#today ? crumbs. tomorrow? perhaps nothing

[feuxx]

she is simply . all of us joongdok shippers so i had to honor her as best as i could.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Audience Participation

Kinktober Day 8: Hypnotism

Three Yandere Vampire Men x Feminized Male Reader CW: Noncon, vampires, vampirism, biting, blood drinking, praise kink, mind control, hypnotism, feminization, polycule, public sex, exhibitionism, public masturbation, praise, oral sex, anal sex, death of a side character, kidnapping, general yandere behavior Word Count: 3.2k

(The EXTREMELY long awaited rewrite of audience participation is here. Not beta read so please forgive any mistakes. REALLY hope this gets a good reception! Don't forget to comment <3)

You were but the humble servant of the wealthiest merchant in your city, Rorik. And he did not accrue such wealth by being kind or generous to the lowly peasants that cleaned his shops or grew the produce that he sold. No, he got his fortune by exploiting the labor of the poor. With rampant poverty in the city it was very easy to do. You were exceedingly replaceable and you had nowhere else to go. When you weren't sweeping floors, stocking shelves, or tending to the fresh produce grown out back you were in the overstuffed shack where the other male employees were stuffed. Of course it wasn't free, Rorik charged each of you a large portion of your income for this "kindness". But there was nowhere else you could afford.

Poor living conditions and low pay were certainly not the end of the abuses you had to endure at the hands of your employer either. It was not at all uncommon for Rorik to fly off the handle and get physically violent towards whichever servant was nearest.

And if all that wasn't bad enough you only got one day off every other week.

Still... it was better than being homeless and mercilessly beaten by the town guards and not having even the smallest crumb of food...

It was one of your rare days off and there just so happened to be a traveling actor's troupe in the city for the week. You had heard their performance was pretty interesting, and best of all they were doing a free performance for nothing but tips today and tomorrow. It would be set up in the town square and anyone would be able to attend. You walked into the square and stood at the edge of the crowd that had already assembled. There was a raised platform so you would be able to see okay, though hearing every detail might be an issue, but that was your fault for sleeping in a bit.

Not long after you had arrived the actors stepped onto their stage and introduced themselves. There were three of them, all men. A large muscular man named Viktor who appeared to be in his forties. He seemed gruff and grizzled, not the type you would typically expect in the theatrical arts. In stark contrast to him there was a somewhat flamboyant skinny man named Oliver who seemed to be in his mid 20s with long red hair. And the third man had an average build and medium length black hair and seemed more cold compared to the other two and looked to be around the same age as Oliver, his name was Sebastian.

The first thing they performed were some small skits that the rest of the audience really enjoyed, they didn't get such a strong reaction out of you but you still liked them. After that as a warm up they did a short play, completely with cool fire effects. It was pretty impressive how only three people managed to play such a large array of characters. And even though they had appeared gruff and cold respectively Viktor and Sebastian were very convincing in each role they played. And the costumes were simply perfect.

It was hard not to imagine being in their shoes. Traveling from city to city, trying new foods, meeting new people, getting to pretend to be someone else, always having enough money. After a few moments of fantasizing, you shook yourself out of your silly pondering and focused on enjoying the performance.

Unbeknownst to you, while you were watching the play, one of the actors was watching you. Oliver. Something about you seemed familiar, as if he had known you all his life. You captivated him, perhaps it was the rags you wore in place of shoes or your tattered clothing that reminded him of his own humble beginnings. He could tell you were daydreaming about what your life would be like if you were like them. It was plain on your face. But you really didn't know how life would be with them. The thirst for blood, skulking the shadows for a quick feed, never being able to set down roots for fear of suspicion.

They were vampires.

And if what happened next had never happened you wouldn't have had to find that out.

As you were thoroughly enjoying the performance, and Oliver was equally enjoying your eyes on him, you were suddenly smacked hard in the head. It was Rorik. And he was even less happy than usual. You cupped your head and grunted in pain.

"Why the fuck are you slacking off here!? You cannot just take your day off when one of the other peasants is sick! Take off next month, if I even fucking let you after this!!"

The shouting had caused a scene and all eyes were on you as Rorik roughly grabbed you by the arm and dragged you away. Tears streamed down your face from a combination of pain, humiliation, and frustration. You couldn't even have one day, just one, to forget your troubles.

Seeing the abuse you suffered cemented Oliver's decision. The troupe would have soon moved on for another location, but because of his previous infatuation with you now combined with seeing you abused as he once was guaranteed that he had to do something. He was sure he could convince Seb and Viktor to go along with what needed to be done. If he couldn't he would just have to push onward and do it himself.

Rorik took you to the general store, the largest of his several establishments, and shoved you in the door before leaving in a huff. You donned the uniform that you kept in the back and began another relentless shift. When it finally ended you hobbled your way to the shared shack, sobbing silently on your way. All the while being watched by three sets of eyes in the darkness. When you got to what passed for your home you washed up and went to the lump of straw you used as a bed to let the sweet void of sleep take you.

Oliver wanted to be the one to fetch you, but he also had other... "preparations" to make. He wanted to get you a little gift that he was just sure you would love. So instead it was Sebastian who was sent to get you. His ability to put people under a trance was as good as Oliver's. But it had just never been Viktor's forte. After leaving your shitty shack you began to shamble off to your job but a handsome man with cold eyes bumped into you.

"Oh hey, sorry about that."

You were going to respond but upon meeting his gaze you found yourself unable to speak. Instead you just let him take your hand and lead you towards the town square and into the outfitted wagon they used as a mobile home. It contained many props and costumes and a long cushioned bench on each side to be used as beds while traveling. Sebastian sat you down and immediately began stripping you and applying makeup before Viktor swapped in and started dressing you up in a beautiful dress. Sebastian spoke.

"We are sorry about your situation."

He brushed your cheek gently before applying a bit of blush.

"We watched you a bit and we agreed. You're going to join us. We were a bit reluctant but... Ollie convinced us..."

You could hear and understand the words but were powerless to protest under his trance. You didn't even want to. The hypnotic spell you were under muted negative emotions, so you just smiled and nodded at the nice man.

"Oliver is going to literally squeal with how pretty you look."

You smiled dumbly at that, you weren't sure why. You were a man and men did not typically wear dresses but it was nice to be thought of as pretty.

Viktor chimed in.

"Heh, yeah, he always had a thing for princesses."

"She just needs her crown."

Sebastian placed a beautiful ruby and silver tiara on you. You were still confused why they were treating you like a lady, but not enough confusion to break the spell, you just accepted it instead. Viktor explained your role.

"Hey girlypop, you're going to be in our play and your part is the princess. Don't worry, you don't have any lines to memorize."

"Yeah, just be good and act scared of the vampire and then happy when the knights come to rescue you. You can do that for us, right?"

You just smiled and nodded slightly.

"I will be playing the vampire, Ollie and Seb will be the knights."

Now that you were adorned in your princess costume Viktor and Sebastian began getting dressed in theirs.

"Oh, Vik! You remembered to tell the guards today's show was adult only right?"

Under the trance your mind vaguely wondered what was so adult about the show, but you easily pushed the thought away.

"Of course."

When Oliver came back to the others, with a box that contained the gift he had gone to get for you, he was already in his outfit. Shining plate mail that really looked authentic.

"Oh wow! She looks just so perfect, I want to take her here!"

Viktor stopped him from practically pouncing on you.

"Not yet, it'll ruin the make up! Besides, the show is about to start..."

//////////////////////

For the most part the show was a normal affair. Though quite a bit longer than the shorter plays from the day before. It started with you playing the part of a quiet melancholic princess who's somber beauty attracted the eye of a vampire lord that wanted to add you to his manor. Everything went normally until the vampire had absconded with you.

The scene after that entailed the vampire fucking the princess. And he did just that, right in front of the audience. He hitched up your dress, slathered your hole in lube and took some time to stretch you out with a couple of fingers, and then slid his cock right up into you for everyone in the crowd to see. As you were instructed you acted scared of the vampire, some of your real confusion and fear bubbling up to the surface. The audience loved your "performance", they could almost believe that you were really being held against your will and ravaged by the big bad vampire. Many of them openly masturbated at the lewd display before them, jerking their cocks or slipping fingers into their cunts as you cried and struggled and pleaded for help, not knowing or caring that you weren't a willing participant.

Though you were frightened and disoriented you weren't completely under your own will and Viktor's cock also fit into you perfectly and you couldn't help but to begin whimpering in pleasure and arching your back in need, pressing your ass back against him with each of his thrusts into you. It didn't take very much of this for your cock to twitch as you came, and it didn't take him very long after to fill you with his seed. You were in a complete daze now, barely aware of what was going on.

After showing your leaking hole to the audience your knights in shining armor showed up to rescue you from the foul blood-sucker. Sebastian "slayed" him by "stabbing" him with his mighty "sword". He fucked Viktor's face hard, to much cheering by the audience.

Now the two valiant knights carried you away from his lair. Oliver was the first to speak to you.

"Fair princess, we have rescued you! Wouldn't you like to show us a token of your appreciation?"

He looked into your eyes and pulled you further into the hypnosis. You really believed you were a princess that had been saved by a violent monster. He kissed you passionately and you returned the gesture. He removed the bottom half of his costume and guided your head to his throbbing cock, the slight musk hitting your nose before you engulfed his entire length in your warm and eager mouth.

As you were bent over sucking Oliver, Sebastian lifted up your dress and slowly pressed his cock into you, using Viktor's left over load as lube. He said some cheesy line about the princess' royal hole being very tight. You weren't really paying much attention, you were more focused on the distracting sensation of Sebastian fucking into you as Oliver gently thrust in and out of your perfect wet mouth as you continued to suck his cock. Oliver felt as though he must be in heaven, he didn't last too terribly long. How could he possibly last while you looked up at him with your lips around his dick while he felt every little murmur and twitch of pleasure being caused by Sebastian?

Sebastian lasted longer since he had already fucked Viktor's face, you came before he did while Oliver praised you for taking it so well and peppered you with kisses. Your cock throbbed and dribbled semen as he did so. When Sebastian finally finished inside of you the "knights" cleaned you up and the play wrapped up with the implication that you'd be taken back to the castle and all was well. The audience clapped, those who weren't still one handed due to masturbating. 

The vampires took you back to their spacious wagon, they had you seated comfortably before Sebastian ended the spell he had you under.

"Wh-what the hell!? Why did I do all that stuff? Why am I here? How'd you make me do all that?"

You were understandably confused and disoriented. You had a somewhat fuzzy memory of everything they had you do. All the sex in the play. Having you here alone. Just what were they and what were they after? The door to the wagon was being blocked by the muscular one, Viktor. So you couldn't just run off. Oliver was excited to talk to you.

"We saved you! You were a damsel in distress so we heroically rescued you from that vile man! Now you can be treated like a proper princess~"

The weirdo kept talking as if you were a woman. It may have made you blush if you hadn't been so traumatized by what they did to you on stage. The whole town would know within hours. It was the most humiliating violation that you had ever endured.

"Y-you drugged me somehow! Or used witchcraft! You're disgusting rapists, just let me go!"

Oliver looked dejected. It looked like Sebastian was about to yell at you but Oliver started talking again. He held out a large box that was all wrapped up for you. He stuttered and stammered, in denial about the words you had for him.

"Y-you're just shy... maybe I should have taken things slower for such a reserved l-lady. I'm sorry. B-but you'll love us, okay? I promise! We will take good care of you, I even got you a gift to commemorate our new relationship..."

You took it and began unwrapping it, not really seeing any other option.

"I'm not a girl! Stop calling me th-"

You were shocked into silence when you saw what was in the box. The bloody decapitated head of Rorik... You reeled back in shock and rolled to the floor. Oliver looked at you like a proud pet cat that was presenting you with its kill. Viktor looked away at the scene and Sebastian had his face in his palm.

"You like it right? I punished him and made him hurt a bunch for you~ Y-you like me now right?"

Sebastian placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Ollie, I told you, most people don't like dead things as gifts... they like flowers and shit like that..."

Oliver sniffled and looked as if he might cry after considering Sebastian's words and seeing the terror on your face.

"Please just let me go, I promise not to tell anyone..." You barely managed to squeak the words out.

Oliver began crying at your insistence to be released while the other two ignored you and tried to cheer up their partner. Oliver grabbed you and pulled you into his lap while you struggled. His grip was like iron. He kept muttering something about being sorry and how he'd get you flowers and make you the happiest lady ever while nuzzling you. You were only getting ever more panicked so Sebastian calmed you down with another dose of hypnotism. It was strong enough to make you enjoy Oliver's touches and reciprocate by leaning into his chest.

"We... may have have messed up by having sex with her so soon... not everyone enjoys being on stage I guess... should have gone slower. Let's just keep them enthralled while she gets to know us! See Ollie? She already stopped struggling."

"Yeah Oliver, just give your little doll time to adjust. Moving in with her new boyfriends is a big step in a relationship. Once you turn her she'll probably be so grateful that she'll be obsessed with us!"

Oliver was convinced. He would just be patient. You could be turned by morning.

"Yeah, you'll love being a vampire! It isn't so fun not being able to stay in one place for very long, and of course blood takes some getting used to... but it's so much better than what you were dealing with and you have us with you too! You'll see we are your heroes and then we'll make love allllll day, it'll be amazing."

Vampires? That should have set alarm bells off in your head, but it didn't. Probably because you were "enthralled" as Sebastian mentioned. Vampires were considered very rare, is that really what they were...? As if on cue, Oliver sank his fangs into your neck. You flinched but then moaned softly. All Oliver had to do was drain you nearly to death then feed you some of his own blood. If he sired you it would give the two of you a special bond and you'd be much more likely to love him.

You clung to him as you faded into unconsciousness, he laid you down carefully and bit his wrist, he allowed a few drops of blood to drip into your mouth. To say he was excited would have been an understatement. He finally had a pretty girlfriend he could dress up like a living doll and bounce on his cock. And he sired you, so not only would you share a soul bond, but you would also still be susceptible to his hypnotism, should he ever need it.

If you ever resisted him he would just subtly change your outlook on things and overtime you would genuinely fall for all three of them. Oliver and Sebastian watched you rest as the vampirism took hold while Viktor went to the front of the wagon to begin the journey to the next town, you would never see your hometown again.

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

[smells-like-mettaton]

Rating: T (for inherent neutral ending angst)

Summary: Toriel's old house feels like a mausoleum. She will gladly ignore chisp crumbs and lumpy mattresses for a place that feels more like home.  (Queen Toriel ending fic for Soriel Week 2021.)

Word Count: 5211

XXX

The bedroom was exactly how she left it. Her bed pushed up against the gray wall. A book about snails on the wooden desk. A knit sweater with the embroidered words "Mrs. Mom Lady" in the wardrobe.

Even after all this time, she could barely look at it without her soul splitting in two.

She'd known this wouldn't be easy. She hadn't seen this house in over a century. Still, she wasn't prepared for how Asgore had sealed up her old room like a tomb, a photograph of the day that everything went terribly, horribly wrong.

At least the last child was safe. They should not have had to take a life to save their own, but she doubted Asgore had given them a choice.  Her own soul felt more numb than anything.  To her, Asgore had died a century ago.

What was done, was done. And as usual, she was too late to do anything but sweep up the dust.

She backed through the doorframe, shutting the door with a quiet click. She would have to return eventually, but for now, she yearned for a place with fewer painful memories.

"Hey, Your Majesty." A voice startled her as she attempted to escape the foyer. Luckily it was a voice she would always recognize.

"Hello, old friend." She turned and smiled at the monster leaning against the stair railing.

He was smaller than she expected, with that deep voice. Not that that was a bad thing. As for him being a skeleton, that had been apparent from the abundance of bone puns.

"You know the formality is unnecessary," she told him softly.

"Is it?" He shuffled from foot to slippered foot. 

In all her time of joking with him through the door, she had never expected him to be so cute. 

"Didn't want to assume, old lady."

He winked, and she felt a weight lift from her chest. At least one monster would still treat her like a person, and not like a mythical figure returned to save them.

"Toriel," she introduced herself for the first time. He had to have heard already, but between rushing to the palace, scattering Asgore's dust, comforting their—her people… she hadn't had time to seek out her friend.

He seemed to feel comfortable walking right into her home, though. Did he ever visit Asgore when he was here? Her friend seemed like the type of monster who went wherever he felt like, and Asgore, for all his flaws, had never turned a monster away from his home.

"Sans." He held out a bony hand. "Sans the skeleton."

"Nice to meet you, Sans," she tested out the name and clasped his hand with her paw.

A loud pthbbbbbt echoed through the empty hall. Her eyes widened.

"Wow, Toriel. That's, uh, some way to make an introduction." He winked.

She squinted down at the inflatable object in his hand, the source of the farting noise. Then she pretended to ignore it.

"It certainly is. I was not aware that skeletons were capable of flatulence."

His eyelights gutted for a moment before he burst out laughing.

"Your jokes are even better in person," he said once he composed himself.

His laugh set her soul fluttering. In all their conversations through the door, he'd never laughed like that. Maybe she should have tried fart jokes sooner.

"I am always happy to tickle your funny bone." She smiled, and his face tinged blue.

"Happy to be tickled. But, uh. I guess that's not all I'm here for?"

Her breath caught in her lungs. Of course he would not visit without a reason. 

"I suppose not. Would you like to have a seat?"

"It's nothing that serious," he assured her quickly. "I just thought you'd want an update on the kid."

"You've spoken with them? They are still here?"  She tried to keep the hysteria from her voice.

How could they have taken Asgore’s soul and not returned home?  Had the Barrier proven too powerful?

"No—geez, I'm making this sound worse." He ran a bony palm down his face. "They’re definitely gone.  Papyrus tried to call them nonstop.  Besides that, you know the big stuff. The king's dead."

Her lips drew to a thin line, pulling tight across her fangs.

"I can hardly fault them for that."

"Right." He stuck his hands back in his pockets. "I gotta be honest. The way the kid looked when I last saw them… I don't think they did it."

Her brow furrowed. She was inclined to hope that the child had not chosen violence.  They had been so sweet, so eager to talk and joke with the monsters of the Ruins, so quick to hug her even after she’d fought them.  It was hard to imagine them striking down Asgore.

"But… then what do you think happened?"

Sans shrugged. "Wish I knew. I kept watch best I could, but…"

"I could not expect you to come between them and your king." As much as she wished he could have. She had hardly expected him to agree to watch over the human at all.

“Couldn’t have even if I wanted to.  These bones aren’t as sturdy as they look.  Maybe I shoulda listened to my bro and drank more milk...” He grimaced and glanced away.  “Anyway.  Like I said, I don’t know what happened.  Just.  Be careful, okay?”

“Careful?” She blinked.

“Yeah.  You never know.” His gaze flickered to a potted golden flower on the end table next to the stairs.

“Sans.  If I did not know better, that would sound like a threat.” She crouched down, so she could better meet his eyesockets. “Is there something you are trying to tell me?”

“Man. First I rip one in front of a lady, then I threaten her.  I’m makin’ a great first impression.”  He rocked back and forth on his slippers. “Look. Toriel. I don’t wanna scare you, ‘specially since today must’ve been hard. Real hard.”

His eyelights bored into her irises. She found herself needing to look away.

“It has certainly been… interesting. Moreso than any day since I last saw this place.” She suppressed a shudder.

Change. Her life had been constant for so long.  There would be no more of that, now. Hopefully that would be for the better, but only time would tell.

“Yeah. Being flung away from everything you’re used to… don’t imagine that’s a cakewalk. Don’t want you to worry about freaks hiding in the shadows on top of that.”

Somehow, she felt he made more sense when he was on the other side of a door. Knock-knock jokes had a formula. Just another normalcy she had forfeited, she supposed.

“Please, Sans. If you believe I am in danger, you may say so.”

“Fine. So.” He grinned, and she couldn’t help a snort.

“Alright, I suppose I walked into that one.” She smiled, despite his warning. “Under normal circumstances, I would say I could handle myself. But I must admit you are more updated on the state of the kingdom than I.  Do you have any information that could help?”

“...Not really?” His grin turned sheepish.  “You look like a tough lady. I bet my bones are rattling over nothing.”

“I would still humer-us you.”

He gave her a funny look. “You’re actually taking me seriously?”

“Why would I not? You are my friend.  Perhaps… my only friend, at this point,” she admitted.  It would be foolish to ignore a warning, even if it was based on gut feeling. Or, whatever skeletons had in place of a gut.

“Well.  Uh.  If someone, something, was behind the king’s… yeah. If it wasn’t the kid, whoever else it was might still be around. So.” He coughed. “Sounds stupid when I say it like that, huh.”

“It does not.  I think it is sweet that you are worried.” He wouldn’t be able to see her blush, thankfully. It had been a long time since anyone had looked out for her.

“Geez, Toriel.” He rubbed the back of his skull. “You’re gonna ruin my reputation.”

“What reputation? Are you typically a monster with a heart of bone?” she teased.

“Nah. I just don’t worry. Too much work.”  It was difficult to tell if he was joking.  “Guess I can make an exception this once, though.”

“Why, thank you, my friend.”  She had the sudden urge to reach out and squeeze his hand.  It would be more for her own comfort than his, so she did not act on it. “To be honest, your words are a relief. I do not mind the excuse to avoid this place.”

“Oh.” He sounded surprised. “You got somewhere else you’d rather be?”

She both did, and did not. How could she explain without sounding like a clinging child?

...Perhaps that was the wrong metaphor. She would have preferred her children to be a little clingier.

“‘Cause, uh, if you don’t mind a bit of mess… my door’s always open.”

She blinked at the offer. Had he felt the thoughts stirring in her soul?

She didn’t want to be alone. Not again. And she had told him the truth: there were unlikely to be any other monsters she knew still around. Perhaps Gerson; she and Asgore had always joked that he would outlive them.

That joke seemed awfully morbid now.

“Sorry. Was that too forward? Our friendship’s built off closed doors; guess we should just take 'em one at a—"

"No," she interjected too forcefully. “No. I would love to visit your home.”

Though she had never set foot there, she already suspected it would feel more like a home than this place.

“You really—? Great.” His skull tinged the faintest blue. “Just, uh, know that it’s nothing fancy.”

Toriel smiled. “‘Nothing fancy’ sounds wonderful at the moment.”

Perhaps wherever he lived would be out of the way enough that news of her return would be delayed. If she could be lucky enough to pass for an ordinary monster… well, that was likely too much to wish for. It certainly wasn’t becoming of a queen to hide from her subjects.

Stars, there was so much to get used to. So many formalities to reacquaint herself with.  She hoped such things would wait until tomorrow.

Sans returned her smile.

“In that case, I know a shortcut.”

XXX

She handled the shortcut well for a first-timer. No stumbling on the other end, no complaints of nausea or dizziness. Of course, she was a Queen. A Boss Monster. Why would a magic trick ruin her composure?

Sans wanted to laugh. All this time, he'd been joking with the Queen. She didn't seem to mind, but she could just be “humerus”ing him.

...Nah. She had every excuse to ignore him if she really wanted to. Instead she'd actually taken him up on his offer.

He almost forgot to drop her hand once their feet landed in the soft snow. Heh. Who was he kidding? It was just nice to feel her fur under his fingers. To touch her, and know that she was real.

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up, reflecting the gyftmas lights strung haphazardly around the house's columns. "I remember this place!"

"You do?" Sans's browbone furrowed.

"I saw it while travelling from the Ruins to…" she trailed off.  To stop the kid from fighting Asgore.

Sans felt stupid for not trying to stop them himself.  Not that a kid that determined would’ve listened, anyway.  Still… he’d believed in them.  Hoped that by some miracle, they’d get ‘em out of this mess.

Heh. That was too much pressure to put on a kid, even a determined one.

"Yeah." He coughed quietly. "Guess we're hard to miss. Papyrus did something to the Gyftmas lights—even when the CORE lights go out for the night, ours stay on. Never figured out how he pulled that off."

Toriel laughed before seeming to realize something.

"I will get to meet your brother!" She clasped her hands together. "I wish it had not come about for such an unhappy reason, but I am excited nonetheless."

He chuckled. Her excitement was contagious. That was something she and Papyrus had in common already.

He pushed the door open, called out for his brother—and noticed the monster sprawled out on his couch.

"Oh." Sans blinked at Undyne, who was snoring so loudly, he should've heard it from outside. Guess he'd been a little distracted. "Uh. This is awkward."

"What is it?" Toriel hung back, her head ducking through the doorframe. "Is your brother sleeping? I would not wish to wake him. You said he rarely sleeps, did you not?"

"Nah, it's not him. Forgot his pal's house burned down. Actually, I'm sure you met her. Undyne? Captain of the Royal Guard?"

"I… yes, we met." Toriel edged inside, closing the door behind her with a soft click. "She looks far more peaceful now than she did this morning. From what I understand, my ex-husband was something of a father to her."

"Something like that." Sans nodded in agreement. There hadn't even been a Royal Guard until Asgore created the position for her. Sans wondered if Toriel would keep it around now that Asgore was gone.

Welp. It wouldn't hurt, what with his suspicions about Papyrus's friend "Flowery." 

(Maybe Sans should let Toriel sleep on the top floor rather than the couch anyway. No dirt for stray flowers to get into up there.)

"Should we be staring?" Toriel said with a soft chuckle.

Sans shook his thoughts away. "Sorry. Just thinking. I, uh…"

There wasn't room on the top floor. Sans's lumpy, crumb-dusted mattress was out of the question. That left only Papyrus's bed, which while rarely in use, had too much sentimental value to give to Toriel without asking. Where was Papyrus, anyway?

"Undyne!" His brother practically kicked in the door. "I have returned with nutritious—oh!"

Papyrus's sockets blinked at Toriel. Then at Sans. Then at Toriel again.

(Undyne let out another loud snore.)

"Sans?”  Papyrus dropped his groceries on the table next to the pet rock. “Why didn't you tell me we had another guest??"  

Because he was an idiot who hadn't planned past one impulsive offer. His face went a little blue.

"I guest you would figure it out," he managed to joke. 

Toriel let out a bleating laugh at that. The suddenness of it was enough to jolt Undyne awake.

"NGAHH!!" She tried to leap off the couch, but ended up rolling onto the floor. "I'm here, Asgore! I won't—oh."

Her single eye blinked up at Toriel. 

"Papyrus?" Undyne hissed through her teeth. "Why didn't you tell me the Queen was coming??"

"Because I didn't know!" Papyrus replied brightly. 

"I, uh, promise I'm usually more professional than this." Undyne summoned an energy spear and used it to push herself to her feet. The attack left a small char mark on the carpet. "I am at your service, Your Majesty."

Sans thought she looked real professional in a pair of Papyrus's MTT-brand crop top pajamas. Toriel didn't comment on that though, instead opting for a matronly smile.

"There is no need for that, Captain. I am not here on business, but as a friend."

That smile turned towards Sans, and he fought back a blush.

"Yeah. I was just gonna, uh, make some dinner. Y'know, welcome our queen back with some Snowdin hospitality."

"Dinner?" Papyrus squinted suspiciously. "You don't cook dinner. I cook dinner."

"First time for everything, right?" Sans winked to hide his embarrassment. 

Of course Papyrus wouldn't buy his excuse. But he really didn't want his brother and Undyne worrying on top of Toriel. Granted, it was Undyne's job to worry about security threats… but she'd tear up the house's foundation if she thought an enemy might be hiding anywhere in a five-mile radius. 

"Sans," Toriel chided him. "You do not owe me that."

"Wowie! You must be a great influence on him, Bald Asgore!"

Toriel blinked before bursting out laughing. Sans's grin widened. 

"Her name is Toriel, bro."

"Of course!! Where are my manners?" Papyrus bustled past him to shake Toriel's paws. "I am the Great Papyrus! It's an honor to meet you, Queen Toriel!"

"The honor is mine. Sans has told me so much about you," she said, and Papyrus blushed pink.

"You? Know the new queen?" Undyne whispered to Sans while Papyrus and Toriel got acquainted.

"You know me. I know everyone." He winked.

"She came out of nowhere."

"Yeah. My bro and I know what that's like."

Undyne huffed, but Sans didn't offer a more thorough explanation.

Papyrus's affronted shout signalled that Toriel had dropped her first pun.

"I take it back! This is the worst day of my life!!" 

Sans met Toriel's eyes, and they both laughed.

"I suppose I will have to help Sans in the kitchen as my pun-ishment," she said with a coy wink.

"Normally I would object to a guest cooking, but in this case I will make an exception!" Papyrus turned on his heel and grabbed Undyne's arm. "We will clean up the living room in the meantime! Try not to corrupt the queen any further, Sans!!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, bro."

He gave a quick wink to Toriel behind Papyrus's back, and they moved to the kitchen.

"Did I actually upset him…?" She asked once they were out of earshot.

"Nah. He's just dramatic like that. He'll drop three puns per sentence when he thinks I'm not listening."

He turned away, rummaging through the fridge for something edible they could cook.  Discreetly, he tucked his empty chisp bag behind Papyrus’s spaghetti-filled tupperware.

“Oh, good.  I would not want to make a bad first impression.”

“Pfft. You’d have to try real hard to do that, Tori.  My bro sees the best in everyone.”  He smiled and pulled a “pupperoni” pizza out of the freezer.  It wasn’t anything fancy, but at least it would be edible.

He turned around, pizza in hand, and found Toriel staring at him oddly.

“What?”  His sockets widened.  “Uh, you’re not vegetarian, are you?”

She shook her head quickly, her gaze skimming off of his like oil from water.

“Pizza sounds lovely.  It has been quite some time since I had one.”

Sans didn’t pry, but he couldn’t help wondering what her expression had meant.  Had he said something weird?

...Oh.  He’d called her Tori, hadn’t he?  He should know better than to use nicknames without asking.  Papyrus hated them.

“Please, allow me.”  She held out her paws, so she couldn’t be too upset.

He handed over the pizza, and he jumped when fire flared to life in her palms.  For a moment he thought the fire would scorch the pizza beyond recognition, but the flames were just pleasantly warm.  He’d never known a monster other than Grillby to have such careful control of fire magic.

“Heh.  I didn’t know you were so hot, Toriel.”

As soon as he said it, he clamped his jaw shut.  Geez, how stupid could he be?  Making bad jokes was one thing, but flirting with bad jokes?

The fire went out.  She looked up abruptly—er, looked away from the pizza.  He was still a good two feet shorter than her.

“Tori was fine,” she said, her voice soft.

“Uh,” he replied intelligently. 

She suppressed a giggle, and he was pretty sure his face burned hotter than her fire had.  He could stand to take notes from Alphys and throw himself in the trash.

“Or not.  Whatever is comfortable for you,” she reassured him.  “Now, should we eat dinner before it gets cold?”

Eating was hardly something he could screw up at.

“Sure,” then after a pause, he tested, “Tori.”

Forget her fire magic.  Her smile could’ve heated the pizza all on its own.

XXX

For once in a hundred years, dinner was a warm and energetic affair.  In addition to the pizza, Papyrus had tossed together a salad from his fresh groceries, and Sans had briefly stepped out to grab a few orders of wings and fries.  In the end there was plenty of food for four hungry monsters.

Papyrus apologized for the lack of seating, but Toriel didn’t mind sitting on the couch squeezed between Sans and Undyne, eating off of paper plates.  She couldn’t imagine anywhere she would have felt more comfortable.

Before long, though, the day’s fatigue caught up with her.  She supposed it was to be expected—she wouldn’t regain her social stamina all at once.  

Sans caught her eye, and he nodded towards the stairs as Undyne and Papyrus “owned” each other in an MTT-Brand fighting game.

“Sorry.  I know they can be a bit much.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull.  

“They’re lovely.  I wish I had the energy to keep up with them.”  She smiled.

He leaned against the banister, smiling down at them.  Papyrus had gotten the upper hand this time, and was punching the air with joy.

“Me too,” Sans said, still looking away.  “I was thinking.  If you want a place to rest for the night, my bed’s open.”

She blinked.  Her face seemed to catch fire.  That was rather more… forward than she was expecting.  Sure, she had enjoyed his lighthearted flirting, and much as she tried to deny it, feelings had been growing in her for a long time.  But to have him return those feelings? And so boldly? It was as unfathomable as it was unlikely.

“I can get ya some fresh sheets, and I’ll crash in the shed.  My bro set up an, uh, guest room there when the human was in town.”

Oh.  She rubbed the heat from her face while he wasn’t looking.  How foolish could she be, to think he would be implying…? Well.

“I would not force you out of your room,” she said.  “If your brother prepared a guest room, I am sure that would be adequate.”

He let out a quick laugh.  “Uh, you’re not used to my brother’s… decorating.  Seriously, I don’t mind.”

She sighed.  If he insisted, she supposed it would be rude to deny his hospitality.

“Alright.  Thank you very much, Sans.”

“Great.”  He smiled back at her, then went into his brother’s room.  She waited patiently, and only jumped a little when he suddenly reappeared from the right hand door.  Perhaps the two rooms were connected in the back by a bathroom.

“Hotel Sans, one vacancy.”  He winked while holding the door open.

She chuckled behind her hand.  “You really did not have to resort to this.”

“Heh, I wouldn’t call it much of a resort.  The bed’s not even queen sized.”  He rubbed the back of his skull.

The bed was smaller than she was used to, but it did have fresh sheets.  That was the only fresh thing about the room.  Chisp crumbs had been brushed under the dresser, and… that was a tornado.  A self-sustaining trash tornado.  Though at least there was a pine-scented air freshener suspended in it.

“Sorry, it’s… really not much.  Uh.  Probably kinda insulting, expecting the Queen to sleep—”

“It’s perfect.”

He blinked.  “Huh?” 

“I am no stranger to a few crumbs, Sans.”

She remembered days that bled into weeks that bled into months.  Months where she couldn’t bring herself to clean, could hardly bring herself to care at all.  Months that had grown fewer and farther between since she’d met a friendly voice behind a door.

“I would’ve vacuumed,” he said sheepishly, “but I suck at it.”

More embarrassingly loud laughter burst from her.  In front of Sans, though, she didn’t feel the need to curtail her joy.

“Thank you.” She poured as much sincerity as she could into her voice.  

“‘S no problem, Tori.”  A light blue tinge warmed his cheekbones.  How could he possibly look so adorable? “Bathroom’s down the hall if you wanna wash up or anything.  And Undyne’ll be on the couch, so this is probably the safest place in the Underground right now.”

Her brow furrowed.  Sure enough, there was no bathroom door inside the room—he must have used one of his “shortcuts” to move from his brother’s room to here.

“So, uh.  I’ll be in the shed—uh, guest room if you need me.”  He flashed one more tense grin before turning to leave.

“Wait.” She stepped towards him without thinking.  

He looked up, one brow ridge raised.  She found herself biting her lip, wondering if she dared ask what her soul wanted.  It was silly, really.  She’d been on her own for years, decades.

Maybe that was why she was so hesitant to lose this one taste of companionship.

“I would feel… safer, if you would stay too.”  Her face burned beneath her fur, but she projected her usual composure.

“...Welp. Can’t say no to that, huh?”

She was about to reassure him that he could say no—that she was asking as his friend, not as his queen—but the soft smile on his face told her he already knew.  

He briefly left to grab a few things, then returned with a few pillows and, for some reason, a dog bed.

“You are not going to sleep on that,” she said in disbelief.

He flopped the dog bed in the middle of the floor and started fluffing it.  “Why not?  Gotta throw a dog bed a bone, right?”

“Sans.”  

The outdoor lights dimmed, as if at her command.  Only the colored Gyftmas lights outside and one dim indoor bulb lit the room.

Her confidence waned with the light.  What had she expected him to do?  She’d asked him to stay.  Unless she wanted to…

Oh, to hell with it.  She was too old to be so shy about these things.

“If you are not opposed,” she swallowed, “we could… share this mattress.”

When he looked up, she couldn’t make out his eyelights at all.  Their glow returned slowly, like the rising of the sun from her memories.

“Heh… you sure?  You don’t even know if I snore.”

She laughed and sat on the bed, patting the space beside her.  “You do not know if I snore, either.”

“Fair enough, Tori.”

They took turns cleaning up in the bathroom—she was imposing on Sans enough without adding the smell of dirty fur to his bed.  Then she did her best to ignore the flutterings in her soul as he slipped off his hoodie and climbed up onto the mattress.  She insisted he stay under the sheets; her fur would keep her warm enough with just the light blanket on top.  

The sheets were a barrier in name only.  There was only so much space on the mattress, so no matter how he adjusted and apologized, she could still feel the curve of his spine against hers.

It felt amazing.  It felt terrifying.  It felt like a mistake.  It felt like the only thing she’d ever done right.

The one saving grace of the whole situation was that it didn’t stir memories of Asgore.  Her royal beds had been triple the size of Sans’s lumpy mattress. She and her ex-husband had rarely slept back to back, and if they had, the feeling would have much different.

“...Tori?” Sans’s voice was just above a whisper.  “You, uh, still awake?”

As if she could sleep while enduring the wonderful agony of friendly touch for the first time in a century.

“Yes,” she replied softly.  “Am I taking up too much space?”

“No, ‘course not. I was just, uh… geez.” He sounded embarrassed.

Risking their precarious balance, she rolled over to face him.  Or to face the back of his skull, at least.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Doin’ sans-sational.” He chuckled to himself.  “Sorry.  Never got to use that one with you before.”

She would have laughed, had she not worried about shaking the whole mattress.

“It was sans-tastic,” she joked back, and he laughed again.

Then abruptly, his laughter cut off.

“Thanks, Tori,” he said in a quiet but firm voice.

“What for?” She wished she could take his hand, see his face, learn what thoughts were passing through his skull.  Instead she gave him as much space as physically possible… which still was not much.

A long, silent moment passed.  Had he fallen asleep?

“I know it’s not how you wanted,” he finally said, “but I’m glad I got to meet you.  So.  Thanks.”

Warmth spread outward from her soul to fill her whole body.  Sans could probably feel it radiating from her.

“Thank you, Sans.  If I had to return, knowing no one…”

He rolled to face her.  His eyelights were mere inches from her pupils.

“You would’ve been fine.  All you had to do was tell a few of your amazing jokes, and the whole Underground would’ve been linin’ up to be your pals.”

She suppressed a laugh.  “I hardly think that would be appropriate, under the circumstances.”

“Eh.”  He shrugged.  “Plenty of monsters in town cope with jokes.  You’d just be relating to the common folk.”

She stared into his sockets a little too intently.  At this distance, it easily made her dizzy.

“Would you be included in that demographic?” she couldn’t help asking.

“When I first met you?  For sure.” His gaze darted away.  “But it’s crazy.  Between you and the kid… I’m startin’ to think there’s more to life than good food and bad laughs.”

“Really?”  She and the child had made such an impact on him?

“I know.  Don’t tell Papyrus.  He wouldn’t believe you, anyway.” He winked.

“My lips are sealed.” She smiled.

Silence hung between them.  It should have felt awkward, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn away.  In the end it was Sans who yawned in her face and then hurriedly flipped back onto his other side.

She laughed, and clearly she was exhausted too, because she pressed a kiss to the back of his skull without thinking.

He froze.  She froze.  There was no way to play that off gracefully.  And there was no way she could fall asleep and pretend that it had not happened.

“Heh… those didn’t feel very sealed to me,” he finally rasped out.

It took her a moment to process what he meant.  Meanwhile her embarrassment only burned hotter.

“I am so sorry—”

“I’m not.” When he rolled back to face her, his face was bright blue.  “You’ll still be here when I wake up, right?”

His question was tinged with desperation.

“Of course,” she answered automatically, despite the many responsibilities that she would have to attend to in the morning.  She was the Queen once more.  If she had to, she could adjust the schedule of meetings and speeches to accommodate… this.

Whatever this was to be.

“Remind me in the morning,” he squeezed her hand, “that this is real.”

His hand quickly went limp.  She was worried for a moment, before she heard the faint snore escape his nasal cavity.

She gave him a fond smile, and allowed her own eyes to close.  She did not know if sleep would come or not.  She did not know what challenges the new day would bring, or what old challenges would continue to rear their heads.

But she did know that she was not alone.  For tonight, that was enough.

[castexpectopatronum]

Liquid Amber - Part III [Remus Lupin x Reader Imagine]

Summary: You had been crushing on Remus Lupin for an eternity when you finally decided to ask him out. However, things do not go as planned and you remain wondering just what exactly is going on with this boy.

notes: reupload because the original got deleated

trigger warnings: none

word count: 1.9k

Masterlist

What was Remus Lupin hiding?

The question was burning inside of you ever since your encounter in the corridor a few days ago. And even though you knew that it was none of your business, you still were determined to find out.

Concerning this matter, it was fortunate you fancied Remus as that made you far more observant of him. Whenever you could, you shot glances at him, during meals and classes, and paid special attention to his behaviour. You did notice that he seemed rather sick, he looked pale and peaky and he seemed to be growing weaker by each day.

Then, he disappeared. When you stepped into the Transfiguration classroom one day, already late, only to find his seat empty, a deep frown appeared on your face. His friends, James, Sirius and Peter, were there, but unusually quiet and had black shadows under their eyes. Peter even fell asleep during the lesson; his soft snores filled the classroom until Sirius nudged him with his ellbow causing Peter to almost fall from his chair. You observed them carefully while pretending to listen to Professor McGonagall’s lecture. Perhaps the Marauders had pulled off an all-nighter of some sort but that still didn’t explain Remus’ absence. Maybe he had a hangover – although you failed to imagine Remus as some kind of party animal.

Remembering how sickly he had looked the day before, you decided to check the Hospital Wing for him and bring Remus some chocolate bars from Honeyduke’s which you knew he loved.

However, when you entered the Hospital Wing, you found that it was already occupied. James, Sirius and Peter were huddled around a bed at the far corner of the room, hiding the person lying in it from your view. The expression upon their faces turned into one of surprise once they spotted you, mirroring your own.

“Sorry,” you said, taken aback by their presence – although now that you thought about it, you should have expected it. “I didn’t know you were here. I was just looking for Remus.”

The three of them exchanged looks, as if they knew something you didn’t, and stood up.

“No problem, we just wanted to leave, anyway,” Sirius said. Next moment, he groaned all of a sudden, leaving you to raise your eyebrows in surprise. James bent down to whisper something in Remus’ ear who looked rather alarmed. He replied something in a hushed voice but James simply gave him a crooked grin, patted him gently on the shoulder and barely gave Sirius and Peter the chance to say their goodbyes before he pushed them towards the door. Playing with your sleeves, you observed them with furrowed eyebrows.

“Y’know, if it’s not a good time, I can come back tomorrow or-”

“Nonsense, the time is perfect,” James interrupted.

“Just make sure to be gentle with him,” said Peter in a concerned voice. “He’s been through a lot.”

Your frown deepened. “What do you mean?”

“Just a nasty flu, tha’s all,” said Sirius quickly, shooting Peter a warning glance. “Nothing to worry about. Give it a few days and he’ll be as good as new.” He turned to his friends. “C’mon, we best be going.” They shot you one last glance and Peter flashed a smile, then the door closed behind them, the sound echoing in the room, leaving you and Remus alone in the Hospital Wing.

You turned around to him and chuckled nervously. “Well, that did not quite go as I expected.”

Remus didn’t laugh. He didn’t smile. He didn’t give any indication whatsoever that he was happy to see you. He simply stared at you, his eyes shining like liquid amber.

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed you in class today. Here.” You placed the chocolate bars on the nightstand next to his bed. “A little something to cheer you up. Thought you could use it.”

Remus nodded weakly. “Thank you,” he muttered and watched you sit down on a chair.

You smiled sheepishly. “So, the flu, eh?”

Remus shrugged and pulled the blanket up to his chin. “Happens to the best of us.”

You took in his appearence with furrowed eyebrows. Remus was whiter than the bedsheets, his face was hallow, and his eyes, usually so attentive and full of warmth, were now dull. Dark bags circling them, and he looked very thin and weak. You doubted he even had the strength to get up.

“How are you feeling?”

Remus turned his head away from you and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m fine.”

You cocked your head. “And Dumbledore isn’t two-hundred years old.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I don’t think he’s quite that old.”

“How would you know? Do you know when he was born?”

“No wizard gets that old.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Dumbledore did. The man is ancient.”

This finally evoqued a smile from him which you couldn’t help but return. But he remained silent.

“You don’t really have the flu, do you?”

Remus’ head spun around, and although he hid it quickly and put on a neutral expression, you did not miss the flash of panic in his eyes.

“Of course I have the flu. What else should I have?”

“Remus, you’re as white as a ghost. The flu is terrible but it doesn’t make you look as if you’re on the brink of death.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you knew you had hit a nerve. Remus’ jaw clenched and his eyes suddenly turned colder. He turned his head to stare at the ceiling, avoiding the worried yet piercing look in your eyes.

“It’s a nasty one.”

You snorted. “Sure. Don’t try and fool me, Remus. I know a flu when I see it and whatever it is that you have, it’s not that.”

He didn’t respond.

You sighed, regretting the harsh tone in your voice. “Listen, Remus... You don’t have to tell me what you have or why you get sick so often. But... I just want you to know that I’m there for you if you ever do want to talk about it. And whatever it is – I can’t imagine it could change my opinion on you.” You gave your best to give him an encouraging smile and stood up. “You should eat some chocolate. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

You knew he wouldn’t answer but still lingered for several moments to a least give him the opportunity to. When your conviction proved to be right, however, you gave him one last half-hearted smile and left the Hospital Wing.

A part of you had hoped that after this incident Remus and you would grow closer but instead Remus was more determined than ever to avoid you. Every time you passed him in the hallway, you felt a painful sting in your heart. However, the original issue of Remus refusing to go out with you became less and less important to you although your crush on him grew stronger by each day.

Your academic success was quite average but you weren’t stupid – to you there was no doubt that Remus’s illness was the cause of all this trouble, also considering he often looked pale and sickly. Every time you saw him looking particularly weak, your wish to help him grew even more urgent than before but you could only help him with his condition if you knew what it was – and trying to get Remus to open up about his sickness was about as effective as convincing James of writing a love letter to Snape.

It was two months of this slow torture and several stupid theories later that you realised Remus’s sickness was not only a frequent but also regular occurence. As far as you remembered, he seemed to be getting sick every once a month.

A deep frown appeared on your face and you turned around in your seat to look at Remus who was taking notes on Professor Flitwick’s words. His face was pale again with dark bags circling his eyes. A strange cut peaked out from under his shirt collor.

As if he had felt your intent gaze, Remus suddenly lifted his head. For one moment, is amber eyes burned into yours, then his intense expression turned into one of guilt and he quickly looked back down at his notes.

That day you merely picked at your food, your thoughts far away. Your friend watched in concern as you ripped a breadroll into tiny little pieces without eating any of it, staring absent-mindedly onto the wooden table.

“(Y/N), are you alright?”

Startled, you looked up, halting in your motion. “Yeah, I uh...” You hesitated, looking at the breah crumbs in your hand. “Actually, I still got something to do, uh...” Pushing your plate away, you stood up from the dining table, your friend watching you in confusion. “I’ll catch you up later,” you promised and left the Great Hall before your friend had even opened their mouth to protest.

The library was dead quiet as every student was at dinner which was very much to your liking. That way you could follow your suspicions without having to worry about anybody asking unwanted questions.

Pensively, you let your fingers brush over the back of the old books until you finally pulled one out, feeling the weight of it in your hands. You viewed the cover thoughtfully for a moment before you tucked it under your arm and continued to collect more books.

Half an hour later, you carried a great stash of books out of the library, carefully transporting them the long way to your common room as they didn’t all fit into your bag.

“What the hell is that?” your friend asked incredulously as you entered your dorm room and let the books fall onto your bed where they scattered all over your blanket.

“Books,” you answered.

Your friend raised their eyebrows. „Really,“ they said blankly. „Good thing you explained that, I had no idea.“ You threw them an half-annoyed, half-amused glance as they strolled over to your bedside and viewed the book titles.

“Magical Diseases and Epidemics,” they read aloud, “Dragon Pox or Measles? An Encyclopedia on Magical Maladies.” They raised their head to look at you, their eyebrows raised so high they almost disappeared in their hairline. “Are you sick?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, and started stacking the books on the nightstand, pushing your friend aside as you did. “It’s ... a new hobby.”

“A hobby?”

“Yes. That’s what you call an enjoyable freetime activity.”

“I didn’t know purulent dragon pox were an enjoyable free time activity.”

You threw her an annoyed glance as you put another book on the growing stack. “It’s an interesting topic as I have realised.”

“And you had to skip dinner to get those books?”

“Yes,” you said, avoiding your friend’s eyes.

You knew they didn’t believe a single thing you said but thankfully, they didn’t further inquire. Instead, they rolled their eyes and let themselves fall onto their own bed. “I always knew you were weird,” they said. “Just make sure you don’t actually get sick. I don’t fancy getting dragon pox.”

“No one is going to get dragon pox,” you replied, but a small smile was tugging at your lips. The two of you walked down to your common room to do your homework which, although you had quite some trouble concentrating on, you hurried to finish, so you could get back to your books.

Remus Lupin had a problem and you were determined to find out what it was.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 14 December 1833

9

..

at 12 last night the water was less rough - took a little claret and water which staid on my stomach and from then to 5 a.m. I 2 or 3 times caught myself awaking from a sort of dream - then (at 5 a.m.) took a little more claret and water and a crumb or 2 of bread, but this last would not do - however my stomach did not revolt and I felt better at 9 when the steward came to tell me Lowestoff [Lowestoft] was in sight - I rose from my bench, washed as well as I could and went on deck at 9 ½ for ½ hour - the morning was fine - the fine sea breeze refreshed me - at 10 took a little cold boiled beef and a bottle of sofa water which tho’ not up and good yet was more grateful to me than perhaps anything else could have been - poor Thomas had been as ill as myself and was just calling out for a chop having had nothing since Thursday morning - on advising him to try cold meat, he chose toasted cheese and bread! Eugenie had had wine and water last night, but was still ill with her companion Mrs. Kroger - on deck all the day - at 2 ½ took a little soup - little more cold boiled beet but no relish for it - some hot apple pie and 2 bottles of soda water - on deck again from 3 ¼ to 9 50 when we lay (3 miles below Gravesend) to as I supposed for the night - we had passed the Nore light and entered the river at 5 40 by my watch and 5 by the captain’s and from soon after entering the river had heaved the lead every 4 or 5 minutes or after - it was latterly very dark - we had ¼ less 4 and once even less still and we were afraid of getting wrong - much craft, too, in the river - the Ostend steamer whose light we had seen like a star soon after passing the Nore, passed us and we hailed her at about 9 ½ - she lay to, just before we did, saying it was too much risk to go on - so I went down had a bottle of soda water and one or 2 of my Paris biscuits finding that I had no relish for the little brandy and water I had just tried - nothing like soda water - turned out my travelling bag and crammed all into it I could - was thinking whether to write or lie down, when I felt all stirring went on deck and found us off again and close to Gravesend at 10 40 (I go all along by my own watch) - some delay in taking the 2 tide-waiters on board - spoke to them - no chance of getting my carriage till Monday - walked about on deck a little while and went down to my cabin for the night at 11 - the Bankes arrived on Thursday and the Superb this morning - the Jolliffe and Tourist will surely arrive tomorrow - we passed this morning the companys’ steamer Ramona bound to Hamburg and a Hull steamer bound from London home - good deal of shipping about all today - several coasters (Scotch and coal smacks) in full sail northwards - a fine West India ship they said bound there for coal before going to the W.I. – after Lowestoff [Lowestoft] Orford town and castle belonging to the M. of Hertford, and Orford ness and the 2 fine lighthouses both belonging to the marquis – said our mail guard, one cannot have better property than light-houses – these very good lights – a great deal of traffic this way – every vessel on reaching port says for every light she has passed – perhaps 20 lights from here to Edinburgh and perhaps a smack pays £2 for the whole – all the light houses under the control of the Trinity board. all alterations etc. prescribed by the board must be done – perhaps about ½ the light houses we have are private property – If tree on the coast has long been a landmark, the owner cannot cut it down without putting up a beacon, or lighthouse, or something – our mail guard very communicative – talks of himself and his brother officers – 4 of them altogether I think he said – were all mates of Harwich packets – he 15 years on the Gothenburg station – even these packets (now the only ones from Harwich) to be given up next spring or next year, and the mails conveyed by the Hamburg vessels, the rest of the way to be by Copenhagen – the captains of the Harwich packets were all appointed by interest and knew of their business – there was once a military man made – the mates had charge of working the vessels – ½ a ton is common weight that weights down a buoy – the beacons are fixed in vessels and these vessels weighted down and thus sunk fast into the sand banks – Norroy? Leadenhall street best for sea charts – chart of the n. sea 7/6 – the nore light said our captain fixed in a ship close to the Nore sand – Southend (n) and the Nore (s) form the entrance into the river there about 3 miles broad – and it is fifty miles from the Nore to London – the Downs extend over the Godwin sands, said our captain – our mail guard said they did not begin till Sandown castle ships not always safe there - very  fine day - and very fine evening and night - fine star light and horned moon light for sometime but when we lay to at 9 50 rather obscure - fine against at Gravesend which looked lighted up in a fine crescent of pairs of lights along the water’s edge - did not feel cold on deck

Told the Hull boat that the London (Hull boat) had put into some port in Norway

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Verboten - Chapter Eleven.

Update is a day early this week, guys! I’m at a wedding all day tomorrow and won’t have time on Friday, so enjoy :) 

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten

Visuals - The Verboten cast of characters post

Words - 2,437

Warnings - Bit of angst, bit of fluff.

Tag list - In the comments! To be added/removed, please DM me :)

Chapter playlist - None for this chapter

“How many hours now?”

“Five.”

“My arse is starting to go to sleep.”

“I wish you’d fuckin’ go to sleep!”

“Can’t leave you guys to snatch up all the glory if I’m asleep when we swoop, can I?”

“We ain’t gonna be swooping anytime soon, I don’t think. He doesn’t usually move until well after 1am.”  

Tyler and Jimmy had been sitting in the same unmarked Audi up the street from a known drug dealer in downtown Brisbane for the last five hours, the latter considerably less comfortable with the situation than the former. Being a former military man, Tyler knew how to bide his time well. Constable James Broadhurst, however, was a different matter entirely.  

“30434, what’s the latest from your position? And is Jimmy still driving you mental? Over.” Came the voice of fellow senior constable, Ryan Atkins from his radio.  

“30434, all quiet from here. How about round the back, Ry, anything notable? And yeah, he is. Wishing I could slip some ketamine in his water bottle or something, knock him out for a few hours. Over.”

The laughter of Ryan as well as the officer with him in a second concealed position echoed over the radio, Jimmy pulling a disgruntled face while opening a large bag of crisps. It was confirmed that the back entrance to the apartment block was all quiet, just the usual comings and goings from other residents and nothing notable.  

Currently, there were four separate cars, three uniformed officers and one vehicle containing the plain clothed detectives overseeing the bust, waiting to roar into life and swoop upon the man within the building they were staking out, whom they had it on good authority would be dealing a very large amount of heroin on that particular night. A fire fight was expected, hence the heavy police presence.  

“Crisp?”

“Nah mate, I’m good. Don’t get crumbs everywhere though or Alan will put pepper spray in your coffee again.” Alan was Seargeant Alan Bilston, their immediate superior, who expected all cars to be returned in the state they’d left the station in, and who also liked to torture Jimmy at whatever opportunity he got.  

Jimmy shuddered at the thought, remembering well taking a sip and nearly choking, much to the delight of his commanding Seargeant. “That man isn’t right. He has a sadistic streak.”

“You do bring it on yourself most of the time.” Tyler was quick to point out, his cohort snorting and huffing through a mouthful of crispy fried potato.  

He was quiet then other than his chewing, Tyler glad of the peace. Jimmy was a great guy, but perhaps not the best to be stuck in a car with for anything up to eight hours, as it looked very much like they would be that night. Not only was he more used to having to have such patience, though, Tyler did have an added advantage of a welcome distraction every so often.  

‘I’m in the bath, relaxing. I can’t believe I did fourteen hours today. Fourteen! Are you still in the car?’

‘You’ve earned it. Was it that company who were a pain in the arse about the plan you drew up for them again? And yeah, I am, so my replies might be slow as I can’t look at my phone too much. Gotta be ready to move in at a moment’s notice.’

‘Understandable, and yeah, it was!’

‘Might have known it. I’d like to visit their offices and tell them what wankers they are for not trusting your financial projections for the rate they’re spending. If they do go bankrupt then you can’t say you didn’t warn them.’

‘Nope, they’ve been advised accordingly. I can tell them how to spend and how not to, but I can’t force them into doing it. Miss you, by the way.’

‘Miss you too, baby.’  

Gradually, there had been much more affection arising between them, their text message chats not solely centred around sex. When one was having a bad day, the other would be the first they’d text, or just simple messages to see what they were up do, funny memes from the Internet, jokes, anything they considered share worthy.  

However, the sexy tests still existed, of course.

‘So, if you’re done at any point before 1am, I think you should drop in for a quickie. I’m absolutely burning for you!’  

‘Babe, you have something wrong with you, I swear. I fucked you for three hours last night!’  

‘And? You know I can never get enough of that perfect dick. Don’t try and pretend you’re not insatiable either! I bet you’re thinking of all kinds of filth you wish you were doing to me right now.’

‘Of course. Mainly all revolving around me fucking you with my tongue. I miss that pretty little pussy.’

‘I’d be sitting on your face, then, because I really wish I was giving you a blowjob right now, so it’d have to be a sixty-nine. And you’d be spanking me at the same time.’

Grumbling, he returned his phone to his pocket, calming down again after feeling his arousal begin to stir. He received another message not long after, but ignored it to focus on the task in hand. Another hour with no movement passed, Tyler quickly checking his phone again.

‘Thought this might cheer you up if you’re bored.’  

‘Blimey, I’m a lucky fella.’ He thought, viewing the picture of Zoey in a set of dark, leopard print underwear, looking utter mouth-watering.  

“Is Ella still up?” Jimmy suddenly asked at his side.

“Why’d you ask?”

“Because you keep texting someone and grinning, so I figured the missus.”

“Nah, she’s likely in bed.”

“So, who you chatting to?”

“Will you stop fuckin’ bugging me?”  

In his haste to put his phone away, it slipped from his grasp, landing in Jimmy’s footwell, his friend reaching to pick it up before he could reach for it. Closing his eyes, he prepared for it, a cold feeling of dread spreading over him. He didn’t want anyone else to know.  

Picking up the phone, Jimmy couldn’t help but notice the scantily clad picture, first thinking it was Ella and how damn lucky Tyler was, still receiving hot lingerie pictures from his wife after ten years of marriage, until he noticed that it wasn’t.  

“Mate, that’s Zoey! What the actual hell?” He exclaimed, Tyler snatching his phone back, shaking his head. “Well?”

“Do I have to spell it out?”  

“You’re...what? Nah, man. I mean...” He floundered, unable to believe what he was hearing from his friend. “You’re shagging your sister-in-law? Your drop-dead gorgeous sister-in-law? Behind the back of the drop-dead gorgeous wife?”

He sighed, feeling like shit. “Yeah.”  

“Fucking hell!”

“I know.”

Clamouring, Jimmy couldn’t find the words. “Fucking hell, Tyler!”

“Yes, I know! I’m a shit of a husband, having an affair with my wife’s sister.”  

“Yeah, that does make you a dog, pretty much. But hell, you’re bangin’ two of the fucking hottest women I’ve ever seen, man! Lucky fucker.”

“One, and I’m not lucky. Not in the slightest with the mess I’ve fuckin’ got myself into, Jimmy. This ain’t cause for celebration.”  

“What do you mean, one?” A pertinent question, he thought.  

Sighing again, he succinctly explained things, Jimmy listening while they continued to view the apartment ahead.  

“I think the most obvious thing I have to ask here is thus; why the hell are you still with Ella when it’s more than obvious you really don’t want to be, or, and I have another theory, but it requires bluntness.”

“Be blunt, mate,” Tyler urged, opening the centre console when he’d stashed an apple, taking a big bite.  

“It sounds like Ella doesn’t want to be with you any longer, but doesn’t really know how to walk away from the security of her marriage, maybe doesn’t wanna break up the family either.”  

He’d honestly never thought of it like that before. It made perfect sense, though. “You have a point, one that could very well be quite valid. Maybe she does want out but isn’t sure of a life away from what she’s known for the last ten years. I dunno, though. I can’t speak for her.”  

“And what about you? Because you can’t go on with this kind of duality, wife at home, mistress on the side. What do you want? I mean, is this thing you have with Zoey just a casual fling, or is she worth leaving Ella for?”

There it was, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.  

“This is where I’m torn. If Ella actually came correct and told me what the hell was wrong and admitted she wanted to try and work on our marriage, I’d put an end to things with Zoey. Except, that’d be tough. I can’t deny I’ve developed feelings for her,” he confessed, Jimmy’s eyes widening.

“What, you’re in love with her?”

“Nah, not love. But I think a great deal of her. She makes me happier than her sister does right now.”

“You’ve got a lot of thinking to do there, buddy. I’d say I don’t envy you, but you’re banging Zoey so I really kinda do! That chick is insanely hot.”

“Right?”  

“So... come on, you gotta give me something here!” All sensible chatter was at a close, he guessed.

Tyler knew exactly what he was fishing for. “Fuck off, Jimmy.”

“Oh, come on! Is she a freak? She seems like a freak.” For that, he received a clenched fist to the chest, Jimmy doubling over with a grunt.  

“Yeah, she absolutely is. But that’s all you’re getting, you perv.”  

“I fucking hate you, bro! I was gonna ask her out, next time I was out and she was around! I might still, you know.” The way Tyler looked at him conveyed a lot, perhaps more than the big man at his side was truly willing to acknowledge, or even admit to himself, Jimmy thought, grinning in a way to indicate he was joking.  

That night, they finally made their move forty minutes later, all suspect parties swooped upon efficiently and arrested, Tyler arriving home at close to 2am. He’d would have liked to stop off at Zoey’s, if nothing but to lie there cuddling her for a little while, but it was too late and he wasn’t prepared to wake her.  

Sliding into bed quietly next to Ella, he had to ponder upon what that meant, that he’d just identified that he wanted to visit Zoey for something other than the purpose of their affair. It meant something he didn’t want to deal with yet, because if he did, he had to think on the consequences, if he left his wife for her sister, if what they had came out in the open, for everyone to scrutinise. It’d tear apart her relationship with her sisters, who were all she had of family.  

‘Maybe you should have thought about this seven weeks ago, before you started piledriving her on a regular basis, you fuckin’ idiot.’

However, if he continued and someone found them out, it’d fear the family apart anyway. It was such a mess he’d got himself into, it truly was. Jimmy didn’t have a clue, envying him. Nothing about this was enviable. Whatever he decided, something would inevitably blow up, people would get hurt and life would never be the same again, all because he gave into a sexual connection he should have tried harder to fight.  

Could have, would have, should have.  

Sighing, he turned over, his tired eyelids fluttering shut for forty minutes, until Lani’s cries woke him up.  

“You stay here, I’ll go. You’ve had less sleep than me.” Ella spoke, pressing her hand into his chest to halt him when he made a move to get up. Consideration. That made a change. Where there was no change though was her coolness towards, him, Tyler now no longer trying to even engage her. He was only back in the bedroom because the kids began asking too many questions, not for any other reason at all. He didn’t even bother kissing her goodbye whenever he left the house any longer, there was no point. She only pulled away or offered her cheek. It was useless.  

Now, the woman he did receive kisses from...

“You look so pretty,” he told Zoey that evening, when he should have been at the gym, but instead, obviously, had made plans to see her instead. She hadn’t changed out of her work clothes yet, only arriving home half an hour before he got there, still in her wide leg grey trousers, a silk and lace camisole and her eyes made up dark, her hazel irises glittering out from the deep bronze shadow.

“Thank you. Fuck, I’m so tired.” Bending, he lifted her into his arms, kicking off his shoes and heading over to the couch, lying down with her atop him.  

“Better?”

“Much. Sorry if I’m like having sex with a dead yak tonight, I’m absolutely knackered!” Yawning right on cue, she stretched and then leaned in for a kiss, Tyler tightening his arms around her.

“We don’t have to, you know. I’m happy to just settle for this, tiny.”  

“Really?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I’ve missed you.” Giving her a little nuzzle, Zoey smiled and curled into him more, exchanging kisses while he stroked her softly. It was lovely. She’d felt it creeping in for a while at that point, them acting less like it was just sex bonding them and more like, dare she even think it, but almost like they were dating.  

A little voice sounded in the back of her mind then, one she tried to ignore as they lay there lost in sweet kisses, one that told her not to invest too much. After all, he was still married and she knew that if Ella did ever come round, his priority would be to making things work with her. His commitment was to his wife, not her.  

That night, after they’d lay there talking and she’d gotten ready for bed, he stayed with her until she fell asleep, stroking her hair and smiling down at her.  

“Sleep well, beautiful. Fuck, I hate leaving you.” He kissed her head softly before letting himself out, going home to gladly turn in.  

“How was your work out?” Ella asked as he climbed into bed.

“Good, thanks.”  

“G’night.”  

He didn’t even know why she was asking. She didn’t care any longer, and if he was honest, neither did he. The difference between the woman he’d left and the one he’d returned home to couldn’t have been starker.

[jkcomfort]

I’m not the most transparent person online. I keep quiet about my life. In fact, only a select few people truly know me and know my mental and emotional state of being. But this once I will tell you some of the truth.

There are days it takes everything in me to be present. It takes every bone in my body not to throw away what I’ve been given: LIFE. What it takes to breathe sometimes takes up most of my energy. The thought spirals go on and on until I hate the very thought of my existence.

Sometimes the tears I shed are for the reality I am forced to face everyday. That not everything you ask for comes to pass. You know, because “the world is not a wish granting factory” and God is not a genie who gives you everything you want when you want it. But it’s not just that, it’s the struggle that comes when you are handed a life that breaks you not once, not twice, but a thousand times over. And they say what doesn’t kill you makes you all the more stronger, and perhaps this is true. However, the journey sometimes makes you want to expire prematurely. And sometimes allowing yourself to heal is the greatest of all burdens.

I have to remind myself that I have purpose, even when I see nothing but a meaningless existence where I must wander through. I have to remind myself that there are people who care about me. I have to talk myself into climbing out of the pit I dig for myself day in and day out. The grassy fields of a childhood I do not even remember are laden with thorns and thistles. There are mornings when I wake and this is all I see, I do not turn to the patches of green that have grown in the process it has taken to heal this land. But there are moments when I look to the sun and let it tend to my wounds. I allow it to shine its light into the darkest parts of my soul. I do it because there is still a part of me that likes being here. There’s a fragment of me that accepts when a friend tells me I’ll be okay and that this is not all there is.

I write all this because I must. I write this because if I don’t it will fester and eventually burn out and become another pile of ashes in my soul. I write this because at least once in your life you have felt the loneliness and the magnetic pull of the shadows so much that you have wished they would swallow you up and bury you 6 feet in the dirt.

But all that we have experienced in this life is just confetti. In the end what you do today is enough and what happens tomorrow is for tomorrow to deal with. What has stabbed you in the past is buried with the rest of what has long since died. And if I can be the one person to speak to you and tell you there is still good here, even if it may be a singular crumb, then I will be that One. I will be the whisper that says, ‘You will rise from this rubble and you will turn your face to the sun and begin again’. I will be the arms that hold you and the hands that wipe your tears as you weep after you have tried to quiet your mind with something that would silence all your pain for good.

Because this is not where you end. This is where you begin. I know because I too have wept here. I too have died a thousand deaths. For a thousand deaths we must die so we will become who we were meant to be. For without the dark there is no light. You are not the sum of your suffering but may you become greater than all of it. And when the rains come, you will find you can stand in it and be washed clean from all the dust.

-j.k.comfort

[dayscrazed]

Chain of Iron “Table Read”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xLkmUgnZ8w4&feature=youtu.be

Cordelia is looking over at her brother. Alastair looked expressionless, or he would to someone who didn’t know him. Cordelia knew by his posture- he was nearly sliding down the pilar- and his tightly fisted hands, he was quite upset. 

“I know you read mundane papers too. I  wondered if you’d noticed the recent murder in the east end. It’s the sort of thing that seems as if it shouldn’t interest us, but on closer examination-”

Cordelia stepped up to Alastair, blinking demurely. She knew people were watching. She wanted to give them no reason to talk. “Charles, I believe you agreed to stay away from my brother.”

Charles raised a superior eyebrow. “Cordelia, dear, men have disagreements among themselves sometimes. It’s best to leave them be to sort it out.”

Cordelia looked at Alastair.  “Do you wish to converse with Charles?”

“No.”

Charles flushed. “Alastair, only a coward needs to be rescued by his little sister.”

Alastair’s expressive eyebrows flickered. “And only an ass puts people into situations in which they need to be rescued at all.”

Charles took a deep breath as if he were about to shout. Cordelia moved swiftly between him and her brother. Her smile was beginning to make her face ache. “Charles, go away now. Or I will tell everyone how your aunt and uncle must go rushing off to Paris to rescue the Clave from your blunder.”

Charles’ eyes narrowed. And somehow in that moment Cordelia saw Matthew in him. She could not imagine why. There could have been two more different people. If only Charles was more kinder,  understanding and perhaps Matthew would not- 

Cordelia blinked. Charles had said something, undoubtedly something cutting, and stomped off. As he did, she noticed they were indeed being watched by Thomas. He was gazing at them from across the room, seemingly arrested in mid-motion. Behind him James had rejoined his friends and was chatting with them, one hand lightly on Matthew’s shoulder. 

Several things happened at once. Thomas, seeing Cordelia looking at him, blushed and turned away. The music ended and the dancers began to stream off the floor. And Grace left Toby without a word and came up to James. Matthew and Christopher had been laughing together. Matthew, stopped, staring as Grace said something to James and the two of them stepped a bit apart from the others. James was shaking his head, the silver bracelet glimmered on his wrist as he gestured. 

“Want me to go over and break James’ legs?”

“He can hardly run away screaming if Grace approaches him. He must be polite.”

“As you were polite to Charles?” Don’t take it the wrong way, Layla, I’m grateful, but you don’t need to-”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia saw James break away from Grace. He came toward her. He was white as a sheet, but otherwise his mask was firmly in place. “Alastair, good to see you. Are your parents well?”

Alastair had told her she didn’t need to be polite. But politeness had its uses. James wore his manners like a suit of armor. A suit to match his mask. 

“Well enough. The Silent Brothers recommended my mother rest at home given her condition. My father didn’t want to leave her.” Some of this was doubtless true, and some of it wasn’t. Cordelia didn’t have the heart for investigation. She no longer had the heart for the party at all. James hadn’t betrayed their agreement, but it was clear that it caused him pain to be in the same room as Grace. The worst part was she could sympathize. She knew what it was like to be near the person you loved but feel like you were a million miles away. 

“James I find I have a rather desire to play chess.”

That brought a smile from James, but only a slight one. “Of course, we shall depart at once.”

“Play chess, how thrilling.”

Cordelia kissed Alastair on the cheek as James went to offer the necessary excuses to their hosts. They collected their things in silence and soon found themselves on the front steps of the Wentworth’s house, waiting for their carriage to be brought around. It was a lovely night. 

Grace had watched them go, a thoughtful expression on her face. Cordelia could not help wonder how much she concealed. It was not like her to approach James. Perhaps she had felt desperate. Cordelia could not blame her if she did. But she could not ask James because they were not alone on the steps. 

Tessa and Will were there. Tessa was smiling up at Will as she tucked her hands into fur-lined gloves. He bent to brush her hair from her forehead. James cleared his throat loudly. “Otherwise they’d start kissing. Believe me, I know.” 

Tessa seemed delighted to see them. She beamed at Cordelia. “Don’t you look lovely. Dreadful we have to leave the party so early. Fortunately, Miss Highsmith has offered poor Filomena the use of her carriage later. But we’re meant to portal to Paris early tomorrow morning.” She did not, Cordelia noted, mention Charles. 

“We tried to approach you inside but were cut off by Rosamund chasing Toby around because their ice sculpture had mented. What does it mean for the youth of today that they don’t know that ice melts. What are we teaching them in the schoolrooms?”

“Is this another youth-of-today speech?” He dropped his voice into a passable imitation of Will’s. “Running about, no morals, using ridiculous words like ‘barmie’ and ‘brinkets’!”

“Even I know ‘brinkets’ is not a word.” He and James bantered back and forth as the Institute’s carriage rolled around the corner and stopped at the foot of the steps driven by a skinny footman in silver and ivory. Cordelia could not help but think how different James’ relationship with his father was from Alastair’s with Elias. She wondered sometimes what Elias would say if he knew about Alastair and Charles. She wanted to think he wouldn’t care. Months ago she was sure of it, now she was sure of nothing. 

Her reverie was broken by a sudden shout. The skinny footman had leapt to his feet, looking about wild-eyed. “Demon! Demon!” Cordelia starred. Something that looked like a spinning wheel covered in wet red mouths shot from under the carriage and rolled about in a circle. She reached for Cortana and flinched, her palm stinging. Had she cut herself on it somehow? That couldn’t be possible. 

James laid a hand on Cordelia’s shoulder. “It’s alright, there’s no need.”

Will was looking at Tessa, his blue eyes wide. “Can I?” 

Tessa smiled indulgingly as if Will had asked for a second helping of cake. “Oh, go ahead.” Will made a whooping sound. As Cordelia starred in puzzlement, he leaped down the stairs and raced off chasing the wheel demon. Tessa and James were both smiling. 

“Should we help him?”

“No. That demon and my father are old friends. Or rather old enemies, but it amounts to the same thing. It likes to chase him around after parties.”

“That is very peculiar. I see that I have agreed to marry into a very peculiar family.” 

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know that already.” 

Cordelia laughed. It was all so ridiculous and so very much the way James’ family always was. She felt as if things were almost normal again by the time their carriage came around and they clamored into it. As they rolled off into the night, they passed Will brandishing a seraph blade as he happily chased the wheel demon through the Wentworth’s rose garden. 

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

Let’s Discuss!

1. Cordelia & James aren’t married yet, but they are still engaged.

2. Elias is home and with Sona who seems to be on bedrest during her pregnancy. 

3. The two above points suggest that James and Cordelia’s wedding was postponed (the released first chapters reveal that they take place the night before the wedding when Elias has not arrived yet)

4. Charles made a “blunder” in Paris and so Will and Tessa are portaling there presumably to fix it.

5. James and Cordelia have some sort of an agreement that he will stay away from Grace.

6. Charles is being an ass. (After sending Alastair multiple unanswered letters, he’s still trying to strike up conversations, so he clearly is in denial/not moving on)

7. Thomastair crumbs.

8. Will Herondale being Will Herondale. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 VI

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers (this chapter, oral, violence, degradation)

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

Summary: The king proves to be mercurial and you prove to be foolish.

Note: Masterlist update coming today @darkmasterlistyouneveraskedfor​. Updates might be sporadic from here on out because despite the world being utter shit, Black Friday still exists.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The air was fragrant as you sat on the low bench, wrapped in only a robe, and stared out the window. On the other side of the room, Loki dressed with the help of the young boy, Hal. The steam of his bath still dissipated in the air as he grumbled now and then, often drinking deeply from his glass and pouring another slosh of water from the pitcher.

It was as if you weren’t there. How easily the king forgot about all but himself. He dressed in dark blue that day, trimmed in an ivory cape and boots. He swatted Hal away and touched his temple as the sunlight made him squint. He sighed and brushed his fingers through the ends of his dark locks.

“Today will be the riding events. I did excuse myself from those lists.” He spoke, almost as if to himself. “Tomorrow I will be in better condition to win at the blade.”

You were quiet as you drew your legs up onto the bench. You slouched over your knees and rested your chin on your crossed arms.

“I will be gone much of the day but I expect you ready upon my return,” he neared and his shadow loomed over you, “You will undoubtedly be eager for it… From what I recall of last evening, you might even be begging for it.”

You glowered up at him as he smirked and winced then tapped his forehead.

“What am I to do? I have nothing but to walk the boards and stare out at the grass. I will be mad by the time you return.” You muttered as you turned your head away.

“All the better,” he slithered. He lifted his toe and swiveled his heel. He exhaled deeply. “Well, what should you like to do?”

“Besides the obvious?” You sneered.

“Perhaps, if you behave, I will see you to a stroll among the corridors when all are retired, but for now I cannot offer much more.” He sniffed, “So, what is it you peasants occupy your time with?”

You blinked and rubbed your cheek as you thought. You hadn’t much besides your work and your occasional adventures with Gilla. Neither would be viable now.

“I might try to sketch?” You looked up at last.

He considered you with a wrinkle in his brow and nodded. “I will grant you the favour upon the promise of one in kind,” he said, “...upon my return.”

You bit down. You expected as much but it still irked you. You turned to the window again.

“As you wish, your majesty.” You stared out at the green leaves that crested the branches of the palace yards. You felt him watch you a moment longer before he retreated.

“Hal, you will fetch her paper and some charcoal,” his soft soles approached the door, “Tend to her meals as you will and draw her a bath. She is starting to smell a bit… common.”

“Your majesty,” Hal chirped and followed the king through to the receiving chambers.

You listened as the doors opened and closed and you dropped your legs over the edge of the bench as you leaned against the wall. You grunted in frustration and hit the bench with your fist. It was exactly what Loki wanted; you at his mercy. Those small requests would grow to desperate pleas. His ploy was working but you could do little to keep him from controlling you entirely.

🐍

You weren’t very good at drawing but you managed a sloppy image of the scene through the window. The trees were slightly crooked and the gate uneven but it kept you busy for a time. You turned to a blank sheet but couldn’t focus enough to draw as you could hear the distant audience from the other side of the glass.

The common folk didn’t often attend these events. If they were present, they were selling wares to those lords and ladies who gathered for the pageantry. Still, trapped in the endless monotony, you longed to join the festivity. Anything but to sit within those walls and wait until your tormentor returned. Even if he could make you feel splendid, the king was little more than your warden.

As the sun reached its peak, Hal appeared to draw your bath with several attendants. You washed alone and dressed in one of the gowns provided by the king. You hate how the satin clung to your torso even with its boning and how the skirts tickled your legs as they swished.

You ate a little. Your tedium turned to impatience turned to agitation. The day faded from yellow to a calm blue and slowly dimmed beyond the stone walls. The din quieted as the sun descended. The king’s presence loomed in your mind.

You attempted a sketch of a lion statuette and relinquished the charcoal in frustration. Hal appeared with two covered plates on a tray and set them on the table. He placed a bottle of wine and some goblets alongside them and left you without a word. The boy seemed nervous since your prior conversation.

The king entered without fanfare. You looked up at him as you were distracted from the trance that had you staring into the unlit hearth. He glanced over at you and frowned. He tutted and removed his cape.

“I am aware your etiquette is unrefined but you will rise and pay your obeisance to me upon my arrival,” he uttered, “Do not think I grow negligent in my expectation of you, little mouse.”

You stood stiffly and bowed. He sat at the table and huffed.

“Well, get over here,” he pointed to the other chair, “Pour some wine.”

You crossed to the table and filled a goblet for him. Your own, you only filled to the half point. You sat and uncovered your plate as he did the same. He poked at the food. He was annoyed already.

“Are you not hungry?” He asked as he twirled his fork. “I am informed your plates are left barely touched as late.”

“I am,” you scooped up a potato, “I will eat.”

He tilted his head and considered you. He dropped his fork and leaned back in his seat. “Do not force yourself on my account,” he said, “If you do not appreciate the fare, then you may forego your supper.”

“Your majesty, I will--”

“No, no, as I recall, you owe me,” he glanced at the paper on the edge of the table and the sticks of charcoal, “And as I do anticipate an early morning on account of the competition, I would rather we sort this out sooner.”

He dropped a hand down and picked at the laces of his trousers, “Come, under the table,” he bid, “If you will not eat then you may use your mouth for other means.”

You glared at him, mortified. You brought your fork to your lips and he was quick to rise and bat it away. The top of his pants drooped as you dropped the silver and you blanched at him. He dropped back into his chair.

“I do not issue requests, I give orders. Now on your knees or I will have you even quicker on your back.”

“Then do it already,” you snarled, “I tire of your boasting.”

He stood once more, this time so abrubtly that his chair toppled behind him. He was upon you in a moment, his hands around your head as he forced you to your feet. His eyes flared down at you as you grabbed onto his arms and wrestled with him. You stumbled as he dragged you around the chamber he angled you toward the settee.

He shoved you down and slipped a hand down to your throat as he straddled you beneath him. He slid his hand down the front of his open trousers and pulled out his hard member. He lifted his knees and moved up to pin down your shoulders. He squeezed your throat tightly as he bent over you and guided his cock to your lips.

“You bite me and I will have your teeth on the floor,” he threatened, “Now open for your king.”

You clenched your lips but as your breath dwindled, you gasped and he quickly slipped inside your mouth. He sank down your throat as he brought his hand up above your head and thrust his hips roughly. You choked and kicked out. You slapped his thighs as you struggled to breathe.

He groaned as his hips slammed down harder and harder. You gagged and your eyes lolled back as your vision swam with tears.

“You do push me when I am already… inflamed,” he grunted, “When my temper has already been stoked by incompetents.”

He fucked your face without relent as you were trapped beneath him. His fingers stretched over your head and he sped up once more. He panted as he chased his end and when it rose, he flooded your throat without warning. He continued to rock into you until you swallowed around him. He shivered at the sensation and sat back as he slowly drew himself from your mouth.

His cock glistened as he rested his weight on your chest and steadied himself. He swallowed and hung his head back. Without looking, he poked two fingers into your mouth. Without thinking, you gnashed his digits between your teeth. You were met quickly with a strike across your cheek.

He wiggled his fingers, further pained by the slap, and growled.

“Must you insist on difficulty,” he pushed himself off of you and tucked away his cock. He grabbed your arm and wrenched you onto the floor. “There you are.” He jabbed you with his toe. “You can spend your night there.”

He shoved you back with his boot and spun away from you. He went to the table and took the heel of bread from his plate and the entire bottle of wine. “No supper for you. If I see that you’ve so much as stolen a crumb, I will whip you myself.”

He stomped to the bedroom doors and looked back at you one last time. “And leave the boy alone. He is not your friend.”

🐍

You stayed on the floor but didn’t sleep much. Little hazes but nothing more. Loki stirred in the next room and you turned to face the wall. You didn’t move as a knock sounded shortly after. The young boy seemed to always sense when he was required. He entered and hesitated as he passed you before the settee. He carried on and you let out the air in your lungs.

You heard the king’s voice and the activity that followed his awakening. When he emerged, you remained as you were. He ordered Hal around as he sat to tie his boots. He scoffed as he rose and swept towards the door.

“I know you are awake, mouse,” he said, “Let’s not make deception a habit.”

You refused to respond and he huffed. The door opened and he paused in the doorway. “See to her meals, boy.” His voice shifted direction, “Sir, you will watch the door.”

A grumble came in response to the orders as the door snapped shut. You rolled onto your back and sat up. The morning light made your head pulse and your eyelids drooped heavily. You pulled yourself up onto the settee and buried your face in the cushion. You hadn’t the energy to stay mad, you only needed sleep. It wasn’t long before it came.

When you woke, you were groggy. A plate awaited you on the table and the same buzz floated from outside the walls. Another day of sport and you were, as ever, pent up inside on the king’s whim. You slunk over to the table and ate without tasting. Your stomach ached until it was satisfied.

You stood and paced. You stopped at the window as you tried to get a glimpse of the tents erected around the tourney grounds but the silk offered little sign of what was unfolding. You hated that you had to wait, it was all you did. The king had chosen your punishment well. This purgatory was worse than any dungeon.

You marched back and forth. Your anger began to bubble over. Well, if he should have you do nothing, you will find something to keep yourself occupied. Perhaps you might tear down the drapes or dismantle the framed pictures of his smug ancestors. What worse could he do that he did not intend already?

You kicked the door as you passed it and your toe throbbed. Your slippers offered little padding and you swore. Further enraged by your pain, you punched the door. You stopped and listened through the wood. You could hear the drafty emptiness of the halls. Cautiously, you rested your hand on the handle and pressed until the lever lifted. 

You pulled the door an inch inward and waited for it to be forced back into place. But you met no resistance and poked your head into the corridor. There was no guard, no passing resident, no spy you could see. You retreated and steadied your nerves. Was it a trick? A trap? Either way, it was too much to deny.

You went to the wardrobe and took down the grey cloak hung within. You tied it at your throat and peered back into the halls. Still, no keeper to stop you from your escape. Well, it would only be a brief sojourn. You only wanted to see the games. To know what made the crowd so raucous.

You hesitated. If the king discovered your flight, you would be in dire trouble. Yet, he was competing himself and wouldn’t even know. So long as you were back before your guard. Where was that lug anyhow?

You put your foot down lightly. You slowly leaned your weight on it and stepped out into the hall, testing its vacancy. Still, you were alone. You pulled up your hood and closed the door behind you. You weren’t certain which way to go in the immense palace.

You lost yourself several times over before you found the stairs. You scurried down the steps and hid your face as well as you could as you passed by servants in their aprons and caps. You felt as if they all knew, as if any would accost you and report your offense back to the king.

But they didn’t and you kept on until you stumbled in disbelief onto the green. You followed the scent of roasting beef and the wall of voices to the cluster of tents along the sporting field. There were benches set on platforms to house the observers; the ladies waving their handkerchiefs and the older lords cheering on their favourites.

You stood before the steps of the stands and glanced around. Surely you were being followed. You couldn’t have just walked out onto the green so easily. It felt too simple. It felt a snare but yet you kept going.

You climbed up and pushed down your hood as no other wore theirs. You needed to blend in with the crowd. You walked behind a row of ladies as they stood and called out to the field. You stopped behind them and stood on tiptoes to see past them. Two contestants in armor charged at each other with blunted blades. The tourneys had long since traded real steel for training weapons. The forgers often complained of the flimsy designs.

You edged past the line of ladies and upon a closer look, you recognised the fighters. The prince, Thor, fought in red armor with a lion on its helm, and his brother, the king, faced him with serpents across his breast plate. As you heard it, the custom was to allow the monarch a victory.

Still, the audience held its breath as the swords crashed together once more. The much larger royal barely missed his brother with a fearsome strike. Loki was quick and kicked out Thor’s leg. The elder slipped but recovered easily as he batted away the next swing. The two danced around each other; Loki, graceful and light, Thor, lumbering but effective.

As Thor struck down with both hands, Loki deflected him but found the dull blade snapped by the force. He stumbled back and dodged his brother’s next attack. The king was fast but defenseless. He ducked and dove all around but at last found himself cornered by his burly brother. You saw the desperation and the realisation in his posture.

He made an attempt to disarm his brother only to be thrown back. He landed with a thud on his back and the crowd went silent. Thor sheathed his sword and offered his hand to his brother. There was a moment before the gesture was accepted and the king was hauled onto his feet. The men clapped each others’ shoulders politely but all knew there was little comradery between them. Only the prince would dare best the king. And he had dared.

The king waved to the crowd and the competitors were led from the field. The king reached to remove his helm as he walked towards the stall and looked out into the crowd. His jaw was tense and even at a distance you could see his spite. And, you swore, he could see you.

You carefully took a step back and hid behind the figure next to you. You let out a shuddery breath. He could know, now from so far away. You were just another body in the crowd. Well, you had come and seen the fuss. You would have to go before your absence was discovered and the alarm sent up.

You retraced your steps and staggered onto the grass. After such a loss, the king would be even angrier. He did not lie when he said his brother provoked him like no other. A dark foreboding stabbed you.

You already regretted your mistake. A moment of impulsivity had taken you too far. But he hadn’t seen you. He couldn’t have. You were just paranoid. 

You ducked your head down and raced up the palace steps and followed a servant until you found the stairs. You were lost again as you reached the top. The corridors seemed to only lead into each other in circles but at last, you caught your bearings.

You turned the corner that led to the king’s chambers but were suddenly jerked back as a painful grip closed around your arm. Magnus sneered down at you as his hand threatened to crush your bones. He slammed you against the wall and you gasped.

“The king will not be happy with you, wench,” he snarled, “Oh, I think he might just toss you back where you belong.”

“Let go of me,” you rasped, “Ow!”

He shook you with a sharp hiss.

“Shut your fucking mouth. You know what he will do when I reveal to him what you’ve done?” He taunted. 

You gulped down air and croaked out as squirmed helplessly. “And what… about you? What will he think of the guard who let me free?” You trembled as his grey eyes bore into you, “When he learns that your absence allowed for my escape?”

His nostrils flared and he squeezed your arms. His jaw ticked as he stared you down then all at once, his hands dropped. He shoved you away from the wall.

“You keep quiet and go back,” he stomped behind you, “And I won’t snap your neck and tell him you asked for it.”

You went to the door and he was close behind. He reached past you and opened the door so that it hit the wall. He grabbed the back of your neck and dragged you inside. He kicked the back of your legs so that they collapsed and he forced you down to the ground as bent over you.

“I know why the king keeps you, whore,” he spat, “He will tire of you soon and I will delight in throwing you back to the dungeons.” He pushed until your face met the floor. “When he is done, he might just let me finish breaking you.”

He pushed away from you and flipped you with his foot. He clutched his pommel and sneered down at you as he circled you. His chest puffed out and he stopped sharply on his heel.

“A little rat like you will be back to the gutter soon enough,” he backed away as he seemed tempted to draw his blade. “I’ll make sure of it the next time you stray.”

He slammed the door behind him and it shook in his stead. You laid on the floor, paralysed with adrenaline. You blinked up at the ceiling and breathed at last. You were truly out of your depth.

[drunkserval]

A Fresh Canvas: Incomplete Preview

Quite some time ago I did a silly little thread on Twitter, and I’ve always wanted to take that and actually make something out of it. Well it was a little harder than expected, but it’s coming along!

When I have the entire thing done I will be uploading it to AO3, but for now it seemed seasonally appropriate to at least drop this.

I wanted to have this posted yesterday but festivities kept me busier than expected! Story is below the cut. Keep in mind that this is still technically a rough draft, and will receive its final beta pass before the full story hits AO3.

(Tentative) Title: A Fresh Canvas Fandom: Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System by MXTX Rating: G, No Warnings Apply Summary: Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan are neighbors in the same modern apartment complex who, despite looking similar enough to be mistaken for each other, couldn’t be any more different. Or so they think.

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

Shen Jiu and Shen Yuan were neighbors in the same apartment complex. They lived on the same floor, in the same hall, and were often mistaken for one another due to this proximity combined with how similar their appearances were.

But there were key differences, as both would readily point out to their neighbors. Shen Jiu’s hair hung shy of his shoulders while Shen Yuan’s was shorter and lighter in tone. 

And still the mix-ups kept happening, particularly if they were at some distance or facing away. The misunderstanding would very rarely last past the first glance since Shen Jiu would snap and take immediate offense, and Shen Yuan would just sigh and say, "Sorry, wrong one."

Shen Yuan had no idea why Shen Jiu got so offended over it. Surely he didn’t look that bad, come on!

The neighbors eventually started learning to look at the clothes first--or to at least look for Shen Yuan’s thick-rimmed glasses. 

Both men carried and dressed themselves so differently. Shen Yuan dressed in hoodies and jeans--well, if he was planning on going any further than the mailbox, that was. Otherwise why bother changing out of pajamas or sweatpants?

On the other hand, Shen Jiu didn’t touch anything that wasn’t from a known designer. 

Shen Jiu spent proudly--and why shouldn’t he? Because he at least earned his money!

That Shen Yuan kid down the hall? Rumor was that his parents were paying his rent and he'd never had a real job in his life.

But because he never went out, Shen Yuan was one of the only people still hanging around the apartment complex when Shen Jiu went around knocking during a major holiday. 

In Shen Jiu’s arms was a box containing two fluffy black pups.

Shen Yuan’s eyes widened at the sight of them and he completely forgot to greet his neighbor until Shen Jiu cleared his throat. The dogs were like little storm clouds with feet and stubby tails, staring back at him with big black eyes. One started wagging its tail with such vigor that its whole back end wiggled about.

It took Shen Jiu a moment to find his voice as he followed, such was the state that his neighbor had chosen to answer the door in. Hideous cucumber-print pajama pants, a tacky anime shirt covered in snack crumbs, and unkempt hair had greeted him. But the continuous movement of the box in his arms reminded him of his mission. 

“I found... ” Shen Jiu shifted the box in indication as Shen Yuan shut the door behind them, “these, out by the garbage.”

Shen Yuan blinked as the other passed by him, “Have you tried calling any nearby shelters?”

“Of course I have,” Shen Jiu scoffed at the implication that he was so simple. “You try getting a real person on the phone today, though. It’s impossible. I could only leave messages.”

Shen Yuan put a finger to his lips, “Oh, right. Today is…” Glancing at a wall calendar almost as ugly as his shirt he nodded, “Right. Right.”

Did this kid ever so much as leave the building? Shen Jiu was starting to wonder. Shen Yuan dressed like he’d just rolled out of bed in the latter part of the daytime. And he hadn’t realized it was a major holiday. And then there were the countless odorous takeout boxes covering every available surface in his apartment.

Shen Jiu wrinkled his nose but still asked in spite of his rapidly growing doubts, “You don’t know anyone who can take these little mutts in for a day or two, do you?”

Shen Yuan shook his head and heard Shen Jiu sigh. His neighbor set the box down to give his arms a rest… but Shen Yuan couldn’t seem to rip his attention away from one of the pups. It hadn’t stopped staring at him, or shaking its fluffy little behind, for a moment.

“What if we take them in?”

Shen Jiu’s tone was flat, “What.”

Shen Yuan picked up the excited little pup and it immediately started wiggling in his grasp. Not struggling, however--just trying to get closer to his face, paws waving in the air and its little pink tongue darting out to reach for him even though it was still well outside of range. He had to fight back the urge to laugh at the silly little storm cloud. 

“The building allows us to have one animal per unit, right?” Shen Yuan shrugged, “so what if we each took one, even just long enough to find them new homes?”

Shen Jiu frowned. Taking in a dog, or really any animal, had never been on his agenda. He liked his nice clean apartment and intact furniture unlike a certain someone. Plus he was more partial to cats. He moved his gaze from the overexcited animal back to the box. Though the pups looked identical on the surface this one was clearly the calmer one. It looked up at his scowling face but put forth no such ridiculous display… thank goodness.

Who knew? Maybe Shen Yuan’s idea wasn’t so bad. And if it was, it was only a temporary arrangement, in the end. He might be able to get rid of the animal as soon as tomorrow if it was truly intolerable.

Tentatively, Shen Jiu reached out to pick up the dog…

And felt tiny teeth close around his fingers.

Jerking his hand backwards, Shen Jiu sneered down at the animal. “What, you ungrateful little beast!” 

Shen Yuan finally stopped cooing at his own pup to look over and said, “Maybe he doesn’t like your cologne?”

“And what’s wrong with my cologne?” Shen Jiu snapped, voice raising.

Stepping back, “Nothing, nothing!”

“It was a gift, you know!”

Shen Yuan barely avoided tripping over a haphazard stack of game cases as he kept moving away. “P-perhaps it’s just too strong for a dog’s nose, that’s all!”

This time Shen Jiu moved quickly, snatching up the dog by its middle before it could get its ridiculously tiny muzzle around anything, and he stared directly into the animal’s eyes.

“Do that again, and I’ll put you back out in the cold where I found you. Understood?”

The dog stared back at him, placid and indifferent… until its tongue darted out and licked the end of his nose.

“...good enough.”

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

It was a few days before the two of them crossed paths again. 

It’d seem they both had decided to keep their newfound pets and they were both out that day to take the dogs for walks.

The air in the park was warm, so they sat themselves on a bench to enjoy it for a bit longer and soak up some of the sunlight that was so rare that time of year. Shen Jiu’s pup sat like a sentry at his feet while Shen Yuan’s pup curled up on his lap the moment he sat down. 

It was through the ensuing conversation they realized they both gave their dog the same name by sheer coincidence.

One was too lazy and the other was too stubborn, so neither changed it. At least they’d bought different-colored collars. But this brought to light a new revelation, and Shen Yuan just had to ask…

“How did you come up with it?”

“It was just the first thing to come to mind,” Shen Jiu had explained, “from something I’ve been reading, probably.”

"Wait, you read that too!?"

As he suspected! That name was from one of the top-rated web novels that year, from its stallion protagonist: Luo Binghe!

Shen Yuan couldn’t imagine someone as outwardly prim as Shen Jiu reading trashy webnovels, but it turned out to be true. It was just a quick, easy way for him to kill a few minutes of downtime at work, Shen Jiu reasoned in his defense.

Whenever they met up from that point forward, Shen Yuan talked his ear off about his various grievances with Proud Immortal Demon Way.

‘Villains that dig their own graves but don’t bother finishing! Women that lead the protagonist on a three-chapter long subplot just to get to their lewd scenes, only to never see them again! And every single character lost all of their intelligence when the protagonist came around!’ 

And yet he had nothing but praise for said protagonist… almost excessive praise. 

Shen Jiu is annoyed at first but he starts enjoying the company. Which is good because the dog turns out to be a menace.

Well, both dogs could be counted as menaces, just in different ways.

Bing-mei (as they come to call him) would start whining so pitifully when Shen Yuan shut the door between them, thus he often just gave up and took the dog with him whenever it was feasible.

Bing-ge, on the other hand, broke his toys within days, climbed around on furniture he wasn’t allowed on--sometimes when Shen Jiu was looking right at him, too--he barked, he scratched furniture, he tore up pillows.

Despite all the trouble he was causing for his master, Shen Jiu would no longer entertain the idea of giving him up. Not after Bing-ge tore up three separate muggers on three separate occasions and growled at the person who kept taking his parking space until it never happened again.

But the biggest takeaway from their conversations, for Shen Jiu, wasn’t webnovels or dogs. It made him start to realize how lonely he'd been. 

The only other person he really spoke to was halfway around the world for their work and they only spoke a couple of times a month. Now that Shen Yuan was around, Shen Jiu actually started to have things to look forward to besides the monotony of work--knocks on the door, long walks with the dogs, the occasional cup of tea afterward on colder days...

Shen Jiu was never the sort to be up-front with his feelings, so he found a way to show his gratitude by helping Shen Yuan with his confidence issues. He started encouraging him to go out more, and to put a little more effort into his looks when he did. This morphed into helping clean up his squalid apartment since Shen Jiu could barely stand to look at it when he came over. 

Months later, Shen Jiu’s recommendation had helped Shen Yuan to land an entry-level job. That, and a steady habit of going out once a week, gave them something else to do and talk about.

Progress was slow, but visible. Shen Yuan seemed a little less awkward in public with each passing week.

One night they were leaning on Shen Yuan’s balcony. It was a night of celebration, for he’d just earned his very first promotion, and Shen Jiu had brought over wine for the occasion.

He found himself leaning closer to Shen Jiu, telling himself it was just to get a better look at him in the dim light of the city night. His focus wasn’t the best even when he was sober after all. Yet Shen Yuan didn’t stop. And when Shen Jiu turned to look at him in confusion, and their lips met, he didn’t withdraw for several seconds.

Neither did Shen Jiu.

Shen Yuan tried to flee as soon as he realized what he’d done only for Shen Jiu to pull him back saying:

"Don't run, take responsibility. We talked about this."

[cupcakemolotov]

Far From the Shallow Now

Synopsis: Caroline needs to get her head on straight after the ball and is still awake when Klaus drops by.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence × Pre-Relationship × Technically Tyler and Caroline Are Still Together × No cheating × Still Mostly Tyler Friendly × A Moment After the Ball × a what if × Domestic Fluff × Sort Of ×

A tiny pieces would be part of the random snippet series. Just a bit of a what if Caroline had been up when Klaus dropped off the drawing. You can read it here on A03 if you prefer.

                                                       -

The kitchen smelled like her childhood. Warm brown sugar and melting chocolate, the memory of afternoons spent baking with her dad were precious moments that still ached. Pre-vampire Caroline has really hated cooking, and she’d found her opinion hadn’t changed much over the past few months. But baking? With its necessary precision and attention to detail, even the most finicky of recipes soothed her. It had been her dad that had first put a wooden spoon in her hand, who had sighed at her scrunched nose and red face and smoothed her bangs.

“Come on, Care Bear. Let’s try a new recipe today. I’ll let you pick.”

But those memories had been filled with afternoon sunshine and the blare of a radio, and they had been a long time ago. Long before the silence between her parents had grown cold and Bill’s business trips had taken longer and longer. Her childhood was bittersweet and it clogged her throat to think of all the things she’d lost.

But that was for another night.

Tonight, all she had was the silence of her home and the shadows of the neighborhood around her. With her mom working the graveyard shift, she had the house to herself. It had been a relief to come home to shadows and silence after the noise and color of the ball. A chance to process and detox, push away the memory of Klaus’ hands on her skin, the boyish, curling smile on his face and the anger as she’d walked away from him. Breath shuddering in her throat, she stirred the cookie dough a little more thoroughly.

A little pre-baking cleaning had helped calm her juggling nerves and here she was, getting worked up again. The fridge was stuffed with sympathy casseroles, and she’d thrown out dozens of wilting flower arrangements. The cards were neatly stacked and organized in piles alphabetically and according to whom she still needed to reply to.

Her mom probably wouldn’t even notice.

Tomorrow’s project would involve freezing what was left of the food that her mom would eat, she’d already packed the leftovers into Tupperware so she could return the pans to her neighbors. But her dad had taught her to never return a dish empty, so at least her midnight baking would have a purpose. Absently licking at a smear of cookie dough, Caroline watched the clock on the oven click over past 3 AM, and mentally counted her blood bags. She’d need an extra tomorrow, to offset her lack of sleep, but her mind couldn’t stop spinning.

Is it so hard to believe I fancy you?

She’d showered as soon as she’d gotten home, needing to remove Klaus’ lingering scent from her skin. She scrubbed herself pink with her favorite soap, and stood in the shower far longer than needed. The dress was already folded and packed in the box it had arrived in, her bra and underwear at the bottom of her dirty clothes hamper. Now she was sitting in her kitchen in old cheer sweats, and surrounded by two dozen cookies while she worked on the next batch.

And nothing had managed to stop the wheels spinning in her head.

Running a hand down her face, Caroline tried again to decide how she felt about the fiasco that had been her night. The dancing, the hunger and lust in his gaze, those falsely boyish smiles and the rage that had burned when she’d flung his diamonds back at his face.

Klaus had meant every word he’d said and none of it. That was the game he played. Perfection and coercion, falsely sweet words that clung like poisoned honey. It’d been easier to push aside her curiosity, that niggling fascination for how his brain worked before he’d turned his gaze towards her.

Klaus was a monster. But he was a smart one, always steps and steps ahead of his enemies. She didn’t want him, she needed to not want him, and she was pretty sure he didn’t want her either, and it stiffened her shoulders to think he saw her as the distraction Damon insisted she play or his very own potential Trojan horse.

She would never betray her friends.

But Caroline didn’t want to die.

Eyes closing at the thought, she took a careful breath. The games Damon played were dangerous. Esther, Bonnie, all his siblings were spinning on a course that could only lead to collateral damage, and she was sick of it.

Tyler too sometimes only saw her as useful. Her dad had died helping him and still the last time they’d talked he’d wanted her to play more games. As if she wasn’t drowning in grief and what if’s, as if her world hadn’t been twisted as violently as his, as if she wasn’t trapped in a spiderweb she had no idea how to escape. Her fingers tightened on the wooden spoon, and she exhaled slowly.

She and Tyler hadn’t chosen what had been done to them but they could choose how they responded and she was starting to feel less and less comfortable about the bitterness he carried. The hard edge of rage. Whatever had happened when he left and found Hayley had sharpened parts of Tyler she hadn’t known were there and she wondered what he saw when he looked at her. If what he saw made him as uncomfortable as it made her.

Lips flattening at the thought, she reached for the bag of chocolate chips and froze at the sounds of her front door opening. Eyes snapping up, body going taut at the potential threat, her stomach knotted at the sight of Klaus stepping into her home.

For a long moment, they just studied each other.

In the hours since she’d left the ball, he’d ditched his jacket and bow tie, his white waistcoat nowhere to be found. His hair was no longer so perfectly arranged, he’d rolled his shirt sleeves to bare his forearms, and if that wasn’t enough to spike her blood pressure, he still wore his suspenders. Hidden behind the counter-top, her nails dug reflexively into her palm. He’d been stupidly good looking earlier at the ball with his sly smiles and dimpled promises, but this? Rumpled, lips bitten red, his gaze dragging along her body with a slow perusal that set her nerves of fire was something else entirely.

Klaus smiled slow, cheeks creasing, all of the anger from before tucked beneath charm and guile. “I’m surprised you’re still awake, love.”

“Your family is exhausting,” she agreed tartly, straightening her spine. “But of the two of us, I’m the only or who is expected to be here at all. Kind of rude, just bargaining in, don’t you think?”

He gave an elegant little shrug and strolled closer. Her jaw flexed, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a velvet box and setting it on an empty space on the counter. “I do have an invitation. And perhaps it is also just as rude, don’t you think, to return gifts?”

Shoving the wooden spoon back into the cookie dough before she was tempted to smack him with it, Caroline settled a hand on her hip and faked her bravado. “It’s way ruder to offer gifts with so many strings in the first place.”

An amused glance from beneath his lashes before he peered at her cooling racks of cookies. “Most women enjoy apology jewelry.”

“I must have missed the apology.”

One dimple peaked high on his smile and he snagged a cookie. “I didn’t realize you baked.”

She narrowed her eyes as he took a bite, his clear dodge. This entire conversation felt surreal, a little bit domestic, and a lot concerning. Wasn’t she just thinking about how dangerous he was? This, this charm, only highlighted that danger. He slipped so easily from mood to mood, as mercurial as the wind and she needed to remember that.

Promises or no.

“It’s not like we really exchange small talk. And that’s the only cookie you get. I have a dozen dishes to fill and I need this done before mom gets home.” She tipped her chin towards the dining room table where the clean dishes and tinfoil were waiting for her. She was willing to bet he'd already noted the dishes, but so what. “So why don't you get to your point and leave?”

Klaus made a thoughtful noise as he finished the cooking, dusting his hands of crumbs. “Need help?”

“From you? Absolutely not.” The words slipped out before she could catch him and find something politer to say. This was her grief, her method of coping. He didn't get an opinion and he didn't get to pretend they were friends. Not when he wold kill all of them if he thought it necessary. This? This mess and this grief and this small thing to help her mom was hers.

The smile died on his face but she didn’t flinch. She didn't know what he read on his face, but his head tipped in a silent acknowledgement. Instead of baiting her more, his hand returned to his pocket, and this time he produced a rolled up piece of parchment.

Caroline looked at it warily. “What is that?”

“Part of the apology,” he murmured as he set it delicately on top of the box holding the diamonds. “The bracelet is yours love, no strings. Do with it what you will. As for the rest.” He paused, blue eyes narrowed as he studied her, a hint of gold burning the edges of his iris. “The games my mother plays are not kind to her pawns. Be sure you don’t find yourself in over your head, Caroline.”

She lifted her chin to hide her tremble. “Threats?”

“Call it a warning.” Klaus said. “Likely the only one you’ll get.” Just as quickly, that sense of danger melted under another smile and he snagged a second cookie before turning and sauntering away at her protest.She slid her tongue between her teeth at the sight of just how well his pants were tailored and the way the suspenders highlighted the length of his back. The image was going to be burned behind her eyes for days.

As if he could sense her gaze dragging down his spine, he cast one more boyish smile at her as he opened her door. “The cookies were delicious, love. I do so look forward to learning what other secrets you're keeping.”

She watched him go, barely breathing, a mix of alarm and arousal mixing with adrenaline. So many layers. The hidden threat in his words, the reminder that he could walk into her home whenever he wished. The return of the bracelet, that little bit of claim he’d laid on her life.

An apology.

Swallowing, she wiped her shaking hands on her sweats and reached for the parchment. It unrolled to show the familiar lines of her face and the perfect image of a horse.

Thank you for your honesty.

Swallowing, she set the drawing down and didn’t know what to think.

[celosiaa]

hi me again 🥺 sorry for making you tear up even if it was in a good way (hopefully?) 💕 i don’t mind the wait at all, i completely understand and it’s 100% worth it (honestly i get so excited whenever you post a new fic)!! soooo... i was doing some research for a project on epilepsy and i got thinking about epileptic martin?? like particular in s1 maybe he didn’t tell the other archives crew as he didn’t know them that well/hadn’t worked closely with them before (ok sorry tbc as i am rambling)

hello friend!!! I am so sorry that this took me a literally unreasonable amount of time to write! I really enjoyed the research I did for this, and I love this hc forever. And I hope this is what you were looking for <3

CW seizures, nausea, misgendering

Focus.

Just focus.

For god’s sake.

It’s been nearly an hour of Martin sitting at his desk, trying desperately to rein in any sliver of concentration he can muster to look at the laptop screen before him. He feels awful doing it, but every time Jon has passed by his desk that day, he’s found himself pretending to click around or to type—though he’s got the brightness set so far down there’s no way he’d be able to see it anyway. After a few attempts at turning it back up, he’s had to immediately look away, as the pounding behind his eyes resumes again. So for now, he’s stuck with reading statements—something he is loathe to do even on a good day.

And this certainly wasn’t.

He knows better than this, knows that he’s very nearly approaching disaster—what with the not sleeping out of hypervigilance, not eating out of anxiety, and not having his seizure meds for the past two days, as he’d managed to run out of his flat without them. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he cannot send anyone back to his flat. Not with Prentiss still on the loose.

Selfish selfish selfish

No, stop it.

You haven’t even done anything.

Wishing more than anything that his mind did not constantly run him ragged with thoughts like this, Martin looks up from his papers, intending to find a rubber band to snap against his wrist as a distraction, but instead—

Instead he finds himself frozen, colors fading in and out across his vision, heartbeat steadily climbing as his fingers go numb.

No no no no

Not now not now please not now

Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few seconds, but the seconds feel like years against the rapid thrum thrum thrum in his ears, made even worse when he sees Tim approaching from the periphery.

Damn it damn it

Please please please

“Hey Marto!”

Like clockwork, the focal aware seizure ends, and at last—at last he is able to move enough to look up at where Tim stands, leaning against his desk, smile fading rapidly as he watches Martin blinking in the suddenly-too-bright light.

“You alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face, doubtless taking note of how quickly he is breathing now to match his settling heart rate.

“Y-yeah, sorry, um. Was just thinking,” is all he can reply, fighting to put an easy smile back on his face.

It seems to have been the wrong move, as Tim only shifts to sit atop his desk, expression quickly becoming overrun with concern.

“Okay, well…you look like you’re having a panic attack, mate,” he says lowly, reaching across him to grab his water bottle and set it nearer to him. “What do you need?”

Even with his misguided interpretation, Martin can’t help the flood of affection he feels toward him in this moment—because that’s just Tim, isn’t it? Never assumes, just asks what will help and then does it.

If only I weren’t such a mess, and would let him.

“Oh, n-no it’s not—it’s not that, Tim, I’m—I’m alright. Must’ve…drifted off, or something. Had a nightmare.”

There is no way Tim buys that, no way in hell—but thankfully, he lets it go.

“O…kay then. Well. If that’s the case, I was just thinking of grabbing some lunch, do you want anything? Don’t reckon you’ve eaten properly in a bit, yeah?”

God, Tim.

I don’t deserve this.

Yes, you do. You deserve a friend and you need to eat.

You need to eat.

“Uhh—th-thanks, erm.  Where—where are you going?” he asks, wishing to god his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

He takes a few intentionally deep breaths after that—thinking that perhaps it is a panic attack, after all.  Without realizing that several seconds have gone by since his question, he feels Tim’s bracing hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s not going to ask again—but offering him a clear sign that he’s there all the same.

“Just the corner shop,” he murmurs, starting to rub his thumb over the shoulder seam of Martin’s t-shirt. “Nothing fancy. But I can get you a sandwich, if you like. Well, no—I am getting you a sandwich regardless, but I thought I might be considerate for once and ask if there was anything in particular that you want.”

“Yeah—erm, yeah, just. Anything that’s warm would be nice,” he says at last, sinking a bit as Tim removes his hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Tim. That’s—that’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he says, clapping his hand back against Martin’s shoulder with force before standing. “Be back in a bit. Drink that water.”

“I will,” Martin nods, earning himself some finger guns of approval before Tim starts walking towards the lift. “Thanks, mate.”

And he’s so close now, so close to shouting after him, to asking him to pick up his meds from the chemist, if he calls them in—

Just ask just ask just ask

—and then Tim is around the corner, and out of sight.

Damn it all.

He tells himself it’s probably for the best anyway—that he’s not really even sure he can get them. But it doesn’t stop him burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration and shame. Really though, he ought to call first before mentioning anything—perhaps they have a delivery service, or they’ll refuse him, or something.

And what then?

The idea of finding himself suddenly on the floor of the archives, alone and in the dark with the worms having crawled all over him while he seized—

Have to call.

Reaching bitterly for his phone, he takes a deep breath as it rings, preparing his best “customer service” voice.

“Boots, how can we help you today?”

“Hi! Erm, I was wondering if—if I could get a refill for my prescription? For—for carbamazepine,” he says, cheery voice belying the dread with which he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sure thing! Just need your name and date of birth and I’ll look you up.”

“Right. Erm—well, it’s Martin, but I think you’ve still got me under, erm. Mary Blackwood,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth at the foul taste his deadname leaves in his mouth. “Date of birth October 15th, 1987.”

“Alright, let’s see here—“

Please please please

“—it looks like you’ve already got your refill, Miss Blackwood. Our system says you picked up your medication on the 19th.”

“It’s—it’s Mister, actually. Erm,” he stammers, stomach churning over the entire thing. “L-listen, I—I’ve had to leave my home quite suddenly, and—and I am unable to return there for the time being. So I don’t—I don’t have access to my meds. And I, erm. Really need them.”

Pathetic pathetic pathetic

“I’m really sorry, Mister Blackwood. You’re going to have your doctor call in another prescription for you before we can get you that refill. Unfortunately, it’s out of our hands.”

Of course.

“Oh, right. That’s erm—that’s okay. Thank you so much,” he says as brightly as possible, unwilling to blame anyone for something out of their control.

“You’re quite welcome. Take care.”

With a long, shaky sigh, Martin throws his phone back onto his desk, returning his head to its rightful place, buried in his hands. There’s no way he can call his doctor today—or tomorrow even, with it already being a Friday afternoon. No chance of him getting his refill, then. And no chance of sending Tim back to his apartment either.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

It was just a focal, nothing too bad.

Nothing unmanageable.

I can make it.

Steeling himself with somewhat tremulous determination, he takes another long breath—blinking back against the steady pounding in his head, and getting back to work.

—

“Aw come on, Sasha! Take a break with me!”

“Not on your life. I’m still furious with you, you know,” she replies, tossing her hair like a lion’s mane over her back. “Can’t believe you’d go all the way to the good café for Martin, and not offer me anything. Not even crumbs, Stoker!”

“Listen—” Tim grins back, hands raised in self-defense. “He looked like he could use some soup! I don’t know what else to say.”

“And you didn’t get me any? What about me doesn’t scream ‘I could use some soup, thank you?’”

“It’s different!! It’s—Martin? You alright?”

As he was walking past their bickering, eyes firmly fixed on the floor on the lookout for worms, Martin had suddenly stopped short—looking anxiously up and over their heads, framed by the doorway of Jon’s office.

“Martin?” Tim repeats, already halfway to standing in worry, following Martin’s gaze behind him and finding nothing.

Faster than he can turn back around, Martin’s muscles all tense at once—and he tips backwards onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Shit! Martin!”

Tim darts forward at once, in some feeble attempt to catch him, but of course, far too late to do so. In his shock, he can do little but stand over him for a few seconds, taken aback upon seeing his eyes still open where he lies still on the floor.

“What happened?” Jon demands, stepping quickly out of his office towards them, where Sasha now crouches near his head.

“I-I don’t know, he just—”

And then Martin begins to convulse.

“Oh my god, he’s—he’s having a seizure,” Sasha gasps as she claps a hand over her mouth, from where it had been pressed against his forehead.

“Fuck. Fuck, what do—what do we do? Do we call 999?” Tim shouts, unwilling to sit by and watch as this all goes on around him, already grabbing Sasha’s phone from her nearby desk.

“I—I think so, let me—”

“Wait.”

Two sets of eyes land upon Jon as he interjects, crouching near Martin’s flailing left arm, waiting for him to set it back down before quickly grabbing at a bracelet circling his wrist.

“I-it’s a medical bracelet. Says epilepsy,” he says lowly, quickly sitting back on his heels as Martin’s arm begins to jerk again.

“Fuck. I—I had no idea,” Tim breathes, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How could we not know?”

“We should—” Sasha breaks off quickly to swallow a lump in her throat, before continuing. “We should be timing it, did anyone see the time?”

“I-I don’t—it’s probably been less than a minute, right?”

“I think so. I’m—here, I’m googling it to make sure—”

While she does so, Martin’s head begins to slam into the ground—and Jon immediately pulls off his cardigan, folding it quickly and placing it beneath him to cushion the blow.

“It’s alright, big guy,” Tim says, settling down to kneel next to Jon, who now has a hand gently pressed to his shoulder—not holding him down, just resting there in a comfort Martin probably cannot receive.

Tim rests his own hand against Martin’s thigh all the same.

“Okay, I think we’re good so far,” Sasha says at last, setting her phone down with a timer running on the screen. “Just time it, and—and keep watch. If it goes past five minutes, we call 999.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tim says in dismay, snapping his eyes back to his friend, still convulsing on the floor. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

“No. We just have to watch out for him,” she replies, voice low as she adjusts Jon’s cardigan beneath his head. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Not the answer that Tim was looking for.

And so they wait—silent save for the rhythmic smacking of his limbs against the carpeted floor, and the occasional whispered platitude, though all know he cannot hear them. The seconds tick by in agony while they sit helpless, all eyeing the timer on Sasha’s phone creeping up steadily past three minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Tim says, knowing how useless it is to say so—Sasha raising her eyes to meet his for the first time in a while.

“Me neither.”

“Nearly three and a half minutes,” Jon mutters, worrying at his bottom lip while still resting a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Martin,” Tim mutters. “We’ve got you.”

Ten more seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

And at last—at last he goes still, right past the four-minute mark.

“Alhamdulillah,” Jon sighs as he lets his chin briefly rest against his chest, a sentiment echoed by everyone around him.

“Okay, turn him on his side, here—Tim—”

“Got it,” Tim says as he moves to crouch next to her, helping roll him towards Jon, head pillowed on the arm Jon stretched out across the floor as a cushion.

As soon as they get him in the recovery position, they watch as saliva runs out of his mouth, surely fit to choke him had they not turned him—and he begins to snore forcefully, catching Tim very much by surprise.

“Wh-what—” he asks in bewilderment, struggling to hold back a bit of shocked laughter.

“The website said that’s normal,” Sasha assures at once, reaching behind her to grab a box of tissues from her desk behind her. “He’s going to be sleepy for a bit.”

“Okay. That’s—okay,” he says, watching as Jon takes the tissues from Sasha and wipes at Martin’s face so very gently, before tossing them aside and taking his hand.

Taking his hand.

…interesting.

Stowing THAT away for later.

As Jon starts to move his thumb across the back of Martin’s palm, the snoring stops—and his eyes begin to flutter rapidly, attempting to force their way fully open.

“Hey Martin, can you hear me?” Sasha says rather loudly, bending over him and tapping his shoulder lightly.

All she receives in response is a moan, deep and low, as he squeezes and unsqueezes his eyelids, coughing a bit against the pooling saliva. Jon reaches for the tissues again at once, cleaning his face as best as possible.

“You’re okay mate,” Tim says, patting his hip before leaving his hand there for support. “You’ve had a seizure.”

It takes a few moments, but at last, Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely around without meeting Jon’s eyes.

“Wh’ happ’n?” he slurs—all three of them exchanging a meaningful glance, a bit alarmed.

“You had a seizure, Martin,” Sasha repeats, stroking at his hair while Tim starts rubbing his hand up and down his arm, hoping it will somehow help to ground him.

Remaining still for a few moments, still blinking, Martin tries to take it all in— looking down towards where Jon still rubs at his hand, though still seemingly unaware of his presence.

“What happened?” he asks again, voice less slurred, but still weak.

“A seizure, Martin,” Jon says, trying desperately to catch his eyes. “You’re alright.”

At once, Martin wrenches his hand away from Jon’s grasp in favor of clapping it over his mouth, muffling a small and desperate gasp behind it.

“Shit. You gonna be sick?” Tim asks, already looking around him for something to grab as Jon once again prepares his tissues.

He does not respond right away, instead pausing for a few deep breaths—at last shaking his head no. In both relief and the absence of something to do with his hands, Jon fusses at the cardigan again—positioning it just so.

“Wh—oh, seizure,” Martin breathes, and Tim cannot help but feel relieved at his gaining a bit of orientation back.

“Yeah.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Martin moves the hand clapped over his mouth to rest on his eyes, sniffling a bit before speaking.

“M’so sorry,” he gasps—and it’s enough to break Tim’s heart.

All of their hearts apparently, as they immediately place their hands on him in a gesture of comfort.

“Hey, no, none of that,” Sasha soothes, brushing back his fringe again.

“M’sorry.”

“Martin, it’s alright,” reassures Jon, with such rare gentleness that even Martin lowers his hand to look—wincing quickly as he does so, and placing it back over his eyes at once.

“Do the lights hurt?” Sasha asks worriedly, placing her hand to cover his own, hoping to block more of it out.

“Yeah—ah,” he grits out with a pained little gasp, and Jon gets to his feet.

“I’ll get them,” he says, and walks quickly to the switch, sending them into a darkness illuminated only by the light from the hall.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Martin lowers his hand again, eyes still closed, and rubs absently at his nose. Stumbling a bit as his eyes adjust to the dark, Jon makes his way back to kneeling beside him, taking up his free hand again.

“Your head okay?” asks Tim, prompting Sasha to card through his hair to look for any swelling. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I couldn’t catch you.”

“…what?” comes the vague response, delayed by a few seconds as Martin tries in vain to sort through what was said.

“Still confused,” Sasha mouths at him silently—and he nods, instead going back to rubbing up and down Martin’s arm, as Sasha moves to massage his neck.

“M’sorry.”

“Hush, darling. It’s alright,” she says, and Tim knows without a doubt she will sit there all day, repeating these same things to him as long as he needs.

And loves her for it.

“…wh—Jon?”

Eyes more focused than ever, Martin looks down to where Jon still rubs a thumb over his palm, stunned very his very presence in this space.

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, offering a small squeeze of affirmation, inadvertently painting a soft grin briefly across Martin’s face—before it drops quickly again in horror, as the reality of the situation sinks in again.

“Oh god. I—oh god.”

“It’s okay, Martin.”

“No no no.”

“It’s alright,” Jon comforts, more soothing than Tim had ever imagined would be possible for him. “Just be still. You’re alright.”

Five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen as Martin’s confusion slowly fades away—his recovery naturally filled with a deluge of apologies, patient soothing from his friends, and tending to the waves of nausea that come over him every few minutes. Ever so gradually, he becomes better able to hold a conversation; better able to hold their gaze, asking what happened before he went down, explaining that his…well, everything is sore, but that it’s nothing unmanageable.

There is very little that Martin would call “unmanageable,” of course, but it’s the most they will get out of him.

“I think I can sit up now,” he says after a bit, bracing his arms underneath himself to prepare, and Tim reaches out to support him at once.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

A bit slow, a bit clumsy, they get him up—not without some worried questioning when he hunches forward, face buried in his hands as the headache worsens with the change of posture. But luckily, it dulls as quickly as it comes, and Martin soon finds himself able to look up, even to offer a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Want some water?” Tim asks as soon as he looks steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on it,” he says, refusing to accept any of Martin’s guilt-laden excuses, and dashes off to the kitchen at once, leaving Jon and Sasha still vaguely holding onto him in the fear that he might fall again.

“I’m alright, guys, really,” he assures, though he makes no effort to shrug their hands off—so there they stay.

“Do you know what caused this, Martin?” Sasha asks, folding his collar from where it sticks up at the nape of his neck.

With a heavy sigh and an exhausted pinch to the bridge of his nose, Martin replies, face reddening with shame.

“Yeah. You’re—you’re going to laugh.”

“Why would we laugh?” Jon asks so earnestly, so softly that it wins him a long and surprised look from Martin.

“I…dunno really, just. It’s just that it’s—it’s all my own fault. Stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t—” he cuts off for a moment to hiss painfully as he rubs at his temple again, and Sasha’s hold tightens ever so slightly as a precaution. “I don’t have my…seizure meds with me. I left them at my flat when—when I ran. From Prentiss.”

Of course.

Of course he did.

“I would have gotten them for you Martin!” Tim shouts as he returns with the water. “Any of us would, mate. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to send you back to my flat. She might…she might still…be there.”

He fades a bit as he speaks—rubbing once more at his temples, and Sasha resumes her ministrations of massaging his neck.

“Alright, just—it’s alright, Martin,” Jon soothes, a bit alarmed at the way he’s hunched back over—seemingly nauseous again, as he moves the bin a bit closer to himself just in case. “What can we do now?”

After a few long, deep breaths, his churning stomach finally settles long enough for him to answer, albeit a bit more vague-sounding than moments before.

“I tried…I tried to call the chemist, but…they won’t refill it unless I…unless I talk to my doctor. And it’s not like I can just go.”

“You have to get some from A&E then,” Tim insists, sitting back down next to him and pressing a hand atop his shoulder.

“No, I can’t.”

“We’ll go with you,” mutters Jon, before clearing his throat, returning to his best confident-boss tone. “We’ll keep watch for the worms. Go prepared.”

“You don’t—“

“We will,” Sasha says emphatically, leaving no room for argument—and even Martin knows when the battle is lost. “We’re happy to do it, Martin. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” he very nearly whispers, face flushing beet red as the undue attention of the afternoon catches up with him. “That’s really…too kind.”

“Well, you’ve got to get it somehow, mate,” Tim says with a chuckle, earning himself a warning glare from both Sasha and Jon. “What? I’m sure Martin wants this to happen again even less than we do. Which is saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, surprising them all by chuckling briefly in return. “Reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t—this is pretty much my worst nightmare, so…just so you all know how sorry I am.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Sasha laughs. “And it keeps continuing to not be your fault.”

“Right. Sure.”

He does not sound at all sure—but she lets it go all the same.

“We should go today, Martin,” Jon says as he stands, already grabbing a canister of CO2 in preparation. “Don’t want you to miss another dose.”

“And take that thing on the Tube?” Martin laughs, fully smiling for the first time since the whole affair began. “Think we might get some looks.”

“It’s the Tube, mate. Stranger things have happened,” Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before jumping in to assist him in standing.

“Suppose you’re probably right about that.”

“Let’s go then,” says Jon, face steeled as if armed to the teeth and ready to tangle with anything coming his way. “Work that needs doing.”

[daydream-believin]

Sure Took You Long Enough, Babe

Summary: (wlw) Reader pulls an all-nighter with coworker Zoe

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, uh i think i remember mentioning people doing drugs, that trademark wlw obliviousness

Word Count: 4374

a/n: g-g-gorlfren... *slaps roof of fic* this baby can fit so many gay fantasy tropes in it. yes, the bars in cali stay open till 4am idk

Your alarm blared it’s cheery tune, startling you awake. Strangely enough, the happy melody never inspired happiness, just rage. Yet, ever the eager beaver, you shot right up and slammed the button as you slid out of bed, not allowing yourself to dilly-dally. As much as you’d like to stay asleep for three more hours at the least, you forced yourself into a good start for the day. Today was the first day of your new part-time job at Hextech, and lucky you, you got the morning shift. Curse of being fresh meat, you supposed. As long as you could make it through the day without getting too terribly hazed, you’d be fine.

Back home in Arcadia Oaks for the summer, you’d needed a new job or you’d go crazy. What were you supposed to do? Relax? Nah. You’d start taking double shifts as soon as you could. It was a bit tricky finding somewhere that would be a good fit for you. Okay, that was a lie. It was a bit tricky finding somewhere that would even be willing to hire you, apparently. Really knocked your pride down a few pegs.

By a strike of fortune, you had been catching up with one of your old high school buddies over coffee yesterday. You know, the one you used to hang out in the graveyard and practice tarot reading with? Yeah, Evan. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who was just as excited as you were that My Chemical Romance was back. When you two ordered, he pulled out that old joke about taking his coffee black like his soul and it still made you laugh as much as it did in high school. Evan was doing good, new boyfriend, new job, new band. You felt happy for your friend. You were happy that he was happy. He deserved it.

After you’d lamented that you couldn’t find work, he told you about how lately he’d been working for that electronic store Hextech. Not subtly named, was it? He’d told you about how it was run by hedgewizards like you two. They only hired through connections, since they were a magical company run by magical people. You, thankfully, had one of those connections. Your buddy put in a good word for you and, just like that, you were in. They put you on the schedule crazy fast. Like, the first shift of the very next day fast. Good. You were going out of your mind having so much free time. Your relatives were starting to ask you *shutter* questions about your personal life.

You looked in the mirror, slicked back your hair into a neat style, and admired how you looked in your new work shirt. Of course, it would eventually join the trophy quilt of old work shirts you were making, but for now it was nice and new. A pretty baby blue, it will go well sewed next to the royal blue Domino’s shirt from last semester. You added about a dozen earrings to your ears as a finishing touch and headed downstairs. After downing your coffee and hastily scarfing down a still-warm blueberry muffin, you kissed your grandmother’s cheek goodbye as you headed out the door. You tossed a crumpled muffin to the crows waiting by the front door. The greedy bastards inhaled every crumb. As much as you loved having a job again, the sun was still asleep when you started your walk to work. Fuck that.

As you walked through the door at Hextech, you were astonished to see the absolute angel who was waiting there for you. An absolute angel who looked kinda hungover, actually. Well, it was 6 AM on a Sunday. The doors didn’t actually open to customers until seven, but you were here at the ass-crack of dawn so she could train you some before throwing you to the customer wolves. Said pink-haired angel introduced herself as Zoe. What a fitting name for someone as cute and feisty as her. You had to catch yourself from staring too much into her striking blue eyes, that reminded you of lightning, pure electricity, before she caught you. And really, they were distracting. It was hard to focus on what she was telling you, which was a bad thing since she was giving you vital information. You forced yourself to focus. As much as you could.

After going over the ropes of working the wizard-bar, she took you through a cool hidden door to show you around the back. The back had such wonderful rooms as the kitchen that someone microwaved fish in yesterday, workrooms, one of which had a poor guy who looked like her never left last night, tinkering away at some techy-thing, the room Zoe introduced as the room she went to scream in, and a common-room type thing with a sick floor to ceiling screen (or was it a window?), depicting a soothing nature scene. She told you that after you had been working in the front for a while and proved yourself, your bosses would move you up to the repairs and phone troubleshooting. Maybe even invention if you were talented enough. That filled you with dread, despite the inspiration it was supposed to be. You had to admit, you knew almost nothing about the technical/repairs side of electronics and you did not belong here. You were more of a coding/hacking type of hedgewizard. You’d have to fake it till you make it. You were sure Zoe could tell you were bullshitting through this, but thankfully she was gracious enough not to call you out on it. Although, you didn’t mind that impish grin that found it’s place on her face.

Damn. You did not need to get involved with a coworker. No matter how enchanting she was. Or how pretty. This was just a summer job. You would be moving back across California for school soon enough and you were not going to do long-distance again. Although, is a few hours really that long? Definitely not as long as your last relationship. Shut up shut up shut up. No. You don’t even know if this chick is into girls, don’t get ahead of yourself. Mmm, she is very pretty though. You can admire from afar. What’s the harm in that?

There was much, much harm. Stars, you had it bad. You had only been at Hextech for a month now and it felt like hell. Perhaps it was hell. Maybe you were dead, and this was your eternal punishment. Damned to forever pine after the loveliest wizard you had ever met. She took a liking to you instantly too, inviting you out for drinks that first night, and every weekend after that. And she’d invited you over to her place for movie nights and to hang out with her friends. Some nights she’d take you to go dancing with her. She’d taken to calling you Baby. Perfectly normal things for gals being pals right. You guessed this is what girl besties do. You wouldn’t know, you’d only ever really hung with guys. Really feminine goth guys, sure, but guys nonetheless. She seemed hellbent on spending time with you. Not that you were complaining, but it just made your emotions stronger. And harder to shove back into the abyss.

~ ~ ~

One Friday night, you two were just chilling up in your bedroom. A rest before one of coworker’s birthday party tomorrow night. Zoe was telling you that she really wanted to try out a new makeup technique. And you told her she could try it out on you. The joy that painted itself across her features is something that will be burned into your memory forever. But not as high a degree of burn as what came next. Zoe straddled your waist, eyeliner pen in hand, and pushed you back against the headboard so she could better reach your eyes. Your breath caught in your throat. You were helpless to do anything but stare at her face that was in super close proximity to yours. You were caught in a trance as you obeyed when she told you to do this or that so she could properly apply the makeup. Her pink lips were pursed in concentration, and her pink banged strayed into her face. Her signature pink style matched the pink of your cheeks. You were sure she could feel your heart pounding, her elbows were on your chest, basically. She moved on to eyeshadow. Weird, you were always an eyeshadow first kinda person but who were you to critique this goddess’s methods. As she rolled on the perfectly matching lipstick onto your lips, you couldn’t help but think about this being an indirect kiss. This lipstick has been all over her lips and now it’s on yours? Stars.

Once she was finished with her masterpiece, she leaned back to take a good look at it. You felt the heat blaze under your skin as her blue eyes scanned your face. Finally, she seemed satisfied and nodded. Zoe helped you up and you went to go check it out in the mirror hanging on your wall. It was brightly colored, garish even, yet perfect, in your opinion. Like Zoe’s personality distilled into something you could wear. She crept up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders as you both admired her skills.

“My best work yet if I do say so, Y/n,” She grinned like a Cheshire cat, “Hmm, I know it’s already like, 3 in the morning and we’re supposed to be relaxing, but we should go and show this off.”

You both had a shift in four hours but you didn’t know how to say no to those eyes. “Alright, Zo,”

You grabbed your jackets on the way out, careful not to wake any of the other inhabitants of the house, but unable to keep the giggles in. Zoe had thought it would be fun to swap jackets, and you weren’t going to say no to that. Her jacket was cozy, black leather, and smelled of her rosy perfume. You never wanted to take it off. When you put it on, her eyes lingered on your form, commenting how good it made you look. You were very thankful for the cover of darkness that hid your flush, rosy like her perfume. You thought she looked marvelous in yours too, but you weren’t as brave in order to say that out loud.

Suddenly you were in some club across town, being introduced to Zoe’s friend Mimi who was working the bar that night. Mimi looked you up and down, then cocked her brows and clicked her tongue, while nodded to Zoe? Who turned pink and angrily said something under her breath to her friend. You couldn’t make out what she said over the music, you were too busy trying not to put too much weight on this interaction. Telling your heart to stop jumping. Jumping just gets you hurt. Mimi snickered as she scurried off to the other side of the bar to fix up your drinks after Zoe finished her rant. She turned back to you and laughed nervously, leaning on the bar.

“That Mimi. What a card.” You nodded in response, not sure what to say.

You three chatted while you sipped at your drinks. Zoe had ordered you something fruity, sweet, and vibrantly colored. It was very tasty, whatever it was. Must have had a high percentage because your head was already fuzzy with just this one. You stopped after finishing it, not fancying being drunk at work, but Zoe got another. Her alcohol tolerance was way stronger than yours. You fucking lightweight. Mimi had started cleaning up since the bar closed soon. Zoe grabbed your hand unexpectedly.

“How about we dance until we get kicked out, Babe?” She said with a sparkle in her eye.

“Uh- y- yeah,” was all you managed to get out before she pulled you over to the dance floor. It was almost vacant, since it was nearing 4am and most people had either moved on for the night, passed out on one of the club’s couches, or were getting their fix in the bathroom. Nice. It was like the floor was just for you two. Zoe was really jazzed, spinning you around to whatever trashy party song was playing. It was infectious. Her energy, not the song. You were having a lot of fun with the pink girl dancing with you. She tossed her hair back laughing at one point. Right then and there, you decided to throw all those things stopping you out the window. If you missed her come fall, you’d just drive the trip to see her. It would be worth it.

The other trio of people who had been dancing left, and now it really was just you two. It would have felt like just you two even if the floor was full. As the current song ended, the DJ looked at you in sympathy. “Alright guys, this is the last song okay, we close in ten.” He switched it to a Viper song.

“OH! I love this song!” Zoe’s smile got even bigger. You didn’t know that was possible. Somehow, she got an energy boost too. You had completely no idea how the firecracker you were with could stay lit well into the morning. If it wasn’t for your manic pixie dream girl here, you’d be groggy by now. She flittered around you, having a blast. It was adorable. She mouthed the words of the song to you, which would have been rather cute if they hadn’t been considerably sexual lyrics. You felt that blush come back for the umpteenth time that night. And she had that impish grin plastered across her face again, like she knew what she was doing. Zoe had gotten closer to you as the song winded down, you hadn’t noticed until it faded out altogether. Your eyes were wide. She booped your nose, giggling. You blinked, surprised. You felt your heart squeeze at how fucking cute that was.

She took your hand again as she pulled you over to go give Mimi a quick hug goodbye before you two left. You still had two and a half hours to kill until your shifts started at six thirty. Zoe’s favourite coffee house wouldn’t be open until five. As much as a nap sounded good right now, you both knew that it would just make you sleepier. And grumpier from being woken up after such a short time. Might as well pull out an old goth kid staple.

“Wanna go hang around in the graveyard?”

~ ~ ~

Zoe tossed her head back laughing so hard she hit the gravestone she was leaning against.

“Oof, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” She rubbed her head and turned back to look check the name on the engraving, “Sorry Howard.”

“It’s too late, he’s offended now and he’s gonna haunt us,” you snickered, “Nice going, Zo.”

“Don’t worry Baby, I’ve been working on my exorcism skills. You know, since a certain dumbass brought spirits into the party last week.” Ah, Douxie, what a guy. Of course he hadn’t meant to ruin everyone’s night and release those ghosts. It just sort of happened. He was accident prone and you didn’t understand why people trusted him with cursed stuff like that to begin with. Luckily, within the number of wizards gathered, you guys were eventually able to find a way to banish all the spirits before any real harm came of it. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a Friday night. You got to live out your childhood dream of being a ghostbuster.

You looked around. The cemetery wasn’t as spooky as most people thought it was. Sure, there were strange noises, and endless headstones with disembodied names that meant nothing, and creepy mausoleums that cast big shadows in the moonlight, and a creaky gate that swung back and forth whether there was wind or not, but it wasn’t scary. Well, maybe that was just because you’d spent most nights of your teen years here, so you were desensitized to it. Zoe didn’t seem to mind it one bit either.

You glanced up and saw three of your crow friends on the top of the mausoleum across from you and Zoe. If crows could smirk these would be smirking. Fuckers. They were always around whenever you’d go out with Zoe. Watching so they could tease you later. Damn nosy birds. Why did you ever start feeding them. They were even there in a set of three, just to mock you. They may as well be singing “Y/n and Zoe sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

You ignored the crows, pulling out your phone and flipping to your ebook app. Because you know what would make this just like old times? Some dramatic goth poetry. What a way to woo a girl. Zoe was fond of the idea of some poetry reading too. She told you that you could pick. At first you thought to read some Poe, perhaps starting with ‘Serenade’, but decided against it lest the bastards on the roof started demanding you read them ‘the Raven’. It’s happened before. You settled on some Keats instead. And you knew the perfect poem. A poem you could put all your emotions into. The most sapphic poem ever written by a man, in your opinion. If she didn’t feel the same, you could always deny it and say that you were just getting way into character. Either way it was going to make work weird, but you didn’t think you gave a fuck anymore. Here goes nothing.

“Had I a man’s fair form, then might my sighs

Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell

Thine ear, and find they gentle heart; so well

Would passion arm me for the enterprise:” You took a big gulp of air. Zoe’s gaze was locked on you, and that didn’t make this any less nerve-wracking. You could feel your hands shaking. “But ah! I am no knight whose foreman dies;

No cuirass glistens on my bosom’s swell;

I am no happy shepherd of the dell

Whose lips have trembled with a maiden’s eyes.” With those words, a sudden burst of boldness in your heart caused you to take her hand. Must be the alcohol. Yes, that which hath made them drunk hath made you bold. Zoe didn’t appear to be breathing anymore. You looked back into her electric blue eyes. “Yet must I dote upon thee, --call thee sweet,

Sweeter by far than Hybla’s honied roses

When steeped in dew rich to intoxication

Ah! I will taste that dew, for me ‘tis meet,” Your voice became breathy as you uttered these last verses. “And when the moon her pallid face discloses,

I’ll gather some by spells, and incantation.” You just froze there, breathing. The ball was in Zoe’s court now. Speak of the devil, she was really close, like really close. When did she get so close. You hadn’t realized. She lifted a finger to your face and brushed a loose strand of hair behind you ear. Your breath caught in your throat. She drew closer, your noses touching now. Her eyes slipped down into a half lid. Your eyes flicked to her lips and she watched you. It occurred to you that she was waiting for you to close the gap. So you did.

It was fireworks. Of course, you were kissing a firecracker herself. It was a sweet kiss, but laced with that fire. You both pulled back for air, but quickly returned to each other’s lips. Zoe’s hands drifted down to your hips and she pulled you into her lap, leaning back up against that headstone. And now you were snogging in the cemetery. Mary Shelley would be proud. Howard, however, was probably pissed off for sure now.

Your breaths mingled as you gasped for air. Zoe caressed your cheek, cupping your face. She chuckled, “It sure took you long enough, Babe. I was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you.”

You all but collapsed back into her arms, exasperated. Stars, it sure did take you long enough, didn’t it. You could hear and feel Zoe’s snort through her chest. You raised back up to gaze into those baby blues. A pang of adoration shot through your heart like one of cupid’s cursed arrows.

“How about I buy coffee, for our first official date?” Zoe agreed to your offer. You got off of her, legs wobbling like a baby deer. Speaking of deer, you were happy to see that the herd that usually hangs out here in the graveyard in the early hours was peacefully grazing around you two. You hadn’t noticed them come in, too busy snogging. You reached out a hand and helped Zoe up. You two brushed the grass off your clothes and gave one last apology to Howard before setting off for the coffee shop. Zoe checked her phone for the time. It was 5:23, you two still had almost a full hour to spend lounging in the coffeeshop before you had to head off to Hextech. Zoe reached for your hand as you walked back to Zoe’s bike. You threaded your fingers together. Something as small as that shouldn’t have felt as nice as it did. But it did.

You completely adored riding on the back of Zoe’s motorcycle. You got to cling to her, arms around her waist, pretending that you were holding her for romantic reasons and not so you wouldn’t fall off a moving automobile. You wouldn’t have to just pretend any longer now. The thought made you giddy. And now that you think about it, that was probably why Zoe had insisted on giving you rides everywhere for the past month. You were so fucking oblivious. It was painful. Thank the stars above she was patient with you. You snuggled further into her back, inhaling that rosy perfume. It truly was intoxicating, Keats. A girl could get used to this.

~ ~ ~

The coffee house barista recognized you two as you walked in and started making your orders that he had memorized. He greeted you cordially as you handed over the cash. He looked down at Zoe’s hand joined with yours, raising his eyebrows teasingly but not saying anything. Did everyone in this fucking town know about you two before you did? You think you might have beaten that Parisian catboy at his own game. How embarrassing.

Zoe got cozy on you guy’s usual couch while you carried over the coffee. After you set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped down, Zoe swung her legs up onto the couch, and over your lap. Didn’t exactly take you by surprise. Zoe often sat like this. You were used to it. Wait, was this also flirting? Stars, you didn’t even know anymore. This was so confusing. She noticed the face journey you had taken with the internal struggle, and grinned, shrugging her arm around your shoulders to ease you. You snatched your cup of the table and downed as much as you could handle before it got too hot. You were still really nervous, despite her being very clear about how she felt, and Zoe thought that was pretty funny.

“So, we’re gonna have to say something to people tonight,” Zoe started.

You just nodded in response. Hopefully this wasn’t going to make anything weird. You hadn’t been working at Hextech long enough to know how the dynamics worked. Maybe someone had been pining after Zoe too and now hated you. Maybe someone was Zoe’s ex and now hated you. Maybe someone was just really homophobic and now hated you. There were plenty of possibilities, you could go on.

“I was thinking we should wear these matching dresses I found last week, and sort of bought already, to double our cute couple factor.” She had murmured that middle part but you still heard it loud and clear. You had to hold back a squeak. That was so sweet. And adorable. She just saw the dresses in the shop and thought to herself ‘I want to wear that with Y/n’? You could die right now. You settled for downing more of that coffee.

“Yes! That’s so cool? I- What color are they?” You didn’t know how to handle this.

Zoe pulled out her phone and leaned over to show you the pics she took of them. They were matching, made of the same brown floral-patterned fabric, but different styles. Either one would go great with Zoe’s leather jacket, which you were still wearing. You’d go for your denim one. Not the purple jacket that currently hung off Zoe’s shoulders. The colors wouldn’t clash but the style of it would. This was going to be awesome, anyways. Matching dresses, telling your friends the best news you’ve had all year, having fun at the party, not having to spend the whole night miserably shoving your feelings aside? You couldn’t wait.

“Which one do you want?” You picked the looser, more flowy one. Zoe was more comfortable with tight stuff that showed off her body. You had a sneaking suspicion she already knew you’d pick that one, and was giving you the illusion of choice. It was sweet, really. Your phone alarm went off, alerting you that it was time to start the walk for work. All the relaxing time was gone. A crying shame, but you’d still get to spend the day with your favourite person just the same, so not truly that big of a loss. Albeit, Zoe didn’t look too pleased to have to go back to work. Laughing, you stood to your feet, and held out your arm for her to link through.

“Shall we go milady?” You two waved to the barista as you headed out the door. “I think you should do our makeup for the party again, really show off this time.” Zoe perked up, excited at the prospect as Hextech neared.

“And I’ll show off my hot new girlfriend too.” There was that damned blush again.

[coreastories]

Royal Exclusive: Their Majesties are as sweet as cake and you need strong tea for this

Bad news: There’s been a breach in the palace IT 

Very good news: The breach has been resolved, and we’re in for a treat

Today’s edition was delayed because of special circumstances 

Several days ago, we received a dubious tip about a leaked video chat between the king and queen. We received image files and a transcript

This author isn’t an idiot, so we opened nothing, reformatted our entire fleet of devices, and sent the entire package to the Royal Public Affairs Office

Blissful reward! Today, the Royal Public Affairs Office sent the package back, giving us exclusive rights and thanking us for alerting them to the security breach

Once again, this author had to scream in the powder room

As you can see, dear reader, the queen is using a laptop. Somehow, somewhere, the laptop had been infected/hacked 

We hope this was the only breach into Her Majesty’s privacy

This author thinks so anyway, because what you’re about to read is indeed a transcript of a video chat between the king and queen

And we know they’ve only been parted once so far, when the king went to Sweden (See: Modern Royals: The protocol of touch) 

Perhaps the deflection of attention from Lady Seo-gyeong continues. 

Or, perhaps the palace is deflecting our attention from something precious by feeding us delectable crumbs. 

In the king’s recent, also exclusive interview, this author asked him what the queen loves about him. And this author noted that the queen blushed to the roots of her hair while the king gave a rather too smooth answer. 

You’re about to see why. 

And I must say, this is such a delicious glimpse into the queen’s personality. No wonder the king is absolutely smitten. 

Without further ado, enjoy! 

HM The King: “Why are you still up? You should be sleeping.” 

HM The Queen: “I don’t know. I can’t sleep.”

HM The King: “Maybe you miss me?” 

HM The Queen: “Don’t be silly. You just left.” 

HM The King: “I miss you.” 

HM The Queen: “Have you eaten?”

HM The King: “Yes. What did you have for dinner? Who cooked?”

HM The Queen: “…”

HM The King: “Jeong Tae-eul. Did you make Jang-mi cook something forbidden?”

HM The Queen: “No.” 

HM The King: “Jeong Tae-eul-- you--” 

HM The Queen: “I went to the bank today.” 

HM The King: “What?” 

HM The Queen: “I was taking a walk and--”

HM The King: “You were taking a walk? Where?”

HM The Queen: “Let me finish. An old lady asked me to help her check her balance.”

HM The King: “Oh. At an ATM?”

HM The Queen: “So I pushed her over.”

HM The Queen: “I melted Jang-mi’s multi balm. I added rainbow glitter and put it back in. He finally put some on today. He can’t understand why the kids at the reading kept giggling at him.” 

HM The King: *still laughing* 

HM The Queen: “I do miss you. This is irritating.”

HM The King: “I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.” 

HM The Queen: “But you said it will take five days.” 

HM The King: “I’m the king of Corea and I’m meeting the King and the Crown Princess of Sweden-- between the three of us, we can arrange things to suit.” 

HM The Queen: “Wouldn’t that be troublesome for some people?” 

HM The King: “I don’t care. I’ll be back with you the day after tomorrow.”

HM The Queen: “Saranghae.”

HM The King: “My goodness. And what do you love about me?”

HM The Queen: “I’m really shallow.” 

HM The King: “Go ahead.” 

HM The Queen: “Well, I know you’re vain enough about your eyes so I’ll go for your dimples. I’m going to kiss them when you get back.” 

HM The King: “What else?”

HM The Queen: “Your hair. I think you style it longer than I do mine.” 

HM The King: “That is just well-placed mousse, woman. What else?”

HM The Queen: “The way you eat. You bite into food like a kid. You want fried chicken on Friday?” 

HM The King: “Sure. What else?”

HM The Queen: “You always wrap me in your coat or robe.” 

HM The King: “Put on a robe right now. You’re not cold?”

HM The Queen: “I miss you so much.” 

HM The King: “I miss you so much, too. I’ll be back as soon as I’m able. Saranghae. Go to sleep.” 

HM The Queen: “No.”

____________________________________________________________

 Hopefully it didn’t make your teeth fall out. Not all of them anyway. 

I needed fluff because it’s Friday and we have no new episode. T.T 

Also major gooey feels for me, flashback to Episode 12′s “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you.”  

[joontier]

sa mga ulap | drabble 

translation: among the clouds

synopsis: you’ve decided to surprise namjoon by joining the flight he’s piloting to Germany, but in the end, you’re the one who gets surprised

pairings: namjoon x reader

rating: NC-17

au: established relationship!au; pilot namjoon and taehyung! au | genre: fluff; humor ; 

warnings: a dash of sexual innuendos here and there

word count: 1.9k

request: by @mintseesaw​​​ “ GABBYYYY MY LOVEE HII for the drabble game, may i pls request for bighani ft. the loml namjoon + est. relationship au or husband!namjoon hehehhfkffkgjh” GIRL IM AT WORK WHILST DOING THIS WHICH ISNT SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN BUT THAT POST OF JOONS THIGHS 🥴🥴🥴 SO YES THE THIRST IF FUKEN REAL SKFSJDF id like to apologize in advance for any mistakes askdfjiajf i just started and finished this toDAY gnhgnh BECAUES GOF THE THINGS NAMJOON DOES TO MEAJFAWIOEFJO

g/n: this is part of The Paraluman Playlist - a drabble game we’re holding for the whole month of August!!! I DUNNO YALLS IM TEMPTED TO PUT A NAMJOON POV FOR THIS ONE

navi. | m.list

As Namjoon’s goodbye kiss lingers, your hands slowly trail themselves up to his nape, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck to pull him closer. “Where are you headed off today baby?” 

“I have a flight to Germany and Italy afterwards, then we’re flying back to Seoul. Probably be back in less then a week or so, darling.” Namjoon’s facial features soften as you look up to him with a pout, placing another kiss on your forehead. “It’s okay baby. I’ll be back before you even know it.” Your boyfriend of seven years squishes your face between his palms as he peppers kisses all over your face. 

You’re usually not this clingy but Namjoon has been busier than ever, with double the number of flights he has on his schedule than usual. Not to mention they’re all all long-haul flights - meaning he has to fly for more than seven hours for every trip. Which is why you’ve decided to throw a little surprise, for your boyfriend since you’ll be celebrating eight years together tomorrow. 

With a handful of help from Namjoon’s friends in Korean Air, a whole lot of bribing (and maybe a dash of under-the-table exchanges under Namjoon’s name) you managed to book the same flight to Germany Namjoon was going to pilot, wanting to surprise him when you arrive at Berlin and maybe spend some of his free time together as you travel around nearby tourist spots. Or you know, perhaps a quiet, sultry night at a luxurious bedroom provided for by the company? 

Either way, it takes a mighty effort from you to even attempt to contain your excitement inside, biting your lip as you dust off invisible crumbs off his shoulders. Namjoon isn’t the slightest bit fond of their uniform, staying true to his preferred laid-back fashion sense, but to you, your dashing boyfriend in his uniform was a sight you could never get used to. “I miss you already,” you sigh, holding him tighter in your arms. 

Palm brushing against his crotch, you flutter your eyelashes at him in the hopes that you might convince him just a few more minutes with you. Greedy of you, yes, but could anybody blame you if your boyfriend was devastatingly tall, dark, and handsome? Not to mention that time that the amount of time away from home his job takes away from him was to you, a woman of many needs, unacceptable. 

“Come on, baby, you’re going to get me late for work.” Hands gently squeezing at your waist, you feel Namjoon rest his chin on you as he holds you close. Heaving a sigh, you let go, letting him grab his necessities off the table. As he bids you goodbye for the last time, you manage to get a slap on his ass. Your boyfriend turns to look at you, expression stoic as ever. “Can’t get enough, can you? It worked last time honey, but it won’t now.” 

“At least I tried right?” Namjoon shakes his head at you, blowing you a kiss as he closes the door of your apartment. The moment you hear the door click, you make a quick dance, giddy as ever. Quickly, you make a dash for your room, grabbing your suitcase from the top of your closet. Having planned this a month ago, you head on to grabbing the clothes you intended on bringing, taking a pile of clothes and underwear (you might have added a lingerie set in there too) strategically stashed in one side of your closet for convenience and faster packing. 

Taking out your phone, you swiftly go over the list you’ve made for things you have to bring, checking if everything is situated where they’re meant to be. You dress up as fast as you could, put light makeup on and go through your apartment, making sure you’ve left no appliances on during your leave. 

Leaving a larger tip to the cab driver for bringing you to the airport faster than expected, he gladly helps you with your suitcase, likewise wishing you happy and safe travels. With less than two hours left before Namjoon’s flight, you go through the usual pre-boarding routine before heading to one of the few restaurants inside the waiting lounge to grab lunch. As you walk to your boarding gate, someone taps on your shoulder, and you turn around to see Myunghee in her uniform, smiling excitedly at you. 

You inwardly squeal, elated to have met her before boarding. She was one of the few people in Namjoon’s circle of work friends, and of course, one of the few people who helped you with your plan. Sharing a quick hug, she asks you how life has been treating you and you respond with the usual, being busy with work and this quaint cafe that you and Namjoon had agreed on establishing, hidden amongst the many crowded streets of Seoul. 

When you ask her the same, she shyly tucks almost non-existent small strands of hair between her ear, the studded ring on her finger glinting proudly against the light inside the hallways. Your mouth falls agape, instantly cupping a hand over your mouth as you squeal excitedly. “Taehyung proposed?!  And you didn’t even tell me?!” 

“It was just two weeks ago! And you know it’s been hectic for us recently. This year’s peak season is...wild, to say the least.” You nod in agreement, understanding her situation. You don’t keep her long after her revelation, and she says she’d gone ahead of the crew knowing you were going to be lurking around here too before boarding. Myunghee advises you to stay in a secluded place for the meantime before heading to the boarding gates, just in case Namjoon passes by and sees you. 

True to her words, you see your boyfriend shortly after, walking alongside Taehyung. You quickly hide behind a large pillar, secretly watching the two friends make the corridors their runway. You feel like a fangirl seeing her favorite celebrity as they walk by in their white button ups, aviators and all. There’s a tiny bit of jealousy swimming inside you as you notice you weren’t the only one swooning over your boyfriend (or the duo, for that matter) but it gets overcome by the pride beaming in your chest, having him as your boyfriend. 

Courtesy of your boyfriend’s employment at Korean Air, you’ve had the opportunity to travel a lot overseas hence your frequent flyer points. Deciding to spoil yourself while you’re at it, you’ve opted for a first-class seat, wanting to get as much rest inside as well. A couple of hours later after your near encounter with Namjoon earlier, you’re already comfortable in your seat, the soft leather effectively lulling you to sleep. You manage to stay awake though, enough to hear Namjoon’s voice after the in-flight announcements and directives. Feeling more excited than ever, you snuggle to your seat, a contented smile on your face. 

Multiple taps on your shoulder wake you from your dreaming of beautiful Berlin, a flight attendant in her uniform gently shaking you awake. “Miss ______? The captain requests everyone to listen to the announcement.” 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Namjoon Kim speaking, we are currently cruising at an altitude of 35,000 feet. The weather looks good and we are expecting to arrive approximately thirty minutes ahead of schedule. Estimated time of arrival in Berlin, Germany around 2AM following Seoul’s timezone. The cabin crew will soon be going around to offer you a light snack and beverage, and the inflight movie will begin shortly after that.” 

Namjoon’s voice has this authoritative lilt to it, yet wonderfully soothing at the same time. The captain continues, “Actually, I’d also like to take this opportunity to acknowledge the presence of my lovely girlfriend, Ms. ________, currently seated at 13 F upstairs.” The man coming from the lavatory looks at you then back to your seat number by the divider. Shrugging, he gets back to his seat like nothing happened. You, on the other hand, are shell shocked, surprised at how Namjoon found out you were here. Surely, Taehyung and Myeonghee wouldn’t have outed you just like that. 

“It’s okay, darling. I already knew you were going to join this flight a week before our friends knew, so you don’t have to worry about anyone revealing your ‘supposed’ surprise,” Namjoon adds, seemingly aware of your thoughts. You hear hushed laughter from downstairs as a few people listen to his speech. “Could you come here downstairs for a moment, babe?” 

The same flight attendant from earlier approaches your seat from behind and extends her hand out as she points to the stairs. “If you would please follow me this way please, Miss ________.”  Soomin, the name of the flight attendant you just discovered, giggles at your reaction, escorting you to the galley a level below. 

“Ah there she is,” Namjoon sends you his infamous dimpled smile, reaching his hand out for you to take. “My girlfriend, ______.” Taking his hand in yours, he smiles to all the seated passengers, “I’m sorry to keep this short, because I still have a job to do,” Namjoon points his thumb to the cockpit, where you hear his co-pilot turned friend, Taehyung answer back, “I got this Joon! You go do your thing bro!” Your boyfriend mutters a short ‘thanks’ in return. 

With your hands intertwined, you feel Namjoon tremble slightly, worry instantly crossing your features. You squeeze his palm once, peeking over to him. “Okay, honestly, I prepared a whole speech for this, but then time constraint...I-- I’ll just go straight to the point. In a few hours, we’ll be celebrating eight years together. It may have had its own bumps along the way, but I wanted to let you know that every moment spent with you was worth it. Every time I fly to another country, I only have two goals in mind, to transport our passengers safely to their destination…” a man from the back whoops while a few from the passengers clap in amusement. 

“...and two, to come back home. And you know what they say, home is where the heart is. Home is you. You are my home. And there’s no one else in this world who I’d rather have that be, but you, the love of my life. With the sky we are crusing at, the heavens above, and the ground below, and of course all of the people present on this plane as my witness, I wanted to show everyone how much I love you.” 

You hear Taehyung’s deep distinct voice from behind approach, “Flowers for you, lovely lady,” he bows, handing you the flowers, “...told you they won’t wilt easily,” he winks at Namjoon, before joining Myunghee by the aircraft’s door. You’re already teary eyed at this point, and Namjoon makes sure to wipe a stray tear from the corner of your eye. “With this proclamation, I also wanted to let you know that I want to spend the rest of my life loving you,” your boyfriend gets down on one knee, taking and opening a small velvet box out of his pocket. “Hopefully, you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with me too?” Full on crying now, you bend forward, taking his face in your palms as you say your approval. Namjoon stands up with slight difficulty with Taehyung jumping and cheering behind him and he wears the ring on your fourth finger. 

You kiss yourfiance one more time, feeling like you’re just among the clouds. 

Please let me know what you think! x

© hhyungz 2020