behind her into lock. Then she pulled the front door key from her key ring and pushed it under the pot with the little buxus that stood on the top step of the stairs to the entrance. Jamie, who had stowed the hand luggage in the trunk, held the door of the car open for her. She got in and he took a seat next to her.

         "To the airport, Mr. Alexandre?" asked the uniformed driver.

         "Yes, Carl, straight to the airport."

[hwauas]

🕊️: "the lost prince", 2

park seonghwa | 박성화 - 2,233 words

the evening went so well with your — finally — boyfriend, Seonghwa.

you spent more time with him outside, walking here and there around the school, looking up at the stars. your hands never left his while walking.

but you knew that you had to go back there, at the heart of the party. you couldn't stay out any longer, out of surveillance, in the chill breeze of the night. the stars were beautiful, but could wait for you to go back home to look at them from your bed.

     Seonghwa led you both back in this huge building. and as always, he was so caring: he asked you if you were cold or hot, comfortable here, thirsty, hungry, if you were good or if you wanted to sit down somewhere. you reassured him each time, but it wasn't enough.

     the whole place was animated: students were dancing, talking, laughing, playing little games to entertain themselves. at this moment, Seonghwa's kindness seemed out of time, out of space. it was the perfect paradox of the atmosphere.

     “you're so sweet, Hwa. i'm good, i promise. let's enjoy this moment instead. shall we ?”

you used this sweet tone which always worked on him: it never failed to soothe him. Seonghwa giggled, and rested both his hands on your waist.

     “okay, okay, baby.”

it was your turn to giggle. you first avoided his gaze, not wanting him to notice your red cheeks. your hands found their place on his chest.

“hey, what are you doing? look at me.~”

     you gave up and looked up to him. love was filling up your eyes.

you finally were able to express him his feelings, and it was a kind of relieve. hiding your feelings was a hard task you sometimes had troubles dealing with.

     “okay, i may be a little thirsty.”

you admitted, with a little smile. you were explicitly teasing him.

     “i knew it! i knew it was necessary to ask you all these questions!”

you both laughed. this laugh got you both more integrated in the time and in the place which was full of joy, life, excitement, euphoria.

“i'll bring us something to drink. wait for me.”

     as you were waiting for Seonghwa to come back, you went to sit at a table. you glanced around the room, trying to see if you knew someone. but no. all the people who were sweating on the dancefloor, laughing, playing games or talking were people you didn't know.

the whole place held so much euphoria — you had to admit you never saw the school with that much animation.

     the loud music playing to entertain the dancers and to animate the evening was drowning out Seonghwa's footsteps. he approached you with a soft smile, but you still were surprised to see him. you mentionned him the chair next to you, and he gladly sat there. he handed you a red cup.

     “should we drink a toast to us?”

you lightly leaned over and you raised your cup to make this toast.

     “to us. and only us.”

Seonghwa kissed your forehead before drinking the liquid in his own cup. you did the same, showing off your pretty smiling eyes.

you drank almost half of the sweet drink he got you within the first minutes.

     you spent the next fourty five minutes there, talking about a lot of things: about you both, your newly started relationship, the near future. you knew Seonghwa and you wouldn't do the same studies after being graduated, yet you would attend the same school — same school, different curriculum.

knowing Seonghwa would be there with you was soothing you. you were scared by the next step of your life and all the consequences. having him by your side was a source of strength, was the certainty to have someone to lean on. you certainly wouldn't have the same schedule, wouldn't be in the same part of the building, and would have maybe break only in common, but it was enough to know you would have the chance to meet him in the day.

     suddenly, you saw few sweat drops beading on his forehead. you frowned, not knowing what was happening so suddenly.

     “Seonghwa, are you hot?”

you extended your hand to try and check on his body temperature. for some reason, you found out he was having a bad fever.

     “fuck yeah, i'm hot. you just noticed it? you should meet a.. i don't remember how it is called. a doctor for your eyes or something like that.”

you knew something was wrong: he never ever talked to you this way.

      “come with me. come on.”

you took his hands, and pulled him out of his chair. you tried to lead him out of the building to have some fresh air, but he was out of control.

     “why.. why aren't we dancing with them? the music is a pretty good one!”

you sighed and rolled your eyes. something was definitely wrong with him, and you didn't know what.

     “Seonghwa, take the control back on yourself!”

you shook him, holding his arms firmly. his eyes went from the joy of the moment, the desire to enjoy this prom to the absolute opposite: a sad look, ashamed.

     “you're right. i'm not doing good. i never did good. did i ever did something good?”

you were speechless by the way he went so suddenly from the joy to the sadness. you tried to catch his gaze, which was looking down at his feet.

     “what are you talking about? of course you did good things in your life. a lot of good things!”

you noticed his eyes, and especially his pupils abnormally large. you firmly pulled him out of there by the hand. you made him sit down on a bench outside.

     “why am i this heavy on this bench? i'm not fat, am i?”

you rolled your eyes again.

“and why are you touching my hands like that? back off!”

you were surprised by his behaviour. he never acted this way with you. he was so kind usually...

     “Seonghwa. listen. four and six?”

you were looking deeply into his eyes: this eyes which were scaring you because of the pupils, and the loss of kindness, love and sweetness.

     “i don't know. is that the problem?”

he started to count out loud with his fingers.

“one... two... three... five... four... six... seven... eight... nine... eleven dear. four and whatever you said, it makes eleven.”.

     “alright.”

you sat besides him, letting a space between you both since it was his Highness's wish...

“what did you drink?”

     “coke. i drank coke. just as you. why?”

     you asked Seonghwa to wait for you here, and got up from the bench. you went further, somewhere you were sure he wouldn't hear you. and you immediately took out your phone from your purse/pocket. you had to call the emergency department.

at this time of the night, your mom would be asleep, and so your dad and his mom.

     you explained the whole situation in details: all you get to see, all the things he said, all the inconsistencies. and when you hang up, you were relieved to know an ambulance would come.

     when you came back to the bench, Seonghwa seemed quite calm. you sat besides him, and noticed his nose bleeding. you took out the tissue you always keep with you, and wipe it away.

     “y/n? i'm scared and cold.”

he rested his hand on your shoulder. you mentionned him to get out of your shoulder for a moment, and removed your shawl/vest to wrap him with it.

     “what are you scared of?”

you wrapped both your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

     “death.”

you started to lull him. you wanted to soothe him.

     “you have nothing to be scared of. don't think about this, Hwa.”

     you stayed there for a moment, until the ambulance arrived. the saving crew immediately took care of him: you could tell they were extremely professional with him, and took good care of him.

they kindly asked you to come with them so Seonghwa could have benchmark, something familiar to know that he is not lost, alone, or left to his own devices.

     the next hour, they tried to understand what was going on with few controls and examinations. you had any news about him: you didn't know if he was anxious, desperate, sad, angry, excited or calm. you were waiting for news, any news from him.

     as you were almost falling asleep on the chair in the waiting room, a doctor came to you and called after you. you got up from your chair, eyes wide open, ready to hear anything the doctor had to say to you.

    “he's sleeping now. we figured out why he was... like this. do you know if he has any family we can call?”

you nodded, and gave the doctor his mother's phone number. without any question from you, the doctor told you it was okay to see him, even though he was sleeping. you then followed the doctor to Seonghwa's room, and sat besides his sleeping figure. in the white room, in these white bedsheets, he seemed to be the only colour touch of the room. the colour touch which was breaking the dull room.

you sat there, and softly took his hand. his body temperature seemed to be good again. in general, he seemed to be good again.

     the time seemed to have stopped. you were looking at him with eyes full of love yet showing off how worry you were. what happened? why didn't the doctor tell you anything? why did he act like that?

you tightened your hold around his hand. you wanted him to feel you were here, by his side, waiting.

     suddenly, you heard some loud noises coming from the corridors. you weren't sure what was the best thing to do. going to see what was happening this late? staying here to be sure it doesn't bother Seonghwa?

as the noises were louder, you decided that, yes, it was the best to see what was happening. you let go of your boyfriend's hand, and went out of the room. you saw Seonghwa's mom coming your way, the doctor following her and trying to hold her back.

     “miss, i'm sorry, but if you can't give us valid identity papers, we can't let you go in!”

you frowned at the doctor's comment. you knew Seonghwa's mom was very meticulous about this, about papers. why her papers wouldn't be valid?

     “i'm his mom! you can't hold me back from seeing my son!”

the doctor eventually managed to grab her. he stopped her from approaching you and the door of Seonghwa's room.

     “what's happening? what do you mean, doctor, her papers are not valid?”

     “the numbers on the card are not valid. the system in the computer doesn't accept them, saying any identity card exists under this name. it's a whole another person according to the system. and she's not able to give any paper saying she's biologically or officially his mom.”

     you saw that Seonghwa's mom — was supposed to be his mom — stopped trying to escape the doctor's hold. she was looking down, ashamed and trying to avoid all the looks on her.

     “can i talk to her? just her and i?”

the doctor nodded, and asked you to come with him. he led you to a room you would have some space to talk.

“is he right?”

     she answered nothing, looking down to her feet. she was playing with her own fingers. you knew you wouldn't get any answers from her about this.

     “how is this possible? i don't understand. i thought you were very meticulous about this? and now, you're giving them false papers? what's the point?”

     “i had to hide my identity. i had no other choice... please, y/n... believe me... i wanted his happiness, and i was ready to do anything for this...”

this got you lost. what was happening? what was the truth behind her words?

     “can you be.. clearer? i don't understand what you mean.”

she took a deep breath, and it was enough to scare you even more. what was she about to tell you that required that much strength?

     “Seonghwa... Seonghwa is not my son. neither biologically nor officially. he has a biological mother and a biological father out there.”

you were shocked by her words. the woman Seonghwa called mother all his life wasn't his mother? how could you believe that?

     “sorry, what? no, what are you talking about? this is impossible. how could he not be your son?”

you were shaking, not sure if you wanted to know the truth she seemed to hide.

     “he's not my son. that's the truth. i'm nothing for him. i had no other choice but doing this.. i'm so sorry..”

you knitted your eyebrows. should you believe her? should you not?

     “please.. take care of fleur-de-lis. and help him find his real family.”

she left the room with that. you tried to run after her.

     “wait, no! don't leave now! tell me more about his real family!”

but she was already far from here, leaving the hospital. she left you here, in this room. a room where the silence seemed to be heavier than ever.

as you were thinking about what she said, you suddenly remembered something.

“fleur-de-lis?”

[thefandomlesbian]

top 5 memories

Woof this is hard, my life is mostly bad things and neutral things so picking good things is difficult.

1.) July 2019, a dog from the shelter escaped from the groomers, which was a facility about a half mile off a central highway and otherwise surrounded by cornfields, soybeans, and uncharted forest. I was the only woman brave enough to go into the cornfield (re: snakes, mice, spiders) so I waded in along with the dog trainer. I came out on the other side hopelessly lost more than a mile from the facility. It was over 90 degrees, I was still wearing my pajamas because it was my day off when I got the call to join the search party. But I wandered around until the dog came up out of the woods. He ran from me but led me back to the facility and spent several hours running in circles around all of us. After six hours, the sun was setting, and I sat down at the edge of the cornfield, covered in sweat and super hungry and thirsty, holding binoculars and like half a dozen phones that weren't mine (somehow I became labelled the "bag boy" for everyone else). I was petting one of the barn cats when the dog came trotting up to me. He stopped, looked at me, and then he recognized me. He came right to me and sat down and let me leash him. It was such an intense feeling of relief and joy, I think about him a lot.

2.) Getting to walk through the Wizarding World of Harry Potter at Universal Studios. Don't care if it's hackneyed, it's literally one of the only vacations I've gotten in my entire life and it definitely was the one I looked forward to the most.

3.) Finishing the Moonlight Sonata on piano as my final my freshman year of college. Big sense of accomplishment. I haven't practiced in a long time so I probably can't play it anymore, but at the time, it was like everything I had ever wanted.

4.) My stern, sometimes downright mean band director took a goofy poem I found on Facebook about marching band. He laughed and asked if he could keep if. I said sure, whatever, I just printed it out to show some people but if you want it, it's yours. At the time I thought it was weird. But he pinned it up on his little poster board above his desk. It stayed there until he retired. Sometimes he would look up at it and read it between grading papers and planning events and laugh.

5.) Calling Pistachio, my blind, neurological kitten, and her coming running when she heard my voice. I have so many videos of her doing this which are a great comfort now that she's gone. I usually sat in one place in the living room, so when I changed seats, I could call her and she would come running and fling herself into my normal spot and then walk around in circles all confused that I wasn't there. Then when I called her again she'd try again. She always purred when I picked her up. She taught me a lot about joy and love that I didn't know before.

[takingcourage]

Playing with Fire

Pairing: M!Cassian x MC (Kellen)

Word Count: 1,450

Summary: As things with heat up with Cassian, Kellen has to pump the brakes.  

Note: Ya’ll, I have no excuse for the fact that I have already written four stories (and have more WIPs) for this trashy book. I know it has massive problems with pacing and plot. I know the diamond scenes are not worth it. I know MC is a piece of work. 

My muse does not care. At. All. 

Anyway, this scene is what I’m hoping for on the other side of Monday’s “cliffhanger.” I’m relatively certain it’s not going to happen, but that’s what fic is for.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

“I can’t resist you anymore, Kellen. I need you. All of you. Right now. No more waiting.” 

Between the hard countertop and the solid heat of his body, there was little room to doubt Cassian’s intentions. His words still thundering in her ears, Kellen pushed toward him, the friction of their bodies feeding into a delirious sense of need. She didn’t know which of them had initiated the first kiss, nor the second, nor the third... As his strong arms lifted her up onto the flat surface, all she knew were his lips: impossibly soft and still salty from his time spent on the water. 

Days of pent-up longing were enough to urge her forward again and again, though the tender hand that cradled the nape of her neck suggested that there was more than mere lust on his mind. Cassian didn’t just want this: he wanted her. Kellen whimpered against his mouth at the realization. 

Conscious thought turned to incoherence as his hand slipped under her shirt. Agile fingers grazed her ribs, and she locked her legs around him to pull him closer. Liquid fire burned deep in her belly. This time, however, another feeling rose up to stop it: We can’t do this. 

Kellen’s stomach jolted with the conviction, nostrils flaring as she tried to regain control of her senses. She pulled back to catch her breath, feeling his uncertainty when she didn’t immediately return for more. “I can’t,” she uttered, still trying to fill her thirsty lungs. 

The disoriented look in his eyes sent a pang of regret through her core. 

Palm to his chest, she held him back. He could overpower her easily -- some part of her was begging for him to -- but he allowed the distance. Still, the sound of his quick, shallow breathing fell on her ears, teasing the desire within her once more. 

What was she doing? He was finally offering the very thing she’d been begging for since the moment she’d seen him at the station. Her body wanted his more than anything. And yet, her heart and her mind refused to comply. 

“I can’t do this to you, Cassian.” Her words were barely a whisper, but he looked back at her as though he’d been shot. The hand that had been at her side fell limp between them. 

Mouth falling slack with confusion, he barely managed a “Wha-” before his breath ran out. He swallowed sharply and stepped back to allow her space. 

“Let’s go sit down,” she offered without moving. Subconsciously, her arms tightened around her chest. In spite of the kitchen’s heat, she caught a distinct chill. 

Nodding, Cassian hiked his fingers to pull his hair away from his face. Several curls clung to the sweat on his forehead, and Kellen’s resolve wavered yet again. She had to clench her hands to keep from brushing them back for him. 

What is he doing to me?

Wordless, she dropped from the counter, conscious of every ambient noise in their silence. It wasn’t until they reached the couch that she offered further explanation. “Your career is more important. You can’t sabotage everything you’ve worked for like this.” Almost as an afterthought, she added, “I won’t let you.”

At her side, Cassian worried his lip between his teeth. Dropping her eyes to her lap, Kellen tried not to think about that mouth and how much she wanted it back on hers. The efforts weren’t entirely successful, especially when one hand reached out to cup the curve of her knee. The gesture only emphasized how hungry she was for his touch.

As she pondered the unfairness of it all, his gravelly voice cut in.“I can’t risk your safety like that either. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

She knew exactly what he’d been thinking. 

Their eyes met in understanding, the conflict in his brow reinforcing every frustration that had been building in her for the last thirty-six hours. 

There was nothing she could do to solve this. In childhood, she’d been given everything she ever wanted. As an adult, years of hard work had led her to believe that she could conquer anything. Getting men into bed with her had never posed any particular challenge before. But this wasn’t a matter of putting her mind to something and making it come to pass. 

This was insurmountable. 

The knowledge released a cloud of pressure inside her skull. Although uncommon, the feeling bottling up behind her eyes was unmistakable. Acting on instinct, Kellen sprang from the couch, fully intending to dart into the downstairs bathroom. 

Cassian’s grip fell away easily, but his voice still held her fast. “Kellen, please...”

“I’m not--” she protested as her throat throbbed with the influx of tears. Even as the words passed her lips, her resolve crumbled under the weight of desperation. She sank back to the couch, elbows knocking against her knees as she fought to hide her face. 

His arm circled her shoulders, providing a sense of stability that ran counter to everything she was feeling inside. Ignoring her best judgment, she relaxed into the touch. For the first time in her life, crying felt safe. 

Cassian had her tucked against his chest, close enough that she could feel its steady rise and fall. Cheek resting against the well-word fabric of his shirt, she was more secure than she had been in months.

He didn’t try to offer advice or talk her into rational thinking. There was no exasperated sigh to warn her that she needed to get her emotions in check. No reminder that tears were childish and unlikely to solve anything. Cassian held her, and that was all. 

When the initial onslaught had subsided, she eased far enough out of his embrace to wipe her eyes with her sleeve. “I never cry,” she attempted lamely. 

He studied her face for a moment before thumbing away a smear of eyeliner from her cheek."Of course not. It’s got to be those onions again.” 

Kellen choked out a sound that had more in common with sobbing than laughter. Between his patience with her and his accepting nature, the man beside her was practically a saint. 

Settling back against the cushions, he casually replaced the arm at her side. “Really now, Kellen. You’ve been through too much in the last three days. I don’t know how you’ve made it this far without crying, to be honest.” 

“I just want my life back,” she whispered. The power inherent in the statement threatened to make the tears roll a second time, but she tamped them down. More still needed to be said. 

“I want to enjoy my promotion and get used to all of my new responsibilities at work. I want to see that first paycheck hit my account, then buy an outrageously expensive bottle of whiskey to celebrate.” Shaking her head at the thought, she continued. “I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to wear my own clothes again. I’d really like to talk to Harika... And I’m trying to see situation this as an opportunity instead of a punishment, but that’s hard when I spend the entire day doing unskilled labor in a shack and worrying that the world outside is going to forget me. It’s like the real Kellen doesn’t even exist anymore.” 

The admission did a great deal to lighten the weight on her chest, but it wasn’t quite enough. There was more to this than just the frustration of losing control. Remembering the man next to her, she returned to the subject that had brought them here in the first place. 

“And I want you,” she managed finally, “I want you so much. But I need to start living with the fact that I can’t have you.” 

The hand on her shoulder squeezed firmly in support, and she felt his long curls brush over her cheek before he spoke. “You can’t have me yet,” he corrected. “When this is over, I promise you can have as much of me as you want.”

It was far too early for her to know exactly how much that was, but she didn’t waste her time worrying about the future. Warming at his promise, Kellen finally extracted herself from his arms completely. She sat up straight to right the wrinkles in her shirt. Then, recalling what had transpired in the kitchen, she buttoned the neckline one notch higher. “I’ll try to go a little easier on you in the meantime.” 

He followed the motion of her fingers for a half second, only to look away again with resignation. “It’s for the best. But not too easy, okay? I like that fiery side of ya.” 

Smiling boldly, she offered the only promise she could: “I’ll see what I can do.”