#to something that's been a reality for us for probably close to ten or fifteen years.

[sassenach77yle]

7x11 “A Hundredweight of Stones”

John...what happens now?

Think of the deer, my dear.

I WAS SURPRISED to wake up. I hadn’t really expected to and lay for a bit trying to fit reality back into place around me. I had only a slight headache, which was almost more surprising than the fact that I was still alive.Both those things paled in significance beside the fact of the man in bed beside me.

“How long has it been since you last slept with a woman, if you don’t mind my asking?”He didn’t appear to mind. He frowned a little and scratched his chest thoughtfully.“Oh… fifteen years? At least that.” He glanced at me, his expression altering to one of concern. “Oh. I do apologize.”“You do? For what?” I arched one brow. I could think of a number of things he might apologize for, but probably none of those was what he had in mind.“I am afraid I was perhaps not…” he hesitated. “Very gentlemanly.”“Oh, you weren’t,” I said, rather tartly. “But I assure you that I wasn’t being at all ladylike myself.”He looked at me, and his mouth worked a bit, as though trying to frame some response to that, but after a moment or two he shook his head and gave it up.“Besides, it wasn’t me you were making love to,” I said, “and both of us know it.”He looked up, startled, his eyes very blue. Then the shadow of a smile crossed his face, and he looked down at the quilted coverlet.“No,” he said softly. “Nor were you, I think, making love to me. Were you?”“No,” I said. The grief of the night before had softened, but the weight of it was still there. My voice was low and husky, because my throat was halfway closed, where the hand of sorrow clutched me unawares.John sat up and reached to the table, where a carafe stood along with a bottle and a glass. He poured something out of the bottle and handed it to me.“Thank you,” I said, and lifted it to my lips. “Good grief, is that beer?”“Yes, and very good beer, too,” he said, tilting back the bottle. He took several hearty gulps, eyes half closed, then lowered it with a sigh of satisfaction. “Clears the palate, freshens the breath, and prepares the stomach for digestion.”Despite myself, I was amused—and shocked.“Do you mean to tell me that you are in the habit of drinking beer for breakfast every day?”“Of course not. I have food with it.”“I am amazed that you have a single tooth in your head,” I said severely—but risked a small sip. It was good beer: heavy-bodied and sweet, with just the right sour edge.At this point, I noticed a certain tenseness in his posture, which the content of the conversation didn’t account for. Slow-witted as I was, it took a moment for me to realize what was amiss.“Oh. If you need to fart,” I said, “don’t trouble on my account. Go ahead.”He was sufficiently startled by my observation that he did.

“I do beg your pardon, madam!” he said, his fair skin flushing up to the hairline.I tried not to laugh, but suppressed amusement jiggled the bed, and he went redder still.“Would you have any hesitation about it were you in bed with a man?” I asked, out of idle curiosity.He rubbed his knuckles against his mouth, the color fading a bit from his cheeks.“Ah. Well, that would depend upon the man. By and large, though, no.”The man. I knew that Jamie was the man in his mind—just as he was in mine. At the moment, I wasn’t disposed to resent it.He knew what I was thinking, too.

“He offered me his body once. You knew that?” His voice was dry.“I take it you didn’t accept.” I knew he hadn’t but was more than curious to hear his side of that encounter.“No. What I wanted from him was not that—or not entirely that,” he added, with honesty. “I wanted all of it—and was young and proud enough to think that if I could not have that, then I would accept no less. And that, of course, he couldn’t give me.”I was silent for a time, thinking. The window was open, and the long muslin curtains moved in the breeze.

“Did you regret it?” I asked. “Not taking him up on his offer, I mean?”

“Ten thousand times, at the very least,” he assured me, breaking into a rueful grin. “At the same time… refusing him was one of the few acts of true nobility to which I would lay claim for myself. It’s true, you know,” he added, “selflessness does carry its own reward—for if I had taken him, that would have destroyed forever what did exist between us.

“To have given him instead the gift of my understanding, hard come by as it was,” he added ironically, “left me with his friendship. So I am left with momentary regret on the one hand, but satisfaction on the other. And in the end it was the friendship that I valued most.”

After a moment’s silence, he turned to me.“May I… You will think me odd.”“Well, you are a bit odd, aren’t you?” I said tolerantly. “I don’t really mind, though. What is it?”He gave me a look, strongly suggesting that if one of us was indeed odd, he didn’t think it was himself. Gentlemanly instincts suppressed any remark he might have made to this effect, though.“Will you allow me to see you? Ah… naked?”I closed one eye and looked at him.

“This certainly isn’t the first time you’ve slept—I do mean slept with—a woman, is it?” I asked. He had been married, though I seemed to recall that he had spent much of his married life living separately from his wife.He pursed his lips thoughtfully, as though trying to recall.“Well, no. I do think it may be the first time I’ve done it entirely voluntarily, though.”“Oh, I am flattered!”He glanced at me, smiling slightly.“So you should be,” he said quietly.I was of an age, after all, where… Well, on the other hand, he presumably didn’t have the same instinctive reactions that the majority of men did, in terms of feminine attractions. Which rather left open the question …“Why?”A shy smile touched the corner of his mouth, and he hitched himself up against the pillow.“I… am not quite sure, to tell you the truth. Perhaps it is only an effort to reconcile my memories of last night with the … er … actuality of the experience?”I felt a sharp jolt, as though he had punched me in the chest. He couldn’t have known my first thoughts on waking and seeing him—that sharp, disorienting flash when I had thought he was Jamie, remembering so acutely Jamie’s flesh and weight and ardor, and so urgently wanted him to be Jamie that I had succeeded for an instant in thinking that he was, only to be crushed like a grape at the realization that he wasn’t, all my soft insides spurting out.Had he felt or thought the same things, waking to find me there beside him?“Or perhaps it is curiosity,” he said, smiling a little more broadly. [...

]“How long is some time? Fifteen years, you said?”“Oh, a good deal longer than that. Isobel—” He stopped abruptly, the smile vanishing. He hadn’t mentioned his dead wife before.“You never saw her naked?” I asked, with more than idle curiosity. He turned his face away a little, eyes cast down.“Ah … no. It wasn’t… She did not… No.” He cleared his throat, then raised his eyes, looking into mine with an honesty raw enough to make me want to look away.“I am naked to you,” he said simply, and drew back the sheet.Thus invited, I could hardly not look at him. And in all truth, I wanted to, out of simple curiosity. He was trim and lightly built, but muscular and solid. A little softness at the waist, but no fat—and softly furred with vigorous blond hair, darkening to brown at his crutch. Itwas a warrior’s body; I was well acquainted with those. One side of his chest was heavily marked with crisscrossing scars, and there were others—a deep one across the top of one thigh, a jagged thing like a lightning bolt down his left forearm.At least my own scars weren’t visible, I thought, and before I could hesitate further, I pulled the sheet away from my own body. He looked at it with deep curiosity, smiling a little.“You are very lovely,” he said politely.“For a woman of my age?”His gaze passed over me dispassionately, not with any sense of judgment but rather with the air of a man of educated tastes evaluating what he saw in the light of years of seeing.“No,” he said finally. “Not for a woman of your age; not for a woman at all, I think.”“As what, then?” I asked, fascinated. “An object? A sculpture?” In a way, I could see that. Something like museum sculptures, perhaps: weathered statues, fragments of vanished culture, holding within them some remnant of the original inspiration, this remnant in some odd way magnified by the lens of age, sanctified by antiquity. I had never regarded myself in such a light, but I couldn’t think what else he might mean.“As my friend,” he said simply.“Oh,” I said, very touched. “Thank you.”I waited, then drew the sheet up over both of us.“Since we’re friends …” I said, somewhat emboldened.“Yes?”“I only wondered… have you… been quite alone all this time? Since your wife died?”He sighed, but smiled to let me know he didn’t mind the question.“If you really must know, I have for many years enjoyed a physical relationship with my cook.”“With… your cook?”“Not with Mrs. Figg, no,” he said hastily, hearing the horror in my voice. “I meant with my cook at Mount Josiah, in Virginia. His name is Manoke.”“Ma—oh!” I recalled Bobby Higgins telling me that Lord John retained an Indian named Manoke to cook for him.“It is not merely the relief of necessary urges,” he added pointedly, turning his head to meet my eyes. “There is true liking between us.”“I’m pleased to hear that,” I murmured. “He, er, he’s…”“I have no idea whether his preference is solely for men. I rather doubt it—I was somewhat surprised when he made his desires known in re myself—but I am in no position to complain, whatever his tastes may be.”

I rubbed a knuckle over my lips, not wanting to seem vulgarly curious—but vulgarly curious, all the same.“You don’t mind, if he … takes other lovers? Or he you, come to that?” I had a sudden uneasy apprehension. I did not intend that what had happened the night before should ever happen again. In fact, I was still trying to convince myself that it hadn’t happened this time. Nor did I mean to go to Virginia with him. But what if I should and Lord John’s household then assumed… I had visions of a jealous Indian cook poisoning my soup or lying in wait behind the necessary house with a tomahawk.John himself seemed to be considering the matter, lips pursed. He had a heavy beard, I saw; the blond stubble softened his features and at the same time gave me an odd feeling of strangeness—I had so seldom seen him less than perfectly shaved and groomed.“No. There is… no sense of possession in it,” he said finally.I gave him a look of patent disbelief.“I assure you,” he said, smiling a little. “It—well. Perhaps I can describe it best by analogy. At my plantation—it belongs to William, of course; I refer to it as mine only in the sense of habitation—”I made a small polite sound in my throat, indicating that he might curtail his inclinations toward complete accuracy in the interests of getting on with it.“At the plantation,” he said, ignoring me, “there is a large open space at the rear of the house. It was a small clearing at first, and over the years I have enlarged it and finally made a lawn of it, but the edge of the clearing runs up to the trees. In the evenings, quite often, deer come out of the forest to feed at the edges of the lawn. Now and then, though, I see a particular deer. It’s white, I suppose, but it looks as though it’s made of silver. I don’t know whether it comes only in the moonlight or whether it’s only that I cannot see it save by moonlight—but it is a sight of rare beauty.”His eyes had softened, and I could see that he wasn’t looking at the plaster ceiling overhead but at the white deer, coat shining in the moonlight.“It comes for two nights, three—rarely, four—and then it’s gone, and I don’t see it again for weeks, sometimes months. And then it comes again, and I am enchanted once more.”He rolled onto his side in a rustle of bedclothes, regarding me.“Do you see? I do not own this creature—would not, if I could. Its coming is a gift, which I accept with gratitude, but when it’s gone, there is no sense of abandonment or deprivation. I’m only glad to have had it for so long as it chose to remain.”“And you’re saying that your relationship with Manoke is the same. Does he feel that way about you, do you think?” I asked, fascinated. He glanced at me, clearly startled.

“I have no idea.”“You, um, don’t… talk in bed?” I said, striving for delicacy.His mouth twitched, and he looked away.“No.”We lay in silence for a few moments, examining the ceiling.“Have you ever?” I blurted.“Have I what?”“Had a lover that you talked to.”He cut his eyes at me.“Yes. Perhaps not quite so frankly as I find myself talking to you, but, yes.” He opened his mouth as though to say or ask something further, but instead breathed in, shut his mouth firmly, and let the air out slowly through his nose.I knew—I couldn’t not know—that he wanted very much to know what Jamie was like in bed, beyond what I had inadvertently shown him the night before. And I was obliged to admit to myself that I was very tempted to tell him, only in order to bring Jamie back to life for the brief moments while we talked. But I knew that such revelations would have a price: not only a later sense of betrayal of Jamie but a sense of shame at using John—whether he wished such usage or not. But if the memories of what had passed between Jamie and myself in our intimacy were no longer shared—still, they belonged only to that intimacy and were not mine to give away.It occurred to me—belatedly, as so many things did these days—that John’s intimate memories belonged to him, as well.“I didn’t mean to pry,” I said apologetically.He smiled faintly, but with real humor.“I am flattered, madam, that you should entertain an interest in me. I know many more … conventional marriages in which the partners remain by preference in complete ignorance of each other’s thoughts and histories.”With considerable startlement, I realized that there was now an intimacy between myself and John—unexpected and uninvited on both our parts, but… there it was.The realization made me shy, and with that realization came a more practical one: to wit, that a person with functional kidneys cannot lie in bed drinking beer forever.He noticed my slight shifting and rose at once himself, donning his banyan before fetching my own dressing gown—which, I saw with a sense of unease, some kindly hand had hung over a chair to warm before the fire.“Where did that come from?” I asked, nodding at the silk robe he held for me.

“From your bedroom, I assume.” He frowned at me for a moment before discerning what I meant. “Oh. Mrs. Figg brought it in when she built the fire.”“Oh,” I said faintly. The thought of Mrs. Figg seeing me in Lord John’s bed—doubtless out cold, disheveled, and snoring, if not actually drooling—was hideously mortifying. For that matter, the mere fact of my being in his bed was deeply embarrassing, no matter what I had looked like.“We are married,” he pointed out, with a slight edge to his voice.“Er… yes. But…” A further thought came to me: perhaps this was not so unusual an occurrence for Mrs. Figg as I thought—had he entertained other women in his bed from time to time?“Do you sleep with women? Er … not sleep, I mean, but …”He stared at me, stopped in the act of untangling his hair.“Not willingly,” he said. He paused, then laid down his silver comb. “Is there anything else you would like to ask me,” he inquired, with exquisite politeness, “before I allow the bootboy to come in?”Despite the fire, the room was chilly, but my cheeks bloomed with heat. I drew the silk dressing gown tighter.“Since you offer… I know Brianna told you what—what we are. Do you believe it?”He considered me for a time without speaking. He didn’t have Jamie’s ability to mask his feelings, and I could see his mild irritation at my previous question fade into amusement. He gave me a small bow.“No,” he said, “but I give you my word that I will of course behave in all respects as if I did.”I stared at him until I became aware that my mouth was hanging unattractively open. I closed it.“Fair enough,” I said.The odd little bubble of intimacy in which we had spent the last half hour had burst, and despite the fact that I had been the one asking nosy questions, I felt like a snail suddenly deprived of its shell—not merely naked but fatally exposed, emotionally as well as physically. Thoroughly rattled, I murmured a farewell and made for the door.

“Claire?” he said, a question in his voice.I stopped, hand on the doorknob, feeling quite queer; he’d never called me by my name before. It took a small effort to look over my shoulder at him, but when I did, I found him smiling.“Think of the deer,” he said gently. “My dear.”

I nodded, wordless, and made my escape. Only later, after I had washed—vigorously—dressed, and had a restorative cup of tea with brandy in it, did I make sense of this last remark.Its coming is a gift, he’d said of the white deer, which I accept with gratitude.

I breathed the fragrant steam and watched the tiny curls of tea leaf drift to the bottom of the cup. For the first time in weeks, I wondered just what the future might hold.“Fair enough,” I whispered, and drained the cup, the shreds of tea leaf strong and bitter on my tongue.

94 THE PATHS OF DEATH~An echo in the Bone

[green-alm0nd]

[Tech x gn!reader]: Hands like home

----

----

Summary:

You're cuddling in bed with Tech, a rare moment for his awkwardness when it comes to snuggling together; your hands are intertwined and you can feel his heartbeat. Then, you wake up and reality hits you.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: ANGST, SPOILERS FOR TBB S2 FINALE, fluff, kissing, making out, slightly suggestive start, Tech being a tad autistic, character death, sad ending. Very short. Not proofread.

Enjoy!

----

His calloused hands rested on your cheeks, though one quickly moved to your waist, keeping you in place. He wasn't wearing his armour, he was only in his blacks, heart beating fast. He leaned on the doorframe, making it more comfortable for him and his significant other.

His commlink beeped, it was probably a message from the rest of the squad, but he couldn't have cared any less about it. Not when you were above him, your lips connecting with his over and over again leaving him breathless. His cheeks were slightly tinted pink, and his heart could have never been beating as fast as that moment.

He pulled away to gasp for air, before ghosting your lips again, letting the kiss continue. Your tongue grazed his lower lip, and he let out a low hum, accepting your silent request. The kiss became more heated when your tongue entered his mouth, a quiet groan leaving his mouth. Tech's mind always ran with a million thoughts, yet in moments like these, his mind was empty. No thoughts about how to make the Marauder better, nor how to get a new hyperdrive without buying it illegally, nor what the next thing he would fix would be. It was just you; and only you. He let himself sink into the pillow, his tongue dancing with yours, leaving him overwhelmed with passion.

And, his commlink beeped again.

The clone pulled away, breathing heavily, and resting his head on the bedframe. His chest rose and fell irregularly, and his gaze turning to stare at the window on the other side of the wall. He had asked Phee for a small cottage, just for a few days, to relax and forget about war for a few hours. Tech's hand fell to your hair, running his fingers through the strands. Your head now rested on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, eyes closed and as relaxed as ever.

Your hand slowly crawled to his, intertwining your fingers with his. His other hand reached for the conmlink.

"It is Hunter. He might want to address something important." He noted.

"Maybe." You replied.

He glanced at the screen.

"He expects us to meet up in around fifteen minutes sharp. I am certain Echo will be coming back shortly." He added.

"Well, we have ten more minutes to enjoy this." You answered, smiling.

"I suppose so."

You shifted your body weight so he wouldn't be uncomfortable, your fingers interlocked with one another, staring at his honey eyes.

His calloused hands grounded you, keeping your head from daydreaming, making you focus on the present. His fingers reminded you of something you never had, yet it was always right there. Home was never a place.

Home was there. Home was a feeling, home was a person. He was home.

Tech. Tech was home. His hands felt like home. He felt like home.

You close your eyes, willing to enjoy those last few seconds you had with him before the meeting. The commlink beeped one last time, and you felt soft lips on your forehead, a pair of hands that squeezed yours, and a gentle whisper that encouraged you to rest, at least to close your eyes for ten more minutes.

And so, you did. You closed your eyes, feeling the constant heartbeat on your ear.

...

Lightning stroke again, waking you from your deep slumber.

Your shivered, though it was hot, the storm on Pabu lowered the temperatures. Or, at least, that's what it felt like. It was still humid, but cold enough to cover yourself up with the bedsheets.

The room, was dark. It had always been dark since the last day he was there. The curtains were always down, and the lights were hardly ever on. Ever since he left, the small cottage of Pabu, the promise of a happy new start, just seemed too far away, the small house had become a constant reminder of what it used to be: a happy house.

The object you carried in your hands had never been so heavy. His holopad, the only thing you had left of him. You were secretly reluctant when Omega had asked to take the glasses with her, but you understood she had suffered as much as you had. And the holopad was the last thing he had left behind.

You didn't know when the last time you'd gotten a full night's sleep had been. Your eyes were stained with tears, and dark bags fell under your eyes, too. Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, Omega and even Crosshair had tried cheering you up. War was over, it was time to let go, and start a new life. But you refused to let him go. It had been too short, you had lost him too quickly. You hadn't even got the chance to say 'I love you' more than maybe once or twice, as it made him awkward.

You refused to find closure. At least, not for a while. You weren't ready.

You clung onto his holopad, tears falling once again, the familiar pain in your chest hurting as much as the first time you felt it.

For once, you wished you could've stayed in that dream forever, feeling his heart beating.

----

My heart (what have I created)

Reblogs and shares are highly appreciated!

My requests are still open!

[elf-osamu]

other suggestions with the same settings! prompt 3 from fluff list 2 w/ oda, nb reader who says the line, both platonic/romantic is ok

“YOU GOT ME FLOWERS?”

[ masterlist ] [ event ] [ reblogs are very appreciated ]

fluff, canon divergence, romantic (can be interpreted as platonic), oda sakunosuke x non-binary!reader (no specific prns used)

warning(s) : not proofread

word count : 599 words

plot : “a bookstore meeting with him. perhaps with a few flowers along the way home”.

a/n : i literally thought “it's probably too short but i don't have any other ideas”, however i wrote so much words in a short amount of time????? ngl inspiration hit me suddenly while writing this 😭 nevertheless, i hope you like it vess ! <3

prompt taken from here !!

during summer sunny days were always hot yet rather humid in yokohama, making it difficult for you to feel comfortable when going outside; your clothes stuck to your body in an unpleasant way, you couldn’t stop drinking water for more than ten minutes, the heat made you feel unsteady — so, generally speaking, you couldn’t stand those sensations.

despite it all, you had accepted oda’s invitation to the library, one which was his and your favorite: you liked the atmosphere there, from the simple yet fairly enjoyable disposition of the bookshelves to the faint scent of old books that were there for who knows how much time.

oda wasn’t a talkative person by nature; he preferred to be the listener, someone who could take care of others and support them in a peaceful way, without having the attention directed to himself for too long.

however, when it came to literature, his eyes seemed to be enlightened by a new light, as if you had uncovered a hidden aspect of his being.

why would one write a comic or a novel? what makes our reality from the fictional one so different? are stories eternal? at which point the author’s beliefs are blatant in a work of fiction?

these and many other questions would have been discussed by him, the man who was saved by literature and wished to make it happen to everyone else; a man who was known to be a listener, yet just had his introduction as a speaker.

the afternoon was spent in that way, talking and listening to each other’s thoughts and ideas — still, oda was the main character for once and you were glad he had found his passion.

the library closed when it was late at night, the same moment you two had ‘decided’ to head out of the building.

it wasn’t too hot like that morning and you felt fine, wandering through the streets with him, a person you were grateful to have by your side.

at some point, you arrived at your apartment.

“what would you say to a bowl of curry rice and complaints about dishes during those boring and strict dinner parties?” you asked with an amused grin, knowing very well how much he disliked those dinners.

he seemed to suddenly remember something, but then he looked at you as if it was nothing. oda rarely acted like that, unless he already had a plan that was meticulously prepared in advance.

before you could question his behavior, he had already started to talk.

“how could i refuse,” he commented in his soft-spoken voice. “still, there’s a matter i have yet to accomplish, it won’t take much time. wait me there, i’ll be right back” and, without saying another word, turned to his right and walked away.

you sighed and shook your head — what could have possibly come to his mind in that moment?

it took him around fifteen minutes to come back to your apartment.

your curiosity had gotten the best of you and you couldn’t wait to ask him what matter was so urgent.

however, the answer arrived as you opened the door for oda: he was holding a bouquet with your favorite flowers. it wasn’t relatively big, but its fragrance and colors made you extremely happy.

“you got me flowers?”, you said while taking the bouquet and welcoming him in your home.

he nodded and a warm smile appeared on his face. “it’s a small gift to thank you for everything you do for me; i wanted to let you know that i truly appreciate it”.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]

[electricbluebutterflies]

Joel/Tess + drunk AU

PG13-ish and also on ao3.

It has been a day.

Even by Tess’s questionably existent standards, even in her reality of having learned over the past few years that she does not in fact have any Legitimately Useful Skills in the world after the end of the world… maybe that’s why she took up her outside activities, because she needed something to do that isn’t the mindless work assignments she qualifies for. Because she needs something to make her feel alive, and she doesn’t have the outlets and inclinations some people do, she’s not creative, she’s not-

It has been another fuck-you of a day, she took an assignment more for the sake of keeping up appearances than anything else and she knows there’s worse ways to spend a day than cleaning up graffiti but seriously what the actual hell did whomever did some of those pieces even use, and… after that exercise in underpaid bureaucratic sadism, Tess is pretty sure she’s not supposed to feel this old somewhere in her thirties, and-

This is where low standards are very convenient, because low standards mean not asking adequate questions about things that other people claim are alcohol.

To be clear, Tess has a lot of respect for the human determination to ferment and distill whatever happens to be convenient, and she’s also seen a few rigs that are… varying levels of likely to cause an explosion, if one wants to be polite about it. Moonshine and its cousins are time-honored proof of humanity’s basic instincts, and she knows it’s a little bit of a risk but she trusts the source about as much as she trusts anyone nowadays, if they claim it was an attempt at vodka then it’s probably at least in that vicinity, and-

Whatever it actually is, it tastes appropriately harsh out of the bottle, and she suspects she’ll fade into an adequate state of calm dissociation with no trouble at all.

There are worse ways to spend an evening, she decides. She doesn’t have much of a social life – she’s screwing her roommate, if she wants to be realistic about that situation, and that’s about as much voluntary human contact as she can handle. No reason to leave the apartment until morning, no pending deals or petty emergencies, her status as a mid-level participant in the underground means she can take an occasional (or more than occasional) day off and-

She’s starting to get floaty – she used to have better tolerance than this but again the uncertainty of what she’s even drinking, she’ll blame that and not the fact that she was ten years younger and fifteen or twenty pounds heavier when she set what she thought would be lifelong baselines for such things – when she hears the door, and she knows without sight that her various emotions and desire to outrun them will be understood and shared. Joel does harder physical work than she does and she’s seen it start to wear on him, and she’d heard something about a demolition project going on and-

“There any of that for me?”

They’re so fucking domesticated and direct and she kinda loves it. She’d picked her perch on the couch with expectations, and she motions to the space next to her. “Get over here.”

He does, and his hands feel good on hers as he takes the bottle. “The hell even is this?”

“Strong.” She doesn’t know more than that, offhand. She doesn’t need to know that. Strong and doesn’t noticeably taste like cleaning chemicals. All a desperate person could ever want.

He takes a sip, all cautious like he almost never is in their spaces, and for a moment Tess has a flashback of going on a couple dates so many years ago with an aspiring wine snob, and-

“That kind of day.”

“You don’t look any better,” she murmurs. She’s getting tactile, getting close to that comfortable point where she doesn’t hold back, never mind she’s supposedly the less inhibited one, never mind-

“Never do.”

Okay, no. She knows the differences between them on these evenings; she gets clingy and he gets broody, and those tendencies do balance each other out but that balance takes time and they ain’t there yet and-

Kissing seems like a good idea, so she does. Cheek, jaw, neck. Exposed skin is fair game, and-

“You wanna be the end of me?”

“What, I’m not allowed to keep you out of your head?”

One of his hands gets up in her hair, just enough to tether her. “You safe in yours?”

“I’m coherent,” she mutters. “I’m not gonna do anything… I couldn’t regret you anyways.”

He puts the bottle aside, almost moves her to get it out of reach. “One of us needs to be clear. You’re…”

“I’m good. Promise.”

He doesn’t say anything right away, and that’s permission enough to get her on top of him, thighs around his waist, no thoughts just want, no thoughts just-

“You sure?”

She rolls her hips, and she knows it’ll take a little time to get there but she does feel something under her. “Need to burn this energy somehow. And you can’t say no to me.”

The kiss she gets makes damn clear this is a shared mood, and she feels herself getting warm in the right places, just blurred enough to be pleasant and-

Won’t go any further than making out, somehow that line gets drawn without words. But it’s a good makeout, hands slipped under fabric, all the wanting and warmth and-

Maybe nothing ever takes the edges off, but at least they get close. All a woman could ever ask for, right?

[bluesfortheredj]

Key to your heart.

A/N: This is the first thing I’ve written in months, so yeah, it’s awful, but I’ve watched Free Guy 3 weekends in a row and this just sort of happened...

“Keys.”

But it’s just a sweet, sweet fantasy baby…

“Keys!”

When I close my eyes, you come and you take me…

With a slight huff you lift one side of his headset and lean in close, “coffee?” you ask as he flinches back to reality.

“Jeez!” he gasps, “yeah, please; med-”

“Medium coffee, cream, two sugars. I know!” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand as you walk to the small break room.

His eyes follow you into the glass box that sat in the middle of the office, then watch carefully as you make the drinks until Mouser’s face suddenly blocks his view with a knowing smirk.

“You just can’t help yourself can you?” he tuts.

“What? What do you mean?” Keys blushes.

“You don’t think I can see your gooey eyes following her every move, and the subtle tones of Mariah coming from your headphones? Come on man! I’m not blind, or deaf.”

He sighs in defeat, “it’s no use though, she’s been talking to someone online.”

“And…?”

“And he’s probably some totally handsome guy who’s much cooler and less nerdy than me.”

Mouser laughs, “if you think that’s her type then you are very much mistaken. Can’t you look him up or something?”

“Spy on her?”

“Technically not her… him! What’s his username?”

Keys looks sheepishly down at his keyboard as he tugs a piece of paper out from underneath it, “kevthebest91,” he mumbles before hiding it again.

“Kevthebest?!” Mouser repeats, louder than Keys would like, “urgh, I can already tell he’s an asshole.”

“So what are you two talking about?” you ask as you hand Keys his coffee and perch next to him on his desk.

“The worst usernames we’ve ever seen,” Mouser grins, “what was the one you just said Keys?”

His eyes widen as he tries to think of something quick, but you get there before he has a chance.

“Do you remember suckyamumma69?” you laugh, nudging Keys’ upper arm.

“Oh god,” he chuckles, placing a hand over his eyes before dragging it down his face slowly, “that fifteen year old kid we had to boot off the game last month. Such a little shit.”

“What was your worst one then Mouser?” you question, turning to see him over the desk divider.

“Anything that says their name then ‘thebest’ after it. You instantly know they’re a douchebag.”

“Is that so?” you ask, raising an eyebrow at him, “hmm.”

There’s an awkward silence as you sip on your coffee and Mouser frantically nods at you while trying to keep Keys focused on mustering up the courage to ask you out, and eventually he swivels his chair around to face you with his own cup in hand.

“Hey (Y/N), do you… er… fancy coming over to watch that film later on?”

“Definitely! You provide the film, I’ll provide the snacks, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan,” he nods.

“Great, I’ll pop to the shop after work then meet you at yours at about 6ish?”

He breaks into a smile, “perfect.”

You rise from the edge of the desk to return to your own as your heart flutters inside your chest, and you manage to keep it together until you sit down to start fanning yourself with a piece of paper. Your cheeks must have given you away when he asked that question; there was no way that they hadn’t turned a deep shade of crimson when you answered with a very overenthusiastic ‘definitely!’ that must have given away how excited you were.

-

A trembling finger manages to press the doorbell after ten minutes of hesitation.

So deep in my daydreams…

You look down to smooth our your clothes, then glance in the carrier bag to check you’ve got everything.

But it’s just a sweet, sweet fantasy, baby…

Before you realise what’s going on there are arms wrapping around you and leading you inside as you try and bring yourself back to the present moment.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess,” Keys apologises as he picks something up off of the sofa and throws it down behind the piece of furniture to hide it.

“It’s fine, don’t worry,” you reassure before beginning to unpack the bag of goodies onto the kitchen counter, “so I’ve got cola, sweet and salty popcorn, and mint choc chip ice cream.”

His eyes roll into the back of his head as he mimics drooling, “three of my favourite things!”

“I know,” you smile shyly, almost embarrassed at how much attention you paid to him.

You turn to put the tub of ice cream in the freezer when you notice his open laptop on the side; windows of code opened in one half, and a paused video of himself on the other, “hey, what’s this? A secret project?” you wonder aloud as you shut the freezer door.

“Uh, no, no, it’s...” Keys is soon by your side, shutting the laptop quickly so you can’t catch a glimpse of anything incriminating, “it’s not finished yet.”

“Ah, no worries, I was just being nosey anyway,” you wink, sensing his tension, “I’ll go get cosy on the sofa then huh?”

“Yes! Please do,” he nods, gesturing towards the couch.

Were you two going to dance around each other for the rest of your lives, or was one of you going to finally make a move on the other? You’d always felt something from Keys, something that made you think that there might just be a slither of a chance of him feeling the same way you do about him, and all you wanted to do was know if you were right or not so you could either focus on getting over him or finally admit your feelings. Half way to the sofa you stop in your tracks and close your eyes as you will yourself to say something, and as you turn around to take a step you bump into his chest with a gasp.

“Sorry! Oh, sorry,” you mutter timidly, losing your nerve.

“It’s okay,” he chuckles; neither of you moving away from the other.

His hands gently land on your forearms as you continue to stare straight ahead at his neck, then they carefully slide down to your clenched fists where he uncurls your fingers slowly so that he can slide his between yours, “(Y/N), I...” he whispers, “I...” his phone begins to vibrate on the coffee table just as you begin to tilt your head up to look at him.

“You’d better get that,” you smile with a trembling voice; so close, yet so far from something you’d longed for, for such a long time.

He reluctantly slips his fingers from yours with a sorry look upon his face, then moves around you to pick up his phone and answer the incoming call from Mouser.

“What?” he hisses, walking through to the bedroom for privacy.

“Am I interrupting?”

“Yes!”

“Well I thought you’d like to know what I found out about kevthebest91...”

Keys sighs, “go on then.”

“He’s no threat; married, one kid, and all the conversations are purely friendly.”

“You went through their conversations?!”

“Skimmed through! I didn’t dig deep, don’t worry,” he pauses with a hum, “Keys, hurry up and kiss her.”

“I was about to before you rang.”

“Well why the hell are you still on the phone to me then?! Go! Go!” Mouser hangs up before Keys gets a chance, and the phone is soon dropped to the floor as Keys leaves the bedroom.

I want you so bad…

He rushes out into the kitchen so quickly that you don’t have time to put the spoon of ice cream to your mouth before he reaches you.

I want you so bad…

“Ice cream?” you offer nervously.

He takes the spoon with a smile but places it back in the tub before gently cupping your face with his surprisingly delicate touch and finally, finally, pressing his lips against yours. In that moment fantasy had at last become a reality for the both of you.

[outofsstyles]

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

                                               ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?” 

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time. 

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

                                              ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.” 

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her. 

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address. 

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd. 

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.” 

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head. 

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone. 

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions. 

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen. 

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after). 

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way. 

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.” 

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.” 

 The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

 “Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too. 

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones. 

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?” 

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own. 

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out. 

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand. 

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located. 

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse.  “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further. 

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again. 

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.” 

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight. 

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused.  “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!” 

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months. 

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk. 

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.” 

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh.  “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension. 

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch. 

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

[sondepoch]

Lighter (3/5)

Breaking the Collar

Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary—and you've reached a point where you accept it this misery, just going along with the motions of life because there's nothing else to do.

Diluc and Kaeya change that.

They enter your life on a regular workday afternoon, stepping inside Childe's massive office under the pretense of sorting out a business deal, but a single hastily written message makes it clear that they're not here to hurt you: they're here to help you.

The only issue is that you have no idea how to escape Childe.

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

MASTERLIST

There’s something demeaning about the outfit Childe has picked for you today. It’s nothing unlike what he had you wear when he last took you outside the apartment, when he brought you on a train to Xiangling’s restaurant, but the blouse and skirt he has you in today are looser than before, and skimpier, too. 

The thought confuses you until you realize that it’s because where you were previously dressed like a regular girl, in fairly modest clothes that were designed to shy away from attention, you’re now dressed like a slave once more: like a little sex toy that can only wear thin, loose clothes so her owner, alongside all her owner’s friends, can have easy access to the pretty tits and cunt beneath.

It should make you sick. 

Yet, as Childe slips his hand underneath your skirt to grip your thigh, the only thing that disgusts you is how easily you find yourself relaxing into his touch. 

“Angel,” Childe murmurs into your ear, voice hovering lowly under the quiet buzz of the van you both sit in. “Angel, I have a present for you.”

That catches your attention. You turn your head to your owner, eyebrows lifted in confusion, as Childe pulls a box from his pocket.

Immediately, you know what’s inside.

The first few gifts Childe gave you were all varied: the very first was, of course, the necklace he gave you in place of the ugly, metal collar all the other girls have to wear. The second was his jacket, too tattered for him to use anymore but literal paradise for someone like you, who had already grown used to spending every waking moment naked. Then, his presents began to come in the shape of services rather than material objects—the decision to allow you to sleep on a bed, the decision to let you eat better-quality meals, the decision to spare you from being sent to Scaramouche for a beating as punishment for a stupid blunder you once made—but after a certain period, Childe had granted you all the freedom he could give.

Then, his presents had to change.

He began gifting you jewels, all of them in different colors but always unfairly expensive, to make your collar sparkle.

You make no haste in opening the black, velvet box Childe gives you, eyes bright. You don’t think twice about how embarrassing it is that he’s conditioned you to associate these little gemstones (probably worth mere pennies to a man as wealthy as Childe) with happiness, but even you can’t keep the smile off your face as you snap open the box and see a blue twinkle staring back at you. 

“It’s a sapphire,” Childe explains, pulling the gemstone out by the short, silver chain it dangles from. “Since you told me that you like colorful stones.”

You remember saying that. It was true: being Childe’s favored toy meant that you were always by his side; it gave you no room for pastimes, and so you found that the most entertaining thing to do was toy with the shiny stones that dangled off your collar and angle them into the light to trace patterns into the ceiling. It’s an activity that works best with larger, colorful stones: the dainty diamonds Childe always used to gift you didn’t work half as well.

“Do you like it?” the man asks, staring down at you. “I thought you deserved a reward so behaving so well last time we went out. If you’re good this time as well, I’ll give you another one.”

I won’t be here for you to give me another one, you think. 

“I like it,” you say, ignoring how your heart instinctively speeds up with—is it fear? concern? hesitation?— when that thought runs through your mind. “Thank you, Sir.”

Childe grimaces.

“I mean, Ajax.”

Calling him by his name is still a hard habit to get into, but you find that the syllables roll off your tongue much smoother now. Alas, you shouldn’t need to worry about it too much longer. Not if today’s meeting with Diluc and Kaeya goes as planned.

“Here, lean forward so I can put it on you.”

The way you arch your neck forward is familiar. You and Childe have been in this position countless times before, him always being the one to fasten his gifts to your collar, and it shows in how quick Childe’s fingers are in attaching the short chain of the sapphire to your necklace. Within seconds, you feel the task’s completion as you lean your head back and smile at your owner, the weight around your neck marginally heavier than when you both stepped inside this van.

“It looks good,” Childe says, squeezing your thigh gently. “You look good.”

“Thank you,” you say like a good little slave. Then, you decide to go the extra mile. “Ajax.”

The man doesn’t respond to that, opting to glance out the window as his driver speeds down the highway that’ll doubtlessly bring you both to the office Diluc and Kaeya share, but you can see the edges of his lips curling upward. It’s rare, after all, for you to address him by name. No matter how much he loves it, your tongue still says “sir” on instinct, a little crack in the homey picture Childe is building with you in his mind.

It’s not like it matters, you think, stopping yourself from thinking too much about your owner before you can begin to feel bad. If all goes well, I won’t ever have to see him again.

The thought instinctively brings a smile to your face, but it falls just as fast.

If.

Looking back, the message Diluc and Kaeya gave you was cryptic. ‘WE CAN HELP YOU’ provides no accurate timeline to place your hopes in. The second message, ‘COME WITH TARTAGLIA NEXT WEEK AND WE CAN FREE YOU’ was of the same nature. Up til now, you’ve been vaguely interpreting their words to mean that they would free you immediately if you managed to go with Childe to this meeting. But the human trafficking world is so complicated, and you can’t help but think that things may be delayed even longer.

All you can do is hope for the best and pray that reality won’t disappoint.

“How much longer?” you ask your owner after the view outside the window has changed from a highway to a cityscape.

“Impatient, aren’t we?” Childe chuckles. “We should be there any time soon. Keep an eye out. Their office is in one of the big buildings.”

That doesn’t tell you much, given that nearly every building this van drives past is over fifteen stories high. 

You’re in the middle of scoffing at Childe’s poor description of the office when the car finally stops: and only then do you understand that when he said “one of the big buildings,” he meant the biggest fucking building in the entire city.

You’re gawking like a fool as Childe helps you out of the car, mentally overwhelmed at the sheer size of what has to be the tallest office in Snezhnaya. 

“It’s…” 

Big doesn’t begin to describe the grandeur of this place. It’s nothing you’d expect from two men who are working undercover to free people from human trafficking: it's got to be the most eye-catching thing you've ever seen, one hundred stories high or taller, with every inch of the exterior covered in wall-to-wall windows. It looks like an upscale version of Childe’s own office, and if you thought his building was lavish, then this is full-on opulent.

Your owner has to forcibly pull you forward to get you to move. 

You almost forget to tuck your precious jacket—the one you so foolishly forgot when you last went out in public, the one Childe insisted you bring this time in case you have another episode—underneath your arm because you’re so busy marveling at the exterior of the building, though you thankfully remember to do so right before the van door closes. 

“It’s nothing impressive,” Childe grumbles as he pulls you past the professional double doors. “Diluc and Kaeya are only renting the top ten floors here. They’re not even rich enough to purchase them.”

“Ten whole floors?” you ask, eyes round as you stare at the inside of the ground floor. Childe tugs you towards the elevator, and you’re just barely able to slow him down so you can stare at the marble floors, the expensive-looking paintings on the wall, the embodiment of wealth unlike anything you’ve ever seen. “Why do they need ten—”

“They’re sex traffickers, angel,” Childe tells you when the elevator doors shut. (You have to force yourself to refrain from marveling at how even this elevator seems posh and refined.) “They use the top floor for their own operations. The other nine are where they run their prostitution rings.”

Your face darkens at that. It must be the exact same as Childe’s office, where he has you and his other favored prostitutes up at the top with him, and all the girls he doesn’t want to show favoritism to are forced into the life they were meant to follow when they were brought into the human trafficking world: either as unpaid sex workers that are sold by the hour from Childe to other equally-awful clients or as human trafickees to be shipped to someone else if they prove to be too much trouble.

But then, you remember Diluc and Kaeya’s message.

‘WE CAN HELP YOU,’ they said.

There’s no way that they’re running a sex trafficking front up here. Childe must be wrong. It’s probably just a lie they told him to gain his trust so that they could best help you escape this life.

“They’re so arrogant,” Childe grumbles, crossing his arms. “I bet they chose this office just to piss me off. It’s bad business, too. They’re losing out on money by choosing such a fancy place. Not even the Snezhnayan sex work model will boost their profits.”

“What’s the Snezhnayan sex work model?”

“The system we use in the Fatui. It’s supposed to be the best, money-wise. You hand-train the elite girls as prostitutes so that the best ones become magnets for high-caliber clients. You sell off girls who don’t show promise early on. And then there’s a handful of average-quality, compliant girls you keep for the low-caliber clients that want a good fuck but can’t pay as much.” Childe folds his arms as he leans back against the elevator wall. “It's the most profitable method, even if it means that the girls you sell will always be low-quality.”

“Wouldn’t I be an elite girl?” you ask, staring at your owner. “You trained me, but I never had to work as a prostitute. And I only sometimes have to meet your clients, and—”

“You’re different,” Childe says, avoiding your eyes.

Immediately, you want to ask what he means by that. Unfortunately for you, the elevator doors open at that precise moment, and Childe leads you forward by the hand into an office that, now that you think about it, definitely was designed to upstage Childe’s own place of work.

“Come on, you can do it, baby.” A low coo from the left side of the room draws your attention, and your eyes widen in a mix of confusion, concern, and finally, horror. 

“Ignore Kaeya. Focus on my fingers. Relax your throat, doll, yes, just like that…”

Even Childe stiffens when he sees the three men splayed out on a couch: Diluc and Kaeya sandwiching a youthful-looking boy between them as Diluc shoves his hand down the boy’s throat and Kaeya strokes the boy’s small cock. 

For a moment, you don’t understand why the boy looks so wrecked, his braided hair dampened with sweat and his face covered in tears, but when your eyes watch as a trickle of sweat trails from the boy’s neck to his stomach, joining a copious amount of white fluid you can only imagine to be the result of countless orgasms, it’s clear that Kaeya’s overstimulating him. Add that to the way Diluc’s entire hand is slotted down the poor boy’s throat, and how the redhead is still stubbornly trying to get more inside, and it becomes clear that whatever this boy is feeling is far from pleasant.

The picture makes it irrevocably clear that this boy is to Diluc and Kaeya what you are to Childe. 

Instinctively, you imagine how you would feel if you were in such a position. Your worst memory under Childe, after all, is from the time when you were handed over to four men who fucked into your G-spot so vigorously that you cried at any sensation for hours. Your second worst memory is from the time when a client forced a massive dildo so big you couldn’t breathe down your throat and left you like that until Childe intervened. 

The idea of those two memories being combined into one makes you want to vomit. 

“Fucking hell,” Childe grunts once he’s past processing the image before him. “Get your toy out of here. Do you have to be so disgusting?”

“Oh, please,” Kaeya responds, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. He doesn’t stop stroking the boy’s cock. “You had your little angel out during our last meeting. Let us have a little fun now, alright?”

“Hell no. Even I don’t dabble in…” Childe sneers when he sees how young the boy seems to be. “Children.”

Diluc laughs, a deep, rich sound that reverberates through the room. “He’s older than he looks. We’re not scummy enough to deal in children, either, Tartaglia.”

“You’re scummy enough to have to share,” Childe says, scoffing. “What, did you guys spend so much money paying for this building’s rent that you couldn’t afford more than one kid to suit both your needs? The two of you look pathetic, you know.”

“I wouldn’t call it pathetic,” Kaeya offers. “It’s more like we know exactly what we want. And if we both want the same thing, we’re not going to waste our time with…” The man’s single eye skirts over your figure with purpose. “Cheap replacements.”

“Really, now?” You can sense Childe getting offended for you. “You think your little toy is better trained than my angel?”

“I don’t think it, Tartaglia. I know it.” Kaeya grins. He gives the boy’s cock another few strokes, going at the same pace, the small, red-flushed thing twitching furiously in response. “Just watch.”

Kaeya abruptly pulls back from the boy, lifting his hand in the air for dramatic effect, and one, two, three seconds pass where nothing happens. The little organ he’d been stroking still quivers, either from overstimulation or from desire, but the boy suppresses his orgasm, and you can see the desperate, shallow breaths he tries to take from around Diluc’s hand.

Then, it happens.

“Cum, Venti.”

On command, the boy keens, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his hips spasm and jerk up into nothing. Venti’s cock looks abused, a thought demonstrated by how little cum actually shoots into the air and onto his stomach, the substance looking more watery than it looks healthy.

You grimace when you understand how far Venti must have been pushed to reach this point. 

The boy practically melts into Kaeya’s hold after the orgasm has left his body, boneless after something so intense, and the final shreds of resistance he’d been offering Diluc’s hand disappear as the redhead’s wrist edges deeper into his throat.

“Such a good boy, isn’t he?” Kaeya says, grinning as he strokes Venti’s hair, brushing the sweat-stained bangs from his forehead. “He’s ‘Luc’s favorite. We haven’t had any discipline issues from him in years. Same goes for the rest of our merchandise.”

Kaeya’s words are a shameless flex on Childe: a reminder that your owner’s girls are so often poorly-trained and that even you, the star of his trafficking business, are secretly planning on running away.

You don’t need to look up at your owner’s expression to see the raw annoyance plastered onto his face. 

“No discipline issues?” Childe grunts. “So if I bought him from you and ordered him to kill himself right now, he’d do it?”

There’s a beat of silence.

Whatever response Kaeya was expecting, that wasn’t it.

Finally, Diluc speaks up.

“Venti, much like your toy over there, isn’t for sale.” Diluc withdraws most of his hand from the boy’s mouth, leaving only the tips of his fingers in such that Venti cranes his neck forward to suckle at them. “But if you want him gone that much, it’s fine. He has to go to work now, anyway.”

You can feel your eyebrows shoot up at that. Kaeya watches your expression, and he laughs.

“Sorry, girlie. I know your master over there likes to exercise preferential treatment with his pets, but we don’t do that in Mondstadt.” Kaeya gently pushes Venti to his feet, holding his hand until the shake of the boy’s feet subsides. “All our toys have to work. Favoritism should only go so far in a world like this.”

With that, Kaeya pats Venti’s butt and sends the boy off, and you watch in a mix of awe and horror as he stumbles towards the elevator to “work.”

If it were real, you’d be mortified. 

Venti was overstimulated to tears, his legs wobbling the whole time as he stumbled past you, the apples of his fair cheeks flushed a feverish red. There was saliva dripping down his chin, cum still smeared on his stomach, and the reek of sweat and sex wafting off the entirety of his stumbling, nude form.

But you comfort yourself with the knowledge that it was all just an act. 

You close your eyes and hold your jacket closer to your body as the elevator releases a low ding, forcing yourself to remember the message Diluc and Kaeya left for you that filled your heart with so much hope. What happened with Venti just now looked bad, but you’re certain that it was all part of their master strategy to deceive Childe until you’re free from him.

(If there’s a sudden thump of a body hitting the ground and a low groan from behind the elevator doors as soon as they shut, you force yourself not to pay attention to it.)

“Fucking finally,” Childe mutters as soon as Venti is gone. He shuffles forward and flops down onto a couch, pulling you with him. “Listen, I don’t want to be here any more than you guys want me here. Let’s get this over with quickly, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya mumbles, using a sanitized cloth to clean his hands before slipping his usual gloves back on. Next to him, Diluc does the same. “All we need to do is fix a transportation route for the merch, right?”

“Yeah,” Childe grunts. “I already have some ideas. I own a parent company that sells furniture. If we can legally frame our transactions under the branch of…”

You zone out as soon as they begin using human trafficking jargon you barely understand.

This meeting is much more civilized than the previous, if the whole incident with Venti can be forgotten. The jabs Diluc and Kaeya make towards Childe are much more subtle, popping up rarer, too, and Childe doesn’t openly taunt them with your body the way he did in the first meeting. 

It takes nearly an hour before your owner even remembers you, and even then, his touches remain somewhat innocent. He only ever ghosts his fingers against your thigh, oft going down to drum his fingers against your knee while he continues to work out the logistics of his business deal. The touches honestly end up keeping you on edge with how delicate they are, and it’s right when his fingers have finally flitted up to the innards of your thigh, right when you’re holding your breath, right when Diluc and Kaeya’s eyes are fixated on where his palm has crept beneath your skirt, that his phone rings.

Immediately, Childe’s hands are off you. 

“I have to take this,” he says, wrapping a protective arm over your shoulder as he beckons you to stand next to him. “In private.”

“Take the elevator down to the second floor if you want privacy,” Diluc offers. “It’s not being rented out, and there aren’t any cameras there.”

“Thanks,” your owner says, leading you towards the elevator. 

“Wait,” Kaeya calls, right as you’re about to step in behind Childe. You glance behind your shoulder to stare at him, and the devious expression on his face concerns you. 

Kaeya winks at you a second before Childe, too, turns to face him.

“Leave your girl here with us, will you? Give us a treat to nibble on to kill the time.”

Immediately, you think that Kaeya has said the wrong thing. Childe is a fiercely protective man, over you more than anything else. There’s no way he’d leave you in the hands of two men he barely even likes, and it’ll probably only cast suspicion in his mind to hear Kaeya ask for you so candidly.

You shut your eyes, instinctively preparing to hear Childe’s rejection.

Instead, his tone is light when he speaks, almost amused. “Finally seeing how high-quality she is, eh?” Your owner is smiling at Kaeya, not an ounce of irritation, anger, or protectiveness on his face. “Fine. This call will take a while anyway. Just make sure you don’t wreck her too much.”

With that, the redhead steps into the elevator and leaves you with nothing more than a featherlight kiss to the temple, and you’re standing there, dumbfounded, for a full ten seconds before you process what has happened.

Alone, you realize with a start. I'm finally alone with them. 

Immediately, you sprint forward, grabbing Kaeya’s hand in an attempt to tug him off the couch, not caring about how you dropped your jacket on the floor in your rush.

“Come on,” you say, eyes wide. “If—if you want to set me free, we have to go now while he’s busy!”

But Kaeya doesn’t move an inch off the couch, instead pulling you onto his lap with a strength you didn’t realize he had. 

“What are you—”

“Shh, baby. We have to put on a show in case Tartaglia comes back, yeah?” You feel Diluc shuffle behind you, and the redhead is quick to wrap his hands around your hips from behind. 

The slowness, the casualness, the feigned normalcy of their actions dumbfounds you.

“Why aren’t we leaving?” you whisper, hands going up to grip at the fabric of Kaeya’s suit. “You said you’d free me if I managed to come to this meeting, so—”

“Relax,” Diluc mumbles into your ear, gloved hands sliding beneath your blouse to grope at your breasts. “Freeing you isn’t something we can do at the drop of a hat. It’s not just about you being here.”

“Right,” Kaeya says, his fingers slowly undoing the zipper on your skirt. “We asked you to come to this meeting to first check if it would even be possible to free you. A test, if you will. We weren’t sure you’d pass it. But if Tartaglia is willing to give you enough freedom to wander around with him, we figure you should also have enough freedom to do what needs to be done for us to free you.”

“What?” you whisper, trying to force back the tears that are pooling in your eyes. This is everything you’d feared: that Diluc and Kaeya’s idea of freeing you would be more complicated than you’d realized and that the whole process would require more time. “What do you need me to do to be free?”

“Aw, don’t cry.” Kaeya tosses your skirt to the floor right before he goes up to wipe away the tears from your face. “It’s not hard. We just need you to get ahold of Tartaglia’s fake documents on you.”

“His...what?”

Confusion is ultimately what brings a halt to your tears, and you cock your head naively at Kaeya right as Diluc speaks up.

“Fake documents,” Diluc explains, beginning to rub the front of his pants against your naked arse. “Every human trafficker has a series of documents for their merchandise that they can use for transportation and claim purposes. We need to get yours from Tartaglia.”

“Why can’t you take me away without them?” you plead, still clinging to the hope that you might be able to go free today. “Why do I have to—”

“Because, depending on how smart Tartaglia is, he can use those documents to rightfully get you back, even if we set you free.”

“What?” you ask. “How?”

“Think. If he has you listed on those documents as a minor, then the State can only do so much to protect you. Especially if he has himself listed down as your guardian. Even if you try to speak out against him, the Snezhnayan police won’t care. They’ll send you straight back to him, and you can bet that whatever freedoms you have now will be forever lost to you the second time around.”

“B-but, if I can prove that I’m not the person in his fake documents—”

“You can’t prove that,” Kaeya interrupts. “If you’re lucky, Tartaglia’s fake documents would be low-quality. But if he was smart, which we both know he is, then his documents will be of a high-enough quality that people will believe them when they see them. And unless you happen to have your official documents on you, there’s nothing you can do to protect yourself except steal the papers from Childe before he can use them.”

The annoyed, almost bored inflection of Kaeya’s voice shakes you to the core. They rattle this information off so quickly, so intuitively, so earnestly that you have no choice but to believe them.

“Okay,” you whisper, voice shaky. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’ll get the documents you want.”

“Do you know where he keeps them?” Diluc asks.

“I think so. He has a locked briefcase that he always keeps in his office. I don’t know the combination to open it, but I should be—”

“Good,” Kaeya interrupts. “You seem like a smart girl. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Y-yeah,” you say, hesitant. The man’s words seemed like a compliment, but his tone felt much more derisive. “Um, is that all, or is there anything else I—”

“That’s all,” Diluc says. “Two weeks from now is when we’ll be ready to get you out of here. We’ll be staying in the hotel across from Tartaglia’s apartment. The two of us will be in rooms 213 and 214. Come find us at any time, and as long as you have the documents on you, we’ll be able to set you free.”

Your heart beats a little faster at that. 

“Really?” you whisper, almost not believing it. The goal you’ve been given is finally real: it’s tangible, so clear that you can already see yourself using something sharp to tear into Childe’s briefcase and retrieve your documents before you’ll finally be able to live a life you can be proud of.

Kaeya smiles when he sees the look on your face.

“Really,” he whispers, reaching a rough, gloved hand up to cup your cheek with infinite care. The kiss he coaxes you into is gentle, soft, and sweet. It’s everything he is, everything Childe isn’t. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning forward to wrap the man in a hug. You don’t care about the fact that Diluc has unbuttoned and pulled off your blouse now, leaving you effectively nude as you embrace Kaeya, but he doesn’t seem to mind either. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome,” the man whispers in response, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

The next minutes are marked by more peace than you’ve felt in months. Sandwiched between Diluc and Kaeya, you feel oddly safe. The roughness of their gloves stops bothering you, the silky brushes of their hair stop tickling you, and the closeness of their bodies, the warmth and the heat that radiates off them as naturally as light off the sun, only relaxes you in their arms.

When Kaeya begins playing with the jewels on your necklace, you don’t stop him.

“Tartaglia gave you this?” he asks, tugging gently at a diamond. 

“Yeah. They're all presents for being good.”

You can’t help the smile that blooms on your face as you say that: it’s like a reminder that you’re special, that you’re important, that even though you’re down in a world where your life isn’t even your own, you still have worth.

Behind you, Diluc’s fingers reach over your shoulder and begin lifting up individual stones to the light. “These are expensive,” he mutters, twisting a ruby among his leathered fingers. “More expensive than what someone would normally give to a slave.”

“I know,” you say. “It's because this is supposed to incentivize my good behavior, and—”

“No,” Diluc interrupts, voice soft. “It’s supposed to manipulate you.”

Your voice catches at that, and you glance at Kaeya for confirmation because you doubt it can be true. Not when Childe always seems so sweet when he gifts you these presents. Not when you've come to look forward to them as the one light in your life in this dark, dark world. But when the blue-haired man’s face twists into sympathy, your heart falls.

“B-but...I like…”

“You’re supposed to like it,” Diluc’s voice, rich and deep, rumbles out into your ear. ”But you need to understand that it’s not a necklace, doll. It’s a collar.”

“I know that,” you say, now wrapping your fingers around the chain protectively. “But I don’t—I don’t want—”

Kaeya kisses you, bringing two hands to your cheeks to cradle your face in his fingers.

“We’re not going to take it away from you, baby.”

He kisses you again.

“Relax.”

Those words soothe you in a way you can’t quite explain; the idea of losing your necklace, even being told that your necklace was a ploy to manipulate you (though you already knew that, to some extent), was unsettling. You much prefer the notion that it’s an innocuous gift: mainly because you’ve grown far too attached to it for it to represent human trafficking and all the pain you’ve had to endure thus far.

But, right when you’ve calmed yourself and forcibly stopped yourself from panicking, you feel a sharp tug on your neck.

“What did you—”

“Nothing,” Diluc says, holding two gemstones—two diamonds, one blue and one pink—in his palm. They still have their chain attached to them, but that's it: there's nothing connecting the diamonds to your necklace, the chains having been ripped off.  You feel your expression change as you see what he's done. “Just—”

“What did you do?!” you blurt, panic beginning to overtake your heart. “Childe—Ajax—he’s going to notice! I—I’ll get in trouble, and—”

“Shh,” Kaeya whispers, trying to calm you down with a kiss, but you pull back before his lips can touch you. “It’s not—”

“Put it back. Put it back!”

You've turned around and are about to hit Diluc when the man grips both your wrists, holding you with such a force that it freezes you. The look in his eyes is fierce, fiery, red eyes shining brighter than the rubies dangling off your neck—and for a single second, you can’t help but think that the man looks furious. 

Then, the expression is masked, and you’re both left calmer for it.

“Tartaglia won’t notice. Unless he makes a habit of regularly counting what’s on your neck, only you’ll be able to feel the difference.” Right. That makes sense. Childe likes to look at your necklace, but you doubt that he’ll actually know how many presents he’s gifted you. Not when he barely touches the thing, dexterous fingers always reaching out to feel your body instead. 

“And besides,” Diluc says, easing you back into your earlier position with your back resting against his chest. “It’s a promise. The two diamonds.”

“A promise?”

In front of you, Kaeya smiles in understanding.

“Right. It’s a promise, baby. We’ll give you these two diamonds back once we’ve freed you, and until then, they’re our weight to bear so that every time we look at them, we remember that we’re waiting for you so we can set you free.”

“It...is?” you ask, hesitant. You haven’t been in the outside world in a while; is this how people do promises now?

“Yes,” Diluc mumbles, kissing your ear as he strokes your hair. Every brush of his fingers against your head instinctively relaxes you, until you’re almost as calm as you were before he took two stones off your necklace. “Do you trust us to return them to you?”

It’s a disguised question.

What Diluc is really asking is this: Do you trust us?

“Yes,” you breathe. It’s the only right answer.

Then, the two men go silent. They focus on relaxing you once more, running their gloved fingers up and down the sides of your body, almost massaging your skin as you sit between them. 

Unfortunately for you, all you can think about is your necklace.

It’s the first time you’ve had it be lighter than before: Childe only ever adds to it; he never takes. Now, right when you’d grown used to the weight of the sapphire he attached this morning, you’ve got the odd situation of it being even lighter than it had been when you woke up.

You know that you should feel freer now: less chained down to Childe and to the Fatui.

But deep down inside, you miss the weight.

Minutes later, when you’re a little less emotionally overwhelmed and a little more relaxed as the two men gently run their arms around your body, another thought surfaces.

“A-also,” you say, hesitant. “Um, everything you said at the beginning of this meeting…”

“All lies,” Diluc says, pulling you closer against his broad chest after you slink too deep into Kaeya’s embrace. “Tartaglia had a negative impression of us coming in, so we had to play to that. Everything we said was just for show.”

Your shoulders sag in relief at that, but another thought continues to poke at your brain.

“And Venti?” you finally manage to ask, remembering how ruined the boy had looked as he stumbled away from the two men holding you.

“He’s a masochist,” Kaeya blurts. “We asked him beforehand if he’d be okay with participating. Not sure he realized how all-out we were going to go, but I’m certain that he enjoyed himself.”

That...makes sense! You’ve heard before about masochists, and looking back, everything Diluc and Kaeya did to the boy really did seem to be for the sake of his pleasure. You’ve heard countless times about overstimulation being something sexy, something desired, something liked by the select few who could bear it. Similarly, the way Diluc had his hand down Venti’s mouth...that’s the equivalent of Childe having you suck on his fingers during sex, right? 

You laugh a little when you realize that everything you’d been scared about had an explanation. You should have known better than to doubt Diluc and Kaeya, two people who are saving you from hell itself. If anything, you should be on your knees thanking them instead of raising questions over what they had to say to be able to help you out.

“I’m sorry for all the questions,” you confess, sheepish as Kaeya’s fingers begin toying with your breasts. “I’m just...really nervous. And a little scared.”

“Who wouldn’t be?” Kaeya asks, a tinkling laugh spilling from his lips. “We were the same way when we first came out here to save people from human trafficking.”

“Really?” you ask, eyes round. “Do you guys do this for a living? How many people do you save?”

“Uh...whoever we can, really. We use our covers as human traffickers to identify targets that would be easiest for us to free. You seemed like one. Before you, we helped that boytoy from Zhongli. Before him was some Khaenri'ahi girl, and…”

Zhongli? You ask yourself, trying to figure out where you know that name from. It’s familiar, so familiar, and…

“Wait!” You blurt, sitting up straight and nearly knocking Diluc backward in the process. “You guys were responsible for freeing Xiao? The one who’s always by Zhongli’s side?”

You remember the short little man, beautiful in his own right, from when Childe had a business meeting with Zhongli. That was the first time you learned of Xiao, the last time being just last week when you heard Scaramouche say that the green-haired boy had somehow disappeared. 

Hope blooms in your heart as soon as you realize what that disappearance was: the successful removal of one more slave from the human trafficking network, something you're next in line for.

Diluc lets out a light laugh when he sees how your entire face has brightened up now that you have genuine proof that these two men are for real, that they’ve helped people escape in the past and that they’ll help you escape in the near future. 

“Wait, if you guys freed Xiao, then were you also the ones responsible for setting, uhm…”

Your brain blanks out as you try to remember the second person Scaramouche mentioned when speaking to Childe. What was her name? Amine? you think, but that sounds off. Umino? Lumina? You continue to guess names in your head, brain fixating on Childe’s interaction with the other Fatui executive until finally, you remember her name.

“Lumine!” you declare with pride. “Were you the ones who set her free, too?”

Kaeya stares at you with a shocked expression. His lips part and his face freezes, eyebrows lifted comically high on his forehead, and you turn around to glance at Diluc, but the redhead is in a similar state.

“You’re telling me,” Kaeya begins, “That Lumine...”

He can’t bring himself to finish, and so Diluc steps in to complete the question: “Lumine belonged to Tartaglia?”

You glance back and forth between the two men, unsure of why they seem to be regarding this news with such shock.

“I think so?” you say, now beginning to doubt yourself. “I’m not sure. But Scaramouche said something like that to him, so I—”

You’re cut off by a sharp cackle of laughter from Kaeya. You stare at him in shock, and then behind you, Diluc has begun chuckling, and then Kaeya’s laughing even louder, and within seconds, both men are laughing their heads off at something you barely understand. 

“Oh my gods!” Kaeya blurts between fits of almost-hysterical giggles. “You’re telling me that Tartaglia? Fucking Tartaglia? Was the one to lose Lumine?” He laughs some more, loud and merry and cheerful. "So I was right when I called you a—a—" Kaeya stutters in his laughter. "A cheap replacement?"

You stare at the blue-haired man in confusion, not understanding a word of what he's saying nor why he seems to find it so hilarious that Childe and Lumine are connected. You want to open your mouth to ask why, but you have to stop yourself because it's at this precise moment that your owner returns; and this is the picture that Childe sees when the elevator dings with the announcement of his arrival: you, completely nude and squashed between the two Mondstadt business partners, Kaeya in front of you, laughing his ass off as if you’ve told the joke of the century, and Diluc behind you, the most stoic man in the room losing his composure in an equally graceless manner.

“What the fuck…” your owner mutters at the sight, but seeing Childe only makes the two men around you laugh harder.

It takes a full minute for them to calm down, and in that minute, you rise from their couch and move back towards Childe like an obedient slave, only wearing your clothes when Childe nods at you that it’s okay for you to do so.

“So,” Childe deadpans once Diluc and Kaeya have finally stopped laughing, though Kaeya still releases a giggle every now and then. “Did my girl tell a funny joke or something? You guys sounded like a bunch of dying hyenas.”

“Something like that,” Kaeya says, smiling at Childe, but you sense something deadly in his eyes. 

“Alright, well…” Childe awkwardly tries to steer the conversation back to what they’d been discussing before. “I guess the final details will have to be ironed out once I actually use this company as a cover to ship the girls to you, but is there anything else we need to talk about? Transportation-wise, we seem solid.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kaeya drawls, a strange smile on his face. “But, real quick, I want to talk about prices one more time.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Childe grunts, annoyed. “We already agreed on five-hundred thousand mora per shipment. Don’t try to haggle with me again on this.”

“Ordinarily, you’d be right,” Diluc says, crossing his arms. “But we just learned some interesting information.”

Childe’s eye twitches in annoyance. “Right,” he blurts, leaning back. “What is it? Did you find out that I’m giving a better deal to someone else? Because that sucks, but that’s how this business works with new partners. I’m not going to—”

“It’s not that,” Diluc interrupts, lifting a hand. “It’s moreso that before, we thought we were purchasing merchandise from a valued, respected dealer.”

Diluc’s lips quirk into a cruel grin. 

“Not from the infamous idiot trafficker who lost Lumine.”

You can hear the ice settle over the room before you feel it, the abrupt, chilling silence suddenly making every second feel like an hour. You’re almost scared to move, scared to pull your eyes to your owner who, for the first time since you met him, looks like the child his codename was assigned for.

Childe doesn’t try to speak, but his every thought is displayed in his eyes alone, the cerulean blues giving insight to a hurricane of emotions wilder than the sea. In his eyes is fear, horror, despair, and pain, so much pain. 

Something about the look on his face makes your heart break.

Diluc and Kaeya don’t care.

“I think charging five hundred thousand mora is a tad much for a douche who almost brought the entire industry down. Hell, you should be paying us for even being willing to deal with you, but…” Kaeya glances at Diluc, a single blue eye flitting down to where Diluc extends three fingers against his knee. “We’ll settle for a drop in the price instead. Three-hundred thousand mora per shipment. That good with you, Tartaglia?”

You’re expecting your owner to bargain, to argue, to scoff, to do something other than stare into the distance with those bright blue eyes that now look more blank than anything else. 

When you hear Childe mutter a meek “Okay,” you nearly recoil in shock.

Even Kaeya is surprised. “R-really? Damn. Actually, I think we should go even lower, y’know? Every trafficker in the world was scared for their life because of you, so maybe drop the price some more as reparations for that? Whaddya say, two hundred thousand? Per shipment?”

You stare at your owner, silently begging him to do something. Even you can tell that he’s being taken advantage of now, and that awful look in his eyes is something that even you’re unfamiliar with.

“Okay.”

“Fu...okay then? But also, you were kind of a dick to us last time, so how about you make it one hundred thousand? Seems more fair to me.”

“O—”

You grab your owner’s hand before he can agree, and the touch seems to snap Childe out of the awful fog that had been wrapped around his head. The look in his eyes is only less marginally troubled when he abruptly stands up, gripping your hand in a silent plea for you to move with him.

“I’m going,” Childe announces. 

He begins walking away so fast that you just barely have time to grab your jacket before you’re at his heels.

The man completely ignores Diluc and Kaeya as he waits for the elevator to open with a rigid posture, seeming to feel uncomfortable or fearful or panicked or a mix of all three. Kaeya begins laughing behind you both, and you almost want to tell him to stop: tell him that yes, Childe is an awful human trafficker and yes, you hate him as well—but the poor man looks like he’s on the verge of having a panic attack, and you know first-hand how awful a feeling that is. 

You’re grateful when the elevator finally opens, more grateful when the doors close and you and Childe are finally in isolation together. 

Only then, in the silence of the box as it moves you both down to the ground floor, do you hear Childe’s shaky breathing. It’s jagged, uneven. Then, you take note of the way his hands are clenched into fists, palms enclosed so tight that his arms are shaking—and despite everything he’s done to you, you feel some semblance of pity for him.

“Ajax,” you mumble, hoping that the name will calm him. “Relax.”

A moment of silence.

“I am relaxed,” he responds, and when you glance over at him, he’s completely back to normal: breathing even and palms loose.

His eyes, though, are just as pained as when the two of you were sitting upstairs on that couch. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re the one who let it slip that Lumine and Childe were connected. Even if you don’t understand the scope of what you said, it's clear that it had an impact. “I didn’t—”

“It’s not your fault,” Childe says, not looking at you. “Don’t apologize.”

More silence. It feels heavy, unlike the usual, comfortable stretches of quiet that you and Childe like to bask in.

“What...were they talking about?” you ask quietly, still staring at your owner. “Diluc and Kaeya said that—”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

A moment of silence.

It feels so heavy that it seems to crush you under its weight.

“Who is she? Lumine?”

More silence. 

This time, Childe is the one to break it. 

“The only girl I ever loved before you.”

That’s a lie, and you know it. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t be bringing you around to meetings, dressing you like a cheap slave, and handing you off to other men to flex how ‘high-quality’ you are. If Childe loved you, you would be long gone from the human trafficking circuit because he would have set you free. If Childe loved you, he wouldn’t force you to stay by his side because he’s your abuser, your trafficker, the monster that haunts your life. 

Most importantly, if Childe loved you, he would have given you a proper answer to your question. Not some flimsy skirt-around that only furthers his attempts to manipulate you into loving him back.

Your eyebrows furrow the slightest as you feel the elevator hit the ground floor, brain still focused on everything Diluc and Kaeya said. Everything Childe didn’t want to talk about. Lumine.

Curiosity begs you to stick around and learn the truth.

Logic, reasoning, and the desire to lead a life of your own tell you that you’ll be long gone from Snezhnaya before that’ll ever happen. 

MASTERLIST

Fastened | Unlockable | Lighter | Breaking | Broken | Gone | ✔

Word count: 7.9k

Notes: eyyyy i'm alive! i promise i never forgot about this fic, it's just that after i missed the original due date, my mind was just like 'eh, it's already late, what's a few more days?' and that's the story of how this is two months late. thank you to all the kind commenters from the last chapter - to the people who checked in on me, ily; to the people who sent me those wholesome asks on tumblr, ily ily; and to the people who made guesses on what would happen in future chapters - guess what :D you acc helped me shape this :3 i originally meant for lumine to be a passing thing mentioned once and never again, but she'll end up being important for chapter 4 ^^ so thank you to everyone who'll still be here after i disappeared for so long. hope you liked this chapter (lmk your thoughts!) and i can't wait to see you all in the finale <3

Comment & Like

Next Update: 6/11

I do not own the rights to Genshin Impact or any of the characters within it.

[bxtchforstyles]

I’ll Get There.

Harry Styles X Y/N 

Y/N has been struggling with her body image ever since she was a teenager, but now that she was becoming a big time model, it had only gotten worse. 

Warnings: mentions of eating disorders, and symptoms similar to those of a panic attack. 

Word count: 2.4k+ 

gif not mine.

Y/N never realized that not everyone gets dizzy when they stand up too fast. 

She just figured that it was something that happened to everybody, especially since it had been happening to her for years. 

That’s why she was always confused when people asked what was wrong when she had to stop for a moment to gain her balance after standing up from where she was sitting. 

It was later though, when Y/N realized exactly why everyone thought she was sick when she stood. 

She had also been happily dating her boyfriend Harry for almost two years now, that’s when it got the worst. 

Growing up in the spotlight, Y/N never realized how much it took a toll on your self image. She never liked your body, or your face, or your hair, or anything really. 

And it didn’t help that her mother was a famous model for all of her teenage years, which was only ruined when she had Y/N accidentally at the age of twenty two. 

She was an amazing mother nonetheless, but Y/N had always carried this sense of guilt among her unborn self. She knew that her mother was easily one of the most sought after models of her generation, and almost everyone knew who she was. 

So when the tabloids got ahold of the fact she was pregnant, her career was basically over. 

Babies ruin your body. 

At around the age of sixteen, Y/N began to get into modeling, just like her mom, and just like the media had expected. 

 ‘She’s a natural’ 

‘She takes after her mother’ 

‘Let’s hope she doesn’t make the same mistake her mother made’ 

She had heard it all. 

But with the modeling industry, comes diets, and workouts, and healthy, green, disgusting smoothies. All of which were very bad for your mental state, by the way. 

The modeling world was a whole different work than the one Y/N had been surrounded by for the first fifteen years of her life, and now she was in this new world, she realized how much prettier everyone else around her was. 

It wasn’t bad at first, it was just a few skipped snacks, maybe a skipped meal here and there. 

It wasn’t anything serious, it was just a calorie deficit, which is what she thought she needed anyway. 

Everyone told her she looked wonderful, and that only encouraged her more. 

It slowly progressed until she was around eighteen, she was put in an overnight hospital stay once, but it was simply brushed aside, since she claimed her malnourishment was just due to stress.

She promised her mother that she would start consciously eating more again. 

She promised. 

But later that year was when she began dating Harry. It was wonderful, and she didn’t have any doubts that she was beautiful, and he made sure of that. 

But now two years later, the two of them were still going strong. 

Y/N had gotten the job of any model's dream, getting to premiere at the Victoria Secret Fashion Show. 

And it just so happened that her very own boyfriend was chosen to be the performer. 

Y/N was excited at first, finally getting the chance to be able to get on stage with her boyfriend. But that didn’t last very long when she went on twitter a little after the announcement had been posted. 

It was safe to say that most of Harry’s fans were not very pleased that she was going to be walking in the show. 

But there was one tweet that made her particularly sick to her stomach. 

It said; “It would be ten times cuter if it was Kendall walking that runway, Y/N could never compare to her” 

It had now been almost a week since she had read that tweet, and it had made her want to cry. She had definitely had her moments where she fell completely apart while in the shower, but she could never do that in front of Harry. 

She wouldn’t even know where to start. 

Y/N had always been the type of person to hide her emotions, and most of the time she did it very well, that was until the dam finally broke. 

That's when she decided to take a hot shower, thinking maybe it would relax her, and maybe even burn a few calories.  

Harry didn't even realize how long his girlfriend had been in the shower, until he went to run the dishwasher and it wouldn't start.

That meant that there was zero hot water. 

“Y/N?” He knocked on the bathroom door, hoping for a response, “are you okay?” 

He didn't get a response at all, not vocally at least. 

He heard the water turn off from inside the bathroom, figuring that his voice must have broken her out of a gaze of some sort. 

He knocked again, “baby? Are you okay? You've been in there a while.” 

His voice trailed off when he heard the door open slightly, promoting for him to open the ajar door fully. 

Harry was shocked at what he saw, closing the door behind them to give them some privacy, even though no one else lived in their apartment.

The sight of the small girl was definitely a confusing one to Harry, seeing that he had no clue what Y/n had been struggling with for the past years, but especially the past few years. 

She was curled in a ball, her arms wrapped around her legs, pulling them to her chest with her back against the wall. Sitting next to her was the digital scale that Harry frequently used to check his weight. 

He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her or make her think he was mad at her in any way. 

When he got close enough to read the number that was being shown on the scale, he was appalled. He had to hold back his gasp as he crouched in front of her in order for his eyes to be level with hers. 

“Hey,” He placed a hand on top of her knee, trying to grab her attention. “What’s the matter, love?” He was genuinely concerned for her now that he saw the fat tears rolling down her cheeks. 

The only thing that his girlfriend did though, was look back down at her hands once they dropped to her lap, the tears continued flowing. 

“You know you can tell me anything baby, I’m right here.” 

“I-” The sniffles and hiccups that still leave her small body were absolutely heartbreaking to Harry. “I just, I hate m-myself.” 

Harry didn’t even want to imagine what his facial expression looked like in that moment, because hearing his girl say that, absolutely broke him. 

“Y/N,” He finally spoke shakily, rubbing his hands up and down her thighs as her legs straightened. “W-why?” 

He never would have imagined that she was feeling like this, and that made him feel awful knowing that he maybe could have helped her sooner. She had been hurting for god knows how long and he had no idea. 

“I know that you say that you think I’m pretty, and beautiful-” She cuts herself off when another sob racks her body. “But sometimes I think you just tell me that so you don’t hurt my feelings.” 

It had taken her a while to regain her breathing at times, and Harry could see why. Her body was clearly fragile, and was working way harder than it should have to just to keep her lungs pumping. 

He walked into their bedroom that was connected to the bathroom, quickly grabbing the Gatorade that he had set on the dresser a few moments ago when he had begun knocking on the door. 

“Here, take a drink baby.” He tried to put the plastic bottle in her hand, but she wouldn’t even hold it before she was immediately pushing it away. “Y/N, you need to drink something.” 

Her tears only got stronger, her breath becoming more erratic as she shook her head no. 

Her skin was pale, and the bones of shoulder protruded from her body. She looked sick, but Harry didn’t want to admit that, even to himself. 

“I can’t, Harry, I can’t.” The breath that she exhaled was ragged, prompting him to put the hand that wasn’t holding the Gatorade bottle on her back, running it up and down. 

“Yes, you can baby. I promise, I will be here the entire time.” He nodded encouragingly, but she didn’t say a word. “Can you please just take one sip? If not you for, for me.” 

The daunting look that she gave the plastic bottle was enough to make her start hyperventilating. “You don’t get it.” 

“I know I don't,” He sighed loudly, “but I want to.” 

“Why me?” Her voice was barely audible, making so Harry didn’t even hear what she said at first. 

“What?” His large, ring-clad hand was still rubbing up and down her back in an attempt to make her breathe even out. 

Y/N took a deep breath, like she was trying to figure out what to say. “Why do you want me? You could have literally any girl you want, yet you’re still here, and I just don’t get it.” 

It probably seemed horrible when Harry stayed silent for a moment, staring blankly at her. But in all reality, he was just trying to come up with an answer that would be suitable enough to make her understand exactly how he felt about her. 

“I just- I can’t help you understand how I’m feeling, and what I’m going through until I understand. I-i really need to understand.” 

“You know that I love you so much, darling.” 

That’s when the dam finally broke, the tears starting again, and Y/N’s hands angrily slamming down on the bathroom floor. “But why? Help me understand!” She bellowed, making Harry’s eyes widen. 

“Understand what, love?” His voice was calm, and Y/N wasn;t surprised by it. He had never raised his voice at her in the slightest, and she didn’t think he was going to start. 

“Why you chose me! You have a million girls literally at your feet that are so much prettier, and skinnier, and nicer-” Harry cut her off. 

He knew exactly what she was doing. Her anxiousness always caused rambling like this where she would spill all of her feelings, and it made his heart ache that she could ever feel like this. 

“I don’t want anyone else.” He said simply, grabbing her hands. “I love you because you light up any room that you walk into. I love the way you play with your hair when you’re being impatient. I love the way you immediately run to me when I walk in the front door. I love when you attempt to cook, even though you are horrendous at it, but I know you try for me.” 

“I love every single thing about you, to the point that I don’t think I could ever look at anyone else with even remotely the same amount of admiration as I have when I look at you. You make me who I am, and no one else could ever fill my heart to the extent that you do.” 

Y/N looked up at him, watching the single tear roll down his cheek. The only thing she could think to do was lean her head forward from where she was sitting in front of him, laying her head on his chest. 

“Everybody’s mad that I’m going to be walking at the show while you’re performing. They all wanted you to be performing with Kendall.” 

Harry’s hands went under her slim arms, picking her up with ease before placing her in his lap. “I don’t want to perform for anyone unless you’re walking that runway.” 

“I love you.” 

He kissed the top of her head, “I love you too.” 

Y/N laid in his lap for a few more minutes before he stood up, wrapping his arms easily around the back of her thighs, pulling her legs to wrap around his torso. 

“Why don't we eat something, make you feel better?” At this time, Harry had completely forgotten about the image of his girlfriend crying in front of the scale. 

She shook her head as he laid her down against the comforter in their bed, “m’ not hungry.”

He knew better than that, “you haven't eaten all day, what's going on?” 

“I’m preparing for the show, Harry.” 

That’s when he definitely knew something was off, she never called him by his first name. He also saw the look on her face when he mentioned food, she looked sad, not only sad, but disgusted. 

“Did you see the same number on the scale that I did?” He didn’t want to bring it up at first, but now he felt it was necessary to lightly mention it. “If anything, you’re underweight, Y/N.” 

“The number on the scale means absolutely nothing when I still look like- like this.” She motioned down towards her body, making Harry frown. 

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, his thumb and pointer finger connecting immediately, basically overlapping them. “That is not healthy, baby. You need to eat in order to fuel your body, or else you will be so weak that you won’t even be able to make it down the runway.” 

“I can’t be fat for this show Harry, I just can’t. There is too much speculation about me already, and I can’t be known as the fat Victoria Secret model, on top of being the girl who’s dating Harry Styles.” 

“But you’re not fat, and I know that it’s hard for you to see since you’ve had to struggle with these types of things in the modeling industry for so long, but you need to eat.” She was already shaking her head, making Harry’s eyes well with tears. 

“Please, Y/N, for me. I’m not asking for you to sit down and have a full course meal, maybe just something small, healthy even. How about a little side salad, would that be okay? You don’t even have to eat the whole thing.” 

Finally, he got his girlfriend to agree, slowly nodding her head. 

He kneeled onto the bed, wrapping his arms firmly around her. “You’re so beautiful, baby. I love you so much, thank you.” 

“I love you too. A lot.” 

Harry grabbed Y/N’s cheeks in his hands, feeling her strong cheekbones against his palms. “I just want you to be healthy, you know that, right?” 

She smiled lightly, leaning her head into his hand, “I’ll get there.”

“I know you will.” 

i hope you like my very first imagine that i have posted on this account! should i do a part two of the fashion show? lmk!!

[g4rous]

Sunlit memories (Garou x Reader)

tags: slight mentions of blood, no warnings really

words: 1.5 k

notes: this one is slightly longer than the two before bc I had to put in a lot of stuff here lol but anyways aa here it is finally! Tried making it a bit lighthearted <3

series masterlist

previous chapter

Chapter three

After lazily opening your eyes, pain spread through your head. The blackness from your vision cleared away, leaving a fog in your mind and the painful sensation was the first thing you could register before you felt the cold brick wall you were leaning on.

What just happened? Trying to recall how you got in that position, your eyes trailed to the opposite wall, now realizing you didn’t even remember being in this alley in the first place.

“Yo, you’re awake.”

Looking over at a few large wooden crates, your focus now shifted to the silver-haired teen sitting on top of them. You didn’t even make out a response upon witnessing the injuries behind his torn, black shirt. The puzzle was coming together.

Last sight you remember before going unconscious were the heroes from that mini-market fighting the same person right in front of you now. For a moment you almost thought you were being delirious, yet those wounds only proved your suspicions. Was he the self-proclaimed “Hero Hunter” everyone has been wild about recently?

“So…” he looked at you with an awkward expression, “ you gonna go now or?”

Slightly flinching as you snapped back to reality, now you were left completely perplexed on what to do. On one hand the realization made you feel quite uneasy, but on the other you were safe for some reason, despite getting caught up in the ruckus from before.

“What happened to those guys earlier..?”

“Oh, their bodies are probably still lying face down right around the corner,” he grinned, “if no one found them already, that is.”

However after picking up your distraught expression that boastful tone faded in an instant.

“Hey, hey they’re not dead, jeez quit freaking out.”

You only frowned after giving him a small glare. Your head still ached, although not as strong from a few minutes ago. How long have you been out? Judging by the still-sunset sky it shouldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, much to your relief. The street was still deserted and silent as well.

“Well, thanks for saving my skin back there I guess…” you looked over at his injuries, staggering for a moment after standing up.

“However, you should definitely get those injuries checked out. I think I saw a hospital or something around here somewhere.”

A few seconds passed as he looked at you with a blank stare.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Dude you’re literally bleeding all over.”

“I said I’m fine!-“, he exclaimed only to flinch in pain. “-why are you so worried anyways? Just go home.”

“Talk about stubborn,” you thought to yourself.

Though, on second thought you do see a good reason why he shouldn’t. It’s almost as if you had forgotten that you witnessed him straight up thrash some A-classes. That and all the other questions that piled up still haven’t left your mind, but be as it may now wasn’t the time for overthinking. People must be pursuing him everywhere now, huh?

You leaned against the wall, still contemplating the situation. Water droplets from the roof were the only thing breaking the silence as you both stood there quiet. That is, until you got an idea.

“I don’t plan on talking you into it anymore…” you spoke with a tinge of nervousness, “but I do have some bandages at home. It’ll just be ten minutes until we get there, I give you them and you can leave. I don’t think sitting on those crates until you bleed out is really practical.”

The teen almost reflexively wanted to protest but not a single sentence came out. He really couldn’t think of anything that made your idea sound regrettable, and as much as he hated to admit it he wasn’t in the best shape. You on the other hand felt almost obligated to help him out. Putting aside that shocking realization from earlier, he did watch over you after you got KO’d.

After finally jumping off the crates, he shrugged and put both hands in his pockets.

“Eh, sure.”

You gave a relieved smile before taking a look at the still empty street you were both heading for. The sky turned into shades of amaranthine and bit by bit street lights began illuminating the path. The streets nearing your house weren’t as deserted as the one you woke up in, and occasionally you had to move to a more hidden route. Fortunately you’ve been greeted by your neighborhood cat soon after, indicating the destination- your safe home.

“I don’t think you told me your real name yet, if I may know? I’m y/n by the way.”

“It’s Garou,” he responded after looking around, almost hesitantly.

“So… Why were you doing that today?” you spoke as you reached out for your keys.

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Dunno, you don’t see someone beating up heroes every day.”

Taking a quick glance around your surroundings, you opened the door at last.

“You sure like answering questions with a question, huh?” you gave a tired smile, “ah, I won’t force out any answers from you I guess.”

The lights in the hallway were already open, illuminating the other rooms, some half empty. After all you still had some work to do in the house. Making your way to your room, the bag of trash next to the wall caught your attention briefly. You couldn’t remember the reason you left off in such a hurry, not even throwing it away.

“Well, come in!” you shouted from the other room, “just don’t get any blood on the carpet please.”

But much to your amusement the on-the-outside intimidating man just stood there with a blank expression ever since you stepped into the apartment. You weren’t sure was it politeness or just plain awkwardness but it made you cackle internally.

Even so, after your call he cautiously stepped out to the living room, actually being careful not to dirty the carpet as you told. The room was pleasingly decorated, and even if he didn’t know you it simply radiated with your energy. It was oddly comfortable.

And as you finally stepped out of your room with that first-aid kit, a ring on your doorbell caught you both by surprise. You almost asked yourself whether that’s a hero in front of the door, before your memory got jogged again.

“Well shit.”

You gestured an already alert and intense Garou to step away from the door, to which he only raised an eyebrow.

“Ah…” you whispered, looking over to the side, “I kinda forgot I called a friend over.”

“You remembered just now!?”

“I was knocked out!” you complained, much to his discontent.

What were you supposed to do now? You thought to yourself as your eyes trailed from the door to the teen. The doorbell rang once again as to make the atmosphere grow even more unsteady.

“Guess we have to improvise…”

“You’re joking right?”

“If she saw a beat-up guy jumping out my window I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”

He only rolled his eyes as you went to the door to finally greet your friend, adjusting your shirt along the way.

Frankly, you felt somewhat guilty for roping him in, all bloody and bruised to socialize with your rather concerned friend. Well, who wouldn’t get a little suspicious to see a strange man in their friend’s living room. To make things even more awkward he hadn’t said more than two sentences in the past hour, not that it’s surprising.

“So-,” your friend smiled, desperately trying not to glare at the man’s injuries, “- how did you two become friends?”

“Ah, it’s from that monster incident I told you about earlier,” you smiled back.

“So that’s why he’s so bruised,” she glanced over at him sympathetically, to which he only glared at you deadpan.

“Nothing special.” He spoke in a bluntly before yawning.

“Oh, how come?”

“He delivers stuff!” you exclaimed before any other thoughts came to mind, “sometimes he comes across them there too unfortunately. Poor guy.”

As if his deadpan look couldn’t get any drier.

It was crystal clear he hates being pitied, and you desperately tried not to let out a chuckle because of the ridiculous situation. Truthfully you weren’t even nervous anymore since you let out so many laughs. And your constant teasing only made him talkative since he just had to drop something even more embarrassing for payback, making the evening even more amusing. You didn’t even notice the clock struck midnight already from all the banter.

After saying farewell to your friend, you came back to your living room to see Garou already at the window.

“Looks like you really don’t wanna use the door today huh? Well, way better now than having to explain why some bloody dude jumped out my window earlier,” you grinned, to which he scoffed.

“Pfft, yeah, yeah. Don’t drag me into any more of these things though.”

“Aw, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Well, it better not happen anymore,” he rolled his eyes before flashing a small grin.

“See ya.”

You only gave your small wave before finally closing the window. The apartment was now rather serene, contrasting all the playfulness from earlier. Yet still you couldn’t help but notice that smile caught you by surprise. Nothing like that cocky smirk in battle- this was genuine.

[dameronology]

one hell of a mandalorian {din djarin}

summary: actions speak louder than words - which is good for din djarin, because he's not very good at words. (this was a commission for an anon! i hope you enjoy).

warnings: language

enjoy!! if you're interested in commissions, you can find out more here :)

- jazz xx

Din Djarin was a man of few words.

That had become clear not long after you'd met.

It wasn't that he didn't like talking, or that he was rude - he'd just never had the need for it. The Mandalorian could spend days and days in hyperspace, on his own with nothing but a frozen bounty to keep him company. And they were hardly chatty, even before they were thrown away into the trawling depths of carbonite animation. There were a few select geniuses who tried to make conversation with him in a last-ditch attempt to appeal to his humanity and beg for mercy, but so far, they'd had a zero-for-zero success rate. It wasn't that he didn't have any humanity to appeal to it - because he did, and his weird, green surrogate kid was an absolute testament to that - but it just took a little bit for it to come out.

The beskar made him seem a little...robotic. Like a droid, which was ironic, because he wouldn't have gone near the things with a ten-foot-barge pole. Din had just become so used to people seeing his mask and his intimidating posture before him that having human traits, like feelings and thoughts and opinions, had never been any use. Having defining traits and a personality was all well and good, but nothing helped you through the galaxy quite like the ability to put the fear of God in people.

The Mandalorian was something, but Din Djarin was somebody. He was good; not necessarily pure and golden-hearted like a typical comic book hero, but he had a strong moral compass. Sometimes, it pointed in opposite directions, but he helped those who needed it and he paid his dues. That was probably a lot more than anyone in the galaxy could have said for themselves. In the fight of good and bad, in a world that existed entirely and black and white, there was nothing more grey than an honest man. Somebody who refused to pick a side held the power of both. For that, Din could have either been extremely smart, or extremely dumb.

Sometimes, he was extremely dumb. Made the wrong moves in combat, or got too cocky, however out of character it was for him. It was the losing fights that truly brought out the human side of Din, and it took a very, very specific eye to see it, sometimes to the point where even he missed it. It never went over your head, though.

You'd joined the crew on the Razor Crest as a mechanic - then you became a baby sitter, and his partner-in-crime, and the closest thing he'd ever had to a friend. His non-verbal nature meant that most of his emotional cues came in the physical form. It went over the heads of everybody else, but between your intuition, and the time spent in such a cramped space, it quickly became like a second language to you. Helmet tilts when he was confused, and little nods when he was pleased; tensed shoulders when the Mandalorian was nervous and balled fists when he was about to absolutely lose his shit.

Today was one of those days. Even though you were both in one piece and the baby was - by some absolute fucking miracle - asleep, it almost hadn't been that way. Nevarro had been quieter than usual, and Din had let his guard down; finally convinced himself to relax a tiny bit and ever-so-slightly loosen the stick that was firmly up his backside. His sudden lack of awareness for your surroundings had meant that someone managed to track the Crest, however briefly. The kid had barely noticed, and you weren't phased by what had been a simple, human mistake. Din, true to nature, was already beating himself up for it.

That was evidenced by his heavy footsteps, and the way he'd immediately retreated to the cockpit and slammed the door. Common sense would have entailed that he wanted to be left alone, but you'd long surpassed the point of any of that. Common sense didn't exist in a galaxy like this one. Doing the obvious thing was, nine times out of ten, usually the wrong way. Expecting the unexpected was the right way to go.

You'd paced outside the door for the better part of fifteen minutes - to go in, or to not go in, that was the question. You were torn between wanting to give Din space and wanting to be there for him; a cranky Din was often an unbearable one, but you cared deeply for him. Maybe a little too much, but that was a can of worms to open later.

"Din?" You gently called. Nothing. "I know you're brooding, or whatever it is you do under that helmet, but talking is good."

"I'm fine."

You sighed. "The scale goes great, good, bad, awful, world-ending and then fine."

"I've never heard that before in my life."

"Yeah, I just made it up on the spot." You murmured.

Resting your hand against the doorknob, you pondered for a moment. Did you want to risk it by going in? Making him mad when he was literally shutting you out? It was hard to know what to do with Din - it wasn't like he came with an answer key, or even a vague manual that could point you in the right direction. It was all just guess work.

"Is the helmet on?" You softly asked.

"Yeah."

You took that as a sign - with a deep breath, you gently opened the door and stepped inside the cockpit, shutting it quietly behind you. The tense atmosphere inside was almost enough to swallow you whole. The man practically radiated angst.

"Talk to me." You took a seat beside him.

"There's nothing to say."

"Bullshit." You murmured. "You might have a thousand inches of beskar hiding your face but your body language is a dead giveaway."

"I'm meant to protect you and the kid." He replied. It wasn't much, but it was better than silence. "It's my job to catch bad people and outrun them when I need."

"You did outrun them." You reminded him. "I'm safe. You're safe. The kid is safe. Does anything else matter?"

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place." Din said. "I was relaxed-"

"- you allowed to relax." You cut him off. "Despite your best efforts, you're a human being."

Reaching out, you gently placed your hand over Din's ungloved palm. He didn't resist or try to brush you away. His hands were soft and callous in equal measures, which felt like a fitting metaphor for him on the whole. You tangled your fingers in his and held on tightly, perhaps in a sad attempt to remind him that you were there.

But Din knew you were there - he could feel it constantly, and he thought about it just as much. Every day of his life prior to you had been filled with rigidity and angst, then you'd come waltzing in and for the first time in years, he'd untensed his muscles and stopped looking over his shoulder. Learnt to take a breath and enjoy the simple things in life, like Grogu laughing or you accidentally tripping over a tree branch. You'd become so important to him that the prospect of losing you was too much for him to even fathom. He'd come close today - too close - and it had been an eye-opener. The irony was that telling you why he was so fucking scared was more frightening than the entire thing itself.

"Don't be so hard on yourself." The gentle pull of your voice lulled him back to reality. "Please?"

His grip on your hand tightened. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." You breathily smiled. "You don't have to apologise."

"I never thought I'd have someone like you." Din admitted. "Coming so close to losing you was terrifying, even if it wasn't that close at all."

He'd never been so open about his feeling towards you before. Obviously, you knew that he viewed you in a way he didn't see anybody else, but that knowledge had been based entirely on physical cues and mere guesswork. You'd never expected him to vocalise the way he felt, or even acknowledge them. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, or even something you considered to be detrimental. The words came as a nice surprise.

"You mean a lot to me, Din." You said. He'd always loved the way his name sounded when you said it; nobody had used it for years, not since he'd lost his parents. It was something to vulnerable and personal. You were the only one he trusted with it.

"I do?"

You didn't mean to laugh at that - you really didn't, but it just came out. A low snort of disbelief; shock at his absolute inability to read the fucking room. Din was as intuitive as they came, with the ability to read criminals like a bedtime story he'd been rehearsing since he was a kid. Then it came to you, and he knew nothing. Absolutely nothing. To call him clueless would be the understatement of the century.

"Maker." You murmured. "Of course you do - more than anyone or anything."

"You're special to me." Din replied. "It scares me sometimes."

Din was straight forward with everything he said - it was just finding the courage to say it. He'd gone into battle with Imps and Republic Rangers alike; fought krayt dragons and droids and fellow Mandalorians and yet this entire thing shook him to his very core more than anything else.

You didn't know it, but you were perfectly holding his gaze. Staring right through it and looking right into his soul. He forgot he had one sometimes. It was probably a little dusty and covered in cobwebs, but it was there, and you were bringing it right out of him and back to reality.

Din used his grip on your hands to pull you a little closer - a moment later, he gently pressed the cold metal of his helmet to his forehead. It was the closest you'd ever been to him, even if it wasn't that close at all. You could hear his soft breathing through the modulator, the sensation acting as a stunning reminder that there was a person underneath there. There were times when you forgot, or felt a little disconnected from the idea entirely. You'd never felt the need to see his face, though - you hadn't a clue what he might look like, but at the same time, you had an image of him in your head. It was as clear as day; as bright as the suns on Tatooine and as persevering as the kid's insistence that he receive all your attention, all the time.

You knew what the action was; a Keldabe kiss. The Mandalorian had recounted its meaning to you not long after you'd met - he'd finally let his barriers down and let you plague him with questions about his culture and the creed, and you'd stumbled on the subject. Initially, you'd been entertained by the fact that it two such vastly different meanings. On one hand, it could be a headbutt. A beskar punch to knock the daylights out of anyone who particularly annoyed you. On the other hand, it was almost a romantic gesture; a way that Mandalorians could show their affection to one another without having to remove their armour.

Din had the latter meaning in mind, but also so much more. He was giving you a piece of his culture - including you in the very thing that defined him as a person.

"It won't happen again." The Mandalorian gently said. "I'll never let you get hurt again. I promise."

"I know." You softly smiled. Your eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of the cool metal against your forehead. "For what it's worth, I have your back too."

He softly chuckled. "Thank you."

You gently pulled back, eyes meeting again (not that you could tell).

"Seriously!" You said. "I can be a bad-ass."

"You can be a lot of things." Din replied. "You're one hell of a girl."

"And you're one hell of a Mandalorian."

[felix21im]

"Ice Cold", a Leon Kennedy x reader fanfiction

As an Art and Design student all you want to do is just knuckle down and finish that one goddamn piece you've been working on for months. Too bad your time is constantly stolen by your Waiter job with minimal pay, but hey, at least the tips are good if you unbutton your shirt that one more time.

Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Sketches

“It’s ten A.M. dumbass, get out of bed.” You woke up to the sound of your roommates voice and the feel of a pillow hitting your face. “We have our reservation in like fifteen minutes…”

The reminder of your scheduled fancy breakfast with your roommate managed to wake you up fully and you instantly ran into the bathroom to have a shower.

As you stood there with the water running on your skin you began to feel your head pounding. “Great, a fucking hangover.” You muttered as you turned the shower knob, stopping the water and leaving you cold. You stepped out of the shower with a towel hanging over your shoulders and sat down on the toilet seat. "Hey, can you maybe make me some tea or coffee or something? I got a headache, probably overworked or something" you lied, shouting to your roommate.

“Yea sure 'overworked', huh? Don't worry, I'll make something but get ready already!" You dried yourself with a small towel and put on some light clothes. A pair of shorts and a white shirt, it was hot outside due to it being summer and wearing anything other than shorts is a death sentence. You didn't feel like styling your hair so you just refreshed yourself, hoping you wouldn't look too bad. You stepped out of the small bathroom and were greeted by your roommate who handed you a glass of water with a pill. "I'm sure this will help more than just some tea.. after your 'overworking'". They winked at you and you feared they thought something different than what actually happened.

"Hey hey hey, that's not what happened okay? Imma tell you when we're eating, alright? But don't assume anything wrong, you hear me?" You laughed a little, but had to stop because of your headache. You took the glass of water and the mysterious pill, placing it in your mouth and then swallowing it with a gulp of water. You then saw your friend standing at the door, already wearing shoes and ready to go out. You sigh as you grab a pair of sneakers from under your bed, practically jumping straight into them.

“I read the reviews of this restaurant we’re going to and legit like all of them say that it’s super cold in there, you might want to grab your jacket.” They get the jacket off of the back of the door and hold it out for you to take.

“Thank you, thank you.” You accept the jacket and fold it over your arm as you place your phone in the pocket, but rather than it going straight in like normal, something is in there and blocks it from sitting perfectly. You place your phone in your back pocket and reach your hand into your jacket, pulling out a white envelope. The envelope was a little heavy and had a note written on it “This semester is on me, think of it as payment for agreeing to decorate my house - Leon S. Kennedy.” You slit the envelope open and it looked identical to your tips envelope, absolutely filled with cash. You let out a small gasp. "Holy shit."

You looked at your roommate who also looked at you and the envelope laying in your hand. "Yeah, holy shit. Are you working as a stripper now or how'd you get all the money suddenly?"

“Although I would be a great stripper… No.” You look at the cash, not knowing what to do with it. "I have to give it back. I can't just keep all.. this."

“Uh?! Yes you can!” Your roommate looked at you like you were an idiot. “That's like five grand there! If you’re not going to take it I will gladly take it for you!”

"No way! I can't just accept this money!” You close the envelope and place it on the desk on your side of your shared room. “This doesn't feel right, you know that." You thought about what you're going to do next. You looked between your friend and the money and decided you need to do the right thing. "I'm sorry, but I have to return it. As soon as I get my paycheck I will go out to eat breakfast with you, I promise! But I need to do this. Sorry." You grabbed the envelope again and walked past your roommate and out the door, giving them a look of excuse. They simply scoffed and slammed the door behind you.

As you sat outside on the curb you used your phone to look up where you were last night so that you could get Leon’s address. As you ordered your taxi it asked you for some contact details. “Kennedy.” You chuckled as you entered that as your last name, thinking it would be a funny joke. On your way you texted your roommate once again, apologizing for your behavior but not for your need to do the right thing. You sighed as you put your phone in your pocket and looked out the window.

After some time you arrived at what appeared to be Leon's home. You couldn’t really see it the night before since it was dark, but it looked even better during the day than you could have imagined before. You paid the taxi driver, with your own money this time, then left the car and went towards that big door. You looked for a bell but couldn't find one so you knocked against the thick wood, hoping someone would even hear it. After repeating this a couple more times and almost giving up, the door opens and you are greeted by a woman. She was wearing a white dress shirt and a black bustier over the top, followed by a black pair of trousers. Confused, you looked at her and then at the house, thinking you were wrong. "Can I help you with anything?" The woman asked, not even bothering to ask you inside.

"Uhm.." you stuttered, not knowing what to do in this situation. "I thought someone else lived here, but I guess I'm wrong. Sorry for bothering you." Something inside you actually hoped you typed in the wrong address. This couldn't be Leon's home, right? But it looked so similar? Maybe all the drinks added up over the night and made me remember this wrong..? You thought back to the day before and remembered how Leon was actually texting someone and didn't tell you a name or something. Maybe he actually has a wife or something and I misunderstood last night. Maybe he actually paid me to.. stay away? You shook your head. That's bizarre. Or is it?

"Who did you think lived here then? Maybe I can help you." You were taken back to reality from that woman's voice and looked at her.

Fumbling with your hands you tried to form a whole sentence, but all that came out was "Kennedy."

She looked at you. "Do you mean Leon Kennedy?" You nodded your head, still hoping you were wrong here. "Well, it appears you are right then. May I ask how you know him? I've never seen anyone like.. you here." It seemed to you she spit that 'you' out as if you were something less worthy than her. But maybe you were once again imagining things.

"Well, we actually met yesterday and he invited me to come over. I forgot to give something to him, so that's what I'm here for now. Can I see him now?" You looked at the woman standing in your way, trying to be confident.

“Mr. Kennedy is out of the house at the moment and he won’t be back for a few hours. I will tell him that you stopped by.” She stepped back from the door. “Bye now.” She practically slammed it in your face, the waft from the door causing your messy hair to blow backwards.

You rolled your eyes and sat down on the steps, exactly where you were sitting with Leon last night. You searched through your contacts and found Leon’s name. After tapping the call button it rang four times before you heard a rough “Hello?” come from the other side.

It took you back a little as it sounded like you had just woken him up. “Oh, hiya Leon.” You looked back at the front door as you began to talk. “I’m sitting on your doorstep right now…” You then looked back at the driveway, the pebbles and the green grass perfectly manicured. “I wanted to swing by to drop off that money you left in my jacket.”

“What, why?” He sounded confused. You could tell that he pulled the phone away from his face when he coughed, probably trying to clear his throat. “That money is for you, Buttercup.” He chuckled, making you blush a little. “You’re not supposed to give it back to me.” Sounds could be heard in the background as he talked but you couldn't tell what they were.

"Is there anyone with you right now?" You didn't even think about that question before it left your mouth.

"Don't worry about it. And also don't worry about the money. It's a gift, just accept it." You let out a small laugh.

"Just accept it? This is more money than I would make in two months! I can't just accept that, Leon! I can leave it with your girlfriend if you don't want to take it back, but I won't keep it." It was silent on the other side. You were worried you took it too far now.

But then, a chuckle and a full out laugh. "Girlfriend? I'm sorry, but you probably went to the wrong house. I don't have a girlfriend, partner or whatever, Buttercup." You could hear him still chuckle on the other side of the phone, but you didn't feel like laughing.

You felt kind of dumb right now. "Well, whoever that woman was, she just shut the door before me and left me sitting in front of it. So I guess I'm just gonna leave the envelope under the doormat." You looked around. There wasn't even a doormat. "YOU DON'T HAVE A GODDAMN DOORMAT? LEON S KENNEDY WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING FOR THE PAST THREE YEARS?" You heard him laugh out loud again and didn't even try to stop him from it. You just sighed and gave it up. "Well, Mr. Kennedy, I'm gonna find a place to put that money. And don't even think of sneaking it back to me, you hear me?" You didn't even wait for an answer and just hung up. You sat on the stairs for a few more minutes thinking about what to do next.

Just as you stood up to leave you heard the door behind you opening again. "Mr. Kennedy just called me. He wants me to let you inside. Please take off your shoes here and.. don't touch anything." There is not even a thing to touch here, what do you want? You went through the doors and left your shoes next to them. The woman looked at you again before turning her back and walking away. So now you just stood there, in this empty, big house with a woman who doesn't seem to like your company.

Just like the night before you went through the entire house looking around, but also trying your best to avoid that woman. At some point you even found some paper and a pen and began drawing some rooms with fitting, and for now missing, furniture. After a while you felt your phone vibrating in your pocket so you put your drawing away and checked your messages. Apparently Leon tried to call you a few times but ended up sending you a message instead. You opened and read it. I'll be back home in a few hours. Please just accept the money, but stay for as long as you'd like to. I wanna see you again later. - Leon. You had to smile. Who even puts their name at the end of a message nowadays? You just replied with a quick 'alright' before putting your phone away again. You went back to what you were doing: planning and drawing the interior design of Leon's big ass home, all from memory from your tour last night.

You ended up placing all of your designs and sketches on the floor in what you assumed was supposed to be a living room. It just had two simple fabric couches facing each other in the middle of a giant room. Each design was placed in order, somewhat resembling the floorplan of the house. You didn't know how much time passed, but you began to feel tired and had to take a small break. Since you didn't wanna cross paths with that grumpy woman, you just stayed in that room. After some time of relaxing you felt really tired and didn't have any more motivation to plan the last few rooms. It must have been the combination of lack of sleep and whatever that pill was that your roommate gave you, so you ended up sitting on one of the couches and you began to close your eyes. Before you even knew it you fell on your side and into a light sleep.

The sound of a door slamming against the wall scared you half to death. As you looked towards the noise, you saw the same woman from earlier looking at you. “My apologies.” She smiled as she looked to the other side of the room. You followed her eyes and noticed she was looking at Leon. He was sitting opposite you with all of your sketches in his hands. You rubbed your eyes, trying to look somewhat alive. Leon didn't even look at her or you, he was way too focused on your drawings. Next to him you saw a laptop, where he seemed to type a few things in separate to going through your sketches. You sat up and slowly walked towards him. Without looking up from the drawings he talked to you. "These drawings are amazing. When did you make all of these?"

You were flustered by his actual interest. "Uhm.. I just made them for fun while waiting for you.. I didn't even take it seriously.." You scratched the back of your head.

"Are you kidding me? You probably.. no, you DID more for the interior design in the past few hours than I or Angel over there did in the past three years!" You were kind of confused by the name. Angel? Her? Was that supposed to be an unfitting nickname or her actual name? You didn't want to ask so you kept that thought to yourself. After Leon's comment Angel looked at you even more disgusted than before, it's a wonder that was even possible.

You wanted to ignore the weird feeling that stood in the room, so you just sat down next to Leon on the couch. "What are you doing on your laptop?" You wanted to look at it but before you had the chance to make out what he typed in earlier he closed it.

"Nothing special, don't worry about it." You sighed but didn't push it. After a few seconds of awkward silence between the three of you Leon stood up from the couch with his laptop, walked towards Angel and gave it to her. You looked at him confused, but he didn't even notice that. He said something to the woman but you couldn't understand it since they were so close to each other. You didn't know what, but a weird feeling spread in your body. Jealousy? You had to laugh out loud, which made the two look at you.

"Is there a problem?" Angel asked you, to which you answered with a head shake.

"I'm sorry, I was just thinking about... something funny." You saw Leon's lip lift up a little bit which made you smile a little bit, too. Angel turned back from you and Leon led her out the door to the main hall.

You could hear them talk for a few minutes before the door opened again and Leon came back in alone. "Soo.. now that you're awake, do you want to grab something to eat? We can drive somewhere or I'll just order something."

You thought about the offer, but instantly remembered why you came here in the first place. "No way, Leon! I can't take any more money from you. I actually came here to give you back that money you left in my jacket. It's good for you to have so much but I can't keep it! This doesn't feel right." You looked at him frustrated.

He just shook his head while laughing. "I told you it wasn't for nothing. You literally just proved me right with giving it to you after seeing your drawings. You earned that money."

You were kind of flustered but still couldn't just accept it. "Leon, it's really nice of you and I don't wanna argue. But you gave me way more money than these few sketches are worth! My roommate even thought I started working as a stripper!"

Leon looked at you with big eyes, then stepped closer to you. "Well.. have you considered working as one? They make a good amount of money and I'm sure you would do great." He winked at you as he laughed out loud and even though you knew he was joking you turned completely red.

"Leon...what. the. hell. No! Of course I didn't think about working as one! I'm happy with my current job.. I guess." You looked at him again, realizing how close he suddenly was to you.

"Well, if that's what you think, alright. But I'm not gonna miss that money and I'm sure you will bring it to good use. So please, stop arguing with me and just accept it." His smile had disappeared and his face was a little more serious, he really wanted you to take that money.

“I can’t, Leon.” You grabbed his hand from his side and placed the filled envelope in his palm. “It’s too much." He looked at you disappointed, as if all he just said meant nothing. "Whatever." He muttered to himself. It made you feel bad for your behavior but you knew it was the right thing to do.

You looked at him in a sorry way and wanted to walk past him. But he blocked the way. "That's all I came for, Leon. I think it's better I leave now. Your Angel is probably waiting for you already."

He scoffed at your comment. “I think you misunderstood something here. Angel is her actual name. If I had to give her a nickname it would be anything but Angel, believe me. She can be a pain in the ass, but she gets her work done. And that’s all that matters for me.”

You let out yet another sigh. Why were you relieved anyway? Whatever Leon is doing with women, or men, was none of your business. You’ve literally only known him for like a day and act like a jealous partner. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to say it like that.”

“You don't have to apologize all the time, sweetheart. I thought it was cute.” He gave you a little wink and you felt your face heat up again. You looked away shyish and waited for his next move. But it appeared he did the same since he was just looking at you, waiting for you to say something. “Ehem..Food, right? I guess that´s what you wanted. Soo... Do you have anything special in mind?” He looked at you with a childish smile and simply answered “Just you wait, I have something great in mind.”

“Pizza?” You chuckled. “I didn’t think a fancy man like you ate peasant food like that.” You picked up your phone and began looking up a place that would deliver to Leon’s house

“Oh come on! Who doesn’t like pizza?” He shuffled over on the floor so that he was sitting beside you, looking at your phone. “The third one down.” He pointed at a restaurant named The Broadway. “That’s the best one around here, trust me, I’ve tried them all.”

“Alrighty.” You tapped on the phone number and as it rang you held it up to your ear. “Oh hiya! I’m looking to place an order for delive-”

“Pick-up. They only do pick-up.” Leon interrupted you.

“For pick-up!” You corrected yourself. When the worker asked for your name you couldn't help yourself. “For Kennedy.” Leon chuckled slightly and shook his head.

You ordered food for the two of you and some simple drinks to go with it. Of course Leon would get wine for the two of you but there’s nothing wrong with soda, especially when you’re already eating a greasy pizza. “Do we get Angel anything?” You asked Leon in response to the other person on the end of the call asking if anything else was wanted.

“She loves garlic bread, just get her some of that.” Leon replied, looking up from his own phone.

After the guy on the phone told you a time to pick up the food both you and Leon put on some shoes and went outside. “You gonna drive up to that poor pizza place with your fancy Porsche?” You asked jokingly.

To your surprise he actually shook his head. “You can choose the car if you want to. If you got a driver's license, you can even drive it yourself.”

You looked at him shocked. “Yea, sure. I’m gonna drive one of your expensive cars. Even if I had a license I wouldn't dare to sit down on the driver's seat. If I destroy it there's no way I'll ever be able to pay for the repair!”

“What’s one car more or less?” As he said that and you looked at him with an open mouth you heard a garage opening next to you. The bright lights kinda blinded you at first but as soon as you got used to the brightness you saw multiple cars and motorcycles standing in the big garage.

“Wow. What the hell.” That was all you were able to say at that moment. “I’m guessing that this is like your passion or a hobby?” You said as you walked in. Each vehicle was spotless, so clean that you could see your reflection in each one.

“Yeah, something like that, you could say.” As he was moving past the different vehicles he told you a little bit about all of them. Even though you had zero knowledge of cars and stuff you listened to him closely, trying to understand what he told you. You could see it in his eyes how he loved talking about these things, which made you smile.

After a good twenty minutes however you had to stop him. “As much as I love listening to you blabber away, I really wanna get our pizzas now.” Exactly at that moment your stomach began to growl, making you and Leon laugh.

“Well then, I hoped you listened closely. Go on and pick a ride.” He gestured around the both of you. You were thinking for a few seconds before finding a car you liked. You pointed towards it. “I like this one.” He followed your gaze and walked towards the car.

“I see. So you like the big ones, huh? Well then this Jeep Grand Cherokee is perfect for your needs.” He talked like he advertised the car which made you laugh and shake your head. He opened the passengers door for you before taking a seat behind the wheel. In just a few seconds the car left the garage and you found the both of you on the main road. Leon drove the car with ease which really fascinated you.His left hand was on the wheel and he was leaning on his right arm, he probably noticed you staring because he turned to you. “You wanna take over? The streets are empty here anyway.”

You shook your head again. “I meant what I said before. Just you drive now, I'm starving.” He looked back to the street and the rest of the drive went on quiet but nice. “I’ll learn to drive another day.”

Once you got back to Leon’s house Angel greeted Leon at the door, completely ignoring you. Leon tossed his keys to her and she caught them with one hand. As both you and Leon kicked off your shoes Angel hopped into the car and placed it back into the garage with the rest of them.

Leon led you to the kitchen and placed the multiple boxes on the counter, rather than sitting down he reached into a cupboard and pulled out two wine glasses. “Red or white?” He asked you.

“I don’t really want to drink tonight.” You admitted. That small hangover you had this morning wasn’t all that bad but you didn’t want to repeat it.

“Are you sure?” He asked, filling up both glasses with ice cubes. “I would hate to drink alone.”

“Fine.. but only one glass!” You gave in, to which Leon held both of the glasses up in confusion. “Huh? Oh! Red!” You replied to his earlier question. Leon nodded and opened up a small wine refrigerator he had under the counter, he picked up a bottle and read the label to himself. “Only the finest huh?”

“The finest thing is sitting right in front of me.” He chuckled and winked at you as he poured the two glasses, placing the fresh cork on the countertop. “So is this a business date where I hire you to be my interior decorator?”

“I’m only a student, Leon.” You opened one of the boxes and a waft of the smell of the food hit your senses, making you feel even more hungry than before.

“Whatever you say, student. This doesn’t change the fact that you already helped me a lot today. So this one is on you.” He raised his glass and with a cling both of yours met. You took a small sip and then took out a piece of pizza. “Besides, wouldn’t furnishing such a fancy house like this look really good on your resume?” You nodded slightly.

“Yea, you´re probably right about that, too. But let's not talk about work now and just enjoy the evening.” He gave you a smile before eating and drinking too. That evening seemed to never end as the both of you talked and drank, with no end in sight.

Maybe working for Leon wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

A/N: hey guys! This fanfiction is a Collab from me and Qwertyyy12 on AO3. If you want to, you can also leave her some love over there :) thanks for reading!

----

Taglist: @trinswhimsys

[ov105]

Best friends, right?

Hello and Merry Christmas everyone! Just thought of something quick for you all after that long while of ironing out Karina.

Though as you’ve noticed, I’ll just continue upkeep of this account to crosspost my work between here in AFF, in hopes of reaching a wider audience.

4,487 words of Luda. 

In case I don't see you: Good afternoon, good evening, and good night! Merry Christmas, and may God bless you all.

Saturday day-off is a clause coated in cookie batter for the newly minted working man, dipped in sugar, and drizzled with honey. Driving up the spiral ramps at the mall parking lot with Luda on the passenger seat at 8:45 in the morning was pretty much an ideal way to catch up on an otherwise quick weekend. Going to the cinema this early was a bit odd, but then being the better man, I can only remain stubborn for so long and not go at all. 

“Wow, nobody here,” I said as I exited right on the top floor. The morning light gave a somewhat expansive view of the near-empty lot, knowing for myself that most of the time it’d have rows upon rows of cars any time of the day - but not this early, save for the few tenants that pulled up much earlier than us. Being a relative opportunist, I decided to forego the big yellow arrows to cut some rows of parking to get a sweet spot on the edge of the lot. 

“Wow, big brain, huh?” Luda said as I made a left turn and cut through diagonally through two rows of unoccupied parking. Before returning with a right turn and stopping at where I intended us to be. 

“Not like they’d care, even at uni, the guard doesn’t give a shit if I pulled this,” I replied, pulling the parking brake up. 

We can’t get out of the car either way, so I just left everything as is as I reclined, leaned forward, reached down to pull a cold lever, and pushed back my seat. Stretching and fishing my phone from my jacket as I laid down lazily. I had been unable to check my notifications as it pinged, again and again, earlier that day while I was eating, in the shower, and dressing up. Only to find out it was some things that I forgot to do and kept on bugging me. It was pretty much a bummer.

“How long do we have to wait?” Luda said, turning the knob and turning it down a notch. 

“Just turn it off,” I said, referring to the radio, “An hour I think? An hour and fifteen minutes to be sure,” I continued, answering her question.

After that, we spent ten or so minutes catching up on what we had missed. It’d only been a year since we graduated, but things always feel different when jumping to a new chapter. There’s that idea of feeling like not sticking in your new environment, but in reality, I probably just don’t know that I’m one of them already - the only catch is I’m still stuck in the past. My friends dearly reminded me of that past. 

It was a slow start, but later on, I was at the same pace we both shared when we talked with each other. It was reminiscent of the school cafeteria, just dropping everything and talking, joking, and talking again. Soon after that yellow brick road, we were back talking about our hobbies; Luda with her postcards and calligraphy, and I with my photography.

"So, when are you going to be my portrait model?” I asked, “You know, I've been looking for someone to practice my shooting skill on,” rubbing my hands around, a bit nervous,  “You can be a nice model, you know."

"I don't know,” Luda said, averting her eyes down, “You know I'm not really that pretty to be a model, nor do I have a supermodel body," she continued.

"Hey, you've always been a cutie. It’d be great to see your eyes smile in my camera roll."

Luda gave a glance, then scoffed at the compliment.

"Fine, as for the body part,” I said, taking a glance to her chest, “I guess you're somewhat right.” 

"Hey! It’s not like you’re big anyway," she replied, coming at her defense.

"Well, I can say yours is true, but there's no way you can tell it for me," I replied, cackling as I enjoy my victory in our little argument.

At least that’s what I thought. Then, a bolt of lightning.

"You sure about that?" Luda said as her arm darted out and ducked between my shorts, quickly grabbing, and worse, squeezing my member with her fingers. Surprised, I swatted her hand away, closing my thighs on instinct.

“Yah!” Missing her hand as she reeled it back. 

“Ah, so I was right after all,” she said.

“Ha?!” I replied with an eyebrow raised and sounding agitated. However, my brain was sifting through whether or not I was to be pissed off, surprised, or aroused.

“I guess we’re equal now, you are not that big either..,” Luda said, as she looked at me with a mischievous face while pinching her finger.

Then the thunder struck.

“But it seems like it is getting bigger.., are you actually having a boner for your best friend?”

Luda's face was as blank as a statue before erupting into awkward laughter.

“Ha! I guess all men are the same!” Luda said.

“Bullshit!” I scoffed, “Well, this is the natural reaction! I can’t control it, plus, you touched where you shouldn’t be touching!” I replied, now growing even more confused by the situation, unsure whether I should get angry or just get over it.

Then lightning struck, the thunder of primal instinct along with it. 

“You know… I’ve always wondered how it’s gonna be like. Can I touch it again?” Luda looked at me with her puppy eyes.

What? That’s all I have in my mind - What did she just say?

“If you’re shy, you can just let me have a look,” Luda kept her gaze at me with a naughty expression as she spoke.

“I’m not shy, but this is a public area,” I stressed as I looked around, “Plus, you sure this is what best friends do?” I replied. 

“I’m not sure that is what best friends should do, but I’m sure,” she said, “I want to touch it again. Please?” Luda asked again, and no, it’s not what friends typically do. 

It is those eyes again, I swear. Those puppy eyes just make me put my guard down.

“Just once,” I said, holding a finger up, “And you’re not going to do this again,” I finally gave in to her unusual request.

“Just relax. I know we’ll both keep quiet,” Luda said, leaning close. I was expecting to have to spend more than I should today, or that maybe we’d go home a while after the mall closes in the evening. I wasn’t expecting to get head from one of my best friends.

Luda's small palm hovered over the slight bulge on my shorts before her long, spindly fingers grabbed my bulge and squeezed me again. Going tighter as my blood slowly tensed my muscles on her grip. Her hands then slid up and unbuttoned me. 

“Ya!?” I asked her, though not acting on her hand this time. She just giggled a bit. 

“I only said touch, not see,” I said

"I just wanted to have some extra fun," Luda replied as she giggled again.

"That's not how friends have fun, and you know we are still in a public area, right?" I said as I held onto her hand.

"Yeah, in between 2 empty cars in a far corner of an unopened mall, what could go wrong, right?" Luda said, a bit sarcastically, as she freed her hand away from mine.

“Fine, fine, I’m not supposed to let you have it, but I guess this is the benefit of being a friend for a decade, just a peek, I’m not expecting you to do anything more stupid than this,” and there I gave in again, for whatever reason that is.

“You know I never expected to see my best friend’s dick, but this feels really fun,” Luda replied as she’s giggling and unzipping my pants like a happy little child that is unwrapping her Christmas present.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this too,” I sighed as I’m still in a state of disbelief, looking at my best friend that is now trying to dig my member out of my pants.

And the thunder struck again, like one that came off a grade 5 hurricane.

"Do you remember that you said we might end up together if no one wants us? At this rate, both of us nerds are gonna be single forever," She said as she started to lean closer and closer.

“Why not just let me practice what is bound to happen to us anyway? Luda replied as she stared at me from below.

Feeling uneasy as I feel like she’s gonna do something worse or better, I just stared blankly at her and sighed.

“Are you trying to do what I think you’re going to do?” I said as I got more and more intrigued by the situation.

“I guess best friends think alike?” Luda looked at me and slightly adjusted her specs as if she’s giving out a hint.

“Fine. I wasn’t expecting this, but fine, just do whatever you want to do, at least make a good job out of it,” I spoke my mind. All but a human still with the warmth of her fingers over me, waving my white flag up. 

“Wasn’t expecting to do this on a movie day, but don’t you worry, I’ll help you fix your boner issue,” Luda said with a slightly naughty expression as she took her hands out, pulled down my shorts, and swatted it off as it hung on my shoes. 

Her spindly fingers grabbed my cock again through my boxers, then rubbing the cloth with her palm. Glancing at her, one that caught her eye as she bit her lip. I could feel she was ready to back out, but it was too far for either of us even then. I don’t know why I got hard faster than I thought I would’ve as Luda rubbed her fingers on where my tip was. 

Thinking it was a bit uncomfortable for her to be leaning over from her side just to suck me off, I told her to stop as I pushed my seat the furthest it could go. 

“Get over here. We only have 45 minutes,” I beckoned her. Luda looked around a bit as she moved to my side of the car, giving one last look at her cute face before she’d defile the sight of it forever as she knelt before me. Her hands continued to rub me over my underwear, her fingertips pressing slightly harder as she traced my shaft and closing together as she rubbed my tip. I guess being a calligrapher helped how she hadn’t choked me yet. I was surprised to feel her grabbing my balls and squeezing them a bit. She did her homework, I guess. 

She giggled again, covering her mouth with her hands before she let out what was, by now, the obvious.

“Ah, this is so dirty!” 

I mean, if you’ve been friends for ten years, since the wee days of just starting in high school. After all that time, we’ve seen each other grow as individuals. Add to that, after an ex-boyfriend. It really would be dirty for her to be in front of me and just one pull away from seeing my cock. 

“Fuck it.”

Luda just said, darting her hands into the hem of my boxers and pulled it down. My cock sprung, half-hard, as she grabbed it. Luda quickly began stroking it with a hand as the other crept up on my thigh. It took her wrists a while to get it right, leading me from there, with a girl’s pale white fingers pressing against the brown foreskin, trapping it in with her soft palm as she went along with her hand job. Her thumb kept on sliding up the underside of my tip, which only helped my veins hoist my shaft up with her stroking. 

I could slowly feel my brain turn to mush as Luda's soft hand made quick work of me, making it worse as she switched from her right to left palm. Being a leftie, she instantly ended up being much more in control; her touch felt beautiful. Slowing down as she moved her palm out of the way, keeping her fingers around my cock as she opened her mouth, her tongue emerging between her teeth. 

Luda then stopped stroking, pulled my cock close to her tongue, and licked it, not just once, but twice. Stroking back again as she glanced up, giggling as she looked down, and giving another glance as she stuck her tongue and licked the whole way upward. When my ex would do this, I’d already let out at least a whimper by this time. It was still odd with my best friend giving it to me, but as she repeated the touch of her tongue on my shaft, she was showering that away. 

Twitching once the first time her tongue licked around my tip, she just gave me a look of “I told you so” before throwing back as if to insult me for what my body was telling her.  

“I told you, all men are the same.” 

Luda said as she wrapped her lips around the tip, rounding her tongue around it a few times before a wet smooch followed as she pulled back. It was a sight straight out of an adult video.

“Where did you learn that?” I asked. 

“Ex,” She replied, stroking me a few times. Her tongue was licking upwards. It was clear she was trying to woo me over. Hearing a few giggles here and there as she knew this sudden change of plans was neither on our mental checklists for today. 

“Relax, just relax,” Luda cooed at me as she wrapped her lips around the tip before pushing forward and taking me into her mouth. It was warmth. It was bliss as her tongue slid under, her small lips parted open as an inch-and-a-half was inside her mouth. She slid her fingers through her dark brown hair and kept them down her left side as she went down another inch. 

Luda looked up at me and still had her large specs on, her small mouth enclosed around my cock, and her tongue playing around. When I met her years ago, I couldn’t tell myself that I would’ve wanted this to happen. 

She closed her eyes, then pulled back just to the tip before pushing down, taking an inch or two in as she bobbed around for a bit. She took me off from her mouth as she made herself a ponytail, leaning in and playing around with my tip using her lips as she did. As soon as her hands were off her hair, she quickly dived down, not stopping until I felt my head knock the back of her mouth. Luda furrowed her eyebrows a bit, hearing a gag as her mouth contracted around it. Before pulling back with a gasp, saliva all over her lips as she licked them, a few falling down the side before she caught me by the tip again. 

Making sure I felt at home as she kept her gaze at me, lips sucking around my tip and making me twitch a bit as that electrifying feeling ran through my nerves. Though now, her gaze was very much different. It was less unsure and more seductive. Showing me how she has gained her footing as her tongue licked into my slit, making my jaw drop and my cock throb slightly in her lips. Hearing her giggle before she pushed down again.

Watching as Luda knelt, bobbing her head on my cock, seeing my shaft glisten while listening to her small moans as she became more daring. Always a few inches in, but never taking it deep down her throat. She tried earlier, though now she wanted to prove herself well to her friend - and she was doing it excellently. 

By now, my cock was turning from an ordinary pink to a darker pink shade, aside from how it glistened with her saliva on it. It reflected what I couldn’t tell my best friend; that she was making me feel good. 

Luda moaned as she kept her pace halfway down on my cock. I thought it would be appropriate to return at least half of the pleasure she’s giving now, sitting up a bit with my hand sliding down her collar, fingers searching for the garter of her bra, following it down and sliding my hand into her bra, grabbing hold of one of her soft tits. They were small, but they were still soft. She whimpered a bit as I squeezed it, taking me deeper inside her in return. The feeling of getting sucked deeper made me bite my lip and groan; it just felt too good.

Luda's cheeks and small mouth didn’t struggle too much. Judging from how good and warm she’s making me feel, getting an involuntary throb from my cock a few times. Though now she wanted a bit more as she started getting louder, my nerves feeling the seal of her lips wrap tighter around my base, and even more so around my tip. This forced her to lean forward, and in turn, upward. I was lying down as she made a slight list, still allowing me to reach for her bra. 

Now that the light was able to shine on how Luda's pink tongue made circles, then her lips kissed, took in, and then dived on my cock. A loud slurp followed as she rounded off at the tip of me, hearing a giggle as my legs shook a bit. Flashing that eye smile as she slowly took in all the inches I could give as I slid atop her palate to the back of her mouth. The tension throughout just had my toes curled as she did it again and again, and when she saw how my neck was beginning to sweat bullets because of it, that’s how she carried on. 

“If you’re gonna keep playing around like that, just deepthroat me already,” I told her. 

“As you wish then.”

Luda went up top, her tongue flashing a bit as she rounded my tip, before her lips wrapped around the head as tight as she could and went down to the base. Hearing her gag as it hit and went past the back of her mouth, that feeling of her mouth contracting as the pink tip of my cock went the deepest it could go. Her cute face scrunched up as her throat got tighter and another gag before she reeled back, a huge gasp following as my cock sprung out of her little mouth.

Fuck, Luda mouthed. 

Before the first drip touched my crotch, Luda's lips wrapped around my head and went back down to the base in what was an unpredictable move. She rose back up halfway and pushed herself down again, with a gakt! as her throat gagged, her eyes and nose scrunching too as she got to grips with me being this deep. I thought the worst of it and her making a mess of us before our day has even started. 

Luda then looked up to me as she pulled back; Give it to me. 

Closing her eyes as a series of gags filled the air, each gritter than the last before she stopped and gasped just as I watched her tongue swipe left to right, before leaning in and licking my tip as I throbbed. 

I thought about going harsh on her, living a wild fantasy I only had seen before in porn. As she put her lips around my cock again, my hands got to the back of her head and pushed her down, and for the first time, I thrust my hips up into her throat. A loud gag from Luda followed as her fingers dug into my thighs. I looked down to see my friend; saliva dripping down the sides of her lips, her dark hair looked like a mess, her eyes only said one thing; get on with it.

Putting my fingers where I could get a good grip on Luda's head, I pushed her back against my crotch again. Groaning weakly as I began to fuck her throat. Her hands held onto my thighs as I relished in the feeling of pushing down against the depth she could go, while I was beginning to reach cloud nine as I kept hitting the back of her throat. The struggle being heard in her gags slowly turned from her coping with my tip spearing down her throat, her gags becoming moans as I used her mouth for myself. 

“You like that?” I asked as I pushed her against me, though my grip held her tight as she began to gag on it. Realizing she can’t talk and only giving a muffled response, she just nodded. 

Sitting up a bit as I got a fistful of Luda's hair, she gagged the whole time until I pulled her away from my cock. Wet lips and a thick trail of saliva dripped off her mouth as she held her mouth open.

“You like that?” I repeated.

“Love it. I wished my ex did the same to me too,” Luda replied, moving onto my cock despite the fistful of hair above her head. She wanted it so badly, though, of course, we were still best friends after this. 

She then caught my cock again, her saliva and my precum dripping once or twice from the tip as it throbbed. It still was throbbing as Luda wrapped her lips around it, her tongue playing around my tip before I pushed a little deeper and her tongue laid under my shaft, and once that was done, I forced myself into Luda's mouth. 

The squelching sound came off her lips as I bit my lip. Looking at Luda and reflecting on how she immediately flashed a smile as she got on the passenger seat almost an hour ago, with only a plan to catch up and see a movie. But now, as I looked down again to see the same eyes, with her lips wrapped around the smuttiest part, as I had a fistful of her hair as her cheeks bounced every time I smacked my crotch against her face and down her throat.

Feeling that familiar weight coming on as I edged closer to my release, I had ought to rush it. After all, this was just supposed to be quick. I was locking my legs up as I prepared to blow it down Luda's tight throat. I was pushing her faster against my crotch as her gags got louder and prominent. I was close to sending cum down her throat, and I wasn’t going to have her back out now.

I heard once that “A day with a blowjob from a good friend is always a great day,” and needless to say, I scrubbed it off as some crude porn joke. Though now, with Luda at the mercy of my loins, and how my cock was probably turning red with how fucking good it feels using her throat to let my cum out after a long, busy stint at work, perhaps it is a fact.

Her eye smile disappeared and almost begged me to finish as she forcibly closed them, gagging loudly as I throbbed near uncontrollably down her throat. The grip her throat gave as it contracted, seeking both pleasure and withstanding the pain of her best friend’s dick shoving itself down her throat. I just relished at the sight of her both in the throes of pain and pleasure. She knew that by how my fingers gripped her hair tight, and my shaft throbbing down her neck. 

“Fuck, Luda,” was all I could say as that final throb came, and the surge of cum shot out of my tip, the first, weak shot, followed by the thick spurts of hot semen that left my loins and shot down into Luda's throat. Feeling myself crumple as I bit my lip and moaned behind it. My cock twitched as I moved and let out another spurt of cum as it slid back from her tight throat, now splattered white and trickling with cum after I just blasted all over it. 

Letting go of her hair, and as soon as it hit her shoulders, Luda quickly pulled back; my cock plopped out of her mouth, dripping from all that saliva and cum it just let out. She just gasped, swallowing her saliva as her fingers rubbed her neck, wiping her lips with her wrist, before showing her tongue out with whatever cum she could bring up. She just giggled as she pulled herself back and reached for her purse.

“Fuck, that was something,” Luda said as she wiped her lips with the tissues she had in her bag.

Now I was vulnerable, and our day hasn’t even started. Luda just remained there, knelt before my now limp cock and cleaning herself. Only then, as she dabbed the tissue down her neck, clearing away whatever precum and saliva dripped down that, I knew I’d done her well. 

Sliding a finger and flicking my cock, playing with it, though, in honesty, I was surprised that it wasn’t even my girlfriend who gave that, but one of the last persons on my list to make that move, less ask for it themselves. Luda just chuckled as I looked in awe at my own. 

“Too bad I can’t clean that up for you. No worries, it’s all down my throat anyway.” 

“Whatever,” I just replied. Both of us quickly molted back to being friends. Even after she had just sucked her best friend’s dick, and mind you, with par excellence, it wouldn’t change anything for us. It was just some fun banter that turned sexual, and now that’ll remain a truly closeted moment for us. We wouldn’t even have gathered an ounce of the gut, let alone think of it, and to ask this lewd favor just a few years ago. 

“Do you think anybody saw us?” Luda said as she jumped back to her seat. 

“It was none of their business,” I said, laughing, “They should’ve just wished it was them instead,” I continued, smirking. 

“Ah, so you did like it?” Luda asked, although just moments earlier, while I gripped her, it had been obvious, “Besides, that’s the first time I got deepthroated, so thanks?” 

“Yeah, right, my pleasure,” I replied sarcastically. Luda stood her ground and insisted, but I guess she already knew that I didn’t like it - I loved it. 

“So, how long until it opens?” She asked, looking around again before focusing on her phone.

“15 minutes.” 

[blueberrysets]

WITH OR WITHOUT DEATH

pairing: grim reaper!sakusa kiyoomi x f!reader

genre: fluff and angst, probs more angst

warnings: swearing, mentions of sexual activites, mentions of death, angst at the end

word count:  2,482

summary: sakusa was used to a lonely life when he became the notorious grim reaper. he got the cards with the time, place, date, and person of who’s soul he needed to collect, then he would go do his job then leave. that was until he met the bubbly waitress at the 50′s diner with terrible puns but amazing apple pie. if only the council could allow him to keep one, pure soul with him.

reccomended song to listen to: sparks by coldplay

an: okay hI! I’m actually really proud of this little thing I just wrote. This scenario actually takes place in a supernatural realm that I have been developing for ageesss. I’m actually really contemplating on writing a second part to this, so let me know if you’d like that! AND/OR making a writing collection with more haikyuu boys in this universe!! I think it would be really cool to write a supernatural au for the haikyuu boys. lol n e ways, let me know what you think and enjoy!!

sakusa’s breath gets caught in his throat at the mere sight of her. he stands across the street, adorned in his usual black attire and black panama-style hat. a mask covering his identity to the world as he peered into the small diners’ window. she stood behind the counter, chatting with the regulars as she fills up their coffee mugs. a bright smile etched across her face, filling the room with so much joy that his undead heart probably couldn’t withstand it. however for her, it was worth it.

the tacky baby blue waitress outfit matched the 50’s style diner, the color contrasting nicely against her skin. her hair cascades nicely down her back, curled for the dress code she has to withstand. 

“it’s cheesy,” he remembers her telling him one night during her late shift, “but I kind of like it, in a charming way.”

it was always the same routine with them; he shows up at the diner at random times, she doesn’t ask questions as she fetches him his usual order, then she sends him that pretty smile of hers as she leans closer to him to talk about his secret. she was the only living soul to know of it, and the only living soul to have an unknown power over him. he wouldn’t trust it with others, but her? he would lay down his own life to hear her whisper his name just one more time.

the rain falling soaks into his black, wool coat. protecting his skin from the harsh air of late autumn. he finally decides to make his way inside the overly hot diner, before he has another soul to guide. he only sees her when death is present, he wouldn’t be in the human realm for any other reason. that was part of his deal to the council. how amusing is it to be a highly respected, yet exiled demon. the human realm was dirty anyways, in more ways than one. covered in diseases, pervs, assholes, and incubuses that feed daily. they annoyed him the most. loosely throwing around their name like it isn’t the thing that controls them, they just like how their name sounds when a human moans it. disgusting.

his long, bony fingers reach out to pull open the door. the heat hitting him in the face like a sharp slap, knocking the breath out of you if you aren’t prepared for it. the familiar ding from the bells attached to the handle fills the slightly empty diner. only a man sitting at the bar with a burger and a man sitting in a booth with a newspaper fill the occupants. yet his gaze is set on the girl in front of him that turns to meet his eyes. another bubbly smile stretches across her face as she places her hands on her hips. 

“well, hey there stranger,” she states, a slight twang in her voice. he walks closer to the bar, sitting on the awkwardly high bar stool as she places his fresh black coffee in front of him, “long time no see, grim.”

she gently takes off his hat, tousling the curls that are hidden underneath it. he likes to think that she’s fixing his hat hair, but in reality she messes it up more. she finds it endearing how the usual put together grim reaper and can have the cutest curls to frame his face. she places his hat on the counter beside him before hooking a finger into his black mask to pull it down his face. if it were anyone else, he would’ve bitten off their finger and disinfected his whole body from the human diseases. dead or not, it still makes his skin crawl. her, however, she’s so pure and untainted. 

her soul gives off a vibrant, white light. it glows nicely in the middle of her chest, as if waiting for any sort of sin to darken its glow. he also finds it adorable when her eyes brighten a smidge more to see his full face. even with the gray undertone in his skin color, the soulless eyes, and the eye bags; she stares at him like he’s the most beautiful thing to walk this earth. the mask now rests underneath his chin and her eyes are in delight with what she sees. before he could fully examine her face in the close proximity, she leans away to turn her attention to the man two seats down from him. 

“want a refill, mr. k?” she questions as she reaches over to grab the pitcher full of water. 

a single letter, that’s what high ranked demons go by in the human realm. you see, if you know the real name of a demon you have full power over them. it’s crucial for demons in power to keep it hidden, that’s why they usually have humans call them by their first initial. sakusa peers his eyes over to be met with the familiar gray locks of one of his colleagues. koushi sugawara, a hellhound. his usual kind stare meets sakusa’s dead stare, sending a small smile his way. sugawara then turns back to wipe the corners of his mouth one more time with his napkin, placing it on top of his now empty plate. 

“no thank you, sugar,” he states softly as he placed money onto the counter, sliding it her way, “keep the change, honey.”

“you got it, mr. k,” she gleams at him, her eyes squinting slightly from her big smile, “you have a nice night now.” 

sugawara stands from the stool, grabbing his jacket that rests on the chair next to him. shrugging it onto his shoulders as he turns his attention to sakusa sitting next to him. 

“it’s nice to see you again grim,” he nods towards him, “still looking as dead as ever.”

“you as well,” he mumbles towards sugawara, a hand being placed on his shoulder to give a light squeeze before he walks out of the diner. he respects sugawara, as he was one of the few that fought for him during his hearing with the council.

his eyes lazily make their way back towards her, to be taken back by how close she was to him. her elbow rests next to his, her head tilting slightly to rest on her hand. her eyes wide and curious as she pushes the slice of apple pie closer to him. steam coming from the fresh pie and tickling his nose slightly, but the aroma fills his nostrils as his stomach rumbles slightly in hunger. why she was so close to him with that look? he wasn’t sure, causing his eyebrows to knit together in confusion as he picks up his utensils to eat her signature apple pie.

“well,” she asks, her eyes still wide. 

“well what?” he asks back, finally taking a bite. his tastebuds doing a victory dance with the deliciousness that covered them, physically having to hold back a groan after the sweetness hits him. 

“what kind of death was it today?” she asks, her head lifting from her hand as she places it on the counter. leaning slightly closer to him, if he leans in a little more as well their noses would be touching. 

he knows that she does this to keep it quiet between them, but it’s a well known fact that he is the grim reaper. people always ask questions about the unusual deaths he sees on a regular basis. however, he appreciates that she respects his privacy. even though she is a curious little thing. he swallows his food before he answers, the fork still being gripped in his hand. 

“hit and run,” he says with a smirk. 

“tch,” she sneers as she leans back from him, grabbing the rag damp with disinfectant as she begins viciously wiping down the counter, “so much for humanity.”

“what do you mean by that?” he asks with curiosity as he takes another bite.

“well, i mean,” she starts, slightly stuttering over her words. she stops wiping as she stares off behind him, trying to come up with an explanation for how she’s feeling. “I’m beginning to lose my faith in humanity. I mean for crying out loud! we now walk freely with vampires, werewolves, witches, demons! you would think more deaths would be caused by that, but no. it’s still humans killing humans, and i’m glad you help them pass over. you’re more human than any human i have ever met.”

her words drift off at the end as a bashful state takes over her demeanor. the tips of her ears redden as she focuses her gaze on the counter instead of him. it was at this moment, that sakusa knew he would do something he would regret that night. he clenched his jaw as he contemplated his next words. 

“when does your shift end?” he asks in his usual monotones voice. 

her eyes shift to his, expecting him to lecture her about how he was a demon and she shouldn’t say things like that so carelessly. she was used to his scolding, he did it to her quite often. she swallows and licks her lips before replying.

“9 pm.”

“great, ten minutes for me to finish my pie,” he smiles, “let’s go for a walk after.”

                                                  _____________

it’s been fifteen minutes since they first started their walk. his wool coat covers her exposed legs from the cold as her eyes remain upwards towards the night sky. stars twinkle down on them as their comfortable silence is wrapped around them. her mind is gushing over the beauty of the stars, but also over the beauty of him and the two little moles stacked on his forehead. his mind is running a full marathon on how to word his thoughts correctly to her. he’s too analytical, never the one to easily express his emotions. but tonight, for her, he would give it a try. 

his mask remains tucked underneath his chin as his eyes remain on the ground. his bottom lip being gnawed at nervously before he takes a deep breath in. as he releases it sharply, he stops his strides next to her. causing her to halt as well, her head looks back at him as she stopped a bit in front of him.

“everything alright?” she asks in a soothing voice. 

“in all of my years, alive and undead, i have never encountered something like you,” he whispers, his gaze still on the ground. 

“what?” she whispers back, taking a few steps closer to him. the fog of their breaths mixing together at their proximity, she hugs his coat closer to her body as she searches for his gaze to meet his.

“in all of my years, i have never encountered something like you,” he states confidently, his dead  eyes now peering into her much livelier ones. “I have met countless of people, and it’s always the same feeling with them. the greed, the lust, the wrath; it’s always one of those deadly sins that have overtaken their souls. it became redundant, annoying even, to see all of the unruly human souls running around doing whatever they want. then I met you, in a little rundown 24 hour diner with the brightest, purest glow emitting from you. you live for selfless deeds, you put yourself before others, you’re hardworking, honest, beautiful, kind, and everything that it takes to awaken my undead soul. it would stupid for me to say that I am not completely in love with you.”

“grim,” she breathes out, her eyes filling with tears over the beautiful words that he has spoken about her. but more importantly, what it would mean for him, for them.

“you know everything about me, even my weak points. you know about my exile, you know about the little human memories i have left, you know how to summon me, you know my name,” he speaks with raw emotion as his skinny hands reach for her face, the plumpness of her cheeks resting nicely in the palm of his hands, “and i’m terrified of how weak I am for you. yet, i can’t hold it in anymore. you speak so highly of me that i feel alive, but i’m not. god, you make me feel so holy.  like i could walk into heaven right now. yet, i would kill a man if you just gave me a name.”

one of her hands rests on top of his, her eyes never leaving his. a single tear runs down her face, the first drop for a hurricane. his thumb wipes it away, along with the many more that come after it. 

“I’m about to do something, and you and I both know what will happen after this happens,” he explains quietly as he takes one of his hands from her face and wraps it around her waist to pull her closer to him, “but please indulge me, in my own personal sin.”

after the last syllable of the word leaves his lips, he dips his head down to capture her lips with his own. the kiss is deep and full of raw, pure emotion. his grip on her is tight, because he knows that once they separate she’ll have to say it. but all she could focus on was his lips against hers. the saltiness of her tears could be tasted on lips. his skin, which is usually ice cold, is the complete opposite to his warm lips. they fit nicely against hers and move with experience as he continues to deepen the kiss. it seems as if hours had pass in the small minutes of them kissing. she didn’t want it to end, she didn’t want him to pull away. but he did. as soon as their lips part, a sob escapes her body as he rests his forehead against hers.

“send me away, y/n,” he says in a stern, yet soft tone, his hold still tight on her.

“I can’t,” she croaks out, her voice filled with sorrow as her body continues to shake with sobs, “please don’t make me.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispers as pulls her closer to him, “i’m so sorry. but you and i both know, you have to.”

another cry is released as she pushes her face into his chest. her hands gripping the black turtleneck sweater, her tears wetting the shirt as well. he can only hold her, rubbing soothing circles into her back as a single tear runs down his cheek as well.

“please go away,” she sobs, “kiyoomi.”

 once his name leaves her lips, her wish is his command. he vanishes in thin air, a black smoke replacing where he once was. as she sinks down to hug her knees into her chest, she promised to herself that she would see him again.

with or without death. 

[silverbyuls]

( lee hyeri, cis female, muse i ) oh snap! is that SHIN EUNBYUL they work over at high volume where some of the other employees have labeled them as THE AVERAGE JOE. that’s probably because they can be a bit ( optimistic. ) but also pretty ( dishonest. ) they’re TWENTY TWO and they’ve been living in woodstock for TWENTY TWO YEARS. it must be their shift because i totally hear THE CRANBERRIES blasting from the record store. ( a little tikes piggy bank tucked under the bed, clothing label sticking out from the back, snap clips with varnish peeling off, jelly shoes with the strap taped together, leaving lisa frank stickers along record crates ) @volumeupdates

BIO

the luke hemsworth of the family but middle child

goes by byul

tried to go by ‘e.b.’ but her mum went berserk because she’d reduced her name to two letters for the ease of her yt friends and her brother bullied her for being e.t’s ugly sister so now she tries to go by silver star (her name translated into english) but it doesn’t quite stick

claims that her older sister and younger brother stole all her beauty, brain cells and height

family invested everything into older sister so she could go to college in new york: savings, loans, moved to smaller house which is even further from the town centre

brother requires all attention as he has high hopes of getting into college on a baseball scholarship and she lowkey can’t wait until he’s far away from woodstock

her grades have always been average so no one expects her to leave – her parents talk about how nice it is that she’ll be with them forever but she knows that’s because they want her to take care of them when they’re old … which she would! if they didn’t live in woodstock

she tells them she’s going to move to california, but they think she’s as serious about that as she is about wanting to go to college, or becoming supermodel of the world, or an olympic swimmer, when she has average grades, of average height, and can’t even swim

if her life was a movie, she’d have fallen asleep in the first ten minutes – it has always been so boring and uneventful, so she lives up in her head with her fake scenarios to keep things interesting – most of the time, they’re taken straight from a book or magazine

sometimes these thoughts spill over into reality because she can’t fathom the idea of people realising she’s as plain as she is, and her little white lies give her a bit of sparkle to stand out (in her opinion)

but she will get to california!

she even has a plan:

she’s been working at freddy’s diner since she was fifteen, escaping to high volume whenever she can, a place where she can pop her headphones on during her breaks and pretend she’s getting ogled at on venice beach, but she’s terrible at saving so seven years later she’s still grinding

once she graduates high school, she has enough time for a second job and she’d dropped enough hints in front of jerry for him to kindly offer her a job. after all, she spends as much time in high volume as she does at freddy’s so there’s not much of a difference once she becomes an employee -- still floating around the place, sipping on her coke can, either people watching or people chasing -- except now she has access to the register

after a big argument with her parents, she ended up moving out into a place in the middle of town. that was never part of the plan because saving was easier when she lived at home. she’ll say things got really bad but really, she was just getting closer to her target and she wanted a valid reason to put it off for a bit longer

she was only supposed to do it once – stealing from the cash register. it was just right there, no one was around, and she thought it was going to be her last shift because jerry was angry at her for being late again (granted, he hadn’t actually been mad, but it was one of those days when everything felt personal)

besides, she’d overheard a group of girls she’d idolised in school talk about how they stole some underwear and they made it sound so cool

she felt like everyone could hear her heart thumping against her chest as she walked out of the store but the day after, no one said anything about it, no one even noticed, and she wasn’t fired. so she did it again, and again, and again, and eventually she didn’t even bat an eyelid

the extra money was supposed to help her reach her goal faster but, again, she’s terrible at saving and her parents are so hardworking, she can’t help but feel guilty and buy nice things for them every once in a while and when they ask where she got the money from, she lies and says jerry gave her a bonus for being a good employee

on the other hand, if they’ve had an argument, or they’ve forgotten about her again, she’ll have a full on les-mis-i-dreamed-a-dream episode then splurge out on a cute jacket because it’s hers and it’s new! rather than worn out hand-me-downs from her sister or brother!

started her own side hustle called the separation agency – inspired after a customer at high volume asked her to help him break up with his boyfriend. so she’s the messenger for people who have things to say but don’t have the balls to say it to someone’s face themselves. usually they’re horrible messages, like break ups. she’s had like three customers and tries to promote her side hustle whilst on her shift at high volume

she thinks her “business” could actually thrive in a bigger city which is just another reason why she needs to get out of woodstock – it’s holding her back!

anyway, jerry’s missing, which is perfect for her because she gets to come in late and not get told off, and maybe steal a little more than she usually does

PERSONALITY:

when she’s around people, she seems like an extrovert: bubbly, talkative, dramatic ... which uses up a lot of her energy and her social battery is weak, so needs her own space often, and likes doing nothing by herself so sometimes she’ll lie to get out of plans or bail last minute 

she has big dreams, and talks about all her big plans, but has leaving anxiety which is why she’s shit at saving and makes up excuses as to why she can’t leave just yet 

has main character syndrome -- likes to live her life as a romcom, most of her lies revolve around her love life because she wants to be seen as desirable, but also will overanalyse everything 

sensitive, passionate, immature, sympathetic, fickle, clumsy, dramatic, caring, head in clouds

will pretend to knows things to fit in like ~hipster~ bands or anything really, depends on the crowd

could gladly spend all day talking to customers at work then the next day she’ll prefer to day dream in the storage room

rides a bike to and from work and almost everywhere else too -- the only one out of her siblings who had to bike to school because small car and siblings took up all the space -- she’s had the same bike since high school 

loves spice girls but feels like she’ll be judged so keeps quiet and plays it when she’s closing

honestly could hate you one day and have a crush on you the next but you wouldn’t even know it -- a vicious cycle 

collects stickers and leaves them everywhere and on everyone - often passive aggressive through them, basically uses them like emojis

will try to order food and get others to pay for it - especially kfc, never gets to eat the drumsticks at home so will honestly cry if people steal the drumsticks from her

buys lottery tickets and scratch cards because she has a 50/50 chance of winning

WANTED CONNECTIONS: (current connections)

start up: stolen str8 from a kdrama that ruined my life hehe her parents set her up with a pen pal to keep her busy out of guilt because they’re so busy with her siblings and work and obviously she romanticises it !!! her parents would’ve asked to lie a little bit, just so she’d be writing to someone she’d easily obsess over -- love island vc: someone who ticks all the boxes 

xoxo gossip girl: someone who loves a good gossip sesh -- they probably send 👀 at each other across the store when things feel a bit tense, which is code for ‘meet me in the storage room’ so they can chat away for the rest of their shift

lunch stealer: she makes her own lunch every day and is extremely protective over it but one day it went missing and she knows it was them (maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t) so now they are her sworn enemy

sister’s/brother’s friend: therefore an automatic enemy

shut up: someone who just tells her to shut up because she chats so much shit and she’s insane - just sandra x dina vibes from superstore (x)

carpool karaoke: she hates cycling in when it’s raining, so either she’s trying to get them to be her designated driver or has already succeeded and is annoying about it

crush #1: someone she has a crush on (more of an infatuation) and they’re not interested in her in the slightest but in her head they’re giving her mixed signals and she has made up a fake boyfriend to try to make them jealous

crush #2: someone she thinks has a crush on her. either because they’re nice or tease her or just mean, it doesn’t matter, she’s insane so she’ll interpret it however she wants

ex: they never broke up, or even dated, but she thinks something almost happened between them and she thinks she cut things off by giving them space

separation agency: someone who once used the agency either out of the kindness of their heart or for a different reason entirely and now she won’t stop pestering them to try and get them to use it again

no thots just vibes: i just like this gifset tbh (x) and we can brainstorm ! 

[trilliastra]

[Xicheng AU. Entirely self-indulgent. I love Jiang Cheng and I want him to be happy with Lan Xichen.]

-

I.

When Lan Xichen arrives at the gates, he finds Lan Hao frowning and trying to hold a clearly distressed Jin Ling. The boy is squirming desperately in his hold, screaming and crying, and Lan Xichen sighs.

He isn’t the first child to cry because he misses home. Many, including the older disciples, have cried, had nightmares, tried to run back to their families. Gusu Lan isn’t the most welcoming Sect, their many rules leaving most feeling confined, suffocated and desperate for a way out. He did not consider the young Master Jin would be one of them, though.

The boy arrived dressed in gold, back straight and a glare on his face. He did not talk to others his age, frowned when another disciple tried to talk to him and got himself in more verbal altercations than Wei – than others ever had. And he is only seven.

The two week meeting was created to build intersect alliances, have the children meet earlier would only make their future connections stronger, establish their trust in each other before they began training and studying together as teenagers, holding the future of the Cultivation world on their backs.

Honestly, Lan Xichen did not even think Jin Ling would join – his status as future Sect Leader and nephew of the infamous Sandu Sengshou weighting heavily on his young shoulders.

“What happened?”

Lan Hao bows awkwardly as he still tries to hold the boy in his arms and answers, “he tried to run. Young Master Jin made it as far as Gusu before a disciple saw him.”

Oh, that was dangerous. Lan Xichen has no idea what both Jin Guangyao and Jiang Cheng would do to him if something happened to their nephew. “Young Master Jin,” he says, gesturing for Lan Hao to let the boy down. Jin Ling wipes his tears away, performs an awkward bow and then proceeds to glare at him. Lan Xichen smiles softly, impressed, “would you mind telling me why you did that?”

“I wanted to go home!” Jin Ling answers, still glaring. Lan Hao opens his mouth to berate him, but Lan Xichen stops him with a wave. “It is Jiujiu’s birthday and he said I’d be home by now.” He sniffles. “I wanted to see him.”

Lan Xichen’s heart breaks as he thinks about all the things, all the people Jin Ling lost even before he knew what loss truly is. And he thinks about the people that stayed, Madam Jin, Jin Guangyao, Jiang Cheng… it brings back memories of his own – snow, a boy without his mother, two brothers and an uncle trying to be a family, love and pain, tears.

“I believe,” the words come out of his mouth without his permission, but Lan Xichen finds that he doesn’t mind. A better world can only be built on kindness, on doing what one believes is right, “that can be arranged.” He unsheathes his sword, offers his hand for Jin Ling to take and smiles when the boy’s eyes light up.

-

“Do you miss your family when you’re away from home?” Jin Ling asks as they fly above the woods.

“Yes.”

“So, it doesn’t stop when you grow up?”

Lan Xichen chuckles. “I’m afraid not.” He says, holding Jin Ling tightly against his chest. Lan Hao insisted he would do it, he’d fly Jin Ling to Lotus Pier and bring him back as quickly as possible, and if it were another child Lan Xichen might have let him do it, but Jin Ling will be a Sect Leader, he is in danger just by existing, Lan Xichen would be careless to put his life in the hands of a disciple, no matter how strong or competent they might be. “You do not stop loving your family when you become older.”

Jin Ling hums in answer. “I did not want to leave.” He confesses, eventually, his cheeks red. “Jiujiu insisted, he said I should make friends, meet people I could trust for when I become Sect Leader.” Lan Xichen blinks, surprised. He did not think Jiang Cheng would say such words, did not think he would give this sort of advice, not after refusing Lan Xichen’s help the first time around, not after kicking Sect Leader Yao away when the man proposed a business deal. But, Lan Xichen realizes, that says more about them than about Jiang Cheng.

Lan Xichen has done nothing to earn this kind of trust.

“I do not want to become Sect Leader.” Jin Ling keeps talking. “I do not want to leave Jiujiu alone. I am all he has.” He covers his mouth with one hand, surprised, and blushing even harder. He probably didn’t mean to say it, but Lan Xichen smiles at the child’s kindness. It is good to know that the new generation is better than them.

It is good to know Jin Ling has inherited his mother’s heart.

-

A group of disciples are waiting for them in front of the gates of Lotus Pier. They all stare at him curiously, hands on their swords, but when Jin Ling jumps down, the Head Disciple smiles at him.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, kneeling in front of the boy.

“It’s Jiujiu’s birthday!” He shouts, smiling excitedly. He has never talked or smiled like that in Gusu Lan, would probably be scolded by one of the disciples if he did. Sometimes Lan Xichen wants to burn down their rules, dreams about starting anew, a fresh set of norms, a happier life. A utopia.

“He is in his office.” She says, and Jin Ling starts running immediately, golden robes flying behind him. “Sect Leader Lan,” she bows, Lan Xichen nods in return, “if you would follow me.”

“Oh, no.” He waves her off, smiling. He should give Jin Ling and his uncle some privacy. “Let them be,” he says, “but I wouldn’t say no to a glass of water.”

She blinks at him, surprised, but eventually laughs. “Of course.”

-

From his seat outside the throne room, Lan Xichen watches the lotus on the river, the children swimming freely.

He hasn’t been to Lotus Pier in a long time. Longer than ten years, most likely. All Intersect conferences are held on neutral ground and after – after everything, he always preferred to stay close to home. He knew his Uncle needed him, knew Wangji was on the verge of a breakdown, knew his little nephew needed stability. He knew, knew – all excuses, Lan Xichen realizes.

He is but a coward, afraid to face one of the Sects that suffered the most from Gusu’s neutrality, ashamed to face the man that endured it all alone, who rebuilt his house and even had the time to raise a wonderful boy by himself.

This could have been him; this could have been his own reality and Lan Xichen cannot bear that thought, cannot face a reality that could have been his own.

“Sect Leader Lan,” the Head Disciple calls, “Sect Leader Jiang would like to see you.” Lan Xichen nods, standing up. He follows her through the buildings, the smell of spring following him. It is going to rain, he notices, and realizes he might not be able to make it home tonight.

“Zewu-jun,” Jiang Cheng bows as Lan Xichen enters his office. Lan Xichen performs a bow of his own and smiles when he notices Jin Ling is perched on his uncle’s chair, eating from a bowl of soup almost desperately, “I apologize, he shouldn’t have – ”

He shakes his head. “There’s no need for apology. It was for a good cause.” Lan Xichen watches as Jiang Cheng’s ears turn pink and he risks a glance at his nephew. He tries to hold back a smile, but clearly fails when Jin Ling looks up and smiles as well.

“I – I do not know what to say.” Jiang Cheng confesses, clearly taken back by the gesture and perhaps, the words. He is not used to being on the receiving end of great gestures, Lan Xichen realizes, he is not used to being considered important for someone, even the nephew he single-handedly raised.

Lan Xichen feels his heart break and, horrifyingly, finds himself fighting back tears. Oh, this man deserves so much more than what he has.

“I am sorry.” Lan Xichen says, watches as Jiang Cheng’s eyes widen in surprise. “I should have done more for you and your people.”

Jiang Cheng opens his mouth, probably to deny it, but upon seeing Lan Xichen’s decisive stare, he only nods. “Thank you for your words.” He says, finally.

“Please, allow me to fix this.” Lan Xichen finds himself asking, begging. It is for his own peace of mind, but it is also for Jiang Cheng and for Jin Ling, for the people of Lotus Pier who have watched their home burn and fought hard to build it back.

“I do not know how you could.” Jiang Cheng points out.

Lan Xichen nods in agreement. “I do not know either, now, but –” Wangji isn’t the only stubborn one in the family, Lan Xichen just holds a position where he is not allowed to be like that, “I will find a way.” He promises, determined.

-

II.

He starts visiting Lotus Pier every other week. His uncle gives him worried glances and Wangji frowns every time Lan Xichen comes back. He is aware of his brother’s distaste for Jiang Cheng, does not blame him for it, but he refuses to hold it against the other man.

Anger and fear have a way of bringing out the worst in them. He cannot imagine how those emotions plus sorrow and the feeling of betrayal can do to someone.

Jiang Cheng stares at him confusedly every time he arrives, but he doesn’t send him away, only offers him a room, food and lets him roam around freely. Jin Ling is more welcoming and Lan Xichen finds himself indulging in the boy’s desires, bringing him toys and an occasional treat he buys during his trip.

He’s not doing much – one could say he’s doing nothing at all, but Jiang Cheng seems less worried when Lan Xichen is next to him to observe the disciples train, so he considers it a good thing.

It is only on his fourth visit that he notices the new disciples. Two boys, not much older than fifteen; they can barely hold their swords, they are so weak and green, but they want to learn, that much is clear, and they listen to every other Jiang Cheng or their Head Disciple – Jiang Daiyu – says, adapting just as quickly as the others.

He does not think much of it. Word goes around that the Yunmeng Jiang Sect is back to the way it was before it was destroyed and even though Jiang Cheng holds a reputation for being ruthless, he’s also known as a strong leader, protective of his people and his home.

Two months later, Lan Xichen notices another disciple. After that, it’s a new cook that makes Jin Ling’s favorite mooncakes. Another month and Jiang Cheng is helping his people build a new house for a family of five, the father is a farmer with bags under his eyes, but a serene look every time his children hug him.

And they don’t stop coming.

Yunmeng Jiang Sect is not only growing, it is thriving, and Lan Xichen has never seen their people look so happy.

“You have accomplished the impossible.” He tells Jiang Cheng one afternoon when they are parting ways. Jiang Cheng’s face turns red, and Lan Xichen has to hide a smile behind his own hand.

Jiang Cheng looks like he wants to deny it, but Lan Xichen is flying away before he can speak. He will leave him with that thought.

-

III.

“You must stop.” His uncle says after a year. Honestly, Lan Xichen is surprised it took him so long to speak up his thoughts. “It is not – appropriate.”

“I am simply helping a friend.” Lan Xichen answers. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Wangji flinch. His brother’s relationship with their uncle have been strained ever since the Sunshot Campaign, but it is not surprising that they agree on this matter. His uncle deems inappropriate to show preference towards a sect and Wangji thinks Jiang Cheng is responsible for Wei Wuxian’s fall.

Lan Xichen sighs. He is their Leader so they do not have any sort of power over him, but Lan Xichen would much rather not fight with his family.

He takes a sip of his tea, tries to sort out his thoughts. “Xichen –” his uncle starts, but Lan Xichen stops him by raising a hand.

“We abandoned him.” He finally says. “He lost his entire family and no one offered to help him, not without wanting something in return.” Lan Xichen explains. He came to realize this recently, but it is the greatest truth. The Jin Sect has an interest on Jin Ling, Sect Leader Yao wanted to trade his crops for the rice Yunmeng Jiang grows, smaller sects had sent letters and letters proposing marriage in exchange for sending supplies – Lan Xichen watched Jiang Cheng burn those letters with a huff while Jiang Daiyu cracked her knuckles, angrily.

“He chose his path.” Wangji offers. “They are all scared of him.”

“Rightfully so.” Lan Xichen comments. He’s seen what Jiang Cheng can do with his sword; he’s seen the full power of Zidian when a mercenary tried to kidnap Jin Ling. “But for the wrong reasons.”

Lan Xichen turns to his brother, waits for him to finish his tea. “He’s saving those people, Wangji.” His brother frowns. “He’s seeking the ones using resentful energy and he’s trying to save them.”

Wangji’s eyes widen immediately, but soon enough his expression goes from surprised to furious. “He’s looking for him,” there’s no need to ask who him is, “and killing them!”

“They are joining his sect, Wangji.” He tells his brother, then turns to his uncle. “I’ve seen it. The two boys who disappeared in the middle of the night after attempting to summon their mother’s spirit? They are training at Yunmeng Jiang, eating their food,” he adds, “playing with Jin Ling.”

Wangji stands up immediately, the cup he was holding falls on the ground, breaking in tiny pieces. He leaves the jingshi, angry, hurt, desolated, and Lan Xichen wants to follow him, wrap him up in a hug, but his brother is not five anymore and Lan Xichen cannot fight his battles for him, cannot heal the wounds caused by the loss of a loved one.

He closes his eyes. Lan Xichen did not want to have to choose between them, he’s been avoiding this conversation for that exact reason.

“Uncle –” it’s his uncle’s turn to raise his hand.

“I want to see it.” He says, finally, and Lan Xichen sighs. Jiang Cheng will absolutely hate this.

-

IV.

“I’m sorry.” Lan Xichen says, bowing deeply in front of Jiang Cheng. His uncle is now watching the Yunmeng Jiang disciples closely, walking amongst them – a judge deciding his sentence.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t answer, keeps his eyes on Lan Qiren, expectantly, as if waiting for his mentor’s approval. It makes Lan Xichen remember how young the man still is.

“Very well.” Lan Qiren says, finally, turning towards them. He stops in front of Jiang Cheng and nods. “Thank you for allowing me entrance in your home.”

Jiang Cheng only answer is to bow, eyes widening when Lan Qiren bows back. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Lan Qiren does not smile, but his expression softens and he turns to Lan Xichen, waiting for his answer.

“We would love to.” Lan Xichen says and his uncle nods.

-

“Be careful.” Lan Qiren warns, later, when they’ve arrived home. “Do not let yourself get blinded by love.”

Lan Xichen takes a deep breath, heart skipping a beat. Of course, his uncle would notice, he is surprised Wangji hasn’t seen it yet, but again, his brother might have and that could be just one of the reasons why he is so angry.

“I won’t.” He vows.

-

V.

Lan Xichen is getting ready for his monthly visit to Lotus Pier when A-Yuan asks to join him. His nephew is almost twelve, bright eyes, strong golden core, big curiosity for all things, Lan Xichen isn’t exactly surprised by the request, but he doesn’t know how to answer without either hurting the boy or hurting Wangji.

In the end, his brother makes the decision for him. “I do not like him. I never will.” Wangji says, later that night. “But I respect what he is doing, and I respect you. If you trust him, then I trust him too.”

Lan Xichen swallows heavily, closes his fists to stop himself from reaching out and pulling his brother into a hug.

“But A-Yuan is my son, he – if anything –”

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen interrupts him, one hand on his shoulder, “he knows.”

Wangji’s eyes widen in surprise and he looks almost accusatory; Lan Xichen would feel hurt about the implications that he’d ever break his brother’s trust, but he supposes Wangji is entitled to his anger, he’s lost the love of his life, could not handle losing his son.

“He recognized him.” Xichen explains. They haven’t talked about it, exactly, but Jiang Cheng has made it clear he knows – “Your nephew looks well, I am sorry he had to suffer so much at such a young age.” – and if there’s something Jiang Cheng and Wangji have in common is this – A-Yuan, A-Ling.

Wangji nods, eyes softening, and the next morning A-Yuan meets him at the gates, excited to meet a new place.

-

“I don’t think Jin Ling likes him.” Lan Xichen comments, watching Jin Ling glare at A-Yuan when his nephew disarms him, Suihua flying away from Jin Ling’s hand. The sword is too heavy for Jin Ling to use it comfortably, but he insisted on fighting A-Yuan, three years his senior, with a real sword. He lost his balance many times, and even though it is obvious he has a good posture, is smart enough to understand A-Yuan’s style and respond accordingly, the sword is clearly still too heavy for him.

Jiang Cheng huffs out a laugh. “He is just annoyed.” He just his chin at them and Lan Xichen watches Jin Ling stand up, adjust his clothes and then promptly throw himself at A-Yuan, making both of them fall right into the lake. Lan Xichen jumps, startled; he is moving to help them when the two boys resurface, laughing breathlessly.

Jiang Cheng smiles knowingly and says, “A-Ling likes him.” He keeps smiling, watching his nephew – both his nephews? – splash water around, giggling happily.

Lan Xichen’s heart skips a beat; he cannot look away from Jiang Cheng’s smile, finds himself hypnotized by the way his entire expression softens, the lines around his eyes disappearing. He looks ten years younger and too much like the young man Lan Xichen first met, without worries, without the responsibility of an entire sect on his back.

Lan Xichen supposes he was like that too, younger, naïve. They cannot go back in time, but they can move forward. “I am in love with you.” Lan Xichen confesses, his voice barely a whisper, but Jiang Cheng hears it anyway, turning to him with wide eyes.

“What did you say?”

“I am in love with you.” Lan Xichen repeats, louder this time. When Jiang Cheng does not move, he reaches out for his hand, squeezes it tightly. “I do not expect an answer, I just thought you deserved to hear it.”

Jiang Cheng keeps blinking confusedly, frozen in place. Lan Xichen smiles again, takes a step back. He did not have any hope and Jiang Cheng’s reaction is enough answer to his unspoken question. They are not meant to be, but even though Lan Xichen does not have Jiang Cheng’s heart, he has his friendship, and he will make sure to treasure it.

“I should go.”

“No.” Jiang Cheng nearly shouts, holding him back. “You cannot expect me to answer immediately, this is – I never thought –”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t.” He stresses, frustrated. “I thought – this – this never crossed my mind. I always felt –” he huffs, angrily, and shakes his head, “why can’t I make sense?”

“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Xichen smiles fondly, “you do not have to –”

“I thought you were doing it out of pity,” Jiang Cheng confesses, looking away, “I know it is not who you are, and I am not proud to admit I doubted your words, but I never thought I deserved your friendship, or – or other feelings.”

Lan Xichen closes his eyes, takes a deep breath in an effort to hide his tears. This – this hurts so much, Jiang Cheng should know he deserves love, kindness, happiness. He should know he is more than just a Sect Leader, he’s more than his father’s son, Wei Wuxian’s brother. He is a brave, strong man, who refused to give up in the face of hardships, who made mistakes and is trying to make up for them; a man who is not perfect, who does not see himself as perfect, and keeps trying to get better, to be better, for his Sect, his people, and especially for his nephew.

Lan Xichen wants to say all that and more, but he knows Jiang Cheng will refute every word. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Jiang Cheng smiles, sadly, “sometimes I wish so, too.” He squeezes Lan Xichen’s hand. “But Lan Xichen, Zewu-jun, Lan Huan – you are in love with me, and I am in love with you, so – I think that might be enough.”

Oh, Lan Xichen laughs, blissful. Yes, it is enough, he doesn’t say, but as he pulls Jiang Cheng into a hug, he whispers in his ear, “you will see. Someday. I will make sure of it.”

It is a new promise.

-

VI.

Lan Xichen is undressing when Jiang Cheng returns, slamming the door behind him with a groan. He mutters an apology when Lan Xichen raises an eyebrow, but otherwise does not say anything, only drops his sword on the nearest chair and begins undressing as well.

Bad days aren’t rare when you are a sect leader, but Jiang Cheng usually keeps those out of their bedroom, unless they are related to Lan Xichen himself, or worse: Jin Ling.

“Wanyin,” he tries, but Jiang Cheng ignores him, making him even more worried, “talk to me, please.” He reaches out for Jiang Cheng’s hand, sighs in relief when the other man accepts his touch.

“Jin Ling ran away from Carp Tower,” oh, oh, Jiang Cheng isn’t angry, he is worried, “apparently he got into a fight with other disciples, punched two in the face and then ran away before Jin Guangyao could scold him.” Lan Xichen holds back a laugh, it is so adorable how Jin Ling always comes back to Lotus Pier when he’s seeking comfort and Jiang Cheng, oh, his lovely husband, keeps trying to scold him and failing abysmally at being a stern uncle.

If Lan Xichen was one to gamble, he’d bet his sword the boy is now in his room, eating a delicious meal happily. Jin Ling is an incredible kid, smart, loyal, kind, but also spoiled rotten by both his uncles, and especially, by Jiang Cheng.

“He would not do it without motive.” Lan Xichen reasons, runs a hand over Jiang Cheng’s back softly, smiles when his husband leans into his touch.

“I know,” Jiang Cheng answers, “but he will be their leader one day, he cannot keep making enemies. He cannot be like me.”

Lan Xichen feels the words in his chest, heart breaking a little at the pained tone in Jiang Cheng’s voice. “There’s nothing wrong with you, and there’s nothing wrong with Jin Ling.” He asserts. “He is a boy still. Jin Ling is learning how to be himself and showing that he will not accept offenses or wrongdoings. He is showing his strength, Wanyin. You taught him that.”

Jiang Cheng takes a deep breath, leans into Lan Xichen’s shoulder. Lan Xichen loves being a source of comfort for his husband, adores being able to help him feel less heavy, with less darker thoughts.

“I love you,” Jiang Cheng says, later, his head resting on Lan Xichen’s chest, eyes closed, “you are my light.” Lan Xichen’s heart reacts in the same way it always does when he hears his husband repeat those words, it stops for a millisecond and then picks up speed, beating for Jiang Cheng, always for him.

“I love you,” Lan Xichen says back, “I will always love you.”

It is a promise and he always keeps his promises, especially the most important ones.

[connordavidscamera]

Living, Learning, and Filming Ch. 10 | Connor Brashier

A/n: Sorry for the delay, work and classes have been hell the past couple weeks! But here is the second to last chapter and I hope you guys enjoy it!

Summary: it’s the first time you’re seeing each other since your date. It’s… well, it’s something. 

Word count: 1.8k

***

Week 10

Filming is only easy when you and the subject are comfortable with one another. Neither of us are comfortable now. I can't look at Connor without seeing those lipstick stains on his jaw and down his chest, the way his hair was fucked from her fingers. He would have been the most beautiful I've ever seen had those stains been from me and if his hair was messed up by my fingers. But they weren't it, it wasn't, but he’s still so beautiful, and I hate him for it. 

And since this is the first time we’ve seen each other since that night, I don’t think it makes things any easier. He’s tried so many times to get me to talk to him. He’s texted, called, he even showed up at the dorms once, but I didn’t let him in. He knocked and asked for me for a good fifteen minutes before he finally caved, realizing that I wasn’t going to let him in now, or ever if my heart would stop trying to control my being. 

And now he's looking at me in a way that says "I'm sorry." But I don't know if he's sorry he did it or because he got caught, and I don't really want to know the answer. Because knowing would mean that he would have to explain and I can't let him explain. I can't get hurt again. Especially not by him when he holds my entire heart in his hands and just one misstep from him and it'll be completely shattered. 

"So, we uh… we still have to do the interview." Connor says, picking at his fingernails.

I sigh, "I know. That's the last thing, right?"

"Yeah," he nods. "Then we just have to put them in and add a few overlays and the background music."

"I can put the clips in if you want to do the overlays. You're better at layering."

"We could do it together. I think we should both be okay with the ending before we turn it in."

"Fine," I nod. "Should we do the interview now?"

"Oh, um. Yeah, I guess. Outside would probably be better. It's kind of loud in here," he says, fiddling now with the napkin under his cup.

I nod, "Lighting isn’t great here either. Let's go."

The wind is cold, hitting us hard when we walk out of the cafe and I immediately regret leaving my jacket in my car. I wrap my arms around my middle, curing into myself as we walk down the street to the small cluster of trees that I don't really consider a park, but the city does. I don’t realize I’m shivering, curling even more into myself until I feel something heavy covering my shoulders. 

“You look cold,” he mutters.

“No, Connor,” I start to protest, but he stops me.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. Promise.”

I sigh, “Thank you,” I mumble before slipping my arms through the sleeves.

It’s difficult to get the camera set up with the uneven ground, but we find a rock that gives us just enough height to keep the tripod from moving too dramatically with the wind.  “You ready?” I ask after fixing the settings to accommodate the harsh light the clouds are casting over Connor’s perfect facial features. It’s rude that he can be my whole life - the only thing occupying my thoughts on any given day - and I want so badly to hate him. I want to hate him and I want to be mad at him. But I can’t. I can’t do it. Because he’s sitting there under the tree and even in this light he’s beautiful and I want to kiss him over and over and never stop. 

“Y/n? You okay?” he asks.

I blink, bringing myself back to reality. “Yeah. Sorry. Um… we’re recording. Full name?”

“Connor David Brashier. I’m twenty-one, and a junior here at UCLA.”

“What are some of your hobbies?”

“Surfing, filming, playing video games, and... hanging out with you.”

I clear my throat, shaking my head. That answer wasn’t necessary. 

“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

“Ten years?” He nods. “In ten years I see myself still filming. Maybe having actually directed a movie or music video or two. Married, hopefully. Maybe even have a kid or two, or three. Depending of course on who I’m with, if she wants kids or not. You want kids?”

“Connor,”  I scold. 

“What?” he smiles and my heart flutters. “It’s a general question. You want kids?”

I sigh, “Yeah, someday I might want a couple… Next question. I asked this when we started this project. You said you could see yourself falling in love,” I look down, not wanting to look him in the eyes as he answers. “So, have you ever been in love?”

“I have,” he answers instantly. “I am right now actually, and I’m looking at her right now. And she’s beautiful.”

---

“Is the lighting okay?” I ask, tugging on the sleeves of the jacket he gave me earlier. 

“Lighting’s perfect. You’re perfect. Just,” he steps forward and brushes his thumb across my cheekbone. “You had an eyelash.”

I feel myself turning red, and I shiver at the contact. I want to keep him there. I want to grab his hand and keep him against me, but I don’t. 

“Ready?”

I nod, “Yeah.”

“Full name?”

“Y/n y/m/n y/l/n.”

We go through the same standard questions I asked him and I know what question is next. I dread answering it.

“Last question.”

“Okay,” I look down at my hands, covered by the long sleeves of his jacket. I’m surrounded by his scent and I want to drown in it, which is how I know what my answer is going to be.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Yes,” I nod. “I am now. It’s consuming. It drives you. But it stops you too.”

He tilts his head at me. “What do you mean?”

“Suddenly things you used to do alone don’t feel as good as when you do them with that person. And when you’re not with them? It’s tourture. You want to spend every moment with them and you can’t and it sucks. It sucks because they’re not yours.”

He stops recording, I know because when he’s kneeling down in front of me, I don’t see the blinking red light behind his head. “Not yours? Y/n, I’m yours. Utterly and completely.”

“That girl from the other night said otherwise.”

He sighs, “I was hurt. You went out with Shawn. You said no and then you said yes and that hurt, baby. It hurt so much.”

“He told you?” I shake my head, “I didn’t kiss him. We had dinner and I couldn’t stop talking about you. That’s how my date went. That’s why I ended up at your place.”

“But how was I supposed to know that? You wouldn’t talk to me the same after I told you I loved you. You didn’t even tell me about your date. Shawn did.”

“Yes. He called me after he asked. He wanted to know if I was okay with it. And I wasn’t, y/n. I wasn’t but you weren’t mine and I couldn’t make that decision for you. But we’re here now. We’re on the same page. I want you, you want me. What’s the problem here?”

“The problem is that neither of us are relationship material.”

“What do you mean we’re not relationship material? You’ve read more books about relationships than anyone I know.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, Connor!”

“Y/n! I want to be with you. Why are you pushing me away?”

“Because I can’t ever believe this is real if it started as a joke. Or if you’re gonna go out and fuck any girl with boobs at the first sign of trouble. I like,” I stop myself. “I love you, Connor. But this relationship would be built on lies and that’s not what I want.”

“So you’re never going to believe me? No matter how many times I say it? No matter how many nights I spend outside your door, begging you to talk to me? No matter how many times I promise you that it’s only you? That it’ll only ever be you. No matter how many times I tell you that you deserve that romance you read about? No matter how many times I promise to try and give that to you? To be the cheesiest boyfriend known to man. It’s not gonna be enough.”

“I want to believe you, Con. I do. But it’s hard right now. Maybe now just isn’t our time.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“Y/n. Please. Just… give me one more chance.” His hands find the sides of my face and I hate that I melt into his warm touch. 

I sigh, pulling his hands away reluctantly. “I’ll have to think about it.”

He nods, “Take your time. But I can tell you this, I’m not going for anyone else. That night? Nothing else happened. She was kissing me-”

“Connor, don’t.”

“No, I have to make sure you know. You told me that nothing happened with Shawn. I believe you. And I need you to believe me when I tell you that nothing happened. I had her leave after you left. I didn’t want to have sex with her. Brian thought I needed a rebound, just someone to take my mind off you. But it didn’t work. It wasn’t fun being with her. It didn’t help. Baby, you’re the only one I want. I haven’t gotten over the feeling of your lips on mine since it first happened.”

I shake my head, “You have to stop.”

“What?”

“Stop saying things that make me want to kiss you. I can’t kiss you.”

“I give you permission,” he shrugs with a sheepish smile.

I laugh, really laugh. “You’re an idiot. 

“But I got you to laugh. That’s a good sign, right?”

I sigh and run my fingers through his hair. “I need time, bub.”

“You called me bub. Is that a good sign?” he asks, hopefully.

I rest my forehead on his. “Connor, please.”

“I want to kiss you,” he mumbles, his lips inching closer to mine. 

“I want you to kiss me.” I confirm, closing the distance. I sigh in content, and his tongue roams my mouth. It’s perfect. He’s perfect. And I don’t need the time. But that’s my heart talking. My brain still needs it, which is why I pull back. “A week.”

“A week?”

“That’s what I need. I’ll have an answer for you then.”

He nods, “C’mere.” He kisses me again and I let him, feeling warm, feeling safe in his arms once again.

***

I hope you enjoyed! Please like, reblog, and leave feedback!!

Permanent tag: @soyalimoncada-blog @magcon7280 @homeofpoetry @fallinallincurls @goldenflickerx  @myyohmyuohmyy @harry-hollands @enchantingbrowneyedgirl @baroness-alison @lostinmendess @linanilssonfurberg @luvluvxx @mariamuses @shawnieeboyy @divinginfearlessly @mendesficsxbombay @shawnsthighs @zaahidahhh @lordescomeback @shawnandconnor @shawnsblue @turtoix @honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s @gangofhoes @verlaneswiftie13