#until i have to leave in seventeen minutes for a comedy show

[vivitalks]

“This isn't real,” Nico croaks. Oh, Jason thinks. They’re trapped. In a small, dark space. And they have no idea why. For Nico, it’s not the first time.

fill for the "forced proximity" prompt for @jasico-challenges bingo :)

[baekhvuns]

the duke and his general.

synopsis : in which seonghwa is the duke you’re arranged to, while you’re the general of the royal army.

pairing : seonghwa x reader

themes : angst, comedy & smut. ( tw : blood / war )

word count : 22k ( part two )

you expected everything to go like this, ever since the two of you shared that night together, you’ve never wanted to see him after. the sheer embarrassment and hurt appalled over you, and you were in a complicated state of mind. 

and that’s when you started to avoid him like a plague, no, literally. 

you’ve been waking up before he can, getting ready and successfully leaving before he could wake up. coming back to your room before he comes, showering and sleeping before you could see him. 

you’ve pretended he doesn’t exist for the past four weeks; never once did you look at him in the eye. head down and a small bow or greeting, you walked right pass him whenever you saw him.

simply because, you can’t do it. 

you busied yourself with the duties and the separate military ones, despite the tension between you and seonghwa, none of your comrades questioned anything if they even noticed. 

it’s not like there hasn’t been more than one instance where you walk in the rooming thinking you were early, only to see seonghwa sitting on his bed, a book in his hands and legs crossed.

you would quickly walk away from his sight and you’re sure a deep sigh rings the room, it’s not as if you would keep avoiding him. it’s just that, what you did was awkward and embarrassing for you. you two have no feelings for each other and thus there is no point in making the marriage work.

plus, as written, it is only a contract that lasts for a few months before ultimately you two break off and he marries someone who actually suits him. 

so, when you walk out the bathroom, you’re immediately pushed to the wall and trapped by none other than seonghwa himself. 

his body emits heat and your jaw ticks, he doesn’t say anything for the first few minutes, and you choose to look away. “will you keep avoiding me?” he finally cracks.

there’s a deafening silence between you two, a warm lump that you swallowed quickly almost makes you cough. when you don’t speak or glance at him, he lifts his hand to your chin and forces you to face him. 

his grip isn’t tight or bruising, just enough to guide your face up so he can look the other in the eye.

“will you not even look at me now?” he whispers, “look at me in the eye when i’m speaking to you.” 

“your highness, it’s almost midnight,” you pause, “we should sleep.” 

“we are not falling asleep till i finish my talk,” he grits out and you finally look him in the eye and sigh. 

he grabs your hand and pulls you to sit on his bed, you bite your lower lip at the memories you had on this bed just a few weeks prior.

your eyes are stuck on the pretty carpet on the floor, the only noise being his steady breathing and your heartbeat beating in your ears. 

he hesitates for a moment, leaving a few beats of silence that makes you swallow multiple times. his own self nervous to speak, seeing how quiet it is.

“do you,” he starts, “like someone else— or are you involved with someone outside our marriage.” he plays with his fingers until you answer, mind whirling up the most ridiculous answers you could potentially reply with.

“no, your highness.” you respond quickly, shaking your head.

“stop calling me that.”

“yes, your highness.”

he exhales loudly and then turns into a more serious stance, “have you ever thought about working this marriage out?”

you bite the insides of your cheek; this was exactly the question you were trying to stray away from.

“i-“ you start, turning your head away from him, to glance outside the window. “we are binded together through a piece of contract, your highness. i don’t think i’ve had a single thought on trying to figure out the marriage to potentially make it work.”

“not even once?” he asks, voice now on a lower pitch.

“. . not even once.” 

you avoid looking his way, eyes tiredly focusing outside the window where rays of sun poured through.  

“but i have,” he cracks, “i’ve thought about making our marriage work, i don’t think we both could survive in a loveless marriage, it’ll only hurt us emotionally.”

“but all you did was start fights, bother me just because you wanted a reaction out of me.” you mutter, and he chuckles a little.

“you were the one who started this thing, i told you, you should marry someone not me!” you tell him, voice not raising from your regular calmer tone. 

“yes, i was the one who created this entire contract thing.” he pauses, “i’ll rip it apart.” 

you swallow thickly at his words and the atmosphere made around you, the way he talks so smoothly has you curling your toes. you’ve always been the authoritative one but hearing his lowered voice has shut your mouth up.

“yes, we’ve had our immature arguments on baseless topics.” he lists, “had differences in tastes, opinions, and the way we think.”

“mostly just you,” you add, “you made me almost loose my mind.” 

he bites his lip to stop him from breaking out in a laugh, the expression on your face not helping him. “okay yes i did, but i want to forget that ever happened, instead we should try and sit down to talk.”

you stare at him with narrowed eyes, pressing your lips together.

“i know this is probably a little shocking to you, but i want to make this marriage work.” he eyes you, “it won’t be easy, but i’d like to take the step further.”

you furrows your eyebrows at him, “what do you mean?”

he abruptly stands up, “let’s start from the beginning, forget the contract.” and extends his hand out to you. “it’ll seize to exist.”

“i’m park seonghwa.” you blink repeatedly at him, who stared at you, waiting.

“-duke of eden, firs-“

“park seonghwa, only.” he corrects you with a smile. 

you stare at his hand and then back to his face, he watches you with a smile and slightly tilts his head. with a small smile, you lift your hand to meet his.

“i.. i’m y/n.” he smiles at that and holds onto your hand.

“then miss y/n, let’s start as friends.” 

“ew.”

“ew?” 

seonghwa stares at you wide eyed, your gaze stuck on the red wine placed on the table. ever since the two of you started being ‘friends’, which you were fairly very awkward at, you’ve actually had a decent chat with him.

he officially showed you around the palace, from his library nooks to the secret passageways connecting to different rooms to his personal office. taking you two the hidden rooms, the ones that showcase the stunning beauty of the sea through the windows.

it had only been two days and you’re actually kind of enjoying this, it is still awkward but nonetheless it’s a step further to making this marriage work.

“you don’t drink?”

“you do?” you ask him, lifting your eyes to glance at the apricot hued horizon. 

the two of you were sitting in the balcony that connected to your room, it was almost nightfall, and the entire kingdom was lit up. you could see everything from the secluded space you two had, the small markets, houses, and parliamentary buildings all had their lights turned on.

“should we play a game?” he suggests, resting his arms on the armrest.

“let’s get to know each other through questions,” you hum once again and this time you feel his eyes on you. 

“go on, your highness.” 

he chuckles, “okay then general, how long have you been in the army?” 

you press your lips in a firm line, remembering. “hm, for as long as i can remember, maybe when i was twelve? dad used to teach me a lot, unofficially at twelve and then officially at eighteen.” 

he nods, impressed and sips on is wine. “that’s quite interesting, you’ve spent almost your entire childhood serving here huh?”

you smile, “i have,”

“do you regret it?”

“not one bit.” 

he smiles, “i remember seeing you as a teen,” he pauses to remember. “with a hard stare and a small badge you had on your chest.”

you tick your eyebrow up in surprise, “i do too, just occasional glances at you, wherever you were, i was too.”

“how about you, your highness.” you ask this time, and he turns to look at you. “how many proposals have you rejected before accepting this one?”

he raises an eyebrow at your question, no in malice but in amusement. “if you count every kingdom including empire, and a few from outside then around, uh, seventeen?”

your eyes grow wide at his answer, “seventeen? that’s quite a lot.” 

he nods, “how about you, i’ve heard that your mother tried to set you up with a few nobles.”

you snort, grabbing the wine from the table to your surprise and seonghwa’s. “I didn’t want to get married, and all the ones she choose were just not my type.” you cringe, “all i remember is their mothers wanting me to quit working here.”

he smirks, eyes falling from your eyes to the nose bridge and then to your lightly tinted lips. “can’t imagine you with one of those flimsy guys,” he lets out and you squint your eyes at him.

“what? you almost punched me!” he retorts, “and made me kneel to you!” you shake your head at his whining.

“you asked for both of them.” 

he shakes his head and then continues, “how many wars or even battles have you fought?”

you bring your knees to your chest as your eyes peer out the horizon, “i think three wars? one for ecuador and the other two with elias-“

“ah, that useless one.” he lets out a quiet gasp as he drinks the wine.

“yeah,” you continue, “and then the battles eden has had, some smaller stuff.” you pause.

“i’ve honestly forgotten how many i have fought,” you say as the wind sifts through your hair and seonghwa finds purchase in staring at you.

“do you have any scars?” he asks, feeling a smile curl up on his lips. 

“plenty,” you laugh, remembering the one on your thigh, back, neck and right under your lip. you’re proud of them, because you’ve earned every bit of them by fighting for your kingdom’s protection. 

“what do you even do?” you break in and ask, “aside from cornering girls that is.” 

he laughs at your question and your heart rate quickens, “well, i handle all my father’s work, he’s going to step down soon so i have to follow his footsteps.” 

“accompanying him at travels, visit the town once in a while, make sure everything’s been done correctly with no errors.”  

“and then sign a bunch of documents for eden, then repeat.”

you nod, reaching forward to grab the wine glass he had just lifted and bring it your lips to gulp it down. 

his wide eyes watch you, “why did you want to make this marriage work, you know, considering how adamant you were about that contract?”

he seems to glance of at the scenery, thinking about the question. “i don’t think i’d wanted get married again,” he looks at you. “after the months that are over, that is.”

“i didn’t want marriage because i was, let’s say, scared.” he pauses, “which made me reject everyone.” 

you nod slowly, “i’ve seen how some weddings have ended and, the ones i’ve heard growing up. it was scary but to think about it, y’know?”

he lets out a loud exhale, “i didn’t want to take the risk for it.” 

you nod slowly, “did you eventually wanted to get married? seeing, you’ll be taking the crown in a matter of months.”

he hums, “at one point i did, i wanted a marriage, just not a bad one.” you snort. 

“yet you were trying to make it a bad one,” you say, and he laughs, nodding.

“did you want this?” he asks, and you pause. 

“not like this,” you sip the wine, remembering how this all started. “i wanted simple love, where the two of us live by the seashore and grow old together.”

“have kids at some point and live a simple life, but this, is totally opposite that.” 

he smiles, “i mean to let you know, i have a palace near the seashor-“

“no thanks.” you interrupt him, closing your eyes.

“ah there’s a question i want to ask,” you hum, asking him to continue. “what impresses you?”

“a lot of things actually,” you pique, licking your lips. 

he grins, stretching his arms forward before slyly putting it behind the frame of the couch, behind you. “i’m not the one who usually shows off but i own the country if that impresses you?”

you stare at him blankly, “i’m good.” he nods, bringing his arms back to him. 

you two then stare off into the horizon, enjoying the comfortable silence. the wind blowing onto your faces, warm yet cool. a series of relaxed sighs would leave you too from time to time and you spared him some glances.  

you could see the way his face had no flaws, perfect skin and face. your eyes then stare at his plumpy lips, quickly looking away before he could catch you.

“do you want kids?” he suddenly asks, and you chuckle, he grinned, it felt good hearing you laugh. 

“at some point, of course.” you cradle your face on your palm, “do you?”

you see his face break out in a bright smile, “of course! i’ve always loved kids, they’re so cute and little and just happy all the time!”

you hum, “you know they cry loudly, poo everywhere and won’t let you sleep at night?”

he turns to face you, “still cute.”

you shake your head and then tie your hair up, then you stand up after a few beats of silence. with a small wave at seonghwa you walked inside, leaving the man alone. 

“i’ll see you tomorrow, seonghwa.”

he nods and then stops dramatically. “did you just call me by my name!?”

“it’s your first visit home after our marriage, isn’t it?” you nod, a smile gracing your lips while your eyes glance around your town.

“uh huh,” you say as one of the doors to your house opens, revealing all your aunts and uncles with arms wide open.

you laugh nervously and lean over to seonghwa who’s already waving his hand at them beautifully, “okay, just behave and act like my nice husband for ten seconds and they’ll be gone.” 

he smiles as you walk past him, and he follows with his hands folded behind his back. 

once you two enter your house, all your relatives seemed to be lined up with big smiles on their faces. “how lovely.” you tightly smiled, and he snorts beside you.

and then your eyes meet your aunts who stare between you and the man standing beside you, clearing your throat you introduce him.

“everyone,” you phase to give seonghwa a look, “this is seonghwa, my husband.”

seonghwa feels his heart swell, a never-ending cheeky smile on his face and the though of you calling him ‘my husband’ for the first time thrills him.

he goes forward to greet them while his eyes meet yours from time to time, and that’s when you notice he’s mouthing the seconds to you.

“ten,” he greets your uncles, “nine.” aunts.

“eight and seven,” when near your cousins.

“six, five and four-“ when he stops beside your father and gives him a salute, to which your dad chuckles at, very surprisingly.

you find yourself snorting at seonghwa, however your eyes follow every movement of his. the smile that reveals his pearly whites, he turns his head to whisper “three and two.” and you nod.

the shiny eyes of his when he talks to your brother and laugh at something he said, which makes you think it was your brother exposing you.

once he’s done greeting everyone, they all start to slowly leave and seonghwa finds his arms around your waist, shooting butterflies in your stomach as he jerks you closer to him. 

“you can let go now,” you say, eyes on that one aunt who isn’t leaving. “they’re all gone.”

the next few hours were perhaps the most weirdest ones, seonghwa had seemed to befriend your mother in a jiffy while your brother wiggles his eyebrows at you for anything seonghwa does that impresses you family even more. 

“stop it, sehun.” you stick your tongue out at him while walking to help your mother with the dinner.

“ahh, did you see all your relatives gush over him?” the minute you enter, your mother corners you.

you scoff, “i did,” and pause, your relatives sure did seem too interested in him more than you.   

“they’re probably going to ask him to divorce me for their dau-“ you didn’t even get the chance to finish your sentence because your very own mother hit you with a green onion.

“why would seonghwa ever do that?” she glares, and you almost laugh out loud, spilling the beans of the contract you two had. 

“both of you look great together,” you turn to your mom, leaning your back on the counter so that the kitchen entrance is in your viewpoint. “the way he looks at you, it’s all visible!”

you’re about to retort back that you see seonghwa standing at the door, you urge him to come in, but he places a finger on his lips, as if to not talk. you squint your eyes at him but agree anyways.

your mother who seems absolutely oblivious to the situation opens her big mouth, “just give me the baby news already! i want to be a grandma before i die.” 

your wide eyes immediately land on seonghwa’s, his eyebrows shoot up to his forehead while your mother rants about wanting to see more grandkids.

“your oldest child has two, mom, twins at that.” you refer to your older sister, and her two devil of kids.

you see how his lips form a smirk, his head nodding to everything your mom talks about. he then uses his two fingers to poke his cheeks, eyes shiny and wide as he bobs his head.

“i don’t think you’ll hear that news soon,” you say, eyes still on him. 

he tilts his head and mouths a, “why not?”

“why not?” your mother asks, “you both would be lovely parents.” and seonghwa nods.

“seonghwa wouldn’t want them.” you narrow your eyes at him, “we haven’t discussed anything yet.”

he leans on the door frame and lifts his hands up, “how many do you think you want?” your mother asks, and you just want to leave the room already.

seonghwa jumps in his spot to get your attention, hands waving at you frantically, your eyes travel from your mother to his. 

he lifts one, two, three, four and five of his fingers, your eyes widen in shock.

“five?!” you yell out loud, making your mother flinch. 

“you want five kids?” your mother questions you with shock and seonghwa nods with a teasing smile before leaving the room, leaving you to deal with her.

“i- no!” with that you glared out the door, sparing your mother a glance before walking out to find him.

the rest of the night was everyone having fun, seonghwa making everyone laugh while your brother and mother spade you amused glances whenever they’d him talk. 

when the visit was over, you wave to your family with big smiles, your hands carried random gifts your mother prepared for you and seonghwa. 

the two of you walk back to the car prepared for you, arms and shoulders brushing each other’s, all on purpose, as you walk back in silence.  

“today was fun,” he says, cheeks heating up at the memory of few moments prior. “i like your family.”

you find yourself smiling too, “it was, they loved you.”

he snorts, “who wouldn’t.” 

you roll your eyes and walk faster, leaving a whining seonghwa behind. he runs after you as you keep walking with a smile, and a totally different reason to why your heart was beating so rapidly.

once the two of you sat down in the cars, you lean back in the seat and close your eyes. a sigh escapes your lips, and you get comfortable in your seat, the ride back to the palace was a long one and getting a nap was what you wanted.

seonghwa does the same, but before he shuts his eyes, he leans down to press his lips against your cheeks, your eyes shoot open at that and he smiles against your skin. 

he then brushes his lips against your ear, “one and zero.”

your eyes blinked at the flash, so bright and blinding. eyes focusing on the room containing a man standing behind the big camera, a big smile on his face as he jumped around. 

“just tilt your head to the side,” he instructs, and you feel seonghwa tilt his head towards you, his gaze roaming your side profile.

“was this necessary,” you ask, pressing your lips in a tight smile as you lifted your hand to neatly place on his chest. 

head facing the front with a smile that could only be called fake, “traditions, y/n, traditions.” he hums bringing you closer by your waist.

family portraits were one of the things every family had to do, to ensure that the future generations knew who the heirs, couples, kids and kings and queens were.

this is what you two were doing, dressed in matching clothes as the man in front of you snapped pictures with his vintage camera.

you find yourself fully paying attention to the camera man that, you almost don’t feel a hand creeping up your back. “what?” you whisper-yelled, looking over your shoulder.

“nothing,” he responds with a grin, “focus on the camera.” fingers drawing circles on your back, going up with each one.

you’re now sat beside him, shoulders touching intentionally and the heat of his body radiating to you. instinctively you lean towards him, both your heads tilt and a smile forms over your lips. 

and then you feel his fingers start to dwindle with your zipper, you stiffen. side eyeing his face that’s bright and happily smiling, one hand neatly placed on your thigh while the other is flat in your back.

“seonghwa,” you warn the man, who only responds with a hum in a singing tone that made your heartbeat fasten.

“yes, sweetheart.” he lowers his chin to place on your shoulder, and you swallow staring at the man ahead who only showed a thumbs up with both of his hands.

“this isn’t the right place to-“ you bite on your tongue when you feel him unzip your dress from the back, slowly, while he nuzzles his cheeks into yours and you break out into a smile.

“everything is a right place if you make it,” he hushes you. slowly unzipping your dress and you shiver when the cold air hits your back, his long and slim fingers caress your skin softly.

his fingertips are hot against your skin and you fight the urge to not stare at him, because you feel that stare, he does. the one where his eyes grow darker, and a glint of playfulness covers him. 

you feel his breathe hit your neck and you turn your head to him, “we can’t, the man’s right the-“

he interrupts you by placing his feverish lips on your cheek, your eyes wide in surprise while the camera man squeals something about the right pose. 

seonghwa’s lips form into a boyish grin, his dark hair cover his eyes and it makes him more enticing. you swallow once again, looking ahead as your cheeks start to get warmer.

one thing he loved to do was, to see your reaction to his touch. he loved the way you twitch out of embarrassment when he touches you or avoid his holds when you’re surrounded by people and he’s sure that it effects you as much as it does to him.

he then wraps a hand around your shoulder, a hand reaching out to gently run through your hair. he hears you inhale shakily and turns his gaze to the front.

eyeing the man in front of him, he cocks up an eyebrow at the man who timidly, yet hastily bows and leaves the room. not before tripping over a few wires on his way out. 

the second the doors shut; it doesn’t take seonghwa a second to pin you on the red couch. you let out a small noise of surprise when he brings your arms above your head.

you can’t control the breathy exhale your lips leave, he dips his face closer to yours and his eyes, filled with every emotion that could possibly decipher lust, desire and playfulness. 

“seonghwa,” you mutter, shakily. eyes frantically searching the room because anyone could walk in, at any given time.

“y/n...” he whispers, lips quirking up into a smirk and he lowers his head down to just inches away from your lips. 

“that’s the thrill baby,” he doesn’t let you speak more as he smashes his lips against yours, a moan leaves your lips seconds later and he presses his lips against yours even more.

his hands run down your curves, up and down as one of them makes its way to your back. 

both your eyes are shut close, lips moulding into each other’s such such finesse that it has him letting out a groan. lips parting for air, tongues crashing as you two moan breathily in unison.

you rake a hand to cup his cheek and his hand that rests on your back, brings the straps of your dress down your shoulders. leaving it up just enough so he can see your cleavage and the goosebumps that come with.

he grabs onto your waist firmly, arching your back to him and he slows down the kiss, turning it more sensual and rhythmic before parting away completely all sloppy and wet and soft.

his lips then hover over the shell of your ear, “won’t you make those pretty noises for me?” he mumbles between kisses he places down your neck, nuzzling his nose into your hair while doing so.

“hm?” he quirks, “i want to hear every single one of those noises, i want everyone to hear them.” 

his tongue flees out his mouth and he licks a circle over the small skin, you let out a tiny mewl and grip his white shirt.

“be louder, baby,” you moan louder when he bites down on your skin. “i want everyone to know how good i make you feel.”

you squirm under him when you feel him suck harshly, mouth hung open in silent cry. his other hand trails down to bunch up your dress over your waist, fingers gingerly lingering over your inner thighs. 

“h-hwa,” you let out a broken whine and he stops all together and then looks into your eyes and it has you gushing with arousal, you’re sure he can feel the heat as his hand rests closer to your underwear.

“what did you say?” he whispers, and you can only stare back in response before he pecks your lips again. “say that again, baby.”

you part your lips when he grinds on you, “hwa,” when he hears you repeat it, he swears he’s never liked that name so much in life.

and you assume he likes it when you call him that, of course he does, it makes him swallow and he feels his cock harden in his pants.

when he looks into your eyes, hooded and full of lust it as him forgetting just who you are and what you could do to him.

his eyes go down to your lips that you’re biting while staring at him with curiosity, his fingers toy with the band on your underwear as he stares at you poking your tongue out.

you see how his swollen lips form into a smile, his eyes this time not only showing desire but something... else you can quite comprehend.

you mirror his smile, but it falters into a loud moan when he slips his fingers under your band and brushes against your pussy, your mouth falls open and he closes it with his lips.

you feel them feverishly trail down your neck and then to your collarbones, while his fingers slip in and out of you. “god, you’re so wet.” he groans against your lips.

your legs spread wide open when he lazily drops your underwear lower, he watches you shiver but only responds by sucking on your skin, marking you with his creation.

you let out moans that can only be described as high pitched, and almost borderline pornographic. he hums and groans against you, letting out moans of his own. 

you exhale his name out loudly and he brings his lips to connect with yours once again, you grind yourself to his fingers while he bites down on your lower lip.

“are you close?” he asks, speeding his fingers down your clit, curling around your g-spot so perfectly that it has you rolling your eyes and head back. 

you can only moan in response, wailing your head to the side as he fastens his speed. bunching up your dress higher and you feel the cold hit your skin, he nuzzles into your neck while shamelessly numbing “good girl” “that’s my baby” “hm, who’s are you?” to which you’d respond with his. 

once you let out a loud cry of his name it hushes you with his lips, mumbling for you to “come on my fingers,” and you do as he says, wrapping your arm around his shoulder.

he then tilts his head, bringing the same fingers that he had in you seconds ago to his mouth. he swirls his tongue around them, and you moan just at the look of that, he then brings those fingers to your lips.

and you wrap your mouth around them, sucking on them as your spit mixes with his. he holds back a growl when he sees how your eyes meet when you swirl your tongue around his fingers, he feels his cock twitch when your eyes roll back.

he ignores the faint noise of the door clicking and lowers his lips to your clothed chest. he feels your boobs all hard and perky and lulls his head back to hold himself in. 

he moves his lips to the strap of your dress; his teeth graze the fabric of the top and bites onto it lightly. your hand takes through his hair and he hums in delight.

his intense eyes stare into yours while he brings down the top of your dress, slowly unraveling your naked chest and he growls looking into your eyes. 

the corner of his lips rises, and he licks his lower lip, pointing his tongue out at your nipple. he’s just about to touch it but a loud cracking nose interrupts you two, your wide eyes stare into his, in panic.

completely forgetting your surroundings, seonghwa lifts his eyes to see where the crash came from and cocks his eyebrow up.

“god damnit, san, that was ancestral.” 

your fingers tighten against his shirt when you hear the familiar name, hiding your face into his neck in sheer embarrassment as your cheeks heat up.

“sorry,” you hear his response, almost strained.

“what’re you doing here?” seonghwa asks, he feels you tighten your grasp against his shirt, and he softly caresses your skin.

“i-,” the said man chokes up, eyes wandering everywhere except the two. 

but he’s already seen it, him on top of you, your moans being pathetically loud and pretty. 

he’s also equally shocked and turned on at the same time, he watches you just seconds prior arching your body up to the duke as your lips parted in ecstasy. 

you feel seonghwa hum against you and he turns to look at you, “trust me,” he places his lips onto your again and you smile slightly.

“how much did you watch?” seonghwa asks the man once again, this time sitting up and you cover yourself, but he stops you. 

his fingers graze your hardened nipples, and you hiss lowly, swallowing as your gaze is stuck on his side. 

“just a little,” san lets out, suddenly finding the floor extremely interesting. 

seonghwa caresses your waist and you lift yourself on your elbows, finally sparing san a glance. 

he stands in a corner, hands folded in front of him making the tent he’s hiding very obvious. 

you eye seonghwa and he smirks, “well then, what’re you waiting for? join us.” 

“w-what,” you and san blink at the man, making swallow and look at san, who had two toned hair.

san’s eyes meet yours briefly before they flicker back to seonghwa who shrugs his shoulders, “i’m sure you had a reason to stay and watch,” he mutters, standing up.

san’s eyes finally fall over yours for a few minutes longer, he sees your red dress bunched up to your waist, your hair tousling over one another and how your boobs peeked out the dress. 

he’d never think he’d see his general like this, and he thinks he quite likes it. 

he swallows when seonghwa lifts two of his fingers for him to come further, and he hesitantly takes step forward not before giving you a glance.

you nod and slowly perch yourself up, legs spread open to a distance, revealing everything to the man’s vision.

you weren’t oblivious to the stares the man would give you, sometimes those that linger longer than before. 

you have confronted him about it on a drunk nigh when he revealed his crush on you, you laughed it off and told him “there will be a much better person for you to be with.”

but it seems as if his fantasies had caved him in, when he heard you and seonghwa going at it just as he walked the hallways. he thinks it really was god’s wish when he decided to peek in.

seonghwa gives you a glance, as if asking you if that was okay. you nod slowly, and he goes to lean on the wall opposite you.

“san,” you call out and he lifts his head up, eyes wide like a deer. “come here.” 

he does what you say and stops when he’s standing between your legs, seonghwa clears his throat from the back.

“no kiss on the lips.”

you tilt your head to the side, meeting your hair fall over your shoulders prettily and it makes san bite his lips.

“only once san,” you say, “i know you want it, so here i am.”

“go on,” you and seonghwa say together.

he watches you with wide eyes, “are you sure?” you nod, tucking your leg to the side and it’s the way something in him awakens and he places his knee in-between your legs. 

he cups your jaw and lowers his lips to chastely kiss your cheek, “then i will follow every order my general gives me.” 

you don’t miss the way his eyes darken at that, and the way seonghwa taps his feet.

you smile when he hides his face in your hair, lips grazing your neck and you shiver when his lips touch the sweet spot right under your ear.

he places his lips softly over your skin, humming as he inhaled your scent. he already knows the marks done on your neck are by seonghwa, but it doesn’t stop him from sucking on your skin, to create his own mark on you.

you breath shakily when his knee moves closer to your center, his hand cupping your jaw while the other travels down to hold onto your boobs. 

he stifles back a moan of his down when your lips touch his cheek, his hands knead and squish the soft skin of your breasts. 

your lips let out broken whines that has him riling, he harshly sucks on your neck and you don’t stop the airy “san,” that leaves your lips, and he stops all together, when he feels your leg wrapping around his knee.

his eyes glance at your lips and you raise your eyebrow at him, lulling your head back, puckering your lips as if taunting him to touch him with his own.

he smirks but only dips his head lower to your breast and you whine when he moulds his mouth over your bud, circling his tongue all over and coating it with his saliva.

he sucks and hums against your sensitive nipple while you let out strangled moans that has his cock hardening in his pants. 

it’s only then when he finally looks up, the distance between you two barely any. he stares at your lips and his lips let out a mewl, he wants to taste you but the man standing behind with daggers in his eyes make him think otherwise.

“san,” your voice fills his ears, and he looks up, “kiss me.” 

you jut your chin to his, eyes challenging him to kiss you. his hand tightens around your jaw, “y/n...” 

as much as he wants to fulfil your wish, and his. he knows seonghwa would get mad, but the way you’re looking at him, puckering your lips to his.

he thinks, it’s a once in life chance.

san looks over his shoulders and sees seonghwa leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

san then looks over at you, and then back at seonghwa and mutters a. “sorry, seonghwa.” although not really sorry.

before crashing his lips onto yours, you gasp when he does so but it turns into a muffled moan. his tongue barely touches yours that he’s yanked off from you, your chest heaves up and down while seonghwa straightens the man.

asking him to leave, and so he does.

you feel seonghwa stare at you fixing your dress up, when you do stand up he grabs the back of your neck and slams his lips to yours.

“i told him not too,” he says between the kisses, using his tongue to swipe across your lips softly and you smile.  “mine, you understand that?” 

he pulls away and looks at you, “i’ll be right back.” 

“where?” you ask.

“i’ve to deal with san.” 

“when did that happen?” 

“i don’t know, all i know is we have to hurry because everyone is already there!” you stand there looking at seonghwa run around the room, flinging his tuxedo and tie on the bed while running gel through his hair.

when he dramatically pauses to look at you, “what, go get ready.” he walks to you, dressed in his silk pyjamas that fit him loosely.

“unless you want me to dress you?” he quirks up an eyebrow, bringing you to him by the use of his arm. “hm?” 

you smack his arm away, walking to where your clothes were as he panics in the background while you take your sweet time to pick out your stuff.

when you find yourself all dressed, seonghwa leans on the canopy bed frame watching you struggle to put a piece of earring in your ear.

he watches you lean over the vanity, curves on display in the black and white dress, your red lips mumbling some cursing which he finds unusually hot. 

a small frown on your face as you struggle with the earrings he brought, he pushes himself off and comes to stand right behind you. your back flush against his towering self, he holds onto your wrist, gently refraining you.

he grabs onto the earring and places it on the vanity, you watch him do so through the mirror. the strangely intimate atmosphere quickened the speed of your heart, his fingers fondle with your hair, eventually covering the ear without the accessory.

he then holds onto your forearms and squishes his cheek into yours, “you’re hot.” shifting his hands to your waist, which he squeezes slightly. 

your lips break out into a smile and grab his hands, turning around you wrap your arms around his neck. 

with a giggle you don’t know what comes over you, that you place a peck on his lips. “thank you mr. park, you’re not bad yourself.”

“thank you mrs. park, now, shall we?” he suddenly lowers his voice to a british accent and you pretend to fake a gasp, “of course.”

you two leave in laughter and return back tired, or more so you leaning on seonghwa’s shoulder while he supports you. giggling at some joke he said that has the two of you laughing loudly in the otherwise quiet palace. 

he asks if you’re tired and you nod against his shoulder, he smiles because in the end of the day, he knows you have a tiring job. how you’re so uptight and working with your entire body and brain, he loves that you’re like this with him.

comfortable, he likes the sound of that, a lot. 

it’s the only time he’s dared to run a hand through your hair, poke your cheek, make you laugh, tickle you, and then pick you up.

he knows you’re too tired to protest, and you give in. head laid on his chest and arms wrapped around his neck, he mumbles a few jokes softly in a attempt for you to keep awake.

every giggle or chuckle you let out has his heart beating and cheeks warming up, he looks down at you, nuzzling into his chest with a smile on your face. 

“stay awake for me y/n,” he hums, and you somehow nod through a sleepy phase.

when he enters the room, he walks straight to the bathroom. placing you onto the toilet seat while he goes to grab your pyjamas, when he returns, he sees you perching your head on the counter.

hair covering half your face and your eyes shut, he works quickly and comes to kneel by you. 

timidly he reaches out to brush your hair to the side, smiling at your cheek squishing against the counter he holds onto your face and taps your cheeks.

“wake up y/n,” he mutters, “baby?” 

you let out a whine when stands up, one hand interlinked with yours while the other uses a cotton swab with a remover on it to bring it to your face.

“close your eyes for me,” he settles himself between your legs, holding your chin as he wipes off all the makeup in one go. 

he then asks you to stand up and wash your face, you do as he says with closed eyes and he watches you with a worried glance when you stumble to the sink, washing your face successfully.

with a gasp from your lips, he plops you on the counter. smiling widely when you wrap your arms around his waist and it has butterflies erupting in his stomach, he likes this a lot. 

he likes the feeling of this solace, just you two alone in a warm atmosphere on a dark night, where it’s quiet, and the lightings comforting. when he slips out some puns and you whine in response, when he’s about to grab a little lotion, you ask him to wash his face too.

confused he does it nonetheless and you grab two out some lotion on your hands, “thank you for doing this hwa,” you mumble lazily, tapping the lotion in dots over his face before rubbing them across.

“it’s nothing,” he responds, puckering his lips when your fingers brush his lips. 

he repeats the same thing as you and then shoves you your set of pyjamas he bought recently, but instead of grabbing them you raise your arms, eyes closed and a smile on your face.

“what?” you say, “didn’t think i’d be like this?” 

he shakes his head with a smile before coming in closer to tie your hair up, he smirks at the proximity and it’s as if you can feel him smirking you slap his chest, and he feigns a pained groan.

he presses his lips gently on the apples of your cheek before backing away, “do you want me to change you?” you nod.

“what’s there to hide anyways,” you mumble lowly, “you’ve seen it all.” 

he hums in acknowledgment, grabbing the top and then draping it over you but not buttoning it fully. then, he reaches underneath the shirt to lift down your straps, making sure it’s comfortable enough when it’s all the way down.

you button the rest of your shirt up and wear your pants, not realizing the matching pyjamas you walk out the room and head for the couch.

“where are you going?” he interrupts, fixing the blanket right as he walks out.

“bed,” you point to the couch, making your way towards it but you’re pulled by the back of your collar to meet with seonghwa’s towering front. 

he dips his head to your ear, “but that’s your bed.” he nods towards the one he sleeps at and you swallow. 

“come,” he ushers you onto the soft bed and he walks to the other side. 

“will you be sleeping on the couch then?” you ask he and stops, “no? why would i, this is our bed.”

he stops, “we sleep here, together.” 

“-flip it like that— yeah, that’s it!” you yell, holding onto jongho’s arm with force. 

the man whines beside you and you stifle out a laugh, “why do you always pick on me,” he says, pouting.

“i’m not picking on you ho, you learn things quicker than others.” you explain, moving his arm to the right, “so you can help others understand better, when i’m not there.”

“so what you’re saying is, i take your position after you retire and whatever?” you smack the back of his head lightly and he once again whines.

“oh, where’s san?” you ask, motioning jongho to copy what you were doing.

“he’s-“ he pauses to take a breathe, “he’s gone back to eros, something came up about some people missing into thin air.”

you frown, “that’s weird,” telling jongho to take a break.

“you know what’s weirder? seeing your husband stand there looking at me as if he’ll kill me.” jongho points his finger at the man leaning on the column.

when you turn your head to him, he immediately straightens himself and you realize he’s in his pyjamas, hair all fluffy, eyes shinning and his cheeks puffy.

“he really woke up early to watch you practice?” hongjoong teases from the side and you smirk, shrugging your shoulders.

“mayhaps,” tossing your weapons to the side you bid them all a bye and an good morning before running to seonghwa.

a smile graces your lips when his eyes brighten, his arms are widespread, and you link yours with his. “let’s get you back to bed,” you mutter, dragging his sleepy yet clingy self back to your chambers.

you realize that this wasn’t the first time he’s woken up early to come and watch you practice, and whenever you’d ask him why his response only made your insides flip.

“why do you come to watch us practice every day?”

he’d grin and wrap his arms around you like a bear, “because the bed isn’t warm without you,” you’d laugh at his attempts to keep you by him whenever you had to leave.

sometimes during the dark hours of night, when the field is only illuminated by torches. seonghwa waits for you to finish the last off, two drinks in his hands, fresh and cold. 

when you’re done, the two of you walk to the roof of the castle. a balcony only the two of you use that showcases the entirety of the kingdom, with drinks in your hands, sitting on the wall with your feet hanging off in air.

chatting away about really anything, sharing glances that were not so awkward anymore. the breeze up high would be so fast, that the two of you have almost fell. 

poking each other where you’re ticklish the most, seonghwa sitting with his back faced in between your legs while you played with his hair. or when he’d grab those same hands and bring them to his lips, mumbling something that’d make you laugh.

in the matter of months, the relationship between you two had completely flipped. 

it’s as if you two know almost anything about each other, what makes you smack him, what makes you laugh, the jokes, the massages, and the spontaneous trips you two take in the middle of the night on your horses.

this one time when he had marched into your office, hands full of chips and other food. 

you lift your head up from the amount of paper works scattered on your desk, “oh? seonghwa, do you need anything?” you ask the man standing at your doorstep, a pout formed on his lips.

he’s standing there wearing his pyjamas that only he looks good in, you throw your pen away and lean back on your chair, crossing your arms.

he walks in with his hands placed by his waist, cheeks puffed. “why do you not pay attention to me?” he asks, and you have to stop yourself from cooing at him.

“i told you, there’s a few problems at the borders,” you pause to look at his face. “i need to finish a few paper works.”

“but you’ve been busy all week,” he lifts his hand up, “one, you’re always on the fields outside.” he brings down a finger.

“and then you loudly yell the marching chants that make me flinch!” he whines, and you laugh at his words.

“really? am i that loud?” you ask him, and he nods.

he suddenly stands up and does a aggressive salut, “soldiers!” he imitates your tone, “in line now, if you don’t get in the line, thirteen laps around the palace!” 

you laugh at the way he’s marching back and forth, imitating the scared looks of your soldiers whenever they have to run or when you yell at them.

or when you would walk in during evening to see him sitting on his bed, deep in thought. you pause, “are you alright?” you question, and he finally lifts his head up.

“no,” he responds.

you frown, “no?” 

he hums with a pout, and you walk near him and kneel down to his level, wondering what exactly had happened for him to be sitting all alone. 

“no,” he pauses, “but a kiss can help.”

you smack his knee and get up but he grabs your wrist and turns you to him, your body falls on him and he holds onto your waist as you two fall back slowly.

“please,” he pouts, puckering his lips and you laugh. shaking your head and then placing a small peck but he takes the chance to deepen it.

and considering how close you two have gotten, and the level of comfort thats between you two. 

seeing that, you and him have done it almost everywhere in the palace.

it usually ends up with you two being borderline caught by some older advisors who roam the halls often.

the ball party was where it all first started. 

“where- seonghwa the guests, they’re waiting!” 

“baby, i couldn’t care less about those guests,” he backs you up against the door, “i want to hear you, right now.” 

he’d growl and bunches up your dress, asking you to hold it while he traces his fingers over the lacy panties you had worn. 

you’d shiver when he would part the fabric to the side, feel his hot breath over your pussy before he’d dive his tongue in you. 

lapping, swirling and circling all over your clit, gathering all the juices you’d spill out, and using his tongue at different speeds. he’d hold onto your thighs, one leg over his shoulder and his mouth doing wonders. 

while your head was thrown back and your mouth was letting out breathy and airy moans of his names that you’re sure someone would hear. 

but that won’t stop him from using his slim and long fingers to curl up inside you, his face hidden in your neck while he fingered your already sensitive clit.

he’d place soft kisses over your neck while moaning your name out, you’d shut your eyes tightly when he would start to nibble on your earlobe and quickening his pace on your pussy. 

“that’s my good girl,” he groans against you, slowing down the speed of his fingers that’d only have you crying his name out in pleasure.

the hallways.

“i hate you so much,” you say between your laughs and he cages you between his arms, grabbing your hands to put them above your head.

“do you now?” he closes the distance between you two, “that’s not what you say when you’re screaming my name, hm?” 

your lips break out into a smile when he placed his softer ones on yours, he himself enjoying the bond you two had.

“you know if we keep doing this,” you gasp, “you’ll be a father in no time.”

he smirks, nuzzling into your neck. “you finally understood my intentions?”

his free hand moves down to grip your waist, and you whine when he does so, nibbling on your lower lip, swiping his tongue over your lips. 

the sound of lips smacking against one another rings the empty hallway, teeth clashing and muffled moans the two of you cry out in unison.

you move your hands to wrap around his neck, and his places his hands on the curve of your ass. pushing you to the wall while he weighs onto you, you would be daring enough to bite his lip which would have him tighten the grip on your ass.

your fingers play with with his hair, tugging on them which would have him humming against your lips. you two would only part away when the sound of footsteps start to come closer.

hurriedly pushing each other away and fixing your clothes and making a run for it to the other side of the palace, laughing and giggling over the thrill of being caught.

then there was the time when you would push him against the mirror, cupping his cheek and smashing your lips onto his. or when he would fiddle with your dress straps only to start placing feathery kisses up your neck, grabbing your chest and squeezing them through the fabric.

or when you’d take off his shirt and climb over him, hands grazing his stunning built yet large and lean body. straddling his waist while sucking on his skin, leaving your own mark on him.

where he would throw his head back, hands gripping your ass as you slowly grind over him. his lips would part, and low and deep moans would leave his mouth, you would bite your lips and start to move faster.

his eyebrows would touch, and he would bite his lips, you’d him against his skin, using your tongue and curling, twirling and swirling over his neck.

it would lead him to trail his hands under your shirt, glancing at you and then letting out a mewl when you hadn’t worn your bra, his larger hands coming to cup them. 

his fingers graze your hardened nipples, tweaking and rolling it while squeezing and kneading your perky doubles. and then trailing his hands down your stomach and under your pants, then he would flip you over and overtake you.

“you’re so wet,” he would coo in your ear and you’d nod, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. your own moan would follow when he’d curl his fingers around a particular bundle of nerves. 

your head would fall back on the bed, “all for me, hm? y/n, all for me?”

“f-for you,” you’d let out when the heat in you became unbearable and you came.

and that’s when you heard something you’ve never thought you would, “god, i love you so much y/n.” 

your head would fall back, chest heaving up and down heavily and your heart beating for an entirely different reason.

the next time you two are together was when he had to go away for a few days, you were extensively busy coming up with problems to fix the conflict that’s been looming over you. 

it was during nighttime when you had finally walked to your room, plopping onto your bed like a star fish. just as you try to close your eyes, a particular voice made a smile creep up your lips.

“hey,” seonghwa jumps onto the bed, making your body jump slightly. you lift open your eyes and see his face right above yours, a cheeky smile on his pink lips. 

“you’re back,” you mutter lowly, lifting your hands to cup his face. “how was the trip?”

he puckers his lips in a pout, “you’re not going to ask how i am?” he grabs your hand and brings it to his hair, and you start to play with them, he hums happily.

“okay, seonghwa,” you chuckle, “how are you?”

“i missed you,” he mumbles, “a lot.” 

he lowers his face, puckering his lips like a fish. “your smile, your lips, your laugh and you, i missed you baby.”

“i did too,” you shut your eyes, remembering how he would call you whenever he would get the time.  

how he would whine in your ear about wanting to see you already, and you’d ask him to focus on his work saying, “i’m right here hwa, go now, focus on your work.”

he snorts when you get up, ready to change out of your clothes and he spins on his back, leaning on his elbows. 

“you’re.. i get why you don’t express your undying love for me,” he starts, and you hum out a why.

“because you’re tsundere,” he pauses when he watches you unbutton your shirt through the reflection of the mirror, “or at least that’s what the teens there said.”

he watches you chuckle, “you talked about me to the kids there?” nodding he positions himself with his head on the bed frame. 

“they said you were like that, you don’t show your love for me.” you take off your shirt, leaving you in a tank top that makes him lick his lips. 

“oh yeah?” you ask him, quietly turning around. 

“...do you love me?” he asks, and you told your head to the side, a small smile on your face.

his wide eyes bore into yours as you come to sit on the bed, or more so on him, straddling his waist which he welcomed happily. already having his arms around your hips. 

you hold onto his hands, fiddling with his fingers, the one where his band sat. you lift your head to meet his eyes, “i’m not hesitant to show my affection to you, i-i just haven’t felt that way for someone, so this is new to me.”

you caress his hands quietly and he watches you in anticipation, lifting his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

you let out a sigh, and hesitatingly ask. “do you...love me?” 

he smiles slightly, “i do,” he breathes in. 

“a lot,” he continues in his deep voice, “you make me happy.”

he wants to say so much more, that you make him feel giddy, have butterflies erupt in his stomach whenever he’s by you. the stares you give him, the ones full of tease and playfulness that makes him laugh in the most inappropriate places.

how you tap your thighs and spread them, and he’d press his lips into a thin line, trying not to break out into a smirk. or when you back him up to a wall, teach him how to fight by holding his hands or how to work a sword.

but by seeing the look on your face, he knows you know everything he’s thinking. you’ve always been observant, so he knows for a fact that you’re probably reading his mind right now. 

“then you should know my answer,” you say, giving him a smile that makes his heart swell. 

both of you can’t believe that this is where you two ended up, from a loveless marriage to one that’s full of love and affection to the point no one has to stay it verbally. 

“let me hear it then,” he mutters, moving his hands from your hips to intertwine with yours. “say it once in for all.” 

you look down quietly, finding it hard to form the words together. you know you want to say something, but you can’t seem to form them together, instead all you do is stare into his eyes.

he smiles, and in seconds he has you flipped onto the bed. both of you rolling on it with a grunt, you stare into each other’s eyes contently. 

ignoring the surrounding and communicating through your expressions, you look down at his lips and make the move to peck them, moving away slowly and placing your leg over his torso.

he grins at your actions and brings you closer so that your heads resting on his chest, “i didn’t know you were shy too,” he mumbles, and you bite the insides of your cheek. 

hiding your face in his chest, you fist his shirt with your hands. you maybe be all dominant with your personality, but you’re yourself with him. 

he wraps his arm around your shoulders and sighs, tucking your head under his chin. he then remembers something, leaving your hold for a second and searching something in his drawer.

“what’re you looking for?” you ask out of curiosity and all he responds with is a “surprise.”

“actually, meet me tomorrow night at the gazebo you cornered me at.” he says and you nod. 

“if you try to kill m-“

“y/n, no, baby, sleep.” 

you stare at yourself in the mirror, dressed in a white ensemble that was requested by seonghwa for whatever he’s going to do tonight, and you hope it isn’t him killing you. 

you know he’s standing by the gazebo waiting patiently for you, but you can’t help but try and look a bit presentable before walking out towards the gardens. 

hands sweaty, and heart pounding as each and every step you take roots nervousness in your gut.

when you see him standing there with his back faces to you, in an all-black fit, you can’t help but look at him in amuse. the way his larger and built body is shown off by the clothes sticking to him.

shaking your thoughts away, you call out for him. “seonghwa,”

he turns around with a smile, you swallow before walking to him, hands neatly folded behind your back. 

“you came,” he says, snaking an arm around your waist. 

“of course,” you mumble back, letting him hold you. he then points at the corner; your eyes follow his and they immediately widen.

“seonghwa, t-that’s stunning.” your lips part in surprise and he smiles, ushering you forward by the small of your back.

your eyes fall upon the fluffy blanket he has laid on the ground, a small basket near the corner, pillows scattered around the blanket and two bottles of wine. 

“you’re insane,” you mumble quietly, tightening your hold onto his shirt. you hear him chuckle, pulling you to sit by him on the blanket.

your eyes shine when they fall over the water, the atmosphere was weirdly intimate. you two sat by the running water under the moonlight, sitting right by one another in silence.

the air sifted through your hair, playing with it slightly. “do you like it?” he asks, nervousness washing over him.

you nod twice, “i do, oh my god,” you pause. “i do, i love it.” he breaks out into a smile, rubbing a hand over your back.

he grabs you by the waist and settles you in between his legs, your insides flip when your back hits his broad front.  

you lean back and he wraps his arms around you, placing a peck on your temple. you smile and place your hands over his, intertwining them together.

“do you know why i brought you here?” he asks, rocking you side to side.

you shake your head and feel your heart swell at his low voice humming, “there’s something i’ve been wanting to give you,” 

his fingers fiddle yours when you feel him slide the black ring out, you watch him quietly slide it over to your right hand. 

he then reaches behind his back and pulls a velvet box, your smile falters and he uses both his hands to open it in front of you. 

“remember when i went out to ecuador?” he says, “i bought this for you.”

he opens the box fully and your eyes widen, “seonghwa, why?”

your eyes fall upon the stunning ring he shows off to you, it’s a light emerald diamond sitting nearly on a thin silver band. 

he takes your fingers in his and slides it on your ring finger, “i know when we first got married, we didn’t care about one another.”

“in fact, we both didn’t even want the wedding.” he pauses to recollect, “it looked like a fairytale but there were no sincere emotions from us.”

“i wanted to restart it,” he says, squishing his cheek against yours. “so i brought a new one, the one i chose.” 

your eyes fall upon the ring in your hands, “will you marry me, again, this time with all the happiness?” 

you hear his voice falter, and you smile, turning your body around fully. “do i have any choice?” you ask with a sheepish smile when his eyes meet yours.

he chuckles, “well not really because you’re already mine,” and you grin. “but for formality sakes, will you, the y/n, marry me, solidifying our marriage once again?”

you shake your head at his silliness, “of course, you idiot.” you say between giggles.

he then pulls you to his chest and you both fall back unexpectedly, letting out a yelp when falling but he grabs you before you could hit the ground. 

you lay on top of him, his hands firmly resting on your hips. he looks down at you and smirks, brushing your hair back from your face.  

“did you have a good flight?” he teases, and you sit up right on his waist, hands resting on his stomach. 

he raises his eyebrows, poking his tongue against the wall of his cheek. tapping his hands on your hips before bringing them behind his head. 

you then lean front and place a peck on his lips, surprising him. “thank you,” he smiles at that but that smile quickly turns into a groan when you shift on him.

he grips your hips at that, making you swallow when the colour of his eyes darken. “what’re you doing?” he asks, voice airy and strained. 

you look at him in confusion, “nothing?” and he bites his lower lip, sitting up right so now he’s directly in front of you. 

“oh yeah?” he quips, a smirk growing on his lips as he inches closer.

you shift once again and it lets out a low growl, and that’s when you realize what he means because you feel something poke at you.

you suck in a breath and try to get up, but he’s got his hands over you, holding your thighs. you feel his stare searching your face and then landing on your lips, and then a little lower.

he finds himself staring at the strap of your dress that’s fallen down, he swallows he sees that you aren’t wearing a bra and that he can see the trace of your boob and the hardened nipples poking through the material.  

“i-it’s cold,” you whisper, feeling his stare. he lifts his hand up to play with the strap, fiddling with it before he tugs it down.

he does the same to the other strap, fiddling with it and the tugging it down. enough so that he can see the top your breasts and he looks at you, your eyes already onto his.

his fingers graze them through the dress, and he lowers his mouth to place a soft kiss, you hiss at the way he licks at the skin right after.

his large hands come to grab your breasts, softly squeezing them and your thighs twitch. making the man grit his jaw, when you move your dress rides up and it leaves him to little to no imagination.

he brushes his lips over your neck, and you shiver, he bunches your hair to the side and attaches his lips right under your ear.

you whine when he pokes his tongue out, the mood changing from all nice and fluffy one to a one that’s full of desire.

“seonghwa,” you let out shakily, he hums.

“let me take care of you too,” you wrap and arm around his shoulder, lowering him to the ground and bringing your hand to his crotch.

he says something incoherent and then proceeds to unbuckle his pants, you help him lower them before quirking an eyebrow at him.

“now who’s in a hurry?” you say, tracing his waistband that makes him twitch.

you chuckle and bring his briefs down, running a hand down his cock. he twitches when you do so, eyes shutting and eyebrows meeting.

you then take your own panties off and take a hold of his wet cock in your hands; he groans and grunts at the pressure and rolls his eyes back when he feels you sink down him slowly. 

you hang open your mouth at the silent cry of pleasure, hands landing beside his face to support your body and his hands landed in your ass, moving slowly around him. 

your lips brushed against his neck and you sat straight, hands on his toned stomach as you moved up and down, your breasts bouncing with the impact and seonghwa gets a hold on your breasts, tweaking and rolling them. 

you moan breathily as your legs shuddered at the immense amount of pleasure coming over you in a short time. hearing his cry for you name has you going faster, “y/n- fuck.” 

you hum before leaning over to place your lips over his, muffling his own moans. his hands bring down your dress to your waist as you kept on getting him to a new high.

“i-i’m close,” he responds, voice strained, and you moaned at the sensation and it only makes you go faster, and he eventually comes inside you. 

you pull yourself out of him and plop your sweat lined body next to his, chests heaving up and down as the two of you breathed out loudly. 

“let me help you now baby,” he turns to hover over you, bunching your dress to your waist and you let out a whine of his name.

he brings his cock and lines it down your wet folds, he enters in slowly and you hear the wetness at the friction.

he holds your arms beside your head and rolls his hips into yours, “h-hwa, what if someone c-comes!”

he smirks, “let them baby, let ‘em see us.” he groans, thrusting into you as you moaned out his name as quietly as you could.

“louder y/n,” he demands, “let them hear.”

and as if on time, he does a particular thrust that made you cry his name out loud. his hair falls over his eyes, ticking over your forehead slightly. 

he watches your face contorting to the pleasure, and it riles him to go faster, grunting and grinding to you. loving the way, you say his name and the way it rolls of your tongue with a hint of airiness at the end.

you eyes roll back and your back arches to his, grinding at his own pace before falling back and letting him take control. 

“who’s are you?” he growls, and you wail your head to the side, responding with yours to which he says, “that’s my good girl.” 

before he stops, breathing heavily and pulling it out of you. slumping on you and then braking you to his chest, “i love you.” he says and you nod against his chest.

“me too,” he snorts and then smacks your ass at the answer you gave.

“general, what’s the deal at the border?” you hear yunho ask, mingi standing by him.

“i, i think someone’s scheming something against us.” you look up from the number of files, “check at the soldiers who patrol the border, see anything suspicious and immediately report that to me.”

“why?” jongho buts in, and you rub your temples.

“because,” you pause, and they all stare at you in anticipation.

“we might be going at war.” 

“shit.” wooyoung speaks from the back, “san isn’t back eros yet, the situation there is worse but if we had him, and even if there’s a war, if san was here, we would win no matter what.”

“well yeah, he is a literal demon reincarnated.” hongjoong snorts and you laugh, “but, me and yunho will go look over at the border.” 

“i’ll look over at the hidden entrances of eden,” mingi exclaims, “might find something there.”

“wooyoung, help me by finding out just who the enemy could be with you connections.” your remark and he offers a salute from the couch.  

“and please,” you stop wooyoung, “don’t go seducing someone.”

jongho snorts at you, “says that one who does it everywhere.”

you throw a paper weight at the man, picking your tongue out. “ew please, i hear it sometimes too.”

“go away!” you yell, cheeks warming up. “you’re dismissed!” 

“sheesh,” mingi says and you glare at him, watching all of them hurry out. 

just as they leave, you hear them whistle in the hallways and then the door opens. revealing a smiling seonghwa, eyed wide and cheeks puffed.

you clear your throat and stand up, “h-hey,” 

he walks to you with a smile and wraps his arm around you, “hey baby, look!” his wide eyes bore into yours, showing the bouquet of red flowers. “for you milady.”

you laugh at him, squishing his cheeks before walking behind your desk. 

“ah,” he starts, “i might have to leave for a trip soon, something with a few kingdoms needing help.”

you nod, “alone?”

he nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. “dad might want me to take the guys, jongho would be staying if that what you’re asking.”

he comes to lean on your desk, “when will you be leaving?”

“tomorrow morning,”

“for how long?”

he sighs, “i don’t know.” 

you pause, watching his face turn into a frown. you reach forward to take his hands into yours, rubbing your thumbs over his skin.

“i’ll wait, go do your duties.” you say, “our future king.” 

he snorts and you smile, “i’ll be back super quick, i promise.” he extends his pinky at you, shaking your head you joined them anyways.

he grins and his eyes turn into crescents, he decides to spend the entire day with you. eating your favourite dishes, then playing nonsensical jokes, him helping you with half your work also the only time you two were serious.

he’d constantly keep having his hands somewhere on you, to which you at first would shove it away, but now you’re more lenient. 

and so when the day ended, you were left with the sentence he kept repeating over and over again. 

“i’ll be back soon, wait for me.” 

when seonghwa left for a trip, you expected it to be short and sweet. it was supposed to be short, but then it quickly escalated to one week, to two weeks and now to five extra weeks. 

you hadn’t seen the man in almost one and a half month, except only hearing his voice through the telephone in your office and the bedroom. 

it’s as if he went back to the navy again, but in reality, he was off to visit the kingdom’s outside empire. 

the ones who had fallen because of the low economic growth and high unemployment rates, to take care of that, the heirs of each kingdom had been sent off for aid.

leaving only, you and jongho in the palace, teaching the new trainees the basic skills. which was mostly resulting in jongho bossing them over until you came in and told jongho to stop bossing them around.

you had taken over the responsibility to fill in for seonghwa’s position as an heir in eden as well. doing his work while conversing with him over the phone as he instructs you on what to do and what not too.

along with that, you were barely leaving your office. sometimes even spending the nights in there, sleeping on the couch because your room felt too lonely. 

the warm interior of your office gave you the warmth that was similar to seonghwa’s, the work had been piling up for you to sign and read every time you would wake up. 

and it had been like this for an entire month, you working, waking up early for your training sessions, eating, getting into the palace work, reading documents sent in by the king, switching to go watch over the soldiers outside, then eat, look over a few files before eventually passing out on your chair.

resulting in you waking up with a neck cramp, but hey, at least you got majority of the work done.  

when you finally sit down on the couch for the first time today, it doesn’t last long as jongho enters the room with a tray of tea and food. 

“for you,” he says, placing the test on the table beside you before walking out to his own room.

“thanks, ho.” you tell him, a hand reaching to grab the tea to which you gasped quietly after tasting. 

you lean back on your chair, eyeing the room until your eyes land on the telephone and immediately a smile creeps up your lips and you reach out for it. 

your fingers trace the phone softly until punching in the numbers, the number that he calls you from. 

you bring it your ear and wait for the bell to go, to hear seonghwa’s deep voice that made you curl your toes. hear him greet you happily even though you know he’s dead tired, but when you got no response from the other side you placed the phone down and got up. 

grabbing a few papers before leaning you front on the table, reading them through while munching on the treats jongho brought.

but that doesn’t last long, because only five minutes later you hear the door crack open and a pair of arms snaking your waist. 

you fall back because you immediately who it is, the expensive scent all too familiar to your nose. 

“hey baby,” 

you hear his low voice rumble in your ear, “hi, seonghwa.” 

he wraps around your waist tightens and he buries his face in your neck, sending a tingly feeling all over your body that you’ve missed. 

“how are you? tired?” he nods against your neck and you reach back to ruffle his hair a little. 

“never tired for you,” he places a peck on your neck and spins you around by your waist. 

when your eyes meet his, the speed of your heart doubles. he’s standing there with a shit eating grin on his face that you’ve come to love, black hair carefully pushed back and a smile that has your insides flipping.

he takes the papers from your hand and chucks them away, your wide eyes flickering to them as you try and grab them, but he beats you to it.

instead, he grabs your arms and places then around his neck, jerking you closer. “you must be tired, let’s go to bed.” you whisper out, but he shakes his head, eyes falling down in your lips.

he towers over you completely, he looks down at you with softness and yet playfulness that shoots you warm ness to your face, feeling a thick tension building in the air as you stare at each other.

“i missed you,” you nod shakily, inhaling sharply when he brings his hand to tuck your hair behind.

“i-i did too,” you stutter out when he pushes his weight on you, and you let out the smallest of whines that as him clenching his jaw. 

his minty breath tickles over your lips, “hm?” he asks, tilting his head tauntingly. 

you don’t hold back the breathy exhale when he swiped his thumb over your lower lip, you stare at him while his eyes are over your lips.

“did you know how much i missed you?” his other hand lowering the band of your pants, “can i show you how much i missed you, hm? what i would think about doing when you weren’t by me? when i couldn’t fall asleep and missed you?”

your breathing wavers and you unbuttons your pants, “did you know how many times i had to get off at the thought of my pretty little baby?” 

“seonghwa,” you say, voice coming out airy and strained when he brings his other hand down to push down your pants slowly, revealing you to the cold. 

he hums, dipping his head to your neck and you suck in a breath. “you know much i wanted to touch you but i couldn’t?” 

the atmosphere darkens with every bit of list and desire, his eyes are dark and intense as he stares at you biting your lip.

he places a soft peck under your ear, and you hold onto his forearm, “how much i wanted to hear your pretty voices crying my name?” 

you could only let out a moan at his words, desperate and whiney that has him smirking. “tell me you thought of me,” he grips on your waist, slowly running a hand down your leg.

“i did,” you inhale sharply when he wraps your leg around his torso. “i missed you so much, you had no idea.” 

there’s a strong feeling of arousal pooling in between your kegs and you can’t help but stare at him. 

he holds back a groan of his own and it takes him a second to push your arms back and slam his lips over yours. a moan escapes you when you finally feel his lips after days of nothing.

the way your lips mould together like puzzles, so desperate and so whiny. it’s the way your lips smash against one another, battling not for dominance but for the feeling you two have missed.

the sound of teeth clashing, lips smacking and small mewls and moans echo the room. seonghwa grips onto your hips firmly, planting you on your desk. you let out a noise of surprise and he grins against your lips.

softly yet rhythmically moving together, never letting the other part away even a moment. your arms reaching up behind his neck and deepening the kiss, lips moving in sync with each other, groaning softly when he bites on your lip and you tug on his dark locks. 

you have to push him away to breathe out loud, chest heaving up and down and he rests his forehead on yours.

“god, i missed you so much,” he whines, pressing his lips on your neck. trailing down to your collarbone while placing open mouthed kisses all long.

he grabs onto your shirt, and slowly starts to unbutton it, while you find yourself staring at his lips. pecking them every now and then until you hear him moan when his eyes land on your breasts.

you bite your lips, probably hard enough to draw blood when he licks his lips and cups your breasts. growling at the softness and the fact that you were braless, his large hands squish your skin and you through your head back.

he swallows and kneads and pinches with both his hands and you let out his name like a mantra, “you’re stunning,” he whispers before lowering his lips to mould on your breast.

while he sucks and circles his tongue relentlessly on your boob, his other hand tweaks and rolls your hardened and sensitive nipples. 

eliciting cries for his name, “h-hwa-“ you moan out when he delivers a harsh suck on your skin, pulling away with a pop. 

a wave of heat forms in your panties that has you grinding on table, his lips are onto your boobs, placing soft feathery yet ticklish kisses all over. he growls out how much of a pretty baby you’ve been as he continues his sweet torture.

when he feels you grind against him, he throws his head back. watching your face through his hooded eyes, how your mouth hung open and how quickly you bit down on your lip.

your eyebrows crossing as your eyes shut tight, his hands then trail down to your stomach, massaging it softly before caressing his fingers over your clothed clit.

“seonghwa,” you whine, feeling wetness starting to firm in your pants. 

you shake when he growls, hands reaching for his shirt and throwing it away, your fingers grazing down his toned body while he plays with the band of your black panties.

he lets out a noise from the back of his throat when you lick a stripe down his neck, slowly and feverishly. 

“i need you,” he grits, “right now baby, right now.” 

it takes him a second to push you back on the desk, bribing your pants down leaving you only in your panties as you leaned up on your elbows.

he traces his fingers slowly over your panties and when he feels the wetness, he lets out a groan of your name. “y/n...” 

and you nod at that, letting him slowly drag your underwear down to your ankles.

“fuck, baby.” he lets out a whine when he wyes your wetness, “i wanna fuck you so bad,” you fail to not let out a pathetic whine.

he trails a finger down your folds, and you shake, “i want to feel you, make you cry and moan my name out again and again and then fill you up with me, all of me.”

you let out a broken whimper when he kneels down, his hot breath fanning your inner thighs before it reaches you wet folds.  

he places soft kisses and long licks where he twirls his tongue on your inner thighs before he slips in his finger and presses his mouth onto your clit.

his hot mouth breathing against already wet and aching cunt, “seonghwa...” you whimpered pathetically, clutching the table as he licked a strip down your folds making you shudder underneath him. 

you let out a loud cry of his name when he does so, feeling him pump his finger in and out so slowly at your legs start to weaken.

it feels like it’s been forever since you’ve felt him, and he feels the same because he eats you out like he’s been starving. his long tongue circles and sucks on the bundle of nerves while you let out strangled moans that has his cock hardening in his pants. 

“so pretty,” he says before diving his tongue in making you let out a moan for his name as he moved in and out of you skillfully. alternating from long slow licks to small circles with his fingers to his tongue lapping sinfully against your clit until he's had his fingers easily sliding in and out of you.

you arch your back to his fingers and you feel the immense coil of heat starting to become unbearable, you lips moan out a “seonghwa,” which he hums in response against your pussy, and you feel the vibrations.

“i-“ 

“come, come on me.” he says and almost immediately you find yourself coming off the high, he’s quick with his tongue and licks out every juice that comes out you.

you fall back on the desk, breathing out heavily and shutting your eyes. seonghwa stands up and you hear the unbuckling of his pants and you can’t help but let out a chuckle.

“you’re so needy,” you mock him, rising up to grab the back of his neck and bringing your lips to his.

he gets rid of his pants and briefs; you wrap your legs around his waist and he groans at his own sensitivity. you smile against his soft and now swollen lips, tasting yourself faintly on his tongue. 

he holds onto your waist, squeezing it slightly. “desk or couch,” he asks in-between the kiss, and you whisper out a couch.

and he immediately picks you up, your naked bodies grazing again one another, emitting warmth that contrasted with the otherwise chilly room.

you giggle once he lays you on the couch and finds himself chuckling, “why are you like this,” asking about how you’re laughing at him being serious.

“because,” you reach to cup his cheeks, “it’s you.” 

he smiles, the one with dimples. and moves his lips to your neck, you close your eyes and let him roam around. 

his lips brush against the shell of your ear and you shiver when his deep and gruff voice fills them. “let me fill you up y/n,” he pleads, and your heart rate accelerates.

“fill you up,” he brushes his lips against your cheeks, “fill you up so good, all of me, hm?”

he lowers his voice, “let me fuck you so bad, so you’re crying my name out. i want everyone to know how good i make you feel,” 

you nod and reach for his cock, that’s not already dripping with pearls of pre cum over his pink tip. you whine at the vision and pushes you back, pumping a hand down his length he settles between your thighs.

“fuck me seonghwa,” you say and his eyes darken, “fill me up, with you, only y-“

your next sentences are muffled into cries when he lines his cock against your clit, teasing the tip up and down before entering you inch by inch. 

feeling yourself stretch out at his thick length, he pounds into you at a fast speed as if he’s never done before, your body moving against the bed as he grunts and groans and grinds himself into you.

your head falls back, mouth hung open as he starts to roll his hips into yours and you let out a cry that could only be described as borderline pornographic. 

“seonghwa- you feel so- so good.” you let out as he continues to go at different speeds, the room filling with his own loud moans.

“f-fuck,” your eyes roll back when he hits that certain spot in you, again and again, you let out a cry, throwing your head back on the pillow while releasing moans and whimpers of his name in pleasure. 

he drops his head down to your shoulder, burying his face into your neck. “i’m so close baby, hold on for me hm?” you wrap and arm around his shoulder, throwing your own head back at the pleasure.

he whines and groans into you when he feels you clench around him and he pounds into you again, fast and hard and deep and you let a tiny, pleasurable moan as the heat in you becomes unbearable and you came once again. 

“i-i’m close,” he responds only seconds later, voice strained, and you moaned at the sensation and it only makes him go faster and he eventually comes inside you.

he pulls out you carefully, watching you wince at the sensitivity. sweat lines both your bodies and he slumps down on you, wrapping his arms around you. 

he pecks your forehead, nose and then he’s about to place on your lips that the two of you roll off the couch and right onto the floor. 

you both fall into fits of laughter and he pulls you close to him, sighing happily when he turns to you. pointer finger poking your cheek and you open your eyes, staring at him with a playful glint.

you two pause and then burst out laughing, the room echoing with your happiness. he bites at your ear and you squeal, slapping his chest.

when he rolls off of you and slides to your side, both of you lay in the middle of the room, naked. hair spread on the carpet below, sighing and humming happily.

“are we planning to-“

“i love you.”

you bite the insides of your cheek, looking the opposite way when you feel his stare on you. he leans up hurriedly and hovers his face over yours, you shyly avoid his face until he holds into your jaw softly.

“w-what did you say?” he asks, eyes wide and sparkly, “say it again.” 

when you stare at him intently and don’t say anything, he taps your cheek. “say it again y/n, you have no idea how much i’ve been dying to hear those words.”

you smile playful, bringing your hands to his cheeks. “i said i love you, silly.”

he tries to smile, “say it again,” 

“i love you,” you tilt your head, and the glint in his eyes switch.

“again,” he lowers himself.

“i love you.”

“one more time,” 

“i love you.”

“jus-“

“i take it ba-“ 

he doesn’t let you finish your sentence, his lips slam onto yours. “don’t, don’t ever take it back.” 

“understand?” he asks, and you nod.

“understood sir.” you grin, and he laughs.

“i’ll make you happy, i swear.” he mumbles as he hides his face in your hair, you smile and shut your eyes. 

“and i’ll protect you, i swear.”

you run down to your room, leaving the meeting about the war. the war that at this point was confirmed, yunho and hongjoong had found a loophole when they visited the border. 

only confirming every suspicion, you had, the enemy wasn’t in any of the eight kingdoms. but instead, outside from those kingdoms who seonghwa had gone to help at his last trip a few months ago. 

from wooyoung’s special sources, he’s found out exactly when they will attack. exactly two days from now.

it felt like a betrayal, but you knew something else was up but that’s not what you were thinking about right now. 

instead, a bigger thing was on your mind. 

you walk out the bathroom, one hand on your stomach and the other running through your hair. 

“yeosang,” you squeak, “are you a hundred percent sure?” 

both you and yeosang decided to talk in private, him joining you as you ran out the meeting. which only confirmed his suspicions over your habits these days, he’s leaning on the wall opposite of yours. 

hands crossed over his chest while a small smile plays on his lips, he nods slowly, and you shut your eyes.

“you’re feeling it aren’t you?” he muses, he runs a hand through his blond locks and a smile creeps up his lips. 

your mouth drops and you could feel you heart hammering against your rib cage, swallowing you look up to him walking towards you.

“yeosang, we’re at a war,” you realize, “t-this can’t be happening right now, i have to go fight in the war in two days and i can’t do it like this!” 

your outburst is understandable, yeosang not only sympathizes with you but also is excited about how a new change will affect both you and seonghwa.

“y/n, i know-“ he pauses, “you should tell seonghwa.” 

you sit down on your bed and yeosang exits the room, a sigh slips down your lips and you fall back onto the bed. your hair falling prettily around you, slowly you trail your hand over your stomach and bite your lip.

you smile but it fades away quickly, the threat of enemies attacking the kingdom any time in the coming two days scares you. but this time it scares you for a different reason and you’re angry, frustrated and irritated even because the timing of everything wasn’t right. 

you shot up from your bed and started to march down the hallway, ignoring the guards who immediately shoot a salute as you ran down the hall.

once you reached seonghwa’s office, you burst open the door and the man inside flinches, dropping his files. 

his wide eyes soften when they land on you. “oh, bab-“

“you!” your finger points at him and he raises his eyebrows as you walk towards him, backing him up to the wall behind, his hands coming up by his head. 

you grab his collars, “you, you! you finally got what you’ve been trying to do.” 

he tilts his head, eyes confused. “and that is?”

“i’m pregnant and y-“

“you what,”

you pause, your shoulders dropping. his face drops and you swallow, “are yo-“

“i knew it!” he interrupts, yelling and then he cups your face, he’s got the biggest smile, his pearly whites show, and he smiles so big it almost eyes are hidden.

he presses his lips against yours, again and again. wrapping his arms around you he lifts you and twirls you around, “p-put me down!” 

“oh my god, oh my god, we’ll be parents oh god.” he whispers, placing his forehead on yours. “i love you so much, you have no idea.” 

he keeps pressing his lips onto yours repeatedly, you can feel him smile against them as he whispers i love you’s in between. 

you cup his face and force him to look at you, the pad of your thumb rubs near his eyes, wiping away the tears pooling around his eyes. 

“how long?” he asks.

“one and a half months.” 

he’s got a pout on his face and his eyebrows are almost touching, something you’ve noticed he does whenever he’s about to cry.

“why are you crying?” you ask, and he cups your hands with his, pecking your hands. 

“you just gave me the biggest gift of my entire life, how can i not cry?” he mumbles against your hands, eyes pouring out fat tears and he sniffles. you laugh at his words and pull him into a hug.

he immediately wraps his around your waist, burying his face in your neck deeper, he places soft kisses over your shoulder. you giggle and wrap your hands around him tighter, you could feel his rapid heartbeat syncing with yours.

he kneels down and taps your stomach with wide eyes, once you pull back though, your face falls and he notices right away. “seonghwa, what about the war?” 

he visibly stiffens and grips on your waist, “no, no, no!” he whispers, “you’re not going out there to fight.” 

“seonghwa,” you grasp his hands, “i have to fulfil my duty, i-i’ll put extra shields around myself so no-“

“your duty is our kid growing in your stomach,” he interrupts, moving his hand to your stomach.

you sigh, “i have to follow through my orders with the soldiers! after all, we’re fighting for your land.”

“my title or my status or land doesn’t mean a god damn thing if the only thing i’ve ever wanted would be taken away from me.” this time he holds onto your shoulders and shakes you slightly.

you shake your head, “seonghwa, i know, but my job is to protect you and everyone who lives under eden.”

he leans closer, “i’ve vowed to protect you y/n, twice, and now with our kids,” he spared a glance at your stomach. “we’ll go to war, i’ll run it.”

“seonghwa you can’t, you have no experience in what i’m in.” you pause, “granted you were in the navy, but this, this is different hwa.” 

his eyes soften at the use of his name that you only ever called in more intimate moments, “i don’t care baby, if it means you two would be safe, i’ll go.” his intertwines his fingers with yours. 

“besides,” he dramatically flips his hair, “at least i can win sword fights.” 

“hwa,”

“trust me.” 

you stare at him in worry, considering what you had found out just last night. but when he pouts, you chuckle at him and he pulls you into his embrace, “fine,” you sigh, “you can go, but only on one condition.” 

he smiles and caresses your hair, “and that is?”

“i need the father of our baby to be alive,” you bury further in his chest, “if you die, i will go find you and then kill you myself.”

he laughs and you feel his chest vibrate, “only the father of our child? what about your husband?” he teases, and you lightly smack his back. 

“i want both of them back.” 

seonghwa had been going around, yelling and screaming loudly to everyone in the palace that you were pregnant. you had to hide your face behind him as he told away with a big smile on his face, his parents were all ecstatic and immediately showered you with presents and blessings.

“you’re really excited, huh?” you grin, fixing the blanket of your bed. glancing swiftly at seonghwa sitting on the couch in his night wear, supporting a book in his hand.

“you have no idea,” you stop and lean on the bed frame, your eyes go over his face and smile. 

he sees you staring and puts his book to the table beside him, he spreads his thighs wide, tilts his head and then pats his thighs at you. 

wiggling his eyebrows at you, “your throne, my queen.” and then pats his thighs again, you snort out loud and walk to your side of the bed.

he joins with a pout quickly and sits beside you, a hand around your shoulder, he presses his lips against your temple. 

you sigh and lean onto him more, eyes closing slowly. his hand caresses your shoulder while his lips maintain near your face. 

“do you think we would have a boy or a girl,” you mumble against him, and he brings his hand over to your hair. 

“it doesn’t matter,” he says, and you nod with a smile, “but, i do hope whoever is in there is a boy.” 

you open your eyes at that and tilt your chin up, “and what if it’s a girl?”

he smiles, “if it’s a girl, i don’t think i would have the heart to marry her away.” your heart swells at his words, he pulls you into a hug and stays like that until your eyes start to fall heavy.

“i love you,” 

he whispers and when you don’t respond, he assumes you’ve fallen asleep. smiling he gets himself comfortable around you and closes his eyes. 

“i know.” 

the next two days were intense, even the word intense was an understatement. everyone in the palace had been moving around every day, from the workers in the palace and those in the kingdom. all and every soldier available and those who had retired were in the field practicing.

you could hear the swords clashing against one another, grunts and groans of soldiers as they battled each other. every field was packed with men, the archery field, the open grounds and even the main property of the palace. 

you’re walking around and guarding the rest, helping them here and there while teaching them how to do the right thing. 

seonghwa and you had been monitoring everything, last two nights and days were spent in your office. planning out everything that would lead to eden winning, rearranging soldiers at different points around the battlefield, cannons, bombs and even artillery were numbered.

both of you wanted the least damage and had even sent a letter to the rivalry group for a better understanding to mend things out, but once they denied and initiated war by killing a few of your men. 

both of you had no choice but to run the war, everything had to be perfect, for the kingdom and for you three. 

and now, all of you stand together in lines. seonghwa stands left of you while yunho stands to the right, both his parents are standing at the balcony a level above.

“i know this is hard everyone,” seonghwa starts, “your general won’t be able to join you in this, so i’ll be taking the position.” 

you step forward, collectively gathering their attention. “i want every single one of you back,” you say, eye glancing to every corner. 

“if one of you is missing,” you pause, “i’ll come to the field myself and find you, and then i’ll kill you.” 

a roar of laugh echoes the grounds, and it lessens the weight on you, as the rest get busy you turn to your battalion. 

“you all better come back, be careful and use your mind.” you tell them, and they respond with a smile, “and you,” you turn to seonghwa who raises his eyebrows.

“don’t go overboard! don’t do useless things-“

“i won’t!” he whines.

“i know you will,” you sigh and he chuckled before coming to place his hands around your neck, “remember how at south there will be people there, list-“

“i know, mom.” he says and leans down to press his lips onto yours, you hear the low ‘ooh’s’ of the crowd and pull back. 

“i’ll be right back, wait for me okay?” he says with a grin and you manage to smile back, he then nods at everyone else who start to make their way out the palace grounds. 

you watch them leave the grounds and you swallow thickly, instinctively placing a hand on your stomach. a sickening feeling starting to loom over you, and you turn around to yeosang standing there.

he nods at you and the two of you walk to his quarters, “are you sure?” he asks, handing you your armour that you wear on top of your clothes. “i don’t want you to go there and potentially hurt yourself knowing you’re pregnant.” 

“we have no choice yeo, you know what your patient said yesterday.”

last night, yeosang burst through your office doors, yanking your arm and dragging you to his office without even getting the chance to say hi.

“yeosang, w-what’s going on?” you ask the man holding your wrist, stepping in his room only to see a patient bandaged over his legs, arms and head.

you glance at yeosang in confusion, asking him to explain why exactly he brought you here especially when there’s someone he’s tending to.

before yeosang gets the chance respond, the man in front immediately stands up, hissing and then bowing. 

“gener- your highness,” his low and gritty voice goes onto introduce himself, “i can’t reveal my name, but i have to tell you something.”

you exchange glances with yeosang who nods, ushering you to a chair, and he comes to stand behind you. 

“what happened to you?” you ask out of worry, eyeing the white bandages over him.

“dorado,” the man says, “dorado is after you.”

you place the chained veil around your waist, securing it by placing your armour on top. “i am sure, and as for that, it’ll be alright.”

“he’ll be mad,” he mutters while tightening the chain around your forearms. “very mad.”

you pause to look at him, “i know how to protect myself yeo... and as for seonghwa, it’ll be okay, he won’t even know i’m there.” 

he gives you a look that you respond with a grin, he breaks into a chuckle and pats your shoulders. 

“then i’m coming with,” he says, grabbing his own artillery from under his desk. surprising you, you would’ve never thought the doctor would have weapons with him too.

“i knew you were a sadist.” you laugh before the two of you walk out, hiding away from the guards and your parents.

“mingi i swear to god! stop screaming every two seconds!” san yells through the thick air, slashing his sword the through the wind. 

“i can’t help it, he fucking stabbed me! twice!” mingi yells back, riding his horse as he cuts through the enemies with ease.

the rest are fighting with their own group of people who seem to be attacking the face, “god, why do you all go after the faces!” wooyoung yells, kicking the other in the stomach before twisting his arm. 

“where’s seonghwa?” hongjoong cries out, clutching his bleeding arm while fighting. 

“ayo, park seongh- oh my god he’s got a whole army on him, no wonder, they all hate him!” 

seonghwa stands between the men crowding him in a circle, he grips on his sword tightly and smirks. raising his hand to motion them to come forward, as if taunting them with his fingers. 

the men groan out loudly and launch themselves at him, seonghwa successfully dodges all the punches thrown at him except the one that landed on his chest, making him stumble back. 

the barbaric man grabs seonghwa’s collars and yanks him to the floor, seonghwa grabs his sword and shoves it down the man’s chest all the way through. the man freezes and sees the duke smirk at him before throwing his now dead body off him.

men throw himself at seonghwa one by one and he fights his best, getting a few splotches of blood on his face while his arms bleed through his running wounds. 

a man from behind comes over to attack seonghwa, his breathing so loud and raspy yet still faded into the chaos of the war. he grips his sword and raises it above his head ready to cut through seonghwa’s body.

“hey,” a voice yells and the man freezes, seonghwa keeps on putting his attention on those who attack him. 

“that’s my husband you’re trying to kill.” before the man can even turn around, a sword slides through his entire neck and his blood splatters through air to the ground.

“general!” 

san’s voice cries at you, you’re surprised he’s back. you hadn’t seen him ever since he went back, but you notice he looks much better and throw him a smirk.

he notices you sitting on your horse dressed in your armour and a sword in hand, looking all majestic and a smirk forms over his lips and suddenly the rage to fight increases. you shake your head at him, mouthing to not mention you, and as if you were his fuel to his fire, he lunges at the attackers. 

with a snort, you pull on the two ropes coming from the horses’ head and rode through the battlefield with your sword in hand.

the wind streamed by you, whipping your hair back to show the eyes, dark and brooding and raging. those you sped past widen their eyes in fear as they start to run, your sword plays with the air, as the cloth decorating your horse flies. 

it’s almost a haunting image, you on the white horse while blood drips down the sword you’re holding. your eyes are turned into slits, jaw clenched, and your rank insignia shines intimidatingly under the gloomy day. 

you spot yunho and hongjoong from a far and wave at him. they stop to look at you for a quick second before making their way towards you, their jaws clenched and face bloodied. the three of you were known as a trio that worked together on the battlefield and made sure the kingdom won, you nod at them and they immediately know what to do.

“general, be safe.” you nod and begin to ride down the grounds. 

yunho goes out in the south, calling for the cannons to be released. hongjoong goes to the frontline with his men as they handle the ones there, you stay in the middle, eliminating any enemy who dare attack you. 

at some point in the battle, you go off your horse. dangerous for the condition you were in, but you managed to wipe off any men who attacked you, swinging your leg in their faces. 

those who attacked you from behind, you grabbed their forearms and and yank them forward with the strength you had. 

the wind blew in your face, a thin layer of sweat coating your face and your body under all the armour. your hair stuck to your forehead as you walked the grounds, dragging your sword behind you. 

the noise it created, tickled the ears of those passing by who immediately ran off. every step you took on the now bloody sand, dripped with the blood of those you fought with. 

your armour dripped blood; your sword poured the red liquid as you dragged it across the field. your face on the other hand, had a big splashes of blood, maybe even yours along with your rival enemies. 

it feels like it’s been hours since the battle started, hongjoong had managed to bring down the front lines while yunho had successfully attacked with cannons. the rest had been taking care of the ones in the middle, including you. 

now all you had to do was escape, so that seonghwa wouldn’t see you. 

which would be impossible considering he’s standing just meters away from you, if you had to escape, you had to do it quick. 

luckily, yeosang sees you and the two of you make your way back hurriedly. both of you laugh as you run away from them successfully before finally reaching the palace grounds. 

“i’ll meet you at your quarters, clean up good.” yeosang says and you immediately speed off to your room, hurriedly grabbing your towel, incense and fresh clothes to change into.

picking up anything suspicious, the two of you take showers in a record time. which was impossibly fast considering the blood on you two, and the time it took for you to drain it all out to finally being able to walk out all dressed like before. 

once you’re done, yeosang walks in and both your eyes widen. “fuck! the floor!” you two yell and instantly look for something to get the blood off the floor. 

yeosang brings in a bucket of water which spills halfway through and so he has to go for a round two, and you grabbed a random shirt to wipe the floor. the two of you used water and literally anything to get it off as you two panicked. 

not only were you two shaking but laughing at the misery you were in, but once the panic slowly calmed down. you both sighed in relief, sitting on the ground as you piled up the cloths for laundry. 

“take rest,” he exhaled, “i’m sure you’re devastatingly tired.” 

“thank you yeosang, really.” you reach over to pat his shoulders.

“now just, get ready for our very own duke.” he laughs, and you join him, shaking your head at the consequences you’re about to experience.

you heard the horns go off in distance not a few hours later, “they’re here, we’ve won.” you grin widely and walk out the room, yeosang following suit.

the second you walk out, it’s quite literally a mess. more than a few of your soldiers are injured, some getting carried to hospital beds. yeosang spares you a quick look and you nod, he runs down the hall, no longer was he yeosang but a doctor on duty.

you step down to help a few of the men yourself, you applaud and thank them for staying alive. when you’re helping a particular one though, he stops you and looks at you in confusion.

“general, aren’t you going to go to his highness?” you furrow your eyebrows, “he’s injured.” 

your eyes immediately widen, “h-he’s what?” you whip your head to the entrance as a group of men stride in on horses. 

you run, eyes searching for the one man you’re looking for. “mingi, where’s seonghwa?” you ask, your voice desperate, scared and panicky.

“he’s coming,” he smiles through the blood on his face, “don’t worry y/n, he put up a great fight.”

the worry on your face shows, your heartbeat hammering against your rib cage as your eyes wandered everywhere to meet seonghwa’s. 

and when they do, you slump down in relief. eyebrows almost meeting each other while your eyes water slightly, his face is cleaned off, but you could still see the smears of blood. 

his black hair is a mess, sticking to his forehead. he was head to toe sprinkled with blood as he rode on his horse, when his eyes meet yours, he immediately smiles. 

“i told you i’d come back.” 

you walk towards him slowly and he jumps down to take your hands in his, “where are you injured?” your eyes go over all his body, turning him around back and forth and he laughs.

you smack his shoulder, and he immediately hisses, his hands clench his shoulders, and you mumble out a sorry. he groans dramatically and you this time, slap his chest. 

“stop scaring me,” you hold his hand tighter, “let’s go, i’ll clean you up.” 

“hmm,” he grins, “you’ll clean me up?” and wiggles his eyebrows, your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

you’re so used to his nature and yet it still brings butterflies to your stomach, wrapping your arm around his waist you guide him towards yeosang’s private office. 

while you’re walking there, seonghwa talks about what he did on the field, and as if you weren’t there to see it all, you nod and praise him at what he tells you. 

“now don’t move,” you sit him down, “and let me clean your wounds, grab my hand if it hurts, okay?” you tell him gently and he nods.

you reach down to take strip his upper half down, which wasn’t easy considering he would mutter sexual innuendos and how he’d hiss in pain.

you grab a big cotton swab and drench it the antiseptic, bringing it up to his shoulder. you frowned at the large cut on his skin, his eyes staring at you intently as you catered his wound. 

ignoring him making kissing faces, weird faces and him blowing air to your face. or how is fingers play with your shirt, how his hand wraps around you, how he hides his pain by burying his face in your stomach. sometimes mumbling something to the baby inside. 

you chant sweet nothings to him while he bites down on his lips, once you’re done stitching his wound you wrap a white bandage around his shoulder. 

he finds playing with your hair as you patch him up, “y/n.” he mumbles. 

you hum in response, hands still fixing the bandage. “why’s there blood on your neck,” 

you freeze visibly, “o-oh it must be yours, must’ve been from when we walked here.” 

he stays quiet and raises his fingers to bring over your neck, you feel them hover a bit before he lowers them down to your neck. you shut your eyes and breath shakily when the blood coming from an unknown wound touches his fingers. 

“what is this,” he whispers, “why are you bleeding, y/n.” 

when you don’t respond, you feel his eyes on your face. “look at me.” your shiver at his tone, so low and deep that it cut through the tension. 

when you do look at him, you’re sure your eyes look guilty, sad and even worse. “where were you?” 

you shake your head, “nowhere hwa, i’m telling you it’s your bl-“

he suddenly raises your hair up in a bunch and yanks down your shirt, eyes stuck on the cut right behind your neck. “this isn’t mine,” he clenches his jaw and you feel his breathing fan your skin.

he turns his head to look into your eyes, eyebrow raising as his face turns bitter. “where were you y/n,” when you try and interrupt him, “answer me right now, and don’t you dare lie.” 

“me and yeosang were practicing,” oh, only if you didn’t stutter, he would’ve believed you, his eyes bore into your side and your eyes drop to the floor. 

when the room goes silent, you could hear the ringing noises in your ear. the faded groans of others getting their wounds tended at, seonghwa’s hand around your waist tightens and he forces you to look at him. 

“you went to the war,” he breathes. 

“without telling me,” he pauses, “with our child.” 

dread pools over you so quick that you almost forget to breathe, your eyes are glued shut and you hear his breathing get harsh. 

“answer me y/n, did you, or did you not go to the war.” 

you stay quiet for a few moments, knowing you’re in the wrong. there’s no need to hide it from him as it could possibly become a bigger deal.

“y/n.” 

“i did,” you nod and almost immediately he softly pushes you away from him, “hwa, i know i’m wrong i sh-“

“don’t ‘hwa’ me right now,” he warns, eyes fueling with anger. “how- who in the right mind would go to a war, pregnant!” 

he then steps towards you and you look at him in the eye, “y/n, are you fucking stupid? how, how- i don’t even have the fucking words!” he yells, and you shut your eyes.

“do you know how dangerous that is?” 

“hwa, i’m okay.” you interrupt him, “i’m alive.”

“and what if you weren’t?” he yells, “huh? what if you died? what if someone shot you or stabbed you? what if our child... died, y/n?” 

you suck in a deep breathe, “nothing happened seonghwa, i’m here! i’m standing in front of you, with our child!” 

“you willingly went to the war,” he points a finger at you, “you put yourself and the kid in such danger, y/n are you out of your god damn mind?!”

“just listen to me pl-“

“what if something happened to our child? you’re already injured, god forbid something might’ve happened!” he cries out loud and you notice him choking up. “did you even think of that or did you just think it’ll be okay?!” 

the room is so quiet, so quiet that you hear no footsteps from outside. because you know they’re hearing everything, the silence pains you and you know you’re wrong. you know that, but you did it anyway. 

“seonghwa, please i’m sorry, i know i’m wrong but please listen to m-“

“why should i listen to you?” he angrily asks, “so that you can preach about you saving the kingdom?” he grabs the nearest object and throws it on the floor, yeosang’s favourite glass now sits shattered into hundreds of pieces. 

“that’s not the point, seonghwa!” you yell this time, “just please let me explain to you why i did it!”

his face screams pain, his eyes are dropping tears while he breathes harshly, hands curled up into fists and eyes glaring daggers at you. 

“i just wanted to protect you hwa,” your voice cuts through the silence, “i’m experienced en-“

he suddenly grabs your shoulders, and your wide eyes look at his, “i’d rather get killed than see you die with our child.” 

“what you did was dumb, reckless and horrible.” he spits, “you’re horrible, i can’t believe that you would do this.” 

you don’t even realize that you’re shaking, that your eyes are pooling with tears and yet they don’t drop. the heat in your throat is getting unbearable and your eyes are staring into his. 

but the only difference is, yours are filled with love and his are with hate. 

“you’re so selfish y/n,” he glares, “so damn selfish.” he whispers, and you swear you heard your heart crack. 

“please, please hear me out hwa, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry- i, know i’m wrong for doing this but at least look at me.” 

he reaches beside you and grabs his shirt, you stand still, not knowing what to do. he won’t even spare you a glance, his hands wipe the tears that keep falling of his face while yours are shaking by your side.

when he’s about to walk past you, you hastily hold onto his arm. “hwa-” 

he turns around with such anger that you let go of his arm, “it’s your highness for you.” and without looking back, he walks out.

next part 

taglist : @idiomaticpunk : @ofcjongho : @ateezappreciation : @sparklychangbin : @annasbananas : @happycandynoelle : @seonghwas-shinystar-x : @treasure-hwa : @etherealbyeol : @rawrrainn : @sktbzc0re : @utopiakys​ : @deobichoice : @hanflix​ : @skmoonchild​ : @uzumakioden​ : @thiccseokmin​​

unable to tag : @multi–trash

[kimhargreeves]

I'll Be There-Yondu x Reader

Summary:You say goodbye to your friend and lover, Yondu..for one last time.

Many many years have passed since I was picked up from Earth along with Peter,I couldn't believe where I was until a certain man introduced us as captain and we explored the galaxy.

Many people thought Peter and I were brothers but we aren't..we aren't relatives.

Since his father disappeared when he was a baby and his mother had cancer it was my job to take care of him. Even if I was just seventeen when I started to watch over him I felt safe with him.

Many kids my age had friends at school and family while I didn't..I never had friends nor family.

Peter might not be my blood but I still love him.

We worked for Yondu who's the one in charge of the ravagers which they all scared me at first, I never thought would grow feelings for the guys even if Peter calls the guy a smurf.

I still remember that one day Peter escaped the ship for a while and I hid it from Yondu..so I had to clean the entire ship.It was a long stressful day till we arrived somewhere else and Yondu showed me around.

I was amazed at the planet,clearly Yondu began to slowly open himself to me and I began to like him back. We never kissed or anything but deep down we both knew that we had feelings for each other.

I would constantly save Peter's ass when Yondu was in a bad mood. He promised that he'll always be there for me in whatever I needed and he did..

I'll always be there...Yondu would say from every ravager in his crew I was his favorite and not just because I was a woman..it was because I knew that pain he went through growing up.

Yondu was the only true friend I had..and now here I am..staring down at his corpse...

"He really was my father..I never knew it till now." Peter says as he cries and wraps his arms around my shoulder.

Words couldn't come out of my mouth as I heard the other's mourn over him,they were ready to incinerate him but I told them to leave me a minute with him.

They did and I was left alone...

I place my hand on top of his and all the tears I was hiding began to pour down my cheeks,I began to stutter a few words as I began to remember every single memory with him.

"I still remember that one time you tried to impress me and later on you tried to pick a few flowers for me but they weren't flowers..tiny creatures shaped as flowers started to attack you."

I begin to cry but smile at the memory,being with Yondu was like living in a real life comedy movie..we had our sad moments but we managed to put them aside.

"I love you Yondu..don't ever forget that..I just w-wished..we would have at least seen Mary poppins..but o-oh well." I sniff and laugh a little as I grab my pin from my jacket and place is onto his hand.

It was a small pin i've been holding on when I was just a child and I swore I would give it someday to the person who would change my life. I took my favorite ring as well and placed it next to the pin.

"I'll always be there for you Yondu..even if I won't be able to see you."

The guys came back and we watched as tons of different captain ravagers came as Yondu was incinerated.

"Me too kid." I heard a whisper behind my ear and I turned back to see no one there.

"Yondu?" I whisper and cry.

"Everything alright?" Gamora asks concerned.

"..Yes..Everything's alright now." I smile wide staring outside at the fireworks..

[justalarryblog]

🏵️ my youth is yours by @skarshes (6k) | Not Rated

"They shake hands and when they’re finished, Louis stands up to go shake Harry’s hand. He doesn’t understand why Harry is gawking at him until he realizes that he’s still dressed in a pair of blue lacy boyshorts. He blushes, but the response from Harry is the best, his cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wide. Louis shakes his hand and welcomes him before leaving to go finish his last part of the photoshoot. Harry is still standing there with his mouth wide open when Louis walks out.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun, Louis thinks to himself as he gets in position for the next photo set."

Or: Louis is a model and Harry is his assistant. Cue the instant attraction, flirting, a little bit of smut, a little bit of angst, but a happy ending.

🏵️And I know he’ll be the death of me, at least we’ll both be numb by @capturethesunset (3k) | Not Rated

Louis getting wrecked by jealous Harry.

🏵️hop hop hop by orphan_account (3k) | Explicit

Suddenly, Harry’s slipping down his jeans, and Louis gasps as he’s met with a very unexpected but delicious sight. A mass of fur nestles between Harry’s cheeks, matching with the pink of the inner part of his bunny ears.

Or, the one in which Harry wears bunny ears and a bunny butt plug and Louis proceeds to fuck him.

🏵️Got A Lot You Wanna Show Off Baby by @Phillipa19 (3k) | Explicit

Louis had been in meetings all day, he should have known that Harry wouldn’t be ignored for much longer.

-OR-

Louis is Harry’s sugardaddy and his younger boyfriend is definitely not happy being ignored whilst Louis holds meetings in his home office. There may also be Harry in lacy knickers involved.

Part 2 of When I Land, You’re Mine

🏵️St. Austin’s School for Boys by @domtommo, @winsomefreak (100k) | Explicit

St. Austin’s School for Boys is a correction school for young men that uses corporal punishment as their means of discipline. After one too many infractions, Harry Styles is sent there till graduation. Upon arriving Harry meets his dorm advisor who also happens to be the first year sex-education teacher and footie coach, Louis Tomlinson. Harry falls in absolute adoration for the teacher and is all too ready to drop down onto his knees for him. During his stay he learns some very interesting things about himself… Welcome to St. Austin’s School for Boys, where the hallways are filled with love, drama, and sex.

Part 1 of St. Austin’s School for Boys

🏵️hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss by @icedwaters (27k) | Explicit

Louis would like to know when his life became a huge romantic comedy, because he’s starting to get tired of being the butt of every joke. Harry’s already at the club when he, Zayn, and Liam arrive. He’s got on the tightest jeans Louis has ever seen in his life (including his own), and this flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, the buttons mostly undone to reveal the majority of his chest and a few tattoos. Louis’ eyes are first drawn to the big butterfly inked above his abs, then to black lines drawn on his shoulders, partly hidden by the edge of his shirt. He can’t help staring, his eyes clinging to Harry’s exposed skin.

(or louis is a 22 year old photographer in his third year of uni, and harry is his 19 year old cat-loving neighbor.)

🏵️I’m Gonna Love You (Until You Hate me) by @sweaterpawstyles (8k) | Explicit

As if reading his mind, Louis glanced over his glasses at Harry, presumably because Harry didn’t reply to his statement earlier.

“I decided to get my glasses out again,” he chuckled, winking at Harry. “Do you like them?“

Harry felt his face heat up. No, he didn’t just like them. He fucking loved them and wanted to ride Louis and call him daddy while he wore them. But he didn’t want to just tell Louis this.

Or

Louis wears glasses and Harry doesn’t like to be teased

🏵️jump in the deep end by @istajmaal (4k) | Explicit

Louis’s stomach lurches as he closes the last bit of distance, Harry’s nose settling between his arse cheeks and pushing them apart. Harry’s lips brush against the puckered skin around Louis’s hole in a kiss and Louis lets out a whine so high-pitched he barely recognizes it as coming from himself—what if I’m not clean enough, what if Harry hates it, what if Harry pushes me away—but then Harry’s long, wet tongue swoops in a circle around Louis’s rim and Louis feels like all the breath is knocked out of him. He grabs for Harry’s hand, still digging into his thigh, and squeezes over it, until Harry releases his vice grip on Louis’s thigh and laces his fingers through Louis’s.

or, Louis’s arse is a sensitive subject, so Harry approaches it gently. With his tongue.

🏵️shit, i still love you (still see you in bed) by @Wankerville (10k) | General Audiences

Harry hums, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth, “I want daddy to fuck me in the gold booties he got me for my birthday.”

or, it’s valentine’s day and harry wants to be fucked in his gold boots

🏵️daddy daddy cool by @sky_reid (6k) | Explicit

harry wakes up hard.

🏵️Yes Daddy, I Will by @recklessandbrave (9k) | Explicit

Louis smirks, arms crossed while admiring the scene in front of him. He had Harry exactly where he wanted him; desperate while blindfolded and tied up, and he was loving it. He feels drunk off the sight of his boyfriend spread out for him, naked, hard, and needy.

Or the one where Harry distracts Louis while he works and gets the punishment he deserves, and so badly wants.

Part 1 of Pastel

🏵️Thank You, Daddy by @recklessandbrave (10k) | Explicit

Harry’s hot, wet mouth is around him before Louis even has the chance to blink, and it feels so good, the icy sting of the frozen dessert disappearing as Harry’s soft tongue laps it up. After Harry swallows, he pulls off the head of Louis’ cock and then dips down to trail his tongue up the shaft, collecting the bits that dribbled down. “Yummy. Thank you, daddy.” He hums pleasantly.

Or the one where Louis gets an idea, and Harry wears panties

Part 2 of Pastel

🏵️strawberry milk fic by @Wankerville (158k) | Explicit

“So here’s the thing,” he starts. “I didn’t mean what I said a few weeks ago to like, hurt your feelings or anything. If you like painting your nails, then you should do that, and not like, care if anyone else doesn’t like it because their opinions shouldn’t matter, you know?” Louis takes a breath, finally glancing over to see the boy wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. On a whim, he adds, “And like, I noticed you scraping it off and you haven’t been wearing any and I think you should because that’s what you like.” or an au where harry paints his nails and drinks strawberry milk and is too nervous for it to be nothing and louis’ just trying to figure out whats wrong with him

🏵️The Night Sky is Changing Overhead orphan_account (124k) | Explicit

“Um, sorry, but I believe that’s actually mine,” Harry said a bit awkwardly, pointing at the cup.

The man huffed, slightly narrowing his blue eyes, “Nope, large Americano, dash of cream.” He held the coffee up closer to Harry and honestly, Harry knew exactly what was in the cup because it was his coffee.

“Right,” Harry slowly drawled out as if he was talking to a toddler, “Which would make that mine.”

“Look, I really don’t have time for this, I’m running late. And this,” he said before he took a sip from the cup, “Is mine.”

Harry’s jaw dropped and he held his hands out, failing them slightly, “Wha-you can’t just drink it!”

“Well I did, so, do you still want it or can I be on my way?” The man challenged.

Harry shook his head disbelievingly, “Take it, but for the record, it says Harry on it.”

The man turned the cup around and a sharp laugh came out of his mouth, “Well, shit.” He looked at Harry, a smile stretched across his face as crinkles formed next to his eyes. “Thanks, Harry.”

🏵️driving instructor fic by @LoadedGunn (104k) | Explicit

AU where Louis is a 25-year-old driving instructor and Harry is a 17-year-old virgin who’s really awful at seduction, except for the time he gets Louis to fall for him and fuck him senseless and take him on kinky adventures.

🏵️Loving You Is Free by @littlelouishiccups (91k) | Explicit

Louis is a workaholic record label CEO who hasn’t been on a date in nearly a year. Niall and Liam make an account for him on a sugar dating website as a joke. And then Louis meets Harry.

🏵️sex shop fic (dildornado ‘verse) by @istajmaal, @LoadedGunn (96k) | Explicit

AU where Louis is the most helpful sex shop salesperson in the history of sex shops, and Harry really was just looking for a vibrator with simple instructions (yet ended up getting a hands-on demonstration).

🏵️welcome to the mansion by @blankiehxrry (7k) | Explicit

Harry is a Playboy bunny.

🏵️Wild and Rain by @softandslow (45k) | Explicit

Louis has been looking after Tessa since he was sixteen. Harry’s a man in a business suit who has loved his daughter’s babysitter for three whole years.

🏵️But I’ll Still Take You Home by @LoadedGunn (9k) | Explicit

“So how old does that make you?”

It takes Harry a second. “Twenty.”

Louis arches an eyebrow. No matter how morally dubious that makes him, this boy is not twenty years old. “Bullshit.”

Harry pinches his bottom lip between two long fingers. “Eighteen.”

“What is this, a missile launch?”

Harry giggles. “Seventeen.”

Or, Harry is 17 at a college party, and Louis is not Brian Kinney.

🏵️can i stay the night by @frappeniall (3k) | Explicit

Louis pulled away and stood up, ‘This.. This is wrong. You’re 16.’

‘17 in 6 minutes,’ Harry interjected, ‘If that helps.’

[harry has a crush on his older neighbor, louis, and stays the night at his house when he gets in trouble with the police]

🏵️Can’t help but touch myself by @Tita (7k) | Explicit

“I asked what these were, love.” Harry gulps. “Panties,” he explains with heated cheeks, needing more than the light touches from Louis and getting nothing. “What did you get them for? Were they to impress someone else?” He asks, and Harry shakes his head fervently, stumbling over his words as he tries to get his tongue to cooperate. “No, no,” he emphasizes, arching his back to plaster himself to Louis. “For you, always for you, Daddy.”

🏵️Champagne by @fanshae (2k) | Explicit

“Look at how pretty you are,” Louis murmurs, Harry’s stockinged toes curling against the floor at the praise, “Give Daddy a twirl, baby.”

🏵️Give It Up To Me by @krisstylinson (8k) | Explicit

“You’re going to end up making me come with all the boys in our lounge,” he finished, his tone softening the longer he spoke.

“And?” Harry murmured, placing his palm over the crevice of Louis’ arse, keeping the plug nice and tight inside of him. “What if I wanted you to?”

Or the cliché where Louis isn’t supposed to come but he does, and that can’t go unpunished in Harry’s eyes.

🏵️I can feed your appetite by @dirrtylarry (5k) | Explicit

During a meal out with the other boys, Harry teases Louis to get what he wants.

🏵️I’m Tired Of Using Technology, I Need You Right In Front Of Me by @Phillipa19 (6k) | Explicit

Louis goes away on yet another business trip, but when he stops calling Harry to check in, Harry decides to take matters into his own hands.

OR- Louis is Harry’s sugardaddy who has gone away on business and Harry feels neglected. Louis is possessive and gets a camera installed in their bedroom so he can check up on Harry, so Harry decides to use the camera to his advantage.

🏵️it ain’t trickin’ if ya got it by @sarcasticfluentry (10k) | Explicit

Louis raises an eyebrow and smirks. “You have to ask nicely, Harry.”

They’ve never really played like this before, and Louis is a little out of his element but he finds that they’re both falling effortlessly into their roles (and not just because Louis is good at acting).

Harry’s too overwhelmed, though, to say anything without first gasping, “I c-can’t - god, I can’t believe you - please, Daddy, please put it inside?”

… or, 28-year-old blockbuster actor Louis Tomlinson rushes home to give his 20-year-old model boyfriend Harry a good seeing-to after a particularly provocative Instagram post and, in his excitement, alerts the entire world. Featuring daddy kink, anal beads, and feelings.

🏵️let’s talk about making love by @istajmaal (25k) | Explicit

“That’s my name, baby, I’m Louis.” The voice on the phone inhales sharply, then says, “Gonna take my cock now, princess?”

Harry lets out a high-pitched mhmm and shudders as he pulls his fingers out of his hole, groping for the vibrator. “Nice to meet you,” he says, feeling a bit dizzy with how hard his untouched cock is.

Louis is just a simple phone sex line operator, but to Harry, he’s Daddy.

🏵️nominae by @pressedpeachpits (2k) | Teen And Up Audiences

Louis is Harry’s beautiful acting professor, and Harry is an awkward college freshman with a crush on said teacher. After a slip up with what name to call him, Harry finds himself in a world of embarrassment, obsession, and lots of support from his roommate Niall.

Or, the one in which Harry calls his teacher Daddy, but it isn’t as bad as he expected

🏵️smile in slow motion by @istajmaal (24k) | Explicit

“It’s 2011, Niall. People can fuck their friends’ faces without it meaning anything more than that.”

or, Louis is Harry’s dom and maybe also his soulmate.

🏵️sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me by @moonlightlouis (4k) | Not Rated

harry’s been a naughty boy and needs to be punished and louis is there to do it

🏵️To Be Loved To Be In Love by @Angel_Dust (129k) | Mature

At 18, every Sub must take a Match Test to find their Dom.

Poor, Farm kid Louis Tomlinson is matched with Rich, Businessman Harry Styles.

Or, where Harry thinks giving Money, expensive presents and luxuries proves how much you love someone, but Louis is about to turn his world upside down.

🏵️Untitled sugardaddy fic by orphan_account (2k) | Explicit

Harry comes home from a long day at work and has his way with his baby. (That’s Louis.)

Or

The one with all the daddy kink sex and spanking. It’s pure pwp

🏵️Wake Me Up by @larrystylins (2k) | Explicit

Harry stretches and accidentally pushes his bare bum into Louis’ crotch. Oh. That’s definitely Louis’ cock. Okay that’s definitely the outline of Louis’ hard cock pressing against him. “Lou?” he whispers. Of course Louis is fast asleep..

or Harry wakes up to Louis’ morning wood pressed against his bum. Harry gets needy. Louis wakes up and punishes him.

🏵️You Don’t Need Me To Show The Way by@LoadedGunn (6k) | Explicit

But right there, on Harry’s iPod, is a folder entitled Lou Sappy Sappy Long Indie Hipster 80’s Love Songs Mixtape.

Louis expects a sappy mix tape. He might even expect his own shitty versions of Foo Fighter songs. What he doesn’t expect is clicking on “AUD-20101223” and suddenly hearing loud moaning. He gasps and scrambles to pause it, so shocked the iPod drops right to Harry’s stomach. Harry looks absolutely mortified, even more than he did when Louis played High School Musical. He’s blushing so furiously his face bypassed rosy straight to flaming red, and his mouth is closing and opening like he can’t think of a single thing to say.

Then Louis starts laughing uproariously. “Hiiii, I’m Harry from Cheshire, when I’m on the road I like listening to indie music and gay porn.”

Or, 2011 fic where Harry rides dick for the first time and Louis appreciates technology.

✨You can also check My Fic Tags for more fics! ✨

[let-it-raines]

CS JJ Day 13: The Spectacular Ms. Swan (1/1)

1959. New York City.

Women aren’t supposed to have their own voices and opinions, and they certainly aren’t supposed to be funny. Emma Swan, however, has a lot of opinions and is damn funny. She also doesn’t care what anyone thinks. 

Except maybe Killian Jones, a comic who has been her supporter since the day she bailed him out of jail after one of his comedy routines. 

Rating: Teen (language mostly)

a/n: I wrote this one-shot last month after watching the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and told @shireness-says that I was determined to get it finished before my baby showed up, and she said that baby girl would probably show up early out of spite. She didn’t and @shireness-says doesn’t get bragging powers about being prophetic or something. ❤️

Thanks to the admin at @csjanuaryjoy for keeping this GREAT event running!

Found on AO3 | Here |

-/-

It started on accident.

Really, most things in her life do.

There was the getting pregnant at seventeen and then having to get married because it was 1952 and all sins could be forgiven if she was married to the man she slept with.

“He’s a good man,” her mother had said. “A wealthy man. You’ll never have to work a day in your life. Think about the child. Think about your reputation.”

Then there was being a mother and learning that she actually liked it even if she did have things she wanted to do with her life beside spend her days cooking and cleaning and reading every book in existence to Henry until she had to begin making up her own stories to fuel her son’s seemingly never-ending creativity and imagination.

There’s nothing and no one in the world who Emma loves more than Henry, and that will never change.

But he certainly wasn’t in her plan.

Neither was actually falling in love with Neal or enjoying their life together, at least for the first few years. Because, well, he wanted her to be a housewife who always wore heels and measured her waist and her thighs every day to ensure she didn’t gain weight, and Emma much preferred wearing flat shoes and eating a hot dog at a Yankees game instead of a salad at home or some overpriced restaurant. So, of course, like any man who had a wife who didn’t fit into his carefully drawn out lines, Neal wandered away with woman after woman and always came back…to his secretary.

Emma saw them in her bed in the middle of the day, and as much as she had turned a blind eye in the past, she couldn’t do that anymore. She didn’t say anything that day. What she did, instead, was drop Henry off at her parents’ apartment, go to the Rabbit Hole downtown, get drunk off her ass, and then get on stage and tell a room full of strangers the very intimate details of her life.

They laughed.

And laughed and laughed, and a woman sitting in the back of the room came up to Emma with a business card in hand and said to call her tomorrow when she was the slightest bit more sober because she thought Emma had a career in comedy.

So Emma called.

And now, three years later her son is seven, she’s divorced (thank goodness, she thinks, even if her mother is still disappointed in her), and Emma is traveling around the United States as the opening comedic act for the singer Sky Manhattan, which might be the most ridiculous stage name Emma has ever heard.

But she doesn’t care. Not at all. She doesn’t care about stage names or what kind of airplane or train she’s traveling on. She doesn’t care if she’s wearing the newest brand of shoes (she is) or the most on trend dresses (she’s got those too) with a fabulous collection of hats. All she cares about is that she has this thing that’s hers and hers alone. No one can take it from her or threaten to take her to court over it (well, actually they can, but not if she watches her language while on stage) and it’s hers. It’s not because of her parents or her shitty ex-husband who dumped his secretary for a woman who works at the Revlon counter or anyone else.

It’s because she’s damn funny, and she’s accidentally made a career of it.

She’s not making much money and still can’t afford her own place, but it’s a start. Who cares what anyone else thinks?

Oh, she cares about Henry. That’s the one thing she cares about most of all, and if he asked her to give it all up, she would. He’s the only one she’d do that for, and he’s also the only one who wouldn’t ask. Her mother thinks this is worse than getting pregnant out of wedlock, her father happened to walk into a show where she made a joke about her parents’ sex life, and the both of them have repeatedly asked her why she’s doing this and to stop doing this.

Now, they support her, but they also don’t understand. They both come from wealthy families, her mother the heiress to an oil fortune and her father a lawyer, and they’ve never understood why she’d want to go up on stage and tell crude jokes for a living.

(They’re not all crude, but it does happen sometimes. Okay, most of the time. It depends on the venue. But she’s gotten smart about that because jail is not something that appeals to her.)

But this is what she does, and when she’s finished touring, she’s going to fly back to New York, settle into her parent’s five-bedroom apartment in Manhattan, and spend all of the time that she can with her son. Neal never wants to watch him anyway despite his custody threats, so Henry’s always with her parents when she’s gone.

(“It’s not the man’s job to watch his child,” Neal says. “I’ll take him for a beer when he’s old enough.”)

The only bad thing about her job is leaving Henry, but they talk on the phone every night. She’s doing this so she can be happy, like she wants him to be happy when he gets older and is chasing his own dreams, and so maybe one day she can have a little something for herself that she didn’t have handed to her.

“Emma,” Ruby yells out, “be ready in five minutes. And remember today is a clean show, and what’s our number one rule for clean shows?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck.’”

“And our second rule?”

“Don’t say ‘fuck.’”

“You’re a genius, darling,” Ruby sighs, blowing Emma a kiss before walking out of the room with her heels clacking behind her. “And I’m the best manager on the planet.”

That quip was for Sky’s manager to hear, and Emma has to bite her lip to keep from laughing. Whale will kill her if she laughs at that. Or cut her set time in half. Emma would prefer neither, but she guesses dying won’t really be that bad.

-/-

She only says fuck once during her set, it’s a complete accident, and only two people walked out of the restaurant.

Emma would call that a success.

-/-

“With olives please,” Emma tells the bartender, holding up two fingers.

“You know, you can simply order a bowl of olives, and they’ll bring it to you.”

A smile creeps up on Emma’s face, and she swivels in her chair at the sound of a familiar and far too cheeky British accent. “Killian Jones, as I live and breathe.”

“Emma Swan, as I breathe to live.”

“Oof, not one of your best jokes.”

“Wasn’t meant to be.” He leans in to press his lips against her cheek, one side and then the other. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“At a bar in a hotel in Miami? The better question is what are you doing here?”

Killian scoffs and settles down on the barstool next to her, shrugging his suit jacket off and handing it to her. When she raises her brow, he nods down at her lack of sleeves on her dress and all of her pebbled goosebumps. “You’re chilled, and I don’t think your boy will take it well if you freeze to death on my watch.”

“It’s Florida in May. I’m not going to freeze to death. But aren’t you a gentleman?”

“I’m always a gentleman.” He turns away from her quickly and holds up a finger to get the bartender’s attention. “Can you get me a glass of whatever your best rum is and a bowl of olives? And put her drinks on my tab.”

“You are not paying, Jones.”

“I am paying. It’s not often that I see my favorite comedian.”

“You’re full of shit if you say I’m your favorite comedian.”

“Well, if we’re being technical, I’m my own favorite comedian, but I felt that was a little too much to say. I’m trying to be less of an asshole.”

Emma leans her head back and laughs before tugging Killian’s suit jacket around her shoulders. This bar is cold, probably to combat the sweltering heat outside, but she’d never admit that to him.

“I don’t think you can be less of an asshole. Being an asshole is who you are.” The bartender puts their drinks and a bowl of olives in front of them, and Emma immediately pulls the olives off the toothpick in her martini. “I’m the opening act for Sky Manhattan. That’s why I’m here. We’re on tour.”

“What kind of name is Sky Manhattan?”

“It’s his stage name.”

“Fucking dumb stage name.”

“You’re so eloquent with words.”

Killian winks. “That’s why they pay me to talk on television.”

“They pay you to talk on television because you’re funny and you look like a man in every catalog on the shelf at Bergdorf.”

“You flatter me.”

“I try. I want your ego to become so big that your head explodes and you can no longer pop up in random places.” She takes another sip of her drink and leans over to gently push his shoulder. “Seriously. What are you doing in Florida? You live in Manhattan in a fancy apartment.”

“Says the trust fund baby who lives with her parents in their fancy apartment.”

“Hey.”

Killian holds his hands up in mock apology all the while his grin reaches from ear to ear so that his eyes crinkle and the blue of his eyes shines under the dim light of the bar. “I’m working on a show here. It’s only temporary. My contract is up at the end of June, and I’ve had this lovely place to call home for a month already.”

“You’re staying here?”

“Aye.”

“In the land of pastels and peppy waitstaff? Where the bathrooms are pink?”

“It’s a nice change of pace, and since I’m not paying for it, I don’t give a damn.”

“That’s more like you,” Emma laughs, twisting a little further on her stool and leaning into his space. “I’m going to be here for two weeks. Why don’t you come to a show? I think you’ll really like my routine and the guy singing after me is pretty good too.”

“Is that all you have to convince me?”

Her heart picks up its pace as Killian’s hand brushes over her thigh, a light and fleeting touch. “I can get you a free drink and all of the shrimp cocktails you want.”

“I was going to say no, but the shrimp cocktails really do it for me.” He leans in, closer now, and Emma very nearly closes her eyes in anticipation. Of what? She knows, but she won’t even let her mind go there. “I have to run to work. Why don’t you meet me here Saturday night? I’ll take you to dinner and show.”

“I’m working Saturday night.”

“We’ll go after.”

And with that, Killian Jones is throwing cash onto the bar top for a tip and then walking away, leaving his jacket with her.

Damn, she missed him.

-/-

“How was your last day of school, kid?”

“We had cupcakes, and I had two.”

“Two?”

“I wanted three, but Mrs. Horowitz wouldn’t let me have another one.”

“I bet she didn’t want you to spoil your dinner.”

“Cupcakes could have been dinner.”

Emma laughs and stands from her bed, pulling the cord on her phone with her. “Cupcakes are not dinner. Has Grandpa been feeding you cupcakes for dinner?”

“Nope. But he does give me chocolate.”

“Ah, of course he does. I’m going to be home to see you next week before we go to the Catskills for a few days and then I go to Vegas. Are you excited?” There’s no answer on the other end of the line, just a bit of static. “Henry? Kid? Kid?”

“His friend Avery is here, Mrs. Cassidy,” Ashely says over the phone. “He went to play.”

“It’s Swan, Ashley,” Emma huffs. She doesn’t want to snap at Ashely because she’s a sweet girl and helps with Henry far more than she should as her parents’ housekeeper. “Neal and I are divorced, and I changed my last name to my middle name.”

“I have to go, Mrs. Cassidy,” Ashely mumbles. “The boys are climbing on your father’s bookshelves.”

At that, there’s no one on the other end of the line, and Emma doesn’t get the chance to speak to her parents or tell Henry she loves him.

This is her life.

-/-

“Ruby Lucas, I am not going on a date with someone you met today.”

“Why not? He’s from New York, is here on a trip, and he’s cute. I think it could be a good match, and it’s been so long since you dated, which is different than sex, mind you.” “I’ve been divorced for two years and on the road for most of that. I don’t think many men want to date a divorced mother who is a stand-up comedian. Half of them think I’m a witch.”

“That’s because men are idiots.” “And yet you want me to date one?”

“One date,” Ruby sighs, slipping on her heels and smoothing out her skirt. “He’s got money, and he knows people who can sponsor you. Think of it as a business dinner and not a date.” “Well, I can do business dinners, but I can’t tonight. I’ve got plans after the show.”

“The dinner is before the show. What the hell do you have going on after the show? I don’t have anything booked for you.”

Emma turns from Ruby and fixes her blouse, tucking it in before raising her finger and brushing away the red lipstick that’s strayed to her skin. “Killian Jones is in town. He’s taking me to dinner.”

“Ah.”

“What?”

“Well, if you’d told me the man you were sleeping with was in town, I would have changed the date of your dinner with Walsh despite me thinking you need to go on more actual dates and not just sexual rendezvous.”

“I am not sleeping with Killian.” “Please. You can lie to me about a lot of things, but I know when you’re fucking someone.”

“I have never slept with him.” She turns around so Ruby can see her eyeroll. “He’s a friend. He helps me with my routines when we’re in the same city, and he sends Henry an absolutely useless gift at least three times a year. So we’re going to dinner to catch up, and maybe I’ll get some new material for you.”

“I wouldn’t care about new material if you’d fuck Jones.”

“I’m going to fire you as my manager.”

“Never, darling. Now, tits up. You’re meeting Walsh Osbourne in the bar at six. Sweet talk him until you get a meeting for some commercial auditions.”

“I’m doing this for commercial auditions?” “We’re doing this to get our foot in the door for television. You can’t hop straight to one of the variety shows your lover Jones is on.”

“I will stab you with my heel.”

-/-

“Yeah, my son is really into baseball. I got him some tickets to the batting cage and a new bat for Christmas. He – ”

“You’re not funny,” Walsh mumbles after interrupting her in the middle of her answer to his question about what her son is interested in. “I thought you were supposed to be funny. What’s the point of dating you if you’re not funny? I knew women couldn’t be comedians and that you were just a nice piece of ass and a good pair of tits.”

It takes two seconds for Emma to pick up her glass of wine and slosh it across the table at Walsh. She’s been sitting at this table for fifteen minutes, and she doesn’t plan on sitting here any longer.

“Fuck you.”

“You’re also apparently a bitch,” Walsh spits out as she stands. “I have connections, and you can say goodbye to all of them.”

“I don’t need the connections of a sexist pig who doesn’t think women are capable of being funny. I can guarantee you, Mr. Osbourne, that we are, and if you take offense to women not laughing at your jokes or not telling their own jokes all the time, maybe you should look in the mirror and figure out that you’re the one who couldn’t tell a joke to save his life.” “Fuck you. I hope your performance is a failure tonight.” “It’ll certainly be better than yours.”

-/-

She kills it in her set. She’s fucking spectacular and funny, and everyone who thinks otherwise can screw themselves.

Everyone who thinks she has to spend her days only being funny and coming up with jokes can screw themselves as well.

-/-

She sees Killian slip out right before she closes and introduces Sky.

-/-

“Was I funny?” Emma asks, tugging Killian’s suit jacket around her shoulders. She was going to give it back to him tonight, but it’s chilly again. Plus, he’s wearing a different fitted black suit tonight, and he doesn’t need it back right now.

“Pardon?” “How’d you like my set? I know you were watching.” “Was I?” he ponders, tapping his finger against his lips. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re being an ass, and you said you were trying to stop that.”

His brows move across his forehead, that same cheeky smile still on his lips. “I may have been there.”

“And what’d you think?”

“Buy me dinner first, and then I’ll tell you.”

They go to a restaurant that doesn’t seem to believe in white-colored light bulbs or volume limits, and Emma loves it. A band is constantly playing, dancers moving around the floor, and the steak she has is quite possibly the best steak she’s ever had.

Killian Jones has always known how to plan an evening and pick out a restaurant.

“Shall we dance?” he questions as Emma leans back into her chair, absolutely full even if she feels lighter than she has in quite some time.

“What?”

“Dance with me, Swan.”

“I don’t dance.”

Killian stands and holds his hand out for her, blue eyes sparkling even under all of the colored lights. “All you need is a partner who knows what he’s doing.” “And you do?”

“Of course, love. I’m an expert in…movements.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but she takes his hand anyway and melts into the warmth of him as his fingers curl around her palm. “That wasn’t your best work. You’re slacking lately.”

If he responds, she has no idea. The music is too loud already, and it gets louder when they move closer to the band. The songs have been fast and upbeat all night, and yet the moment they start to dance, it changes into something soft, slow. It’s probably for the best. Emma really doesn’t know how to dance (or sing) despite everything asking her why she isn’t a dancer when she tells them she’s a comedian, and she’s pretty much got two left feet out here. So she places one hand more firmly in Killian’s, another around his neck, and they sway back and forth.

It’s not proper how close they are, body pressed tightly against body, but she’s never cared for proper.

She’s never cared for rules and expectations, and while that stung when Neal told her that was one of the reasons he strayed from their marriage, she knows that nothing he says is anything she should listen to.

It’s okay if he strays from the conventional path sleeping with her without them being married and going off and fucking his secretary, but the moment she doesn’t want to cook a ham every night, she’s the one who’s too wild.

He never thought she was funny either. That should have been the first sign.

“I’ve been thinking, love.” “I never like when you do that.”

“Yes, yes you do.”

Killian hums and turns them in a circle, his hand sliding lower on her back. “What were you thinking, Jones?”

“You’ve made comments about my jokes being off, and I don’t know…I suppose I don’t feel the need to be funny around you, and it’s nice. There’s not all that – ”

“Pressure? Expectation? The need to always be thinking two steps ahead?”

“Exactly. As much as I like bantering with you and coming up with new material, I like that I can talk about whatever the hell I want without worrying that I’m being too boring.”

Emma looks up at him and sees his soft smile and blue eyes she finds more charming by the minute. “I like that I don’t have to be funny with you, too.”

“Good.”

-/-

“So, quite the nice night.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s five in the morning.”

“Ah, well,” Killian sighs, waving his hand out to the ocean and the few boats moving over it. The sun isn’t rising, not quite yet, and she can still see the stars twinkling in the sky. “We haven’t gone to bed yet, so I still consider it night.” “Well, if you consider it to be night, how can I deny that?”

“You can’t. Where’s your room?”

“Fifth floor. Where’s yours?”

“Seventh.”

They walk in companionable silence until they find the outdoor staircase that leads to their rooms. Emma’s heels are in her hand, have been for the past few hours, but her feet still ache. She should have changed into her flats after the show, but she didn’t stop to think before heading to meet Killian at the bar. Suddenly, they’re standing on the fifth floor, two doors down from her room, and then they’re there standing on either side of her hotel door.

Killian blinks, and Emma blinks back, not sure whether to speak or to search for her keys. She might be too tired to think coherent thoughts. She also might not want this night to end. It’s the first time in a long time where she hasn’t spent hours trying to impress someone, and if she goes to bed, that’ll be over.

(She doesn’t want it to be over.)

(She wants just this one thing, this one night.)

“You’re staring.” “So are you.”

“Well, I do have a particularly pretty face, love.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, leaning against the wall and closer to Killian. “Are you going to tell me what you thought of my act now?”

Leaning closer, Killian brushes his hand over her forearm and up her shoulder until he’s tucking her hair behind her ear. A shiver runs down her spine, working its way into her bones, and her skin pebbles. “You were fucking spectacular, Ms. Swan.”

Emma’s cheek blush, and since she can’t look into the ridiculous blue of Killian’s eyes, she digs for her keys in her clutch and pulls it out, sticking it into the lock. The door swings open, the bed immediately in sight, and Emma feels Killian’s intake of breath. She also feels him stepping away.

It’d be so easy to ask him to come inside and ask him to unzip her dress and untie his tie until they’re both undressed and panting against each other, but it’s also just as easy to step inside without him, right?

Right.

(Maybe not just this one thing on this one night.)

“Goodnight, love,” Killian tells her. “I’ll ring you when I’m back in New York.”

“Henry and I will both be waiting.”

-/-

Neal calls her when she’s in Las Vegas two weeks later to tell her that she’s a horrible mother.

He’s seen his son once (for an hour) in the past month, and he lives ten minutes from him.

Emma has seen Henry three times, one of which was for four days in the Catskills, and she’s traveling the country on tour.

She is not a horrible mother, and she will not let Neal’s voice get in her head. Not anymore.

One more month of this, and then she’s home for two months before they go to Europe for the rest of the tour. She can do two weeks in Las Vegas and two more in Palm Springs.

She can.

-/-

Killian sends her a postcard from New York in the beginning of July.

I’m back in New York. Your boy has already convinced me to take him to a Yankees game. I’m sure we’ll be on our fourth visit by the time you get this.

I promise I’ll try not to corrupt him while you’re gone.

Killian’s an asshole.

But a good asshole.

(And maybe he’s not really an asshole at all.)

-/-

“Ah, that sweet smell of urine and concrete,” Ruby sighs as their taxi pulls in front of Emma’s apartment building. “I’ve missed you.”

“There’s been urine and concrete in all of the places we’ve been.”

“It’s not the same, and you know it.”

“I know, I know.” Emma leans over and kisses Ruby’s cheeks. “It’s been fun, my friend, but I don’t want to see your face for at least a week, okay?”

“I don’t want to see your face for two weeks.”

“Then we have an agreement.”

Emma laughs as she exists the car and motions for the doormen to come and get her bags. She definitely has far too many of them for as much as she doesn’t care about clothes, hers seem to keep expanding. She takes one suitcase and a hatbox and quickly walks into the building and to the elevator, and the operator hits the button for her floor. She’s bouncing with excitement, her feet nearly coming out of her shoes, and she’s so close to Henry she might buzz right out of her skin.

“Mom,” he yells when she opens the apartment door. Emma drops her bag and her box and bends down until Henry is running into her arms. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, kid,” she whispers, cupping the back of his head. “I’m home.”

-/-

“My mother wants me to meet a man.”

“Excuse me?”

Emma brushes past Killian into his apartment, and she lets out the low whistle she always lets out every time she’s here. Whereas her apartment is filled with antiques and furniture that can’t be sat on (thanks Mom and Dad), Killian’s apartment is sleek and modern. It’s all clean lines and black and white decorations with little pops of blue. It’s a man’s apartment, and she’s always loved it.

Plus, the view of the Hudson is spectacular.

“I never wanted to be a woman whose entire life revolved around cooking, cleaning, and waiting for their husband to get home to not acknowledge any of that,” Emma rants, kicking off her shoes and immediately walking to his liquor cabinet. She can’t reach the shelf with all of his good stuff, but there’s a cheap bottle of rum just within her reach. “My mom seems to think that I need a husband to rein me in from my ‘rebellious’ phase.”

“You had a husband. You hated being married.”

“I didn’t hate being married. I hated being married to him.” “Ah.” “What?”

“Well, there’s a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a difference! I imagine being married doesn’t suck if you like the person you’re married to and if he doesn’t sleep with every woman he meets.” She pours both she and Killian a tumbler of rum and hands him his glass. He eyes her but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tilts the glass to his lips and takes a large gulp. “I just…I don’t know why my mom thinks it’s imperative for me to get married again.”

She walks over the couch and curls her legs underneath her while Killian sits in on the other side, propping his feet up on the coffee table. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

Killian clicks his tongue again, and she’s never noticed how much ginger is in his beard before now. “Well, you’re basically an old maid.”

Emma kicks her foot out at him. “You’re the worst.”

His lips curl into a smirk. “I am undeniably the greatest. And look, your mum is old-fashioned. She doesn’t get why you wouldn’t want to marry just anyone or why you want to spend your days traveling around the world making dick jokes. The one about his dick being so big it was a Richard was inspired, by the way, even if I did know that it was inspired by me.”

“I will stain your white rug with my drink.”

“I’ve got a very nice woman named Greta who knows just how to get that out.”

“Who knew being crude on late night television paid so well as to have a Greta?”

“You did, Swan,” he laughs, taking another sip of his drink before placing it on a coaster. “But back to your mother.” Emma rolls her eyes, but Killian pays her no attention. “She thinks the way to happiness is being married to a nice man and having him provide for you. You have to let her know that you don’t want another Neal or someone you’re only with because it’s proper. You want someone who you love and who lights that fire in your soul that you don’t want to be put out.”

“Someone who I don’t feel the need to be funny around.”

“Yeah,” Killian says slowly, a red blush dusting his cheeks, “someone who you don’t feel the need to be funny with, someone you don’t have to put on an act around.”

There’s always been something about Killian Jones that has unsettled her and yet made her feel comfortable. The night they met she had to bail him out of jail because one of his performances was deemed too crude by the police presence in the bar, and they’ve been circling around each other ever since. He’s wormed his way into her life, and she never really noticed. It’s been in short conversations and trading jokes at a bar, but then it was getting together for dinner and him taking Henry to Yankees games. It was dancing in clubs and almost, almost, almost asking him to come into her hotel room.

It was having him know her better than anyone else knows her.

Slowly, Emma rises from her spot on the couch and walks over to Killian, pressing down and placing her knees on either side of his thighs before she raises her hand and thumbs at the scar on his cheek while her other hand brushes his hair back. Killian blinks up at her, his mouth no longer smirking. Instead, he’s softly smiling at her, and Emma feels a long-forgotten flurry in her stomach.

“Emma – ” She leans forward until her forehead presses against his and until her nose is nudging against his. Killian’s hands are warm against her waist, and she feels it all the way down to her bones, seeping deep within her. “What do you think you’re doing, sweetheart?”

“Being with someone I want to be with, someone who I don’t have to put on an act with.”

His lips are soft and gentle, a fluttering of a movement against her own, and it’s the exact opposite of what she thought kissing Killian would be like. She thought, if anything, they’d be drunk and stumbling across the room, clothes falling to the ground and lips not marking their intended target. She thought her mind would be too fuzzy to think.

That’s not at all what’s happening.

All she can think about is how much she’s wanted this, even if she didn’t realize it but in fleeting moments after nights of alcohol, and how natural it feels to have his scruff burn her chin and to have his lips caress hers.

This is good.

This is a fire she would never want to put out.

“You’re not going to regret that and talk about it in your act, are you?” Killian chuckles while kissing the corner of her cheek and then her jaw, his lips like magic.

“Regret it? No. Put it in my act? Absolutely. I’m not sure how I’m going to make it funny, though,” she sighs, pressing herself further into him, “because there’s nothing funny about this.”

“No, love, I don’t think there is.”

-/-

She wakes up the next morning to Killian kissing her bare skin and whispering words to her that have chills running down her spine.

They go to a Yankees game with Henry, and Killian buys far too much ice cream, not that Henry would complain. Not the Emma would either. She’s too damn happy for any of that.

And he doesn’t judge her for eating a hot dog.

-/-

All Killian wants for Emma is to be happy and live life how she’s always dreamed of living her life, not by whatever standards are expected for her.

Oh, and to keep on being the spectacular Ms. Swan.

(It’s Mrs. Jones now, but the stage name of Ms. Swan has a nice ring to it.)

(She keeps on being damn funny.)

-/-

-/-

Tag list: @csjanuaryjoy​ @stahlop @shardminds @carpedzem @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81 @spartanguard @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious (because we talked about it yesterday...let Lenny live 😉)

[get-your-fics]

Duality - Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Your life as Bruce Wayne’s girlfriend was pretty simple, actually. Well, as simple as things can get in Gotham. But it gets a lot more complicated when you meet Jeremiah Valeska, Jerome’s twin brother.

Pairings: Bruce Wayne x reader, Jeremiah Valeska x reader, Jerome Valeska x reader

Series warnings: Violence, language, smut, rape/non-con, kidnapping, stalking, mentions of abuse

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

You knew Jerome was coming for you. All day the news had shown nonstop footage of the Maniax throwing people off a rooftop, dousing a bus in gasoline, taking over the GCPD. The last part had chilled you to the core. Seeing Jerome dressed in a police uniform, ruby red blood gushing from his nose, you couldn’t help but feel like his wild, crystal blue eyes could see straight through the camera to you on the other side of the screen.

You knew Jerome better than anyone else, probably better than you knew yourself, so it was only a matter of time before he showed up. And when you got home and saw an open window in your bedroom, white curtains billowing in the wind, your whole body tensed up.

“Jerome?” You spun around, surveying your bedroom. It was dark, the only light coming from the moon and the stars in the sky outside. “I know you’re there.”

As you expected, the redheaded boy stepped out of the shadows and into the center of the room. He was dressed in all black and had his hair slicked back. “Hiya, sweets!” His lips curled into a wide grin. “Miss me?”

You took a step back, your shoulders bumping into the wall. “What do you want, Jerome? Why are you here?”

“Well, you visited me all those months in Arkham. I thought I would return the favor.” His chest rumbled with laughter. When he saw the unamused look on your face, his laughter ceased. “Fine, you caught me, doll! I wanted to catch up about everything that’s happened since I last saw you, you know, before I escaped.”

“How’d you get out?” You stayed against the perimeter of the room.

“A mysterious benefactor that I can’t tell you the name of, but he’s got big plans for us.” He walked closer to you. “He thinks I’m going to be a star.”

You glanced behind him. “Did you bring anyone else with you?”

“Just you and me, peach.” He stopped so he was right in front of you, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I had something very special I wanted to talk to you about alone.”

You swallowed roughly and shifted your weight between your feet. “What?”

“Come with me.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around your wrist. “We’re going to kill my father tomorrow, sugar, and I want you to be there to see it. I don’t want you to miss out like you did when I killed my mom.” He tilted his head to the side. “Then, after all this is over, you and I can find your dad and kill him, and we can travel across the country liberating others and torturing the ones who deserve it.”

You furrowed your brow as you stared at him. “That’s crazy, Jerome.”

Something snapped within him, and his smile faltered. “I’m not crazy.” He moved forward so you were trapped between him and the wall. “Didn’t I prove it to you all the times you visited me? I just have a different way of thinking,” he caressed your cheek with his free hand, “one that you can relate to.”

You pressed your hands against his chest to push him away, but he merely pushed back, squishing you further against the wall. He grabbed both of your hands in his and pinned them on either side of your head. “Jerome, do the right thing,” you said through gritted teeth. “Turn yourself in. If you ever...” you trailed off and stared down at the buttons on his shirt, too afraid to meet his eye.

“If I ever what, dear?” His grin widened. “If I ever loved you? I always thought you were too afraid to say that word to me.”

You felt your eyes start to water. “If you ever cared about me as much as you said you did, you’ll go down to the GCPD.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve already been to the GCPD.” His face was an inch from yours now. “Haven’t you been watching the news? It’s a mess down there.”

“If you think all of this chaos is going to bring you happiness, you’re going to be bitterly disappointed.” Your voice cracked with emotion.

He pursed his lips. “Hmm, you might be right about that.” He let go of one of your hands to trace your jaw with his finger. “But that’s why I have you, princess. You made all those months at Arkham the best moments of my life. I counted down the minutes until your next visit,” he lifted your chin so your eyes locked with his at last, “because I love you, (Y/N), so very, very much.”

He closed what little distance was left between your lips and kissed you. Tears sprung from the corners of your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. His lips moved against yours, and he ran his tongue across your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You granted it to him, and he slipped his tongue into your mouth, quickly gaining dominance over you. You melted into the kiss. It was surprisingly gentle, but still had enough fire behind it to be passionate.

When he pulled away, you were out of breath. He leaned his forehead against yours, his warm breath fanning your face. His pale skin was flushed pink, and you decided that was the prettiest he had ever looked, with his eyes closed, long, dark lashes brushing the freckles spattering his skin. “Say it back,” he whispered, his nose barely grazing yours. “Say you love me too.”

His other hand dropped from yours to run up your side, gathering the fabric of your shirt in his hand. You cupped his face in your hands. “I love you, J.” Your voice was shaking and so were your hands. “But you have to let me go. If you really do love me, if I ever meant anything to you, you’ll listen to me. You’ll turn yourself in, and you’ll let me go.”

His eyes snapped open, and you stared into the cool blue of his irises. “Okay,” he murmured. His hands moved down to grip your hips. “I’ll let you go, even if it kills me.” Suddenly, he stepped away from you, all warmth leaving your body. “But I’m not turning myself in. I can’t. I’m meant for bigger things than that circus, (Y/N).” He clenched his jaw. “Even if that’s not you.”

His usually cheery tone and glimmer in his eyes were completely gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you had seen him so serious. You stared at him, your chest still heaving from the kiss, and if you didn’t have the wall to lean back on, your knees would’ve buckled, causing you to collapse. “I’m sorry, Jerry.”

“Please, don’t apologize.” He raised his hand to swipe at his cheek, and that’s when you noticed the tears start to fall. “You’re already making this harder than it has to be.”

You stood there, speechless. You were unsure of what to say, so when you gathered enough strength, you pushed off of the wall and walked over to him. You wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your head in his chest, pulling him close to you. He lazily draped his arms over your shoulders and rested his chin on top of your head, sniffling.

“God, you’ve got me crying, princess.” He laughed. “The things you do to me.” He ran his fingers through your hair. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamt of this moment? Of breaking out of that place so I could see you outside of that dumb visitation room and hold you without handcuffs on? Only for you to tell me to leave... It’s funny, really. Comedy gold.” He chuckled.

You laughed too, the sound muffled by his chest. The fabric of his shirt was now wet with your tears, and you felt like someone had a hand wrapped around your heart and was slowly squeezing more and more every second. He lifted his chin off of you, and you looked up at him.

“Will you tell Jim Gordon I was here?” he asked, nothing but pure adoration in his crystal blue eyes.

“No,” you answered honestly. That would only raise questions about his connection to you, and you really didn’t want to have to answer those, not now, not ever.

“Thank you.” He caressed the side of your face again. “Can I have one last kiss before I leave?” His voice was soft.

You nodded, and you both dove in at the same time. Your lips met in a fiery kiss, hungry and starving and full of the wasted months and the words you wish you could say but you didn’t have time to. When you finally separated, you found yourself wishing the kiss had lasted longer.

“All I ever wanted was for you to love me,” he whispered. “Maybe now that I have that, I can be satisfied.” He stepped out of your embrace, his blue eyes taking you in one last time. “Goodbye, sweets.”

You watched as he walked over to the open window. He climbed through it and sat on the windowsill. Just as he was about to jump down, you stopped him. “Jerome, wait!”

He looked over his shoulder at you. “Yes, doll?”

Your mind raced with things to say. Don’t go. Take me with you. It doesn’t have to be this way. Don’t do this. But you knew you were only stalling so you could get one more moment with him. Words wouldn’t change anything, and some things were better left unsaid.

“Be safe, okay?” You bit your lip, red and swollen from all the kissing. You guessed, more than anything else, you wanted that for him.

He chuckled softly. “Anything for you, dear.” His teasing smile returned to his face. “What’s the saying? Parting is such sweet sorrow?” You nodded, and he gave you a salute. “Ta-ta, toots. Take care.”

He disappeared over the ledge, and you rushed over to the window. You stuck your head out and gripped the windowsill, your knuckles turning white. You watched him dash across the lush, green garden towards the fence enclosing the grounds of your estate. Oddly sad, oddly sweet. Part of you longed to go with him, but you knew things were better this way. You were heading down two different paths, and you needed to close this chapter and move on, focus on Bruce and your mother. Even though you couldn’t be the one to save him, all you could do was hope he came to his senses on his own.

When he climbed over the fence and disappeared on the other side, you retreated from the window. You stood in the middle of your room for a while, feeling emptier than ever, and when you finally went to bed, you left the window open to appease the small part of you that hoped he would change his mind and come back.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

[dmellieon]

BAFTA A Life in Pictures: Martin Freeman

23 June 2019

Read the full transcript from BAFTA A Life in Pictures: Martin Freeman

Briony Hanson: Hello everybody, a very warm welcome this evening, thank you for coming to BAFTA on this very sunny evening and forsaking the sun for what is going to be a very entertaining evening, I think. I’m Briony Hanson, I’m delighted to be your host for this BAFTA Life in Pictures with Martin Freeman. With a back catalogue of well over thirty feature films and even more TV performances, Martin Freeman has a reputation for playing characters that we like, people that are full of wit, full of pathos, occasionally full of a little desperation around the edges. He feels incredibly relatable; we all think we know him from the characters that he plays, and tonight we get the chance to find out if that was all true. We’re going to see a little taster of his work before we introduce him; can we roll the clips please?

[Clip plays]

[Applause]

Ladies and gentlemen, Martin Freeman.

[Applause]

Martin Freeman: Thank you.

BH: Hello, thank you so much for joining us tonight.

MF: It’s my pleasure.

BH: Everyone here probably first met you in The Office.

MF: Yeah, I’d think so.

BH: But there was a bit of backstory before we got there. Can you just fill us in on how you got to the point of becoming a kind of—everybody’s most loveable Tim.

MF: Yeah. That was about five or six years after I left drama school. I was at Central in North London for three years and I’d done a lot of theatre and small bits on TV and short films and stuff, and around about the time I got The Office, I was being seen a lot and doing little bits for BBC Comedy I suppose. I was kind of well known to that department as a young actor who could do—who could sort of be a bit funny, but I never saw that as—you know, I was an actor who could be funny as opposed to a stand-up. But I found myself in the company of a lot of people who were stand-ups I guess, you know, or who had that background, a straight comedy background.

And then yeah I got to The Office actually via, I had done a sketch show that Ricky Gervais wrote on, a sketch show called Bruiser that had Mitchell and Webb in it and Olivia Colman and Matt Holness and it was a sketch show that very few people saw but I first met Ricky there and we’d liked each other. He never said, ‘oh you’re going to be in my thing,’ but about six or eight months later or whatever when I went up for The Office, he wasn’t actually there but Stephen Merchant was there with Ash Atalla the producer and thankfully for me that audition went well. But I was knocking about doing—I was always working, you know, but I wasn’t famous…

BH: Had you always wanted to be an actor?

MF: Yeah. Well from about seventeen, yeah. I joined Youth Theatre when I was about fifteen in Teddington where I grew up and yeah, from about seventeen I thought it was something that I could do. I gradually had the confidence to think that I could maybe have a try at it as opposed to—I always really enjoyed it but I used to look with awe at people who could sight read or make anything look real or effortless and think ‘God that’s amazing,’ and then sort of little by little I thought ‘well I can do that.’ And so I then went to college and auditioned for drama school.

BH: And drama school you dropped out of.

MF: Well no I didn’t drop out but I left slightly early, I left slightly early because I got a job. In the third year, for those not familiar with this, the idea is anyway agents and business people come and see major drama schools in their third year and see young actors and see who they might like and whatever. And a few of us had agents but then the—yeah, I ended up leaving early to go and work with Matthew Warchus at the National Theatre in Volpone and then I did Mother Courage there. But yeah I left a few months early so I didn’t actually, I didn’t properly get my degree from Central.

[Laughter]

It’s been a bone of contention ever since.

BH: When you went to work at the National you’ve talked before about how you were effectively a spear-carrier.

MF: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

BH: Which presumably means you got to watch a lot of people?

MF: I did, yeah absolutely.

BH: And how was that?

MF: It was amazing. It was really—looking back on it I was twenty-three and it was startling really because I’d literally been at Central on the Friday and then I was rehearsing at the National Theatre on Monday and the first person I met there was Simon Russell Beale who was very nice and very welcoming and seemed as nervous as I was, weirdly. But watching him, watching Michael Gambon in that production then in Mother Courage watching Diana Rigg and Geoff Hutchings and David Bradley—it was amazing. And as I say I was doing very little in those productions, any little bits I had believe me I clung on to, but you got to do a lot of looking and learning, it was a fantastic place to learn.

BH: And did they ever contradict what you’d been told at drama school? I used to be involved in a company that trained screenwriters and we would tell them certain things and then put them up in front of Charlie Kaufman and everything they’d been told would be thrown up in the air. Was that the same?

MF: To a certain extent, yeah. I mean I remember first realising—and I didn’t know Michael Gambon, for instance, had a reputation for arsing about. I didn’t know that.

[Laughter]

But he does, he does. Because I was young, what did I know? And then half way through rehearsals he gives this big speech as Volpone where he’s talking to a crowd of people, a sort of mountain bank speech where he’s trying to sell them a load of hooky gear, you know. And he started just making shit up. And I thought ‘ha, that’s very funny, he won’t be doing that for real,’ but he did! He did!

[Laughter]

Pretty much every performance he had this probably four-minute stand-up, and it ended up being stand-up where he—Ben Johnson wasn’t writing about Nancy Sinatra and Pot Noodles, you know—

[Laughter]

That was pure Michael Gambon. So even though that wasn’t exactly—that wasn’t what Matthew Warchus asked him to do, but that’s what he was doing. So yeah, you would never have thought as a sort of serious acting student that that was what the great and the good would be doing. And they’re not all doing that; but that’s part of someone like his greatness actually is he’s loose. I mean thinking about it now, there’s a real—the dual thing of the professionalism, say, the real razor sharp, surgeon-like work of Simon Russell Beale and the really sort of looseness of Michael Gambon—not that he’s not also sort of professional and precise—but two very different approaches, and I think those were a really good first introduction to work for a young person, do you know what I mean? Because I was seeing, I think Michael Gambon would be completely mesmerising in one way, and Simon Russell Beale would be the same in a very different way. But they would complement each other.

BH: And you went from that to The Bill—is that your first credit?

MF: That was my first TV credit. I mean again at the time—I left in ’95, I left drama school in ’95 and for a good year and a half all I did was solid theatre all around the place, but my first TV credit was The Bill, yeah.

BH: Which is probably everybody who’s ever sat in that chair, that’s what they say, The Bill, Casualty…

MF: Apart from Nicole Kidman.

[Laughter]

She did Doctors.

[Laughter]

BH: Why do you think that’s such good training?

MF: Well, not wanting to disparage The Bill; I don’t know that it’s good training it’s just that’s what there was, that’s what was around. It was a sort of a kind of rep for actors really. It ended up being good training because of the speed of it, and you know people using terms that I didn’t know. I didn’t know what anyone was talking about for the two weeks I was on it. So when people would say ‘favour the wall,’ what?! Favour the wall? Oh you mean walk near the wall, right. ‘And if you could just banana over there,’ what the fuck are you talking about?!

[Laughter]

You mean walk in a curve, right OK. But yeah the speed of it, and I was fairly bad on The Bill, I was fairly bad in my little guest lead, but it was a good, very steep, quick learning curve. Through that and through—I’ve always been lucky enough to work, thank God, you want to get better. And so the next—I think the next time I was in front of the camera I knew to slightly just do less. I think the hard thing or the common thing with young actors or actors who don’t work that much, is you put them in front of the camera and they’re going to do all of their acting at one go. They’re going to do all their acting in two lines because it’s very difficult not to, because what else are you going to do? It’s a gradual thing about learning to refine and refine until eventually you are hopefully, unless you really are required to depending on what play you’re doing, you’re hopefully doing nothing at all. And that’s—I think that’s the goal of enlightenment, that’s when you reach Zen is when you’re doing nothing. Or at least what looks like nothing. You’re actually doing loads but it has to look like nothing or people just smell it a mile off.

BH: Let’s see if in The Office by that time you were doing nothing. Let’s have a look at our first clip.

[Clip plays]

[Applause]

Too tragic to even describe. Do you remember the audition process for this? You said you knew Ricky…

MF: Yes I do remember the audition process. I went in actually to read for the part of Gareth who Mackenzie Crook ended up playing brilliantly. I went in for Gareth and it was Stephen Merchant and Ash Atella and I did my reading of Gareth whatever that would have been I don’t know, I can’t remember what I did. And it’s really like a showbiz story and I don’t know if it’s become a showbiz story because I’m naturally an actor and therefore am a twat—

[Laughter]

And therefore built it up to being this, but I’m pretty sure this is really what happened: I was on my way out the door, and I had my hand on the door—I think this is true, I don’t know but I think this is true—and Stephen Merchant or Ash said ‘actually can we get Martin in maybe to read Tim, I think that might be a good thing.’ And I’d seen the first episode script and really liked it so I knew the character Tim, so I sat back down and read Tim and thank God I did because I wouldn’t have got cast as Gareth over Mackenzie because he was so perfect for it. But thankfully that was a good fit, yeah. But I could very nearly have not been in The Office.

BH: Did you like auditioning? Do you like auditioning?

MF: I mean I don’t love it. I don’t think many actors love it, but there is a period where when you start getting offered—if you are lucky enough to be offered work on the one hand it’s a real relief and on the other hand you’re wondering if you deserve it, do you know what I mean? If you’ve earned it because you think have I fought for it or you know… Because you’re really in the trenches when you’re in a room, when you’re in a corridor, you know with twenty other people and you get the part you think ‘oh I won out over those.’ And when you start to get offered things of course it’s delightful and please God I don’t want to then go back to the corridor, but you do think ‘I wonder if…’ yeah part of you wonders if you’re a fraud, yeah.

BH: You wonder who you beat.

MF: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

BH: How tightly scripted was The Office? Did you have room to play with it or did you…

MF: You did have room to play with it, yeah. I think probably what—what I feel happened in the aftermath of the success of The Office was that when—because it looks improvised, because it looks like we’re improvising on camera, people would ask Ricky and Steve ‘is it improvised,’ and basically they came back ‘no, none of it’s improvised. It’s all scripted,’ which of course is true, it was very scripted, it was very scripted. But to say it was not loose would be not true. Anyone who knows—there’s a couple of people in the audience who have known me for a very long time and they know that there’s things that I say that are only me, and I’m sure the same goes for Lucy or Mackenzie, you know. That doesn’t mean I’m going to take a co-write or push to say it was improvised; it wasn’t improvised, it was a scripted comedy that I think they were—a) the scripts were fantastic, but also Ricky and Stephen were smart and generous enough to allow you to be loose with it. Because if you trust the people who are being loose, good things can happen, you know. We weren’t kind of improvising whole scenes on camera or going ‘I think my character should go down—‘ it wasn’t that, it was totally shaped and formed, but yeah we were allowed to be loose. And I think that’s what you see on the show.

BH: And what was the dynamic between the two of them, Ricky being in it, and the rest of the cast?

MF: Well I think—Ricky was and is an amazing person; I’ve not seen him for a long time, but he’s an amazing person in that he struck me as someone who, if he’s not making you laugh at any given time, life is a waste of time. Like it’s not actually worth living unless you are sort of convulsing in pain at something he’s just said. Brilliant, but on the other hand really infuriating if you’ve got ten minutes to go and half a page to do and you think ‘mate, this is your show. What are you—stop making everyone laugh!’ Because deliberately corpsing me isn’t going to get the day finished because I can’t carry on if you’re making me laugh. So it’s like a sort of pathological thing for him I think. It’s a very—I always felt like he was one of the best natural actors that I’d worked with, you know. Like everything he knows instinctively is pretty bang-on I think. And not having been trained in it and not having an actor’s background, he’s—I thought he was amazing.

BH: And what about Tim? I mean Tim’s a really fantastic sort of non-showy, relatively passive character, which is why that sequence is so dramatic, it’s such a big deal for him to do that. Did you like Tim?

MF: I loved him. I really loved him, yeah. Because he was—I was able to put a lot of me in it, there was a lot of my brother Tim in it as well; it felt familiar to me as someone—not that I’m always like that but as someone who is an observer of stuff and finds things ridiculous and awkward and embarrassing a lot of the time, yeah. And as a conduit for that I really enjoyed playing him. As a character he was the funniest person in that office because he had a true, the best sense of humour. For the audience at home obviously David Brent is a hilarious incarnation of a character, but as a real person Tim was a funny bloke and he had a real eye for what was amusing, but he was as happy to keep it to himself as he was to share it. But I liked Tim very much, yeah.

BH: But also amazingly tragic in that scene. It’s almost hard to watch.

MF: Yeah I know. But to give credit to Ricky and Steve, they wanted all that stuff to be as important as the David Brent Comic Relief dance or whatever. There’s sort of The Office Greatest Hits, which usually involve David Brent, understandably because it’s a fantastic character performed fantastically, but the really good B-sides I think are the more sort of straight bits, the more dramatic bits, you know. So it felt, from my career’s point of view, that was a big show. For those of you too young—including my kids, they don’t give a shit—do you know what they like? The American Office.

[Laughter]

They really love the American Office, they barely—that’ll be the first time they’ve seen that.

[Laughter]

BH: But the American Office is only one of many, many different language translations, isn’t it?

MF: Yes it is, yeah.

BH: There’s like a Finnish Office and an Indian Office.

MF: Yes, it was a big show.

BH: Is that a very surreal experience to see yourself—

MF: It is. It is, yeah. I’ve not stuck with the Finnish one as much as the American one. I got more out of the American one than the Azerbaijanian one.

[Laughter]

But it’s horses for courses. But having been in a very big comedy I still felt like because what Tim was being required to do was, you know, it was almost fifty-fifty between the funny stuff and the straight stuff so I was getting the best of both worlds for me as a practitioner because I was flexing both those muscles; it was really nice.

BH: Let’s move from the small screen to the big screen. You did a few bits and pieces and then you came to Hitchhiker’s Guide.

MF: Yeah.

BH: Actually some of those bits and pieces we clipped, that great Love, Actually clip.

MF: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

BH: Did you find that you were getting quite a lot of the same characters sent to you? Yeah.

MF: Sort of yeah. Versions of. I think in the wake of The Office you know, nice sort of nice next-door boys. Lovelorn, yeah. That kind of thing. Which I think happens—I had to make my peace with that because I realised as it went on that that happens to every single person. It wasn’t just happening to me, they weren’t just singling me out, that happens to the greatest actors. Once they’ve made their thing—you don’t think Robert Di Nero got offered a few gangsters? Or Al Pacino? The best people who I’ve always loved, that happens to them, so it’s going to happen to me of course.

I had to accept it and just still do the best work I could do within that, and still try and make it layered and still try to make it three-dimensional. That’s always my entire belief in anything I do; as long as you’re making it layered, as long as the audience believe you for that whether it’s half an hour or two hours of whatever; that for me is the beginning, middle and end of any actor’s job, you know? Whether or not you’re doing a Senegalese accent with a limp, that’s extra, but if I don’t believe you I don’t care. I’ve always tried to give myself that as the main goal. Even if you could say there’s a similarity in the world of parts, OK yeah there is, but there aren’t many people you and I could sit on the stage and name for whom that is not true. Meryl Streep might be one; there aren’t many. People we love and you go yeah but they sort of operate in that world.

Also you have to be realistic about what your playing range is. Not unambitious, because I’m still, you know I’m still really ambitious but also yeah I’m probably not going to play the same parts that X, Y and Z are going to play, or be offered those parts. And that’s where strategy and your own work and your representation’s good skills come in about trying to make people see you in a different light. But yeah, at first of course I was in Love, Actually because Richard Curtis loved The Office.

BH: Let’s move to another totally different world that is the world of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

MF: Sorry, yes.

BH: Let’s see.

MF: Do the thing.

[Laughter]

BH: Yes, that’s supposed to happen immediately!

[Clip plays]

MF: Seamless!

[Applause]

BH: So this was your first feature lead.

MF: Yes.

BH: Did you—was there a sense of sort of anxiety or pressure about that?

MF: Oh God no.

[Laughter]

No there wasn’t. And I don’t say that with pride, but no there wasn’t. It all—what I remember about the audition process for that is I was doing an ITV sitcom at the time, I was filming it or I was rehearsing it, and I went for this audition with Garth Jennings and Nick Goldstein, the producer, and Garth the director of this. They had like a boat on the river, presumably… On the top of a tower block! And their office, a company called Hammer and Tongs and they were a very homely environment, they were two of the loveliest men you could hope to meet, and mainly what was in my head in that audition was my ex Amanda had driven me there, and I was aware that she had nowhere to park. And I thought ‘oh I better hurry up.’ And it was going very well, the chat was happening and going on and going on and all I was thinking was ‘Amanda’s going to fucking kill me.’

[Laughter]

Because at no point—it worked, because I got the part—at no point did I think ‘this is a big deal.’ And I think that’s sort of stood me in quite good stead all the time. All the time. Because I’m always basically thinking ‘someone’s double parked.’ That’s what I’m thinking, yeah.

BH: And this is the first time you took on a character that we all knew.

MF: Yeah.

BH: Because of the books, because of the TV series, yeah. Was that, does that—are you able to sort of bring your own stamp to it, or to what extent do you feel free to do that?

MF: I felt very free to do it within the confines of what the character is. And I think that’s true of all of them; I’ve played a few characters now that have been in literature, say, and there’s no point doing it—if I was just going to do an impression of Simon Jones, who’s my boyhood version of that part. Well he’s already done that and he’s done it better than I could do it so there’s no point, you know. So I definitely, I didn’t want a kind of Uncle Bulgaria dressing gown either, I wanted something different. That was towelling and we were doing it in the summer and it was fucking boiling.

[Laughter]

That was more fool me. But yeah I think you have to have your own stamp on it because it makes it fun for you and it makes it not a museum piece or a cover version; it should never be a cover version.

BH: And this one was in the works for a long time, long before you, too, from the ‘70s I think—is that right?

MF: Yeah I think they’d been trying to make a Hitchhiker’s for a long time, yeah.

BH: And Douglas Adams said that he didn’t want to do it because it was like Star Wars with jokes.

MF: Yeah so he had, well he latterly had help with a screenwriter called Kerry Kirkpatrick who helped bring it to life, and Douglas unfortunately didn’t live to see it made, which was a real tragedy actually. But there were people on our firm who did know Douglas and who loved Douglas and we got to meet his family a little bit so it was really nice. It did feel like a film made with a lot of love for him and for the idea and the tone of it, I guess.

BH: And the tone is very, very British.

MF: It’s really more British than I am. Yeah it’s really British.

BH: In a sort of Monty Python way.

MF: Yes, I think so, yes. Yeah, it’s very—and I don’t say this as anything like a slight because Monty Python is obviously a huge influence on my life as I’m sure it is everyone of a certain age’s, but yes, it’s very English university sort of humour, yes.

BH: Were you surprised that it travelled?

MF: I was in a way, but then it didn’t travel that well because we didn’t get to make another one.

[Laughter]

BH: It did OK though!

MF: Yeah it did really well; I could honestly say at that point I’m in a number one film in America and in Britain. Great, I could have retired on that, that’s something to tell your kids. Again, they don’t give a shit, they’re texting.

[Laughter]

BH: Now!

MF: They’re watching the American Office. But that’s something you could say was a successful film, but I remember having dinner with Garth Jennings shortly after it opened and I said ‘do you think there will be another one?’ and it just didn’t make enough, did it. It just has to make a certain amount, and I think it got to number one very quickly in America but it didn’t sustain; there just wasn’t enough there for an American audience or for an international audience. As you say, it’s not even British it’s English, it’s very English, yeah.

BH: You’ve continued with that very poster boy for British humour with The Cornetto trilogy, which I’m gutted we can’t screen.

MF: Right.

BH: And Nativity as well. Can you talk a little bit about those, particularly your relationship with Simon Pegg?

MF: Yeah. Well I’m not Simon Pegg, just to clarify.

BH: Good, that’s why I asked.

MF: We do—the running joke between me and Simon, and John Simm, actually, is that—

[Laughter]

If we’re in a pub or a park we’re sort of each other’s stand-ins for compliments or whatever. ‘I loved you in that Life on Mars’—‘wasn’t me, wasn’t me’—‘yes it was.’ You end up as an actor in the same Rolodex as other people, as other actors. Yes I became good friends with Simon many years ago, and Amanda my ex and Maureen, Simon’s wife, we would see each other a lot and we hung out a lot together and in the course of that yeah, Shaun of the Dead happened. I was actually offered another part on Shaun of the Dead, but I was doing—I was doing a thing called Charles II at the time with Joe Wright for the BBC, and so I couldn’t do it, and so I ended up doing a sort of joke appearance in Shaun of the Dead with an alternative gang. You sort of follow Shaun’s gang and they bump into another gang headed by the sort of people who are a bit like this gang. So there’s Tamsin Grieg and me and Reece Shearsmith as people in this other gang. And that was mine and Simon’s and Edgar’s I suppose joke to the fact that people think me and Simon are similar.

And then yeah Hot Fuzz I play a little bit more in it and then The World’s End I had my biggest role in the Cornetto trilogy when I got my head knocked off by a baseball bat.

BH: Were they fun?

MF: Yeah they are fun because they’re good people. Simon and Nick and Edgar are really lovely people and they’re friends and that shows I think and there’s a lot of love in those films, a lot of good humour on those sets.

BH: And same with Nativity? My son’s favourite film.

MF: Oh good. I love Nativity, I’m really proud of it. And short of—yeah there are some things I’ve done which are big things and very universal, but just below that there’s Nativity actually. I get more compliments for Nativity than almost, almost anything because of the age that it spans. Because parents like it, kids like it and different generations of kids like it; I really like that film. Debbie Isitt wrote that—well I say wrote, we were improvising on camera; she wrote the outline and storyboarded it and directed it. She’s a very smart cookie, Debbie, so smart that I was like ‘well just write a screenplay, please just write words so you don’t have to go through hours of me improvising badly to edit out.’ But she likes what happens between humans when they’re making stuff up on the fly.

BH: Interestingly all the reviews of that talk about the idea that it’s ripe for remake which seems ridiculous because it’s so British that Americans wouldn’t make a film with that as your lead character.

MF: No probably not, probably not. Again, as you said it seems very British I think. But the people from other places I know who have seen it, they do love it. There is a sort of, you know, people who have got kids, kids go to school, there is a sort of universal experience there about childhood and teachers. Not everyone has a nativity play but that thing of a common endeavour of putting a performance on, that’s universal, really.

BH: We should get to Sherlock.

MF: OK.

BH: Let’s see a little clip of Sherlock.

MF: Yep.

[Clip plays]

[Applause]

BH: Again like The Office it’s something that you come to expecting one thing, you expect it to be a comedy or you expect it to be a whodunit, but actually incredibly poignant moments.

MF: Yes, yeah. I always thought it was just—what I was struck by when I read the first episode was just how smart it was and how funny it was and exciting. It really moved along at a great pace, and it was unexpected for me as well because I was sent this script saying they’re looking at you for Doctor Watson—not only me they were looking at a few people for Doctor Watson—and yeah, within the first couple of pages I thought this was really good. And my experience of it was it just got better. That was reading the first script before the pilot, before the first episode, anything. Every subsequent episode that I read, certainly of that first series, was amazing; it was so full. And then the decision was made, we made an hour-long pilot and then it went to ninety minutes and then we were told it was going to be ninety minutes and I thought that was a mistake, I thought ‘well that’s a bad idea, it doesn’t need to be ninety minutes, that’s rubbish. Bloody BBC.’ And I’m really glad that was the decision because it made it like a film; each episode was like a film and that made it like—I think that was partly why people were able to get behind it so much, because there was a lot of it but not too much of it.

BH: With a scene like that are you able to just put it off and go home and make the tea? Do you bring your work home with you?

MF: No. Not for things like that, no. I think what I tend to do is I don’t—I’m always aware when you’re talking about acting that you’re not down a coal mine. There’s hard work and then there’s hard work. But I don’t pretend that doing that costs me nothing or is easy or I’m not literally having a tea and then ‘oh yes love I’ll come and do the graveside scene,’ and all that, because you’ve got to get into a zone, you’ve got to concentrate and got to focus, but yeah, yes, for me generally as soon as you call wrap on a day it’s over. Especially with things like that and I’ve just done a show now I finished last night where there was some quite heavy stuff in that and my feeling is I want to get out of that as soon as possible because I’ve got to go home and I’ve got to see kids and I’ve got to be a normal person and I don’t want to carry that around. But for the duration of the day that you’re filming yeah if you don’t concentrate on it, to be honest, when you see it in six months time it won’t be as good as you hoped it would be. And I’ve been in that, I’ve seen that, and I don’t want to see it again. I want to try and protect myself as much as possible for when I sit down and watch it, often with my kids—I mean they do like some things that I’ve done, they like that—

BH: They like its.

MF: They like that. I want to be proud of it, you know, or as proud as I can be of it. So that does require real concentration. You know, acting is like anything, it’s really easy unless you want to do it well. If you want to be good at something it’s really hard. Football’s easy unless you want to be good; to be good at anything takes real work and application and concentration. For stuff like that, you ask for a bit of that atmosphere on the set and yeah, people always oblige because everyone in the crew wants to be good as well. But after it’s over it’s really over, yeah.

BH: Tell us about the chemistry between you and Benedict, which is famously the thing that makes everyone hysterical. How did you—you hadn’t worked with him before…

MF: No, I’d never worked with him before. I hadn’t—I’d seen him, I’d seen some of his work and knew he was really good. I really did think he was good and when I heard he was going to play Sherlock—because I was sent it, I was sent the script and as far as I remember, and my agent’s here, he can correct me, but I think Ben was attached to play Sherlock Holmes and I thought that’s good, I can see that, he’ll be brilliant at that. And when I finally got into a room with him and just sort of read, it worked, something worked. Neither me nor Ben can take credit for that it’s just luck, it’s good fortune, you know.

BH: I think Mark Gatiss said the way he played Sherlock changed after you were cast.

[Laughter]

I’m feeding you here.

MF: Not my words.

[Laughter]

The words of Mark Andrew Gatiss. That’s not his middle name. No but I think when you’re working with good people—well I mean he hadn’t seen the way I’d play John before but you know Ben had an effect on me. Because your job is to react. You know that old adage of acting is reacting is completely true. Unless you know how to receive something and change accordingly then there’s no good to anyone. Because if someone’s giving you A, B and C and you’re busy doing F, G and J, then it’s pointless; you have to be listening. Ben is very, very good at his job; he’s brilliantly cast in that role, and something happened, some little game of table tennis happened where we were just knocking it back and forth. It was really, it was obvious in the room—I’m not saying it was obvious it was going to be this thing—but it was obvious we worked well together, yeah.

BH: When did you realise it was going to be ‘this thing’?

MF: When it came out. The day it came out I was rehearsing a play at the Royal Court and the day after a couple of people in the cast said ‘that was really good last night, that was really good.’ And that happened more and more and more and grew sort of exponentially over the course. It’s only three episodes the first series, it’s three episodes, and seemingly by the end of the first—I think we all had screenings round each other’s houses for those first three and for the second series as well, but I can’t remember whose house we were at… And I’m very behind on social media and stuff but I remember Mark Gatiss being on Twitter—

[Laughter]

Because that’s where he lives, OK.

[Laughter]

BH: You’ve got a Twitter account I’ve seen it. You’ve tweeted like three times.

MF: I haven’t.

BH: Oh is it not you?

MF: Never me.

BH: It looks really convincing.

[Laughter]

It stops in like 2013.

MF: I don’t say that with pride I just don’t know how to work it. But him sort of relaying to the room all this stuff that was happening. Like with The Office I knew I was very proud of it, that’s all I knew. And I knew while we were making it I had that—yeah, I did. Outside of myself because Paul McGuigan the director was absolutely brilliant; Stephen and Mark, absolutely brilliant; Ben, brilliant. I thought ‘this is going to be good,’ it’s a really good show. But you can’t anticipate the reaction it’s going to have but I knew I was really proud of it.

BH: And then something else that got a bit of a reaction: The Hobbit. Let’s go to Middle Earth now.

MF: Yes, yes. Do that thing.

[Clip plays]

[Applause]

BH: So obviously what we got there was a clip from all three of the films because we couldn’t decide which one to focus on. This is a mega project, three mega films with mega expectations and a mega part. Did you have fear taking it on? Was it an easy yes?

MF: No it wasn’t an easy yes, but for reasons more of family than of anything else, for practical reasons.

BH: Tell us how did you film it? In what period?

MF: I went to New Zealand in January 2011 and my last day was July 2013.

BH: Having done all three back to back?

MF: Not back to back, with a big gap. Two and a half years between the beginning and end but that wasn’t solid, there were gaps in there. The reticence for me was more about family because I was going to be away a long time. Amanda, who I was with at the time, she’s an actor, she’s a working actor, she’s a brilliant actor, and I didn’t feel I could just say—it wasn’t the ‘50s I couldn’t just say ‘right you’re coming with me.’ She had her own life, she had her own career. So that was a big decision for me. All around me people were going ‘well of course it’s a yes, of course it is.’ And I can see why they were saying that but I had two young children and I wanted that all to work, so that was why it was a difficult yes. So again it wasn’t because of a fandom thing or the legacy and literature and films; it genuinely wasn’t that, it was ‘Christ, how am I going to make this work for my family?’

BH: And when you’re performing in it, when you’re doing your day job, do you feel an expectation—all the financiers and everything they know that it’s got to hit certain points after The Lord of the Rings, it’s got to be a kind of mega success—does that translate to the cast or do you just kind of do your thing?

MF: No, no. It didn’t translate to me, not at all. Because Peter Jackson is so sort of omnipresent on those jobs that you know he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and he’s probably having to compartmentalise that himself and just thinking ‘I just want to tell this story.’ So he’s probably trying to put the finance stuff on the backburner, all that stuff. It doesn’t, I didn’t feel it filtered down to us, now.

BH: And what about the green screen? Because you were basically standing on a kind of concrete floor with a few twigs around you.

MF: A lot of the time, yeah. There was a fair bit of time that was real and we went—as anyone who’s been there knows, New Zealand is a very beautiful country and it’s got lots of different looks. So we did shoot on a lot of different looks but we were also shooting a lot of the time in a car park, you know.

BH: But is that difficult, is that sort of flexing different muscles as an actor?

MF: It is, yeah. It is flexing different muscles as opposed to being something I hated. I’d much rather look in someone’s eyes and do it. I think McKellan’s told this story, that in the first film there’s a scene where all the dwarves come to Bilbo’s house and Gandalf, right. So there are about 50,000 people in my house and  because we’re all small but Gandalf is taller, Ian had to be in a separate set where they filmed us both simultaneously on what they call slave motion. So two cameras are doing exactly the same movements at exactly the same time but filming different sets. So we had—me and the dwarves had each other to look at and a fake Gandalf, like a green tennis ball Gandalf, and Ian just had a load of fucking green tennis balls in his little grief hole. And we all had little earwig ear pieces in so we could all hear what the others were saying on the other set but we couldn’t look into their eyes, we couldn’t hear them the way we can hear each other. It was pretty difficult and I think Ian by his own admission found that pretty depressing, I think, because it sort of went against everything he’d done for the past fifty-five years. We found it hard too but it was beautifully choreographed and you see those scenes in the finished film and it’s worked, it’s beautifully done.

BH: And presumably you can’t see rushes, or if you can—

MF: I wasn’t, no I was certainly in no position either I didn’t want to and I certainly wouldn’t have been shown them anyway.

BH: Would you not normally do that?

MF: No I don’t think—also rushes are kind of different now because for previous generations when people were invited to rushes, you’re generally not now. I mean that’s a thing of the past I think, it’s not happening.

BH: Though it’s a bit surreal with this one where you did do them effectively sort of back-to-back, in that you couldn’t see what you’d done in order to change it.

MF: No, but because the filming period was so long that we could at least—no you’re right, you’re right. Which is why my performance is so uneven. Which explains the Scottish accent in the second one. And so we had to go back in 2013 and do stuff so we kind of were informed by that but I think, I don’t know, you’re playing that part for so long, we’d all played those parts for so long and obviously Ian had done it all those years before, you kind of know what part you’re playing and in some sense, and any actor will know this, it’s sort of wrong anyway to be led by the audience reaction. That’s why I find it not helpful if I’m doing a play to not read reviews during it because I don’t want to start playing the notes of what they did like or didn’t like about what I did.

I think you just have to stick true to what you know you’re playing. And if it’s suiting you and the director and the artistic team that’s what you’ve got to keep doing rather than suiting a critic or your cousin or whatever. You’ve just got to keep going with it.

BH: And given that you spent sort of two or three years in the world of orks and elves and lonely mountains—did it send you a bit mad?

MF: No it didn’t. No, I mean I think a lot of the time you think it’s a mad way to make a living, as an actor.

BH: You mean generally?

MF: Yeah. Whatever you’re doing, I mean I’ve just been doing a very naturalistic set in the real world thing and even then you find yourself in situations where you think this is not what the career’s officer had in mind, you know. But yeah that’s a more extreme version of that and there were times when I and I think everyone on the set of the Hobbit films felt this was just like ‘how is this going to work? We’re filming in a sort of nothing space and it’s going to become this Elvin kingdom or whatever.’ It is—it’s very, very impressive and it’s nothing to do with you. You’re doing you’re bit but you’re a little cog in a massive wheel with—I walked on to the set of The Hobbit for the first time and it was like walking into NASA because there were banks of people with laptops or not laptops but computers just doing this, and it wasn’t like a rehearsal room put it that way, it wasn’t like a normal film set, it was very techno. But all those techno people are also very creative and they’re artists as well. So everyone is going towards the same endeavour but your little bit of acting even though it is ultimately people want to see human experience, all the stuff going on around you and all the spectacle and cleverness is nothing to do with you, you know.

BH: Let’s move to the snowy North American wastes for a bit of Fargo.

[Clip plays]

[Applause]

So obviously everyone knows that this is loosely based on the world that the Coen brothers created for Fargo, which is a much-loved world, a much loved film. Was it much loved by you?

MF: Yeah I really liked it but I wasn’t a Fargo-ologist or anything, I hadn’t seen it multiple times. I’d seen it when it came out, really liked it, loved the tone that they got and that particular flavour they got. But before I did it I hadn’t seen it for a long, long time.

BH: And did you trust that it was going to work, taking the kind of sense and tone and location—

MF: Yeah because I read—again, so much of my job and anything I can take credit for, one of the things is I have to trust my own taste. And this was a thing where my American representation did a fine job in getting to a point where I was being sent an offer for this show—I was filming series three of Sherlock, I was staying in a hotel and I got episode one through and that scene was the clincher for me, I was like ‘I’m going to be doing that with Billy Bob Thornton? Of course I’m going to fucking do it. That’s too good not to do.’ And it was a straight offer and there weren’t—for where Lester Nygaard gets to go in those episodes, not everyone’s seen me do that. So it was really lovely to be offered it and to be trusted with that. Also with that accent and that particular flavour, that’s not something I’m doing all the time and to have that trust is a real confidence boost.

BH: And tell us about that accent because obviously that’s such a massive part of this. Is that constraining or liberating or fun or—

MF: Very liberating. It’s totally liberating. I think when anything is written with an accent in mind, written well with an accent in mind, there’s just that tune in your ear and in a way it can only be said in that accent. It makes complete sense in that accent. I worked very hard at it, I kept it up a lot.

BH: Are the scripts written with that accent?

MF: Billy’s character Lorne Malvo is not because he’s a drifter from somewhere else but everyone else has that tune and it’s everywhere in the script, yeah.

BH: It’s interesting what you said about your character progressed, because Tim in The Office his progression was that he tells Dawn what he thinks; this he becomes a massive killer and hits his wife with a hammer and—

MF: Orchestrates the death of his next wife—

BH: Which presumably is hugely entertaining?

MF: It’s massively entertaining, yeah. Contained within that first episode were so many things that as an actor you want to play. Again it was too good not to. I think, because my managers had always known that I’m just not going to do American TV because in those days, which seems like 100 years ago now, sort of just about or not quite pre-Netflix but just as Netflix was coming up, you had to sign on the line for seven years before you’d even kind of committed to the pilot. I was never going to do that, again because I have a family and I’m not going to up sticks and go somewhere else for seven years. But this was finite, it was ten episodes so they said ‘look read this, I know it’s American TV but it’s only ten episodes; it’s an offer, I think it’s really good.’ And it was, of course, brilliant. Noah Hawley was the writer and show runner and he did a fantastic job of getting that tone of the Coens and just running with it himself. People say to me ‘what was it like working with the Coen Brothers?’ and I have no idea! I’ve never met them! They were executive producers on it but I think that just involved them going ‘yeah you can do it,’ they gave their blessing but we never met them.

BH: We’ve got one final clip and we’re going to go into the Marvel world. So let’s see a little clip from Black Panther.

[Clip plays]

[Applause]

So this is obviously the second outing for Everett.

MF: Yes. Everett Ross appeared in the previous Captain America film in a small part and it was always going to be the deal that Everett had kind of more to do in the Black Panther film.

BH: What was the appeal of him? Because he couldn’t be further from where we started this evening.

MF: Well in his world, like he’s a fish out of water when he gets to Wakanda obviously, but in his world he’s got real high status, he’s kind of within the CIA let’s say quite a big fish, he’s a major sort of dude, you know. And I like—because I’ve played a lot of people who aren’t very confident, and I’ve played a lot of people who are sort of awkward, but I also like playing people who are confident; it’s sort of it’s quite relaxing, do you know what I mean? Just to be able to play someone who walks in the room knowing the room is for him. Again, he finds himself in a world where that’s not the case but on his own turf he has status and it’s kind of fun playing people—it’s fun playing all of it but I like playing people with status sometimes because you don’t get to, you definitely don’t end up kind of doing little tics and stuff that you’ve done a lot before when you’re playing nervous man from Surrey, you know.

[Laughter]

BH: Nervous disappointed man.

MF: Thwarted man.

BH: We talked about Sherlock being a thing. Good grief, did you know this was going to be the thing it became.

MF: Again not to the extent that it was, but when we were making it and before I was doing it I knew people who were very excited about it and I was hearing people very excited about it. I knew it had an audience, we all knew it had an audience and I thought it was really good what was happening on set everyday, I thought it was very impressive.

BH: Because you and Andy Serkis are the only two white actors in it.

MF: I don’t see colour.

[Laughter]

I refuse to see it… Yeah. And obviously I’m old mates with Andy and that was really lovely. I love those scenes between those characters, yeah. They’re great scenes. But I really liked Ryan Coogler who was the director and co-writer and he’s a very smart guy and very, what I liked about him because he’s young, you know, this sounds obvious to say that he cared but he really poured himself into it a lot and took nothing, nothing for granted. You could see it was work, he was going to work every day and not leaving anything in the locker, as they say.

BH: How does it work when you enter that Marvel universe? How much control, how much is dictated about your performance or what the film looks like?

MF: Nothing felt dictated, actually, no. It felt—the joy for me in all the work I’ve done, and please God continue to do, is I’ve eked out enough space for myself in my working life that I have autonomy, I don’t mean autonomy like I’m in charge, of course I’m not in charge, but in terms of between action and cut I don’t want to have gone home that day thinking ‘I wish I would have tried that,’ I try everything and I want to be satisfied, I want to be sated. And that felt like that on Black Panther, it was—regardless of size, my thing always is regardless of whether it’s a tiny indie film or a huge Marvel film, your job is the same and your relationship with the director should be the same. It’s an artistic one and it should be a craft one. Whether you’ve got billions or two quid, you want to make the scene the best you can and you’re trying to work out how that’s possible. That’s what I loved doing on Black Panther as well; we had a lot of chats about who he was and what his place in this world was, as Ryan did with every character. It’s the same job; it’s the same relationship you have on Nativity! or anything else, you know. You’re just trying—between action and cut you want the audience to believe what’s happening, the end. That’s your only job really.

BH: I don’t want to get all Desert Island Discs about it, but if there is a favourite character you’ve—

MF: The Beatles.

[Laughter]

BH: Have you got a favourite out of all these characters?

MF: No. No I haven’t. There are things I can’t imagine, the way my working life has gone I can’t imagine not having done The Hobbit or Sherlock or The Office, and now Black Panther as a recent addition to my working life, of course I’m very proud of that, proud to have been part of something that feels—it’s an artistic endeavour but it’s also a sort of social and cultural phenomenon as well.

BH: And obviously people want you to go back to things, they want you to do another Sherlock, they want you to do more Black Panther, which of course you’re going to do—

MF: Yes, please God

BH: Do you—are there directions that you want to go in?

MF: I mean a lot of them are unknown by me at the moment. What I’ve started to do and what I’ll hopefully do more of is be behind the creation of things and the actual the sort of coming to fruition of things. I like that. I like having a vote and not just having an opinion.

BH: Might that extend to writing and directing?

MF: I think I would need to get more confidence with those things, especially with writing. Because people say to me when I have this conversation sometimes with writers, because of course writers don’t see writing as this thing. So a lot of writers have said to me, ‘well you could write, you’re allowed to,’ and I’m like—it seems to me still like something that people from another planet do, like music. How do you do that?

BH: What about directing, though?

MF: I could see that more, but even then. I don’t know I would need to get more confidence in that. And again, so many people have told me well it’s a question of delegation: you get a good editor, you get a good DoP, all this stuff, and I know that’s always true but the stuff that you have to do before you start shooting and then after you start shooting, I’m not sure my brain works like that. I’m not sure that I can do the months of pre- and the months of post-. I don’t know.

BH: Co-direct.

MF: Maybe. But my favourite thing is acting. I think I’m quite good at acting.

[Laughter]

But genuinely I think that’s what I have to offer and I’m not exactly backwards in coming forwards with my opinions on a set or in a rehearsal room. I definitely want my flavour to be in there, but I like the collaboration of it. And again directing is also collaborative if you’re smart, if you’re a good director, but I don’t know. I don’t know if my brain is there for ‘OK now three months we’re going on another recce to some other place and I have to care as much about what rucksack someone’s wearing.’ I don’t care. Some people are fantastic at that thankfully, but I love my job and so many actors come to writing because they’re not acting, do you know what I mean? So in their downtime when they’re not getting parts they do that. I’ve been very lucky; I’ve not had that. I mean I know at some point I will and everything is finite but I’ve been very lucky; I’ve worked. I’ve always had that muscle worked, I’ve always had that satisfied.

BH: And throughout your career you’ve sort of flip-flopped between film, TV and theatre as well. Do you have a kind of first love out of those three disciplines, and are they different?

MF: They are quite different but again as I say your job is always the same, your job is just to make the audience believe for the duration of the play or the film or the television episode just to believe you’re that character. That’s it for me. The execution of it, of course, is different. But I don’t know that I have a first love. I learned everything through theatre, the basics, the rudiments of acting I learned in a Youth Theatre in Teddington with a couple of people who are here tonight as a teenager. And I owe that a lot. But I also know myself that I have quite a low boredom threshold and that I don’t want to do a run for eight months or a year or even six months; I’m not necessarily built for that because I like to move on, I’m quite restless like that. I do sort of—they’re like children, you love them all equally. They’ve all got different value but all equal value in a way. When I haven’t done a play in a while I’m desperate to do a play, and sometimes filming drives me up the fricking wall because sometimes the monotony of it or just the relentless ‘we’re going again, OK we’re going again. Christ.’ Filming walking up a hill fifty-six times or something. But then the monotony of doing a play eight times a week for months and months… So that’s why I quite like keeping on the move and being a moving target and doing a bit of that. It keeps me sane otherwise I feel like I atrophy.

BH: We’re going to take some questions from the audience. Just while we sort some microphones out, I believe there is one on either side, let me just ask you—do you know when you’ve done a good job? Do you feel, you know, do you do a take and go ‘do you know what I’ve nailed it.’

MF: Occasionally yeah. You’re not supposed to say that are you? But occasionally yes.

BH: And has that got better as you’ve gone—as you’ve done more and more?

MF: Your own gauge for that?

BH: Say again.

MF: My own gauge for that?

BH: Yeah.

MF: Yeah I think it has. With anything, whatever you do as a job you should get better at it the more you do it. If you’re a carpenter you should get better with wood twenty years after you start; so yeah the hope is you’ve got better and your experience tells you that probably will work and that won’t work. The job I just finished yesterday there was a day that I really had to admit that it wasn’t happening today. And professionally you are still at a baseline level and you have to deliver something, but whatever inspiration or Holy Spirit that you hope is going to descent on you, it sometimes doesn’t. You have to be OK with that. And again not that anyone else will necessarily agree or think that take was different, but just so you can think ‘I did the best I can possibly do there,’ some days unfortunately that doesn’t happen. Experience tells you to not kill yourself over it.

BH: Perfect. Let’s take some questions we’ve got a couple, one on either side down here. You first, or whoever gets the mic first. Don’t be shy, go for it.

Q: You were talking about accents. Is that a big part of learning acting process, studying it? Is that a big part of acting when you learn?

MF: What, sorry?

Q: Sorry my accent. Is learning accents a big part of acting process—

MF: Oh accents. Yeah, when required, yeah. I don’t think… I mean accents should be a by-product of whatever character you’re playing. Not every great actor is brilliant at accents and that doesn’t mean they’re a less brilliant actor. But I think if you are doing an accent, if I come out and I’m playing an American and I sound Swedish I will have failed.

[Laughter]

Q: Like for the accent from Fargo it really changed from the voice you—

MF: Yes it does in that sense it does—I played a Glaswegian in a film a few years ago and things make you feel differently, yeah. I mean an old friend of mine he saw Fargo and he’s not an actor but he was embarrassed because he thought my accent was terrible.

[Laughter]

BH: He’d never met anyone from Minnesota.

MF: No exactly. He hadn’t quite clocked that it was meant to be—he thought it was just a general American accent. And he thought ‘Martin’s shit at accents.’

[Laughter]

Which again may or may not be true but when he figured out it was a specific kind of one he gave me a pass. But yeah I think accents make you, like anything, speaking is a physical act so if you’re speaking in an accent different to your own one it makes you feel a different way. So in that sense it’s very important. I would rather see a truthful, good performance in someone’s own accent than a showy-offy performance in a different accent. Because it still has to be truthful and real.

Q: Thank you.

BH: And down here and then up here.

Q: Hello. My question is, because you have done lots of work adapted from books and novels and some of those are different, like Sherlock is just taking the core of the books but The Hobbit we know Peter Jackson was really faithful for the original materials. My question is for you as an actor taking part in adapted work do you take more care translating the word from the screenplay to the visual arts or do you also consider the original materials as well? And can I ask another question? And another question because you mentioned when you’re acting you like to give more options to the director, like you offer opinions to the director—do you think a film or TV series is a kind of collaborative work or does the creative work come from the director like we usually say the directors are the authors.

BH: You’re not going to say it’s all from the director, are you?

[Laughter]

MF: I like collaborating and I like giving choice. I’m a big believer in if we’re going to do sixteen takes of something we may as well try everything in those sixteen times. If you’ve got the first one and the director says ‘that was great, let’s do it again,’ there’s no point doing it sixteen ways the same. As long as you’re not disrupting anyone else’s process, a) it should be fun, and as I said I have a low boredom threshold and I want to try everything out, but also I’ve got one eye on the edit for the director to give them choice. And I think it’s much better for the director, and I’ve heard this from many directors, it’s nice to choose that or that or—and they’re distinct, different flavours. As long as they’re part of the same story, it’s fine. I just want to give myself license to have fun and have freedom.

The other question being about the adaptations: Ian McKellen was very, very quite religious about having Tolkein on set all the time and he kept going back to the books. And I see the value in that definitely, and obviously we know how good Ian McKellen is and how fantastic Gandalf is, so that obviously has great value. But also I’m aware that we’re not strictly speaking doing—Tolkein’s not on set, I mean he hasn’t written the screenplay; the screenplay’s written by Philippa, Fran and Peter, and that’s what we’re actually dealing with. So beyond knowing—I like to know the source material definitely, but myself, rightly or wrongly, will probably be less referential to the source material than the screenplay because it’s the screenplay I’m actually doing. Thank you.

Q: When you’re looking at a script and trying to decide whether to take on a project, what sort of qualities in the script are likely to make you decide to go with something? What do you find compelling?

MF: I suppose tonally what I find interesting is if it doesn’t feel like it’s been written by a committee or it doesn’t feel like it’s been written to tick boxes but it feels authored, I suppose. If it feel like—whatever that voice is, if it feels like someone means it then that’s always good. Beyond that, then it’s just about whether someone can write. But there are plenty of scripts that I’ve really liked and some that I’ve done that are not you know they’re not Oscar Wilde in terms of grammar and they’re not beautifully written, but if they’re real and if they’re real as far as that writer is concerned I’m always interested in that. I like people who aren’t begging to be liked and I like scripts like that. Comedies that aren’t begging for your laughs but just set out their stall and if you like this great, if you don’t then fine.

BH: Have you got better at reading scripts?

MF: Yes I suppose I’ve got quicker, to be fair. Whether that means I’ve got better I don’t know, but I hope I haven’t got worse. Yeah I suppose you know your own process for when you read scripts. The old cliché is true: People read scripts wanting this to be their next thing. Every script that comes on to my laptop I hope I love this. So that’s why, with that in mind—it’s like when you see something really good, if I see say Fleabag, right. That looks to me—obviously it’s brilliantly written, brilliantly crafted as it turns out, but at first you just think this is someone writing whatever the hell she likes, just making up any old shit she wants to.

[Laughter]

Without much deference to the process or what should be in a programme; it’s someone’s imagination gone like that on a page. I like that; I like the boldness of that. That’s obviously not always going to work, but if you’re good and if you’re smart then it’ll work. I like people taking a bit of a punt, I suppose. And for me personally if a director or writer sends me something I haven’t played fifteen times before, that’s obviously something as well.

BH: Question this side, and then there.

Q: Hi, I’m a big fan of your theatre work and think you’re brilliant. I liked you in Richard III… My question is your acting is very much layered characters; how do you build up these characters. A script is paper but you build up someone who has a backstory and history, etcetera. What is your regular procedure to build up these characters? Thank you.

MF: My procedure would vary. For someone like Richard III I suppose that’s something that’s been performed lots and lots and lots over centuries so at the same time you’re trying not to just recreate someone else’s Richard III but you’re also aware there are parameters there if you know what I mean. There’s definitely a structure there that works so you should probably follow the structure. Generally speaking, like every actor does, just flesh it out make it three-dimensional. The page is absolutely one thing, and I think your job as an actor—I think my job is to elevate the material. And that sounds possibly very pretentious and presumptuous, but it is sort of your job. If the writing is very good, let’s—I mean what a noble hope to try and make it even better. That’s not by rewriting it but just by making it totally human and again as I say offering choice. At the same time I don’t believe in railroading a script or a scene and thinking ‘I’m just going to pull this and make it something else.’ It has to serve the story; I think if what you’re doing isn’t ultimately subject to the story and the point that the director and the writer want to make, it’s surplus to requirements. You have to kind of get out whatever individual creative thing you want to do and whatever show-offy bits that you want to do, but it has to serve the common thread I suppose. Sometimes you see someone’s pulling over here but the story is going over there but they want to show you how they can fucking juggle or something. And it’s like who cares? No one cares and they’re not serving the scene or the story. I don’t know, I like to yeah—I like to make things relatable and real. I don’t have—as you can see I don’t have a procedure. I wish I had a better answer.

BH: There was a question there, yep. And then we may have time for one more.

Q: Hi. I think you’re very inspirational and I really like your confidence and I think it’s something you really need to be an actor because I imagine it’s really tough. Do you have any advice for an aspiring young actor who wants to start a career hopefully?

MF: Is that you?

[Laughter]

Q: Yep.

MF: Well the only thing I did and the thing that I always feel is that I hope you love it, because you’ll need to because it’s hard. It’s hard to make a living at and it’s hard to even make a bad living at. It’s hard to just stay in poverty you know, because just to get this job and get that job, you know like if you even just get three jobs vaguely in a row that’s—you’re doing well, you know. I think love it, firstly; try and be good before you be anything else I would say. You seem like a sensible person, but yeah try and be good before you’re famous or try and be good before you’re well-known or anything. Because I think ultimately if no one else—and part of the reason we do what we do is to share it—but if no one else is ever going to see it or if no one else is going to be lucky enough to have this fortune; I am very lucky to have some of the public reaction to some of the things that I do, but say if that wasn’t going to happen, do I think I’ve done a good job? Do I think I’ve been good or do I think I’m improving? So I think attending to the craft side of it I find very important, I think. Having fun is important, not taking yourself too seriously is important, but I don’t know, having a thick skin is probably the thing. I don’t know. I joined Youth Theatre and then I was lucky enough to get into drama school, so that was my route in but not everyone has the same thing. If you want to act, find somewhere you’ll be able to act, whether it’s a local amateur dramatics company or a youth theatre or whatever, you know. Because that’s where you really find out if you want to do it rather than trying to get an agent and being famous. You better be doing it because you love it, because if you don’t love it it’s a terrible job.

[Laughter]

It’s a hard enough job if you do love it; it’s a cruel job sometimes if you love it. So make sure that connection is there before anything else I would say, and good luck.

BH: One final question. No pressure, make it a good one.

MF: Not you. Not these undercover midgets. Little people.

Q: You said that you leave work at work…

MF: I what sorry?

Q: You leave work at work. I was just wondering if there’s a part you’ve played that you felt was actually hard leaving it at work, not bringing it home with you or—

MF: There are plenty of things that I remind myself all the time or am reminded of the fact that I find a lot of it hard, as in I think ‘God I can’t do this very well.’ Just as I think ‘I’m quite good at acting, I’m quite good at this,’ there will usually be something that happens where I think this is completely eluding me and I’m not getting it at all. You forget how difficult on a day-to-day level it can be. Not as far as bringing stuff home with me, no; I never bring characters home with me ever because I’m not mad.

[Laughter]

I don’t think there’s any—there’s nothing good about bringing a character, you don’t get points—in my opinion, this is my school of thought, there’s no virtue in bringing a character home with you and treating your wife like a twat just because well I’m playing this. Oh good man, great. There are plenty of things that are hard because from a practitioner’s point of view you’re not getting, but not—no I’ve never found that thing about bringing… For me, the heavier the scene, the more emotionally hard the scene, I find humans—never mind actors—at some point in every funeral someone will laugh and find the joy in something. In the worst, worst, worst human situations they often actually they look for humour and laughter. So if I’m doing something quite heavy you can’t wait to laugh and all that. So that’s why I never bring heaviness home. I mean my kids will tell you—don’t talk to them—but were you to ask them—don’t ask them—

[Laughter]

I’m heavy enough anyway, I’m a fairly moody bastard anyway, so I don’t need that from work. I get made very happy by work and I get made deliriously happy by work but no, if I’m playing a real nasty, nasty manipulative person as I’ve occasionally done, I have never found that a problem at home. Because I’ve got enough of that in me anyway, do you know what I mean?

[Laughter]

There’s enough of that in all of us that you don’t need to rely on the excuse of playing a part like that because it’s all in you anyway, you know?

BH: We’re going to go and ask your kids now if that’s actually true.

MF: Don’t ask them anything!

BH: I am so sorry that we’ve run out of time. Thank you all for your questions and for being here, but most of all thank you so much Martin Freeman.

MF: Thank you so much. Appreciate it, thank you.

[Applause]

source:  http://www.bafta.org/whats-on/a-life-in-pictures-martin-freeman

[forallyourikemensengokuneeds]

up on the hilltop 17

Chapter Seventeen

   The pair sat over dinner with the knowledge they both had looming over them like a dark storm cloud. Neither of them said much as they ate and were almost completely drained by the time they made it to the hotel. It had been a few hours since they had left gran and neither had spoke more than the basic about since then. They were both waiting. They knew they would have the phone call coming into her phone and his sooner rather than later. As soon as he opened the hotel door, her phone went off, and it was her father calling. They both knew. Her shoulders sagged as she went to answer it.

“Sara?”, he father began.

“Yes, dad?”, she asked.

“I have some news.”, he said.

“I know. Gran?”, she asked.

“How did you know?”, her father sounded surprised through his own grief.

“I went to see her today. She knew as well.”, Sara replied.

“You are in town?”, her father asked.

“I was here to see Gran with a friend.”, she replied.

“A friend?”, her father asked. As soon as that was said Mitsuhide’s phone also went off. She looked at him, and he had the same reaction. She knew it was Gran’s biological son, her uncle. Mitsuhide picked up his phone and answered.

“Yeah, dad a friend.”, she replied.

“That sounds like a man.”, her father stated.

“Dad I am twenty-six. It is possible for me to have a man around.”, she said sarcastically.

“I know that, Sara.”, her father stated. “What is his name?”

“You know him already. Mitsuhide.”, she replied.

“Gran’s Mitsuhide?”, her father asked.

“That would be him. It isn’t like that is a really popular name dad.”, she said.

“I didn’t know you kept in touch with him.”, her father said.

“I didn’t thanks to mom.”, she said, “But that isn’t for now. Mitsuhide and I got into town yesterday, and we spent all day with Gran today.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”, he asked.

“Really dad?”, she asked.

“Sara.”, her father retorted.

“Dad I just wanted to see Gran. Not the whole family.”, she replied. “I was going to stop by the house at some point. There are a few things I would like to get.”

“Well, you can come by tomorrow. We will be having the wake here at four tomorrow.”, her father said.

“So soon?”, she asked.

“We had everything already planned Sara. She wanted it this way.”, her father said.

“Fine dad we will see you tomorrow.”, Sara said as she hung up the phone. She looked over at Mitsuhide who was still on the phone with her uncle. He was talking quietly as he was being given the same information that she had been. She wanted to flop on the bed and curl up under the covers and hide as she was likely to do years before. She stood there and watched him as his eyes glazed over and he would blink the build up away. He was in pain as well. They both had loved her. They knew she had held on only to see them. The both of them. She had wanted to see the both of them together. They had given her, her wish, and she could leave this plane of existence.

When Mitsuhide hung up the phone, he didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to move, but he did. He walked over to her and wrapped her in his arms. As soon as he did she let go of everything she had been holding in. She sobbed against him, and he let her. His way of thinking was if she was crying she wouldn’t notice a few other tears as they fell.

Much later in the night when they both had let go of everything they had. He helped her into the shower, and they both let the water roll over them and help ease the built-up tension in their bodies. They didn’t need words. They knew the other better than they knew themselves. It was instinct that kept them close. As they moved to the bed, they both got into the bed and curled up facing each other. Their eyes met, and she moved closer. Soon she found herself being pinned to him and being lavished with his full attention.

 The grief they both had was poured into how they loved each other that night. The masks were completely off and the raw feelings they both had were being eased only by the others. It was different than the past few days. They were complete now. The whole playing field had changed. He was completely open as he poured himself into making sure she knew she was loved. He felt the same with her. She was making sure he knew it as well. After they had spent the last of their energy making sure the other was okay, they both collapsed still intertwined limbs and hands as they both fell deep asleep still joined as one.

 The morning light was blinding as they both woke up within minutes of each other. With one look to each other, they started again. The physical part of their union was only a means to an end for both of them. The old woman, they both, had loved had made that clear the day before. She knew all along this was how it was supposed to be. They were always supposed to be together. It was just their luck that others had prevented it until right now. They loved each other as only the other could. Everything in the world was right as they both soared off the cliff of desire together.

 Later in the morning, she said, “We have to go get some clothes.”

“For?”, he asked.

“Everything. It seemed she planned this out to a tee, and everything was already arranged.”, she replied. “Everything is happening fast Mitsuhide.”

“Okay. You are right. The doctor said something was going on at your house today and then the services tomorrow. You are right neither of us are were prepared for this happening.”, he said softly.

“I think I knew it would happen like this.”, she said. “She seemed to be holding out for something. It was you.”

“It wasn’t just me, sweetheart.”, Mitsuhide said as he took her in his arms again. “It was us.”

“What?”, she asked as she turned to look at him.

“Gran wanted to see us. Us together, my love.”, he replied.

“You know what? You are probably right.”, she said with a smile. “Let’s go so we can get some stuff and then come back here to change.”

“You are taking the idea of seeing your family better than I thought.”, he said.

“I am not looking forward to that at all.”, she said with a face. “I am more interested to get my pictures though. Maybe to see dad.”

“And the rest?”, he asked.

“Oh, that will be a show, to say the least.”, she said with a laugh.

“A show?”, he asked.

“You will see.”, she said with a small smile. “It will be a cross of a bad comedy and horror.”

“I am almost interested.”, he said.

“Almost?”, she asked as they headed to the door.

“Your family was always a source of amusement.”, he replied.

“Not sure if their type of amusement is good for a funeral though.”, she said.

“As long as they don’t start with you it will be rather amusing.”, he replied with a wave of a hand. “It will be the service to remember.”

“That isn’t a good thing.”, she said laughing.

“Maybe not but it will have that effect.”, he said as they waited for the elevator from hell to reach them.

“We should take the stairs.”, she said.

“Do you really want to walk down them?”, he asked.

“Not really but I would like to get out of here today.”, she replied. They heard the elevator reach their floor and the door opened. She was face to face with another sister of hers.

“Do you all live in the hotel?”, Sara asked. She turned and looked at Mitsuhide who was already heading to the door to the stairs. She started to laugh. “Sorry Suz. I’m taking the stairs.”

“Wait Sara?”, her sister called out.

“Nope. Not doing that again.”, Sara responded and started walking towards the door that Mitsuhide had already gone in. “Trying to get away from them already?”

“I am not going to be trapped in that thing with another one of your sisters.”, he said as he looked up at her.

“Neither am I.,” she said with a laugh.

“What was that greeting though?”, he asked as she walked behind him a few stairs and he moved quickly down the stairwell.

“What?”, she asked.

“Do you guys live in the hotel?”, he asked with a chuckle.

“Well they all have homes, and husbands, and kids for that matter. However, we have seen two of them here with other men. It is a valid question.”, she replied.

“I am so glad they couldn’t change you.”, he said.

“Me too.”, she said. “It is exhausting just keeping up with one man. I have no idea how they do it.”

“I exhaust you?”, he asked with a smile.

“Damnit Mitsuhide you know what I meant.”, she said.

“I do, my love.”, he said.

“Good.”, she replied as they hit the main floor. As he pushed the door open, she saw her sister in the lobby. She had to giggle, and he stopped and looked at her.

“What?”, he asked.

“I don’t think my first comment was off the mark.”, she said.

“What?”, he asked confused.

“That guy she is with.”, Sara started.

“Yeah?”, Mitsuhide prompted.

“The one she is all over right this second.”, Sara was laughing now.

“What is it, sweetheart?”, Mitsuhide said as he looked down at the small laughing female next to him as he took her hand.

“That isn’t the same guy she was in the elevator with.”, Sara said.

“Oh.”, Mitsuhide said as he looked over at her sister who had no shame making out in the hotel lobby. He tugged on her hand before she would say something else. He didn’t want to know. He really didn’t want to know what her sisters were up too. He was just grateful she was nothing like them.

“Bloody hell.”, she said as they made it outside.

“What?”, he asked.

“I have to wonder if this place is like the one on center street.”, she said.

“Huh?”, he asked.

“Another sister.”, she said as she nodded her head in the direction of a couple headed into the hotel.

“Guessing she is also married?”, he asked.

“And that isn’t her husband? You would be correct.”, she said.

“Do you think?”, he asked.

“What that my sisters are now the town sluts?”, she asked.

“Well, I wasn’t going to phrase it like that.”, he said as he opened the door for her in his car.

“I will.”, she said. He walked around the car and got in when she continued, “Yes. I do.”

“Well. That is a change sort of.”, he said, “I remember the holier than thou crap they used to pull with everyone else.”

“They still do.”, she replied. She was laughing now, rather hard. “My sisters are the town whores.”

“What is the world coming too?”, he asked.

“Well, it fits their personalities. I hope it comes with benefits at least. Do you think they have a medical plan?”, she asked.

“I think that for them it has benefits but not the type you are thinking of.”, he replied rather dryly.

“I hope their husbands have a good medical plan.”, she said.

“Why is that?”, he asked.

“Well, this town was known for something other than tobacco and only in a few fields. Mine really.”, she said.

“This place is known for something?”, he asked.

“Oh yes.”, she replied.

“And in your field?”, he asked.

“Yes.”, she replied, “It got to the point when someone would ask where I was from I would lie.”

“What was the thing it was famous for in your field?”, Mitsuhide asked.

“A rather distinct strain of a sexually transmitted disease.”, she replied.

“What?”, he asked.

“It was drug resistant and well easy to trace. This town was good for one thing people are predictable. Cows and hookers can lead to a problem in the long run.”, she said.

“You're serious?”, he asked.

“A hundred percent.”, she replied. “Like half the people our age have been exposed to it. Maybe a quarter have it.”

“You knew this all along did you?”, he asked.

“All along?”, she asked.

“Back then you warned me.”, he said.

“I warned you because I wanted you to myself.”, she said laughing. “It doesn’t surprise me though. I probably did know back then as well.”

“Well hot damn, sweetheart. I am glad that I wasn’t into those other girls even more now.”, he said with a smile.

“As the only gay member of society here I was immune.”, she said.

“But you weren’t gay.’, he said.

“No, I wasn’t. But they didn’t care about that. So I watched one go to another and another, then the same on the flip side. To be honest, it would be a nightmare to track. I would love though to make them all squirm a little.”, she said.

“Let’s drop this, my love, and go get some clothes for tonight and tomorrow.”, he said with a smile.

[thewreckkelly]

No-one told me it was going to be this way ...... 

My daughter, Eve, dropped by last Saturday evening armed with a deliciously light chocolate cake, microwave popcorn and grapefruit juice. She was clad in black athletic lycra while prancing about in Addias trainers – apparently that’s the gear best suited to a long hike over some local sierra or other.

The ambition we shared for the evening - after her exertions in the Spanish Hills - was to waste a Saturday after dark at the movies in my living room.

No film actually made it past the opening credits - mainly due to the fact we had collectively exhausted anything worthwhile on HBO, Netflix and Prime due to the long incarceration of pandemic leaving only the stuff of nightmares.

So we spent the ensuing hours solving personal and global problems with considered insight, calculated resolutions and no end of smugness at our own intellect.

Hence the popcorn remained un-nuked while the chocolate cake became mere crumbs as it fuelled conversation while pandering to dietary indulgence.

She left my casa at an hour past the witching one – entertained by her father’s brilliant mind rather than some Hollywood dross -  and disappeared into the night on her VW steed, (she didn’t take the popcorn with her - though she’d guzzled all the grapefruit water and most of the cake)

By Sunday evening I couldn’t hold out any longer and finally gave in to the terrible temptation of brown corn in a brown bag. Three minutes was all it took to fill the flowing bowl with butter, salt and the exploded kernel.

Bliss I say, Bliss .... but ..... what to watch ... what indeed  ....... I flicked disconsolately through rows and rows of dull digital offerings until - before you could clap your hands, (cha cha cha cha) - I pressed 'watch now' on the ‘Friends Reunion’ icon – secure in the knowledge no-one I know would ever know.

I’m always wary of actors when they’re not acting – particularly when they’re not acting while in front of cameras and a live audience. But there are six very good reasons this show of seventeen years ago has been viewed over 100 billion times – Ross, Monica, Chandler, Rachel Joey and Phoebe.

(I don’t remember when I first watched the show and I was never what you would call a devotee; however I also don’t remember ever thinking it wasn’t quality, I mean proper quality.)

And so I sat down to this guilty pleasure and reacquainted myself with some people I felt I knew well enough to call by their first names. It was an exquisite experience – funny and gentle and funny and gentle.

Memories of times and places vied for attention on the fringe of my mind while I remained glued to the antics on the screen - allowing a nostalgia to seep into the present with nothing to offer but goodness, innocence, laughter and a sense of how it should be in a well written, well played world of make believe.

I thought of my daughter who knew the show then and ever since. I thought of my grandchildren who know the show now and are unlikely to let it go. I thought of all the people I know who practice cynicism and comedic brutality in the progressive pursuit of free expression - and somehow knew they couldn’t have a bad word to say about this ten year long recurring moment in situation comedy gold.

I thought of all these people and felt they could or would enjoy this experience as much as me – and that just made it so much better somehow.

David, Courteney, Jennifer, Lisa and the two Matt’s came across in their maturity as good types who, from the safety of the past, are welcome into my company anytime – smart successful people with a wicked sense of ordinariness woven through a botox attractiveness that works for them and me, (it really is how our stars should be - and shine - when performing without a script).  

I know I should make some reference to the writers and the supporting cast but they are the other players to this court of jesters – a court where the Gods of light entertainment sewed together ordinariness wrapped around simplicity and elevated it over and above the norm to touch the heavens at times.

(Suffice to say these people and their characters work, for me, in both worlds.)

My daughter nailed it; she said the show – any episode Dad – was the antidote that cured bad days and made her feel the fuzzy comfort of easy happiness.

A perfect way to enjoy a bowl of popcorn methinks!

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Trickster God

Characters: The Reader, Dean, Sam, Gabriel

Word Count: 2,489

Warnings: this isn’t fluff, per say but it’s not angst. So, take it how you will. Some comedy but not a lot. 

Request: Heyyyyy so can you please write something that is like the boys go on a hunt that they think might be Gabriel because it shows the signs that it might be him. But it turns out to be the reader who is the an actual trickster god?

Author’s Note: If you want to be a Queen, let me know and I’ll add you to the lists! So sorry this is out so late, I hope whoever requested it, that you like it!

Feedback the glue that holds my writing together

Tags at the bottom

You can do a lot of things. You can make an impossible thing come to life, right in front of your eyes. You can make the fakest of things seem real. You were a Trickster God and you loved every minute of it. You weren’t evil, no, you used your powers for good, going around to children’s hospitals to make their days with magic.

You went from town to town, wowing people with what you could do, but just before you left the town, you made everyone forget what they saw because you couldn’t have your cover blown to hunters or Angels.

You knew of an Archangel that was known for what you were and he was a real trouble maker. He liked to have his own fun, not caring what happened in the process of it. Gabriel was his name and you didn’t need him knowing you were on Earth because he would find you and mess up the things you were doing with magic of his own.

You loved helping people, so using your abilities wasn’t a big deal. Until someone had died from it. You didn’t anticipate it but one of your creations went rogue and killed another person. You knew that this would be on every hunter’s radar so, for the time being, you had to keep quiet and lay low.

“Dean, so get this…” Sam said, walking into the library with his laptop in his hands.

“You know, I think you get nerdier each time you say that.” Dean teased his younger brother. Sam rolled his eyes and took a seat next to Dean and showed him the screen of his laptop.

“I think I found us a case in Wyoming. While in treatment for cancer, a little girl and her mother were waiting for test results when a man walked up to them and started doing magic, bringing the daughter’s teddy bear to life.” Sam started to explain.

You always disguised yourself when you went places to prevent people from recognizing you. You walked into the cancer section of the hospital, your eyes zeroing in on a grieving mother and her daughter who wasn’t more than seven.

You walked right up to the ladies and smiled at the mother who immediately became protective of her daughter.

“Hello, I noticed you looking a bit down. I’m a magician, you would like to see some magic?” You offered, seeing the little girl’s eyes lit up at the mention of the word.

“Yeah!” The mother looked at her daughter and relaxed, letting you do your thing. You started to do some basic magic, pulling a quarter from her ear, turning a dollar bill into a five-dollar bill, making two pieces of candy disappear from your hands only for them to end up in the mother’s purse.

To say they were cheered up was an understatement. The mother seemed distracted from the cancer news for now and this is what you wanted.

“Do another!” The little girl said with a smile. You looked at her teddy bear and smiled, kneeling down on the ground.

“Mind if I use your teddy bear? I won’t hurt him, I promise,” You said with a smile. She nodded and handed you her teddy bear, waiting for you to do something. “Now, this requires your belief. I need you to believe your teddy bear will come alive otherwise this won’t work. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah! I believe!” The mother smiled and watched her daughter smile and laugh. You nodded and looked at the teddy bear, running your hand over the top of his head, muttering some words under your breath. The mother and daughter waited to see what would happen when the teddy bear’s arm moved.

The daughter gasped and watched the teddy bear start to move and come alive.

“How are you doing that?” The mother asked, ignoring the squeal of laughter come from her daughter.

“Magic.” You said with a smile, a certain glint in your eyes. The teddy bear danced and wiggled his body, entertaining the child. The mother didn’t see any threat and relaxed, enjoying the show, wondering how this was happening.

“This so-called magician made a girl’s teddy bear come to life but then it had a mind of its own and killed a patient in another room of the hospital.” Sam explained.

Just then, the teddy bear dropped to the floor and began running away from you and to the halls where the other patients were.

“My teddy bear is getting away!” the girl said, looking at you.

“Don’t worry, let me go get him.” You said, getting up and running after the small toy. When you rounded a deserted hallway, you spotted the teddy bear start to grow, getting bigger and bigger until the teddy bear was at least 6 feet tall. Your eyes widened in surprise, this not coming from you.

There must be a witch somewhere in here. The teddy bear walked into a room and before you could reach it, a man’s scream came from inside. You bolted to the door and rushed in, seeing blood everywhere and a knife that the teddy bear held. The bear had killed a patient.

You thrusted your hands in front of you and the teddy bear dropped the knife, immediately shrinking back to its original size, becoming an inanimate object once more. You grabbed the bear and booked it out of the room, returned to the mother and daughter. You made sure there was no blood on the bear before you gave it back to her.

“This looks like the work of Gabriel.” Sam said, closing his laptop. He sighed, not ready to deal with the Angel.

“Alright, I’ll go get packing.” Dean said, this being enough information for him to head out on the case. The Winchesters were going to take care of it.

That happened about a week ago and you had a talk with Gabriel after that, making sure he was never to be near you. You didn’t like Gabriel because he was a child and a big one at that, always getting into trouble.

You stood up and looked around the lobby, locking eyes with Gabriel who stood in the corner of the lobby, a smirk on his face. You said goodbye to the mother and her daughter, walking over to Gabriel and pulling him in a room. Upon walking in the room, your form began to change into the woman you were, glaring at Gabriel.

“It’s nice seeing you here, Y/N.” Gabriel said with a wink.

“Gabriel, how many times do I need to say this, stop messing with my magic. I am the true Trickster God here. You’re just an Angel.” You spat at him.

“Archangel, my dear.” Gabriel corrected you.

“You just killed a man. What was that all about?” You asked.

“I gave the bear free will and he decided to kill the man. I had nothing to do with it.”

“Leave, and don’t come back. Hunters are probably going to come now and I will have to deal with your mess.” You glared, making an angel blade appear in your hand.

“Come on, darling, you’re not really going to kill me.” Gabriel said, scoffing at the sight of your blade.

“I will if you continue to bother me and cause trouble for me. Heaven can afford to lose one more Archangel. I think Lucifer can handle things on his own.” You threatened. Gabriel glared at you and in the next second, he disappeared.

You had to lay low for a few days, knowing there would be Hunters after you once they got word of Gabriel’s mishap.

Sam and Dean rolled up into town, ready to kick Gabriel’s ass. Gabriel could be anyone in town but they would have to pay attention to the candy since he had such a sweet tooth. Unfortunately for you, you did as well.

You were going to lay low but when you were walking down the road in yet another disguise and chewing on some candy, you saw a teenager boy who was sitting on the edge of the sidewalk with a figurine in his hand. He looked to be about seventeen-years-old but you made yourself look like a person who wouldn’t scare him. You were posing as a woman in her really early twenties.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, walking up to the boy. He looked up and seeing as you were a girl, he stood up and put his figurine behind his back. But you saw what it was before it disappeared out of sight.

“Uh, nothing. I’m good.” He said, chuckling nervously.

“It’s cool you like Transformers. I like them too and have all the figures.” You said with a smile. A smile appeared on the boy’s smile. You were glad to have seen him smile. He took the toy from behind his back and showed it to you.

“My friends and I were supposed to meet and watch the Transformer movies and maybe mess around with these but they never showed up.” He admitted, being very shy about it.

“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t be shy. Wanna see something cool?” You asked, smiling at him.

“Sure, what is it?” He asked. You looked around to see the parking lot you were in to be empty. Your eyes saw a sheer black Impala but you didn’t think anything of it.

“I’m a magician and I bet I can make your day. But I need you to believe it or it won’t happen, okay?” You said, looking at him. He was confused but he nodded, waiting for you to do something. You walked over to a nice car and smiled at the boy who smiled back.

You had to be quick or else your cover might be blown. You touched the trunk of the car and it immediately started driving backwards, backing out of the parking spot it was in and rolled up to the boy.

“Wow, that’s so cool. How are you doing that?” He asked.

“That’s the not the trick.” You grinned, watching the car start to transform. You picked out a yellow car, seeing how he had Bumblebee in his hands. The car stood up and where the eyes would be, they glowed blue. The boy gasped, watching this car transform in front of his eyes.

“How are you doing this?” He asked.

“Magic.” You whispered with a smile. You let the boy have his moment with the transformer, using your knowledge from the movies to have a conversation with the boy. You made the transformer talked with your mind, feeding the machine answers.

Suddenly, you felt something sharp on your back, digging into your skin. You sucked in your breath, knowing what kind of weapon was at your back.

“Put the car away and come with us if you don’t want to make a scene.” A deep voice said. Hunters. Shit. You smiled at the boy and made the car return to its normal size, putting it back to the parking spot it was in.

“Go tell your friends what you saw.” You said with a smile, and the boy nodded, running away excitedly. A hand gripped your arm and pulled you along the parking lot, pulling you into an alleyway. Upon stepping in it, you transformed back into your true self, turning around. You locked eyes with two very attractive men.

Both of them held out stakes to you, ready to kill you in an instant.

“Let me guess, you’re here because of the teddy bear incident?” You asked, hoping they wouldn’t kill you. You would have our own plan if they did.

“Lucky guess, you’re smart but not smart enough.” The shorter one said.

“That wasn’t me. It was Gabriel. I told him hunters would come for me but I don’t hurt people, I made people better and cheer them up. You saw what I did for the kid.” You said, backing up a few paces.

“Why don’t we believe you sweetheart?” The shorter one said.

“Dean Winchester, I’ve been doing this for a very long time. Do you know how old I am? Not once has hunters come for me because I don’t hurt people. I cheer people up and erase the town’s minds before I leave so my cover isn’t blown. I’m know what I’m doing. I made it very clear to Gabriel what would happen if he did this to me again.” You said, crossing your arms.

“How do you know who we are?” Dean asked, not surprised by it. Everyone has heard of them by now, probably.

“I know my hunters. Sam, Dean, I’m not the one you want. Leave me be and I won’t kill you. It’s very easy.” You threatened.

“I thought you don’t hurt people.” Sam said, standing straight.

“I don’t, but if I am threatened, I do kill to protect me. I hope I made myself clear.” You said.

“Where is Gabriel now?” Dean asked.

“Away from me. I don’t want him near me. He is a child and an immature one at that. If Gabriel is the one you seek, you’re not going to find him here.”

“So, what are you? I thought there were only four Archangels.” Sam said, putting away his weapon. Dean, on the other hand, did not.

“Oh, I am not an Angel. I am the Trickster God. Magic happens because of me and Gabriel learned from me. I don’t want to see you or any other Hunter’s here again. Do I make myself clear?” You asked, takin a step forward.

“No, sorry, but this isn’t personal.” Dean said, lunging at you but you anticipated this with Dean. You grabbed his arm, effectively knocking out the stake. You turned his arm to his back, twisting it so that it was painful for him.

“Like I said, when I am threatened, I kill. I think it’s best for you and for your brother to stay away from me. Besides, it’s not me you have to worry about.” You said, pushing Dean to Sam who caught him. Both brothers looked at you in confusion.

“What?” Sam asked, Dean shaking out his arm to regain feeling.

“It’s the dragon behind you. If you want to catch me again, you have to come find me.” You said and snapped your fingers, a dangerous dragon appearing behind the brothers. Once it roared, the brothers turned around and started to fight it off. You used your powers to teleport yourself to the edge of the town.

You waved your hand in front of you as if you were going to cover the city with something if you were big enough. You grinned, knowing that the people in the town wouldn’t remember you. But Sam and Dean would, you made sure of it.

You liked to play games. Cat and Mouse was your favorite.

The Queens:

@maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @roxyspearing @supercalifragilistic26 @mishamigose @cobrakai1967 @essie1876 @wishedworld @crispychrissy @laqueus-ludovicus @nostalgic-uncertainty @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @potterhead1265 @starswirlblitz @untitled39887 @ta-n-ja @deans-fallen-angel-boy @scarletluvscas @notnaturalanahi @tahbehonest @stay-in--place @innernightwerewolf @dreaminofdean @posiemax @donnaintx @mikey1822 @alexandriajanae4 @li-ssu @just-another-winchester @obsessivecompulsivespn @emoryhemsworth

[call-me-rei]

Chapter 1

My name is Vic Fuentes. I’m your regular, mild-mannered seventeen year old Mexican boy. I’m a good kid. I have a perfect record, volunteer at an animal shelter on weekends, don’t drink or smoke, have an all-A average in school, play soccer and guitar, and try to set the best example I can for my younger brother.

Yup, I’m every parent’s dream child.

I have a great group of friends who I love dearly, and go to a great school where I’m not the most popular person, but I’m not the nerd who gets beat up. My life is pretty sweet.

“C’mon Vic, we’re gonna be late,” my younger brother, Mike, yelled from downstairs. I was stuffing my books in my backpack in my room. Since he was yelling from downstairs chances were that he had scarfed down breakfast in record time and was eager to get on with the next thing, which was the walk to school.

School wasn’t Mike’s favorite thing in the world (is it anyone’s?), but he enjoyed the walk. We always passed the house of a certain girl, Alysha Nett. Mike had such a crush on her. Every time we passed he would hope that we’d bump into her. We never did.

“Calm down bro, I’m ready,” I answered as I walked down the steps.

He tapped his foot in annoyance. “If I miss Alysha walking out again I’m gonna be so mad,” he said. He just wanted to catch her once so he would have an excuse to talk to her. He figured she left for school earlier than us so he would try to leave earlier than we usually would. Unfortunately my body still didn’t agree with getting up so early.

I checked the time on my phone. “Dude, we’re still fifteen minutes ahead of our usual schedule,” I said.

“Well time’s winding down. Let’s go.” He pushed past me toward the door and walked outside. I shook my head and followed him out, locking the door behind me.

“I don’t get what your obsession with Alysha is,” I began as we walked down the street. “You’ve never even spoken to her. You don’t even know what her voice sounds like.”

“It sounds like angels singing,” he responded dreamily. “And her skin is soft and her hair smells like peaches.”

“And you know all this how?”

He shrugged. “You can just tell these things about a person. It’s not that hard to figure out.”

I shook my head. My brother had always been girl crazy, so his recent obsession with Alysha wasn’t much of a surprise. What was a surprise was the fact that this crush had lasted longer than usual. The last few crushes he had lasted at most a couple weeks before he found someone more interesting. This Alysha thing had been going on for a month with no signs of slowing down. Maybe it was because she was a new student who hadn’t seemed to click with a group at school. Maybe he actually deemed her worthy of his undivided attention. Who knows.

“You know, you need to find someone,” he said.

“Why do you always bring this up?” I asked in vague annoyance. “I like being single. Besides, being in a relationship would distract me from college applications.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re just afraid that you’ll fall for someone and it’ll end badly again.”

He was referring to my last crush. Nothing too terrible happened; I just told them that I liked them and it wasn’t reciprocated. Worst part was that they led me on up until their graduation last spring. I haven’t heard from them since.

“I’m not afraid,” I mumbled. Mike just shot me a smug look. He knew he was right, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me say it.

Mike began to slow down suddenly, as if he were being reluctantly dragged down the sidewalk. I sighed; I knew the reason why. We were about to pass Alysha’s house. He didn’t want to miss the moment Alysha stepped out and graced Mike’s world with her presence.

Unfortunately she didn’t come out.

“Mike,” I said when I noticed that he had completely stopped about a foot away from her house.

“Just five minutes, please?” he begged.

“C’mon Mikey, let’s go.” I walked back to where my brother was standing and put a hand on his back to guide him forward.

“But Vic,” he whined.

“You know we can’t stand here like some stalkers. The neighbors would call the cops.”

He sighed. “Yeah.” He slowly dragged his feet forward, seeing as there was no longer a reason for him to move quickly.

“You’ll catch her one day,” I said, “and when you do, you’ll never let go.”

***

The day went by quickly, with Mike texting me about how pretty Alysha looked today (I barely knew the girl so it made me a little uncomfortable). By the end of the day I knew that Mike had pretty much been staring at her in his classes (they had every class together today), and hadn’t listened to anything any of his teachers had said.

I shut my locker and flung my backpack over my shoulder. The school day was done but I had soccer practice today. I usually love going to soccer but after waking up early to catch a girl who never showed up and hearing about it all day, I was exhausted. I just wanted to go home, crawl into bed, and sleep until tomorrow.

“Vic!” I turned in the direction of the voice. It was my friend Jaime.

“What’s up, Hime Time?”

“Not much,” he said with a shrug. “We’re going out in a bit, probably to the mall for some junk food and babe watching. You in?”

I shook my head. “I’ve got soccer, then homework, and definitely a nap.”

“Dude, all you ever do is homework, soccer, and play with dogs-”

“Volunteer,” I corrected.

“Whatever. My point is that you need to get out more. Do something fun.”

“I do a lot of fun things,” I countered.

“Fucking lies!” Jaime and I looked toward the source of the voice, our friend Curtis. I rolled my eyes at his outburst but smiled.

“You don’t know my life,” I said.

“’Course I do,” he said nonchalantly. “I don’t know why you act like we aren’t close or something.”

Curtis had a point. He and I had been friends since birth. Literally. Our mothers were pregnant at around the same time, not to mention we’d lived next door to each other since then. We’d always gone to the same school and participated in the same activities. We were practically brothers. It wasn’t uncommon for us to spend days at each other’s houses, or go to school from one house and go home to another. We were lifelong partners in crime.

“Whatever,” I said with a dismissive wave.

“No, but seriously,” Jaime said, “you need to get a life. You can’t always spend your time doing things for your resume. Get out of your comfort zone.”

I shrugged. I guess I needed to get out more, do something different. But on the other hand, why? I had everything I needed within my “comfort zone”. Why fix what isn’t broken?

“I’ll see you guys later,” I said with an uncomfortable chuckle.

Curtis sighed. “Sure dude. You coming over after?”

“Probably not. I’ve got a paper to write.” He shrugged but let it go. With a wave he and Jaime walked toward the school’s exit, leaving me to ponder what they had said.

Was I really boring?

***

“I wouldn’t say boring, but you do need to spice up your life. Do something out of the ordinary.”

I rolled my eyes at Mike’s response. I was home from practice and sitting in the chair in Mike’s room.

“It doesn’t have to be big,” he continued, “just something that you wouldn’t do.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“I don’t know, talk to someone you wouldn’t normally talk to.”

“You’re one to talk,” I said with a smirk.

He frowned. “If I talk to her at school it’ll mess up the plan. I have to talk to her randomly. It’s the plan.”

I rolled my eyes again. Mike’s “plan” didn’t make much sense. According to him, the first time he would talk to Alysha had to be when we bumped into her on our walk to school. Apparently it had something to do with romantic comedies that girls like watching or something like that. I never understood, but Mike was certain that this plan would work out. So far in the last month it hasn’t but Mike’s optimistic enough for the both of us.

“Who am I even supposed to talk to?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Make a new friend; someone who likes the same stuff you do.”

“I already have friends who like the same stuff I do.”

“Well make a brand new friend who likes the same stuff you do.”

“How?”

“The internet’s full of people.”

I looked at him with wide eyes. “You want me to talk to strangers on the internet?”

“Yeah…” I could tell he thought I was stupid, but our parents weren’t exactly fans of us talking to random people. You know, what with stranger danger and all that.

“I don’t know…,” I trailed off.

“Just do it,” he said sternly. “What’s the worst that could happen? As long as you don’t give these weirdos our address you’ll be fine.”

I thought it over. Could it really be that simple? Most likely no, what with IP addresses and weirdos around every corner who knew how to use them.

“Please, Vic,” he pleaded. “I’d hate for you to go to college and be thrown in a trashcan because you had no friends to bail you out because you didn’t know how to make them.”

I gave him a look. Although I doubted that I would be tossed in a trashcan by anyone, I could see that this meant a lot to him.

“Fine,” I sighed, “I’ll make friends with a stranger on the internet.”

He smiled widely but I didn’t catch what he said. I quickly made my way out of his room and into mine to avoid talking about the matter any further.

Was it really that simple, making new friends online? How was I to be sure that they weren’t creepy forty-year-olds looking for young kids?

I sighed. No need to be pessimistic, Vic.

I opened the Twitter app on my phone and began scrolling, hoping to distract my mind. I saw that one of my favorite bands had tweeted, which caused me to stop. Usually the individual members of the band tweeted on their own accounts and the band account hardly was used, except to announce new music or shows, or a member’s birthday.

The tweet was about an online community they had formed on Facebook. Apparently it was a closed group where fans could talk to each other about the band, food, personal problems, whatever, as long as there was no hate involved.

I was intrigued. This wasn’t something I would normally do, but it was exactly what Mike thought I should do. It was his idea to connect with someone who shared the same interests. Well, this band was one of my interests.

I clicked the link which opened the Facebook app. I requested to join the group and was send a two question quiz. After answering the questions with ease (I just had to complete the titles of the band’s two albums), I was allowed into the group. I saw that there were already some posts on the timeline.

It didn’t take me long to find the standard “introduce yourself in the comments” post, so that’s what I did:

“Hi, my name’s Vic. I’m 17 from San Diego and am semi-being forced into this group by my brother and friends because apparently I’m boring and need to make friends with strangers.”

That should make me some friends, right?

That didn’t matter. It was late and I was exhausted. Between having to wake up earlier because of Mike, school, soccer practice, that paper that I had started as soon as I got home, and the worry in the back of my mind that I was the most boring person in the world, I was in desperate need of some sleep. I plugged my phone in, turned off my light, and crawled into bed.

That night I wished for peaceful, dreamless sleep, and for at least one person to find me the least bit interesting.

---

Hi guys! Hope you enjoyed the first full chapter of Pen Pal. Leave some comments and give it a like. Ok loves, bai

[prettyblossoms]

Lost in Limbo (A Reddie Fic) Ch.3

Summary: Dealing with the pressure of being a teenager is proving to be too much for seventeen-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak, who is unable to deal with his overbearing mother's expectations and violent school bullies. To make matters worse, he is fighting a losing battle with his sexuality.

Meanwhile, Richie Tozier is trying to convince himself that what he feels towards his best friend is a mere attraction, covering it up by being with multiple girls.

Will they be able to find the truth in each other or are they destined to crash and burn?

                                    Chapter 3: Coming Undone

By the time his third-period class had come and gone, Eddie regained most of his composure. He accepted what happened with his mother and was ready for his punishment the millisecond he got into the house.

He had shaken off the of the majority of Richie’s jokes. However, he still felt Richie’s hand on his thigh and heard the unnerving voice of the leper. Even though it had been years since the fight with Pennywise, he still was haunted by nightmares.

In many of these dreams, he would die. Even if it wasn't real, he still felt the excruciating pain surge through his body as It ripped his limbs off his body. His pleas and cries for help always ended up going unheard. Eddie would wake up in a state of panic. He could recall how his heart raced so rapidly in his chest that it hurt. It hurt so bad that he began to struggle to breathe.

In other instances, he had mustered up the courage to tell his friends the truth about his battle with his sexuality and the leper. Earning him only gasps, slurs, and vile insults they each spoke as they all stood in the shadows of the sewer. The only person he could see in this dream was Richie, but that was more than enough to completely kill him. The look of disgust, anger, and hatred in his eyes cut him more in-depth than any physical pain he could ever feel. He would wake up sobbing so loudly that he had to bite his bottom lip to muffle the noise. The amount of emotional distress the dreams caused made him wish he would just suffocate and die. At least that would be better than losing the only people worth living for.

He was forced back to reality when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He jumped at the touch and looked behind him to see Ms. Lewis. Her black unruly hair was in an array of curls that stuck tightly to her head. She was staring at Eddie, her sparkling baby blue eyes filled with concern. She wore a long floral dress that completely covered her feet paired with cardigan wrapped around her body.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Eddie.” She carefully spoke as if she was dealing with a wounded animal. “The bell for lunch rang 10 minutes ago, and you’ve been just sitting here staring at the whiteboard."

Eddie exhaled slowly, not knowing what to say. He knew he looked like a deer caught in headlights, so he avoided her stare.

Ms. Lewis didn't falter as she continued, "You also didn’t get involved with the class discussion on Lords of the Flies, which is completely unlike you. Are you okay?”

Eventually, Eddie’s tired eyes met hers, and he wanted to shatter to pieces. She was understanding, smart, and attentive. Like any reasonable person should be. He wished his mother could be like her. Hell, he wanted Ms. Lewis to be his mother because he was on the verge of falling apart. He needed someone to listen to him without judgment. The weight of the world suffocating him was becoming too much to bare.

But, his mother was far from being someone like Ms. Lewis. If he happened to break around her, she would want to put him in the hospital. Which would fuel her fire to start getting Eddie new medications, ones that he doesn’t need. Worst of all, she would never let him out of the house again. Not without a hell of a fight.

Unfortunately, Ms. Lewis was not his mother. Even though he felt comfortable, safe, and unjudged around her, he knew that she was obligated to let the school know whatever he may say. In turn, they would notify his mother.

Eddie sighed deeply and continued to look into her eyes as he lied, “I’m sorry Ms. Lewis, I'm just drained. I stayed up studying for an upcoming exam.” He inwardly thought, ‘Please don’t ask me what subject. For the love of God, please don’t ask me what subject.’

Ms. Lewis stared at him skeptically but let her suspicions go. She smiled at him, “I am sure the exam is important. Just remember to take care of yourself. Okay, Eddie? Now go on, hurry and go get lunch.”

He smiled back at her meekly as he stood up and grabbed his stuff. “I understand. It won't happen again. Thank you, Ms. Lewis.”

Bev, Mike, Bill, Stan, and Ben all sat at their usual table. Their current discussion was focusing on what they wanted to do for the upcoming weekend. Bill had suggested going to see The Sandlot at the Aladdin to which Stan and Bev agreed. Bill and Stan wanted to see it because not only was it a comedy, but it was also a story about friendship. Bev just loved going to the movies.

However, Ben and Mike wanted to have a camping night at the barrens. It had been a couple of months since they had the chance to stargaze and they knew the weather would be perfect this weekend. It also just happened that Eddie’s mom would be out of town this Friday and wouldn't be returning until Monday. His mom leaving and letting him stay home was a pretty rare occurrence. The time was right, and they felt this was the better option.

Since they couldn’t come to a consensus, they all agreed to wait for Richie and Eddie to decide.

Beverly took a bite from her juicy green apple causing a loud crunch at the table, listening to the chatter as she silently chewed the food in her mouth. The redhead looked up to see the doors of the cafeteria opening, immediately noticing that Richie was heading over to the table with his “girlfriend” in tow under his arm.

She groaned loudly, breaking the boy's attention away from their conversation. Whenever Richie’s girlfriend came around, she just couldn’t help but feel irritable.

Beverly just couldn’t shake the feeling that this girl was toxic to them, especially Richie.

Everyone at the table looked at her out of concern and were about to ask her if she was alright, but they too noticed the couple coming towards the table.

They all sighed and prepared for another lunch filled with awkward laughs and stares.

None of them even had to exchange words to know not to mention their ideas for the weekend because she was the type of person who just invited herself.

“Fellow losers, I require your utmost attention.” Richie said using one of his British voices, “King Tozier has arrived.” He plopped down in his usual spot, besides Beverly and patted her back.

The joke earned a laugh from all of his friends.

Samantha, feeling left out, replicated one of his voices as she spoke, “Along with his queen.” She took the seat right beside Richie, which is where Eddie usually sat. Then she placed her large bag on the only space remaining on the bench.

Richie didn’t notice; his eyes were glued onto his pepperoni pizza. He could hear Samantha speaking to him, but his thoughts about Eddie were drowning out her words. He merely nodded his head every couple of minutes to make it look as if he was listening.

Beverly and Stan both rolled their eyes in annoyance. Stan scooched closer to Bill, who was forced into Mike.

Stan hated this girl.

More importantly, he hated that Richie was usually oblivious to the fact that he was putting his friends on the back burner. Mainly, to poor Eddie.

However, today seemed different. Stan noticed that Richie’s whole demeanor towards her had changed. Usually, they would be obnoxiously swapping spit, unable to keep their hands off of each other by now. Yet, Richie was not even looking at her. He was staring more lovingly at his fucking pizza than Samantha.

Stan wasn't going to mention it though. At least, not right now. He grabbed an anti-bacterial wipe from his lunch box and wiped the table and the seat down for his hypochondriac friend. Even though he was closer to Bill, he understood Eddie the most.

Although they were very different, they both had very similar qualities. Stans extreme OCD caused him to be very careful and methodical with how he did things. Everything he owned had a rightful place, the contents of lunch box being a prime example.

Everything inside had to be separated so it would not come into contact with his other food. The bottom of the pail had to have the container with his sandwich. Above the container was home to his fruits. Finally, the top portion of the lunch pail holding his vegetables. If anything inside were to fall out of place, he couldn't help but feel compelled to fix it.

Just like Eddie couldn't help the urge to clean everything out of his irrational fear of germs. The kid couldn't stand to be around anyone who showed the smallest symptoms of an illness. He couldn't use public bathrooms because of the possibilities of who used them. He carried his hand sanitizer in his fanny pack, bringing it out at least five times a day. For Christ sake, he couldn't even spend the night at his friend's houses without bringing his antibacterial soap.

Out of all the loser's club members, they both could empathize with each other on how much it sucked to not be in charge of their lives.

For that, Stan was thankful for having Eddie as his friend. So, he left the antibacterial wipes on the table, knowing all too well that Eddie would insist on wiping the surfaces down a second time.

Eddie inched closer in line, feeling like his skin was crawling. The cafeteria was jam-packed with people. Usually, he would rather die before eating the shit they call food, but he knew he wouldn't survive the day without something. He was going to take the risk, just this once.

The thought of how disgustingly dirty everything was caused him to feel very uneasy. He refused to touch anything and kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest. If anyone got too close to him, he would bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming at them. He reached the front of the line and was greeted with a massive set woman in her fifties wearing a hairnet on her head and a disgusting apron wrapped around her body.

Eddie wanted to throw up.

"What's your student ID number?" She asked him in an uninterested tone.

"1124599," Eddie responded nervously, his stomach began to cry at him in protest.

She typed it into her computer lazily. "What do you want?" Her voice held no enthusiasm.

"What do you have?"

Eddie watched as she rolled her eyes at him."Today we are serving pepperoni pizza or spaghetti."

Both of those options sounded equally as repulsive to Eddie. He began to think to himself, 'The pizza has probably been touched by the workers, while the spaghetti is hopefully scooped up onto the tray. The tray that is in contact with at least two dirty students per day, meaning that thousands have had the potential to use it. There had to multiple types of germs on the trays alone. Maybe they would let me wash my tray if I asked.'

The woman grunted. "Kid, your holding up the line. Pick one." She demanded.

Eddie felt defeated. "Spaghetti, I guess."

He watched in horror as she walked over to the window and grabbed a tray from the middle of a large stack. Then she grabbed an ice cream scooper off the metal table. Using the scoop, she got some spaghetti out of a deep pan. She smacked it onto the tray harshly and lifted the scooper back up, for Eddie to see the spaghetti remained completely intact. It looked sticky, disgusting, and days old. Finally, she opted for him to take the tray.

Eddie shakily grabbed onto it, feeling as if his fingers were going to burn off just from touching it. Upon walking out of the cafeteria, he at least felt less compacted, but dirty nonetheless.

The hypochondriac noticed that all of the Loser’s were sitting in their usual spot. He began to walk over to them, relieved that he was finally going to be able to relax and stop shaking. His pace slowed down when he saw they weren’t speaking to each other. A sign that there was something out of the ordinary going on. His eyes locked onto to Richie, whose gaze was downcast, staring at his empty tray. Usually, he would be talking so much that their friends had to beg him to shut up.

He looked to Richie’s right and found the reason why they were so quiet. Samantha was there talking about god knows what, in his seat.

[sofhyuck]

Dumb Dumb

Genre: bookstore!au, fluff, slight comedy

Summary: Mingyu is an awkward bean and doesn’t know when to stop until he’s found out.

Word Count: 2.1k

Edited: no

A/N huge thank you to @choco-seventeen for helping me proof read and edit this! This is lowkey based off of what I want to happen to me while working at the library but *sigh* there are never any cute guys there :/

Masterlist

     Your keys jingled in the lock of the store. It was too damn early in the morning for this, but bills weren’t made to pay themselves. Finally, the key twisted in the lock and pushed through the door, switching the closed sign to open. With a heavy sigh you dropped your bag behind the counter and began to sort through the new shipment that arrived the previous night.

     A gasp left your lips once your eyes settled upon the latest issue of your favorite manga. Placing it in a new pile, you decided you’d save it for later as you still had a lot more sorting to do.

     Right as you placed the final book on the shelf, the sound of an opening door broke the silence. You rushed to the store’s front and sat behind the counter to greet the customer.

     “Good morning! Is there anything I can help you with?” You greeted before looking at the man before you, a slight flush crossing your face as you saw the Adonis that stood in front of you. His brown hair was swept lazily to the side and his hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his black pants. You cleared your head to focus on the job at hand.

     “Um, yea, do you know where the Tokyo Ghoul books are located?”

     “Yes, they’re right over there,” you pointed to your right, “We just got the latest issue in today actually! Which issue are you looking for?”

     “Oh, well…” “Have you gotten to the part where Kaneki is taken,” you cut yourself off there, not wanting to spoil the plot point if he hadn’t reached it yet.

     “Actually, I think I’ll just take the latest issue, if that’s okay.”

     “Oh yea, totally.”

     His curt reply caught you slightly off guard as he slipped to the back of the store, leaving you to fiddle with the cash register. The silence was stifling as you tried to brainstorm the right thing to say.

     “So what first got you interested in Tokyo Ghoul?” You mentally kicked yourself for the lame excuse of a conversation starter, your brainstorm session quickly ending out of desperation to talk with him.

     “Oh, well, I just kind of picked it up one day.”

     “That’s cool! What has been your favorite part so far?”

     “Um…I really can’t decide, I like it all so much.” He shrugged while placing the book on the counter.

     “Will that be all?”

     “Yes, thank you so much!”

     “We’ll be getting a new shipment of a variety of manga next week if you want to come check them out?”

     “Cool! I’ll see you then!” The door fell heavy behind him as you let out a heavy breath. Well, you definitely just screwed yourself over with that one.

     It had been nearly two weeks and there was still no sign of the handsome Tokyo Ghoul fan. At this point you had practically given up all hope, although there wasn’t much to begin with. Even so there was still a small wishful glimmer that he may one day walk through your doors again. Each time the door opened you couldn’t help but look up at the off chance it might be him.

     You were finishing up some paperwork when the door opened. You glanced up only to see a man in his mid-thirties scanning the store until his eyes landed on you. His previously expressionless face turned into one of disgust.

     “What’s a girl like you doing working in a comic book shop?” He snorted in disapproval.

     “Well, I needed a job and I like comic books, so when I saw this place was hiring—”

     “You like comic books,” he cut you off with a laugh, “What would a girl even know about quality books? You probably just sit around reading your ‘senpai’ manga.” You clenched your fists in anger at his accusations. This wasn’t the first time some old, entitled man who probably still lived with his mother tried to “put you in your place”. Every time you became more and more aggravated.

     “Actually, I don’t mind reading what you might call ‘senpai’ manga, but I’m also interested in other series such as Black Butler, and Tokyo Ghoul, and—”

     “Oh yea? Well if you’re such a big fan then what happened in issue three of Black Butler page 36 panel 4?”

     “Excuse me?” You said with a laugh, “Wow, you really must have nothing to do if you know that.” His face turned red in anger and his jaw clenched.

     “What kind of customer service is this? I did not come here to be ridiculed by some little girl!”

     “I’m sorry sir but you are the one who came in here questioning my credibility.”

     “Listen here.” He marched towards you. You had many of these arguments before, but never had they escalated to this magnitude. Your heart began to race, not knowing what this man could do next. “I didn’t come in here for some dumb, little bitch who thinks they’re better than me—”

     “I’m sorry, is everything okay?” The front door opened to reveal your handsome knight in shining armor.

     “Yes, I was trying to explain to this lovely customer that old men aren’t the only ones allowed to read and enjoy comic books.” You sent a glare towards the old man, “In fact, he was just about to leave.”

     A heavy huff left the man as he sent you one final gift in the form of his middle finger. The door shut swiftly behind him restoring the store to its peaceful atmosphere. Remembering the other person standing in the store you turned to face him.

     “Sorry about that, was there anything I could help you with?”

     “Oh, yes actually. I was wondering if you have any suggestions of what to read. I’m not really the biggest comic book fan.”

     “Of course! You like Tokyo Ghoul so maybe something similar to that? How did you end up liking the latest issue? I was finally able to finish it the other day; it had quite the twist at the end, didn’t it?”

     “Well, um, funny story – “

     “I know! I started a new series last week and it’s kind of lie Tokyo Ghoul in a sense. Follow me, I can show you where it’s located.” You beckoned him to follow you before weaving through the maze of shelves. Although the store was relatively small, the owner managed to pack in shelves upon shelves, there were even some books stacked along the floor when shelf space ran out. You carefully edged around a pile of books only to hear a crash come from behind you. You turned to see the male previously following you bent over a mess of books.

     “I’m so sorry, I really tried to avoid them I’m just…notoriously clumsy. Just ask my friends they can back me up on this –“

     You cut him off with a small laugh.

     “That’s quite all right – you know, I never actually got your name.”

     “Ah, right, I’m Mingyu.”

     “And I’m y/n, it’s nice to officially meet you Mingyu. Don’t worry about those books, I can sort them out later.”

     “Are you sure, I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than I already     have.”

     “Really Mingyu, it’s fine.”

     You continued walking and he followed reluctantly behind. Stopping in front of the series you pulled the first issue off the shelf and handed it to him.

      “Here you go, this is the first issue but feel free to grab more! I’ll be at the front if you need anything.”

     It only took Mingyu a few minutes to follow you back to the cashier and make his purchase. You couldn’t help but wonder if a friendship would be able to bloom between the two of you.

     Over the next few months Mingyu would stop by the store; sometimes to buy the latest issue, sometimes just to talk. It was all quite surreal for you, having such a handsome man become one of your closest friends. Every day you waited for him to walk through the door to tell you a funny anecdote about one of his friends or gush on about the latest manga he was reading. Your friendship seemed too good to last so you figured you should make the most out of it while you could.

     It was another boring day, most people too busy enjoying the sunny weather outside to come into your poorly air conditioned store. Just before you thought you were sure to die from boredom, Mingyu walked in, another equally attractive male following behind him. A wide smile spread across your face and he easily mirrored your expression.

     “Hey y/n! This is Wonwoo.”

     “Ah, you were wrong Mingyu, he doesn’t look that scary at all!”

     “Yah! What have you been saying about me Mingyu?” Wonwoo declared while smacking the back of Mingyu’s head. You just sat back and laughed, knowing that the bickering was all in good fun. After swatting away his friend’s hand Mingyu turned to you with a pout.

     “That was supposed to stay between the two of us y/n!”

     You could only laugh at his playful façade as Wonwoo looked between the two of you, clearly amused. He finally decided to speak up and put an end to the painfully obvious flirting.

     “You know it’s nice to finally meet you, Mingyu talks about you a lot. I still can’t believe you got him to start reading Tokyo Ghoul, I’d been begging him for months but he always refused.”

     Gears started to turn in your head as you slowly faced Mingyu. He stood stock still, simulating a deer caught in headlights. Completely unaware of the flood gates he had opened, Wonwoo merely closed his mouth and watched on in silence.

     “Well that doesn’t make sense,” you finally whispered, “Mingyu had already been reading Tokyo Ghoul when he first came in. He even bought the most recent issue; we had a whole conversation about it!”

     “Actually,” Mingyu cleared his throat, “most of that conversation was held by you, not that I minded!”

     “Mingyu, this wouldn’t happen to be the issue you bought for my birthday?” Wonwoo finally interjected.

     A heavy sigh left Mingyu as he realized the truth would have to come out now. His face began to heat up at the extreme embarrassment he was about to encounter. However, before he could speak up, you cut him off.

     “Mingyu, did you, did you lie about reading Tokyo Ghoul just so you could talk to me?”

     His head shout up immediately at your sudden, but nonetheless accurate, accusation as his face turned an even deeper shade of red. You stared on in amazement as he slowly shook his head, signifying a “yes”. Wonwoo’s laughter broke the silence, both you and Mingyu turnig to stare at him incredulously.

     “Oh man this is fucking great,” he breathed through fits of laughter, “I’m just going to go browse some of the shelves in the far back while you guys fix this mess up.” Wiping a few tears away, he walked as deep into the store as he could, leaving the two of you in a once again awkward silence. The electrical sound of fans whirring overhead and Wonwoo’s occasional shuffling were the only sounds to be heard in the store. Mingyu finally decided to bite the bullet and spoke up.

      “Listen, y/n, I know this as all really…weird, and you might be feeling slightly uncomfortable right now, but it’s true. When I first came into this store, I had no idea what Tokyo Ghoul was, I had merely come in to buy an issue for Wonwoo. But then I saw you sitting at the front desk and you started rambling on and on about the series and you just looked so cute I didn’t have the heart to tell you I had never even read the series and – “

     You cute him off with a soft laugh, “Mingyu, it’s more than ok. Honestly, I find this all quite flattering. Although that was a strange way to make friends, it was worth it, wasn’t it?”

      A broad smile spread across his face as he realized you weren’t about to throw him out of your store.

     “So, would it be too much to ask you on a date?”

     Your eyes widened at his sudden confession and his heart skipped a beat at the thought of rejection. Thankfully, your expression settle into one of happiness as you slowly shook your head yes. Wonwoo emerged from the shelves just as the two of you were exchanging phone numbers to plan your first of many dates. He merely rolled his eyes and placed a stack of books on your desk.

     “If you two are done here, I’d like to buy these please.”

     “Ok, you were right Mingyu, he is a little scary.”

[papermoonloveslucy]

LUCY AND ANN-MARGRET

S2;E20 ~ February 2, 1970

Directed by Herbert Kenwith ~ Choreography by Jack Baker ~ Written by Milt Josefsberg and Ray Singer

Synopsis

A chance meeting with Ann-Margret leads to songwriter Craig performing with her on television.

Regular Cast

Lucille Ball (Lucy Carter), Lucie Arnaz (Kim Carter), Desi Arnaz Jr. (Craig Carter), Gale Gordon (Harrison Otis Carter)

Guest Cast

Ann-Margret (Herself) is one of Hollywood's most enduring sex symbols, singers, and actors. She made her screen debut in 1961's A Pocketful of Miracles and followed up with the critically acclaimed film musicals State Fair and Bye Bye Birdie. After this episode of “Here's Lucy” she was nominated for Oscars for Carnal Knowledge (1971) and Tommy (1975). In February 1969, she appeared on “The Jack Benny Birthday Special”, which also featured Lucille Ball, although the two did not share  screen time. At the end of 1969, Lucille Ball guested on her special “From Hollywood With Love.”  In 2010, Ann-Margret won her first Emmy Award for her guest appearance on “Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.” 

John O'Neill (Walter, Ann-Margret's Pianist)

Although billed as ‘Walter’ in the final credits, Ann-Margret calls him ‘Wally’ in the dialogue.

Gary Morton (Voice Introducing Ann-Margret) was a comedian who worked the famed ‘Borscht Belt’ in the Catskills Mountains. He met Lucille Ball shortly after her divorce from Desi Arnaz and they married in November 1961. At her request, Morton gave up his nightclub career and became a producer of “The Lucy Show.” Morton also served as a warm-up comic for the show’s studio audience. He played the Emcee in “Lucy and the Andrews Sisters” (S2;E6) and will make two more on-camera appearances on “Here’s Lucy.” Morton passed away in 1999.

Throughout the episode, Morton’s loud guffaw can be heard on the soundtrack. 

Ann-Margret's back-up dancers (3 men and 3 women) perform uncredited.

The much anticipated episode was the subject of a TV Guide "Close Up”. It mentions that the singer was repaying Ball for appearing on her earlier special...

“Ann-Margret: From Hollywood With Love” in December 1969. In it, Ball played herself and an autograph hound named ‘Celebrity Lu’ (above). 

The date this episode first aired (February 2, 1970) the 27th Annual Golden Globe Awards was held. Lucille Ball was nominated for Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy Series, but lost to a tie between Carol Burnett and Julie Sommars in “The Governor and J.J.” John Wayne also won for True Grit. Both Burnett and Wayne were guest stars of Lucille Ball’s on her sitcoms. Joan Crawford (who guest-starred on “The Lucy Show”) received a life-time achievement award. 

Two days later, on February 4, 1970, Lucie and Desi Jr. appeared with their father on NBC’s “Kraft Music Hall”. Vivian Vance and Bernadette Peters were also part of the cast. Desi Sr. performed "Babalu" and "Cuban Pete" and teamed with his children on "The Straw Hat Song”.  Lucille Ball does not appear. 

In the DVD introduction to the episode, Desi Arnaz Jr. says that he had a crush on Ann-Margret since he was ten years old.  At the beginning of the episode, Kim says her brother is “barely seventeen.”  This was true for Desi Jr. when the show was being filmed, but he celebrated his 17th birthday two weeks before the show first aired. 

Lucy Carter describes her aspirations for her children:

KIM: “Mom wants me to be a wife and a mother.” LUCY: “Yes. And in that order.”

Lucy wants Craig to be a doctor, while he wants to be a songwriter. 

LUCY: “We’ll compromise. You’ll be the only songwriter in the world to make house calls.” 

In the early part of the 20th century, physicians often visited the home to treat patients, a practice that is virtually unheard of in most parts of the country today. 

The ad soliciting new songs Craig finds in the newspaper gives an address of 718 North Gower. In reality, this is the address of Paramount Studios (formerly Desilu) where the show was filmed.

Lucy hopes Craig becomes as famous as Simon & Carbunkle. Kim corrects her: Simon & Garfunkle. In 1970 Paul Simon and Art Garfunkle released the album “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Lucy later says Craig sings as well as Engelbert Pumpernickle. Craig corrects her: Engelbert Humperdinck. In a previous episode, Lucy pronounced the English pop singer's name “Englebert Dumperhinck.” Lucy is turning into a regular Mrs. Malaprop!  

Craig calls himself “this generation's Cole Porter.”  Cole Porter (1891-1964) was a songwriter who wrote both lyrics and music. He was responsible for the score of DuBarry Was A Lady, a Broadway musical that was filmed in 1943 with Lucille Ball. The show included the Cole Porter song “Friendship,” which Lucy Ricardo later sang with Ethel Mertz in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3, above).  

When Craig needs $100 for his song to be published, he wants to ask his Uncle Harry. 

LUCY: “Uncle Harry wouldn't have given Francis Scott Key $100 for 'The Star Spangled Banner.'”

“The Star Spangled Banner” is the national anthem of the United States. On September 14, 1814, Francis Scott Key (1779-1843) wrote a poem which was eventually set to music by John Stafford Smith. It was adopted as the anthem in 1931. 

Wally, Ann-Margret’s arranger, suggest she sing Craig’s song as a duet - perhaps with Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin. Frank Sinatra’s hit single from 1969 called “My Way” re-entered the charts in 1970, spending nearly a hundred weeks in the top forty. In 1970 singer Dean Martin, who was one of Lucille Ball’s favorite performers, was still producing new episodes of “The Dean Martin Show” (above) as well as starring in the feature film Airport. 

On her coffee table is a copy of the December 1966 issue of House & Garden Magazine. Ann-Margret obviously doesn’t have much time for reading! 

Lucy Carter seems to have no qualms about leaving her 16 year-old son alone in the apartment of a 28 year-old woman known to the world as a ‘the original sex kitten’!  Offstage, however, Lucille Ball was not quite as understanding when Desi Jr. took up with 23 year-old divorcee Patti Duke, whose onscreen reputation was considerably more wholesome. In tabloid press, Lucille Ball was quoted as saying “Leave My Son Alone...He’s Only 17″ and “Patti Duke Used My Son and Victimized Us”. 

When Ann-Margret is slipping into “something more comfortable” (an age old film and TV trope intimating seduction), Craig practices his dancing alone to the strains of “I'm in the Mood for Love” written by Jimmy McHugh in 1935. Ann-Margret covered the song in 1962 on her album “On the Way Up.” While Ann-Margret’s version of the song was on RCA Records and had lyrics, the LP Craig selects has the Capital Records label (the rainbow ring) and is instrumental only. Coincidentally, Guy Lombardo included the song on his 1958 release on Capitol Records, although the version heard is not that cover.  

While Ann-Margret is off changing, Craig has three wordless minutes on screen alone to imagine his evening with the noted sex symbol. Here, Desi Jr. does some very funny and charming silent acting depicting the nerves of a first romantic encounter. Until she breaks the spell by appearing in a chenille robe, fuzzy slippers, and curlers! 

Craig and Ann-Margret perform the song "Country Magic" which in reality was not by Craig or Desi Arnaz Jr. but by Steve March, the son of Mel Torme and adopted son of Arnaz family friend, Hal March. 

Steve March appeared onscreen as one of Craig's high school friends in “Lucy and the Bogie Affair” (S2;E13) and will appear in a future episode guest starring Sammy Davis Jr. When Craig referred to his friend Steve in past episodes, this is likely who he has in mind.  

The pink paisley Fender telecaster guitar Craig plays during his number with Ann-Margret belonged to Jimmy Burton (below), Elvis Presley's number one guitar player. 

Burton actually played the guitar solo on the soundtrack. 

Unusually, after leaving Craig with Ann-Margret, the Lucy character is not seen again until the final fade-out. Lucille Ball is off-screen for 10 minutes of her own 24-minute show!  

In December 1968, just as “Here’s Lucy” was starting, Lucille Ball and Ann-Margret shared the cover of Coronet Magazine. Lucy wrote about her teenagers while Ann-Margret modeled see-through fashions. 

Lucy Carter wants Craig to be a doctor, not a musician. On “I Love Lucy” Lucy Ricardo wanted Little Ricky (Keith Thibodeaux, above) to be a doctor, not a musician!  

When Ann-Margret changes into “something more comfortable” she comes out wearing the same blue chenille bathrobe that Lucy wore in “Lucy and Tennessee Ernie's Fun Farm” (S1;E23, left). It looks very similar to the one that Vivian Vance wore in 1952’s “Breaking the Lease” (ILL S1;E18, center) and other episodes. It is likely that it is the same robe from the Desilu wardrobe racks!  

FAST FORWARD!

A year later, Ann-Margret is mentioned as one of the wishes Craig would ask of a magic lamp in “Lucy and Aladdin’s Lamp” (S3;E21). Craig must have forgotten this lengthy encounter when he mentioned his wish. 

Both Lucille Ball and Ann-Margret were on hand for “America’s Tribute to Bob Hope” on January 2, 1988. 

In 2000, Lucie Arnaz and Steve March-Torme (author of “Country Magic”), both children of megastars, did a cabaret act together. This was March’s cabaret debut. As of this writing, two decades later, they are both still performing in cabaret - just not together. 

Memory Lapse! Lucy tells Ann-Margret that the last time Craig sang in public it was “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.” Actually, Craig sang in his school musical in “Lucy and Carol Burnett” (S1;E17, above), in “Lucy and Tennessee Ernie's Fun Farm” (S1;E23), as Bing Crosby in “Lucy and the Andrews Sisters” (S2;E6), and in “Lucy and the Generation Gap” (S2;E12) – all in front of audiences!  

Hey Lady! At the end of “Country Magic,” Lucy bursts from the wings and shouts to the studio audience “My son the songwriter!”  If this was one of Ann-Margret’s television specials (as was earlier mentioned), a random mother bragging about her son is not something you’d expect to see!

Can I Have a Drum Roll... Please? Oddly, there is absolutely no mention of Craig’s former musical obsession - the drums! A skilled percussionist in real life, there were many episodes in which played drums and even a couple that revolved around it. 

This episode is a terrific showcase for Desi Arnaz Jr. He does his best with the comedy, but really shines in the musical number, where his dancing is as his sharp as his musicianship. Ann-Margret seems to be enjoying herself and the episode is fun to watch, although not particularly funny.

[hollywritesinstardust]

Sister Sinner: Chapter One

Request: Do you do cross-overs? I was thinking Neal Caffery's younger sister works with the BAU, her brother, Mozzie, and Peter on a case, and ends up crushing on Derek Morgan.

A/N: As you can see... I might've gotten carried away with this. This is chapter 1/?; italics are flashbacks. Anon, please let me know what you think!

(Background information: La Cosa Nostra is the Italian mob. Richard Kuklinski, AKA "The Iceman," was a contract killer for the Gambino family of the La Cosa Nostra. The Russian mob, or the mafiya, are considered by the American government to be the most prominent threat of organized crime, which is partly why Keller wouldn't leave the country without the money from the auction in White Collar 1x12 "Bottlenecked." The "former employer" Y/N refers to is Vincent Adler.)

Fandom: White Collar/Criminal Minds crossover

Characters/Pairings: Derek Morgan x Reader; Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Eric Ruiz, Aaron Hotchner, Spencer Reid, David Rossi, Jennifer Jareau

Words: 2,400

Y/N - Your Name

            As a freelance CI, you got to spend much more time with Neal without having to sneak around. Although you weren’t exactly pleased with spending so much time with Peter at first, you’d warmed up to him over time and considered him a good friend. (You still preferred his wife.) Where the WCCD team was concerned – well, you were just glad that Diana and Cruz hadn’t been on Neal’s case way back when. They were kinda scary.

            The debriefing was pretty normal for a case of insurance fraud. You and Neal had found ways to communicate and distract each other from the boring overviews of things that were of really no interest whatsoever while the rest of the agents sat up straight and raised their hands to ask questions like good little students. Peter had made it against the rules to text during meetings, so you and Neal had started to write letters onto each other’s hands under the table. After that, he started making you sit on opposite sides.

            He had yet to pick up on that you were tapping out messages to each other in Morse code.

            Don’t look. Ruiz is in white-collar.

            Of course, your first impulse was to look, but con artistry taught you to rein those in. You carefully tapped your fingers on the table, just hard enough to be deliberate but light enough not to make a noticeable sound to the agents on either side of you.

            Does he look mad?

            It was a well-known fact that Ruiz was not part of the cheering section for the WCCD. In fact, he jeered even in team-building sports that you were forced to attend. He tried prying incriminating information out of you when you ran into each other in the cafeteria. He tried to bully Neal away from crime scenes. He was a decent agent, and knew how to get the job done, but he was not a nice person, and if it was fair to say that he was anti-Peter, then it was an understatement to say he was anti-Caffrey, no matter which Caffrey was in question.

            Neal caught your eye and raised an eyebrow. You tilted your head very slightly. With those two tiny gestures alone, he had asked you if you were asking a serious question and you had admitted that Ruiz practically always seemed mad.

            “Y/N,” Jones said your name suddenly, wry and a little amused. Oh. They hadn’t figured out the Morse code yet, but at least one person had seen you and your brother making eye contact.

            “I’m paying attention,” you said, giving Jones a winning smile and batting your eyelashes flirtatiously. “Neal said the painting’s a forgery, the provenances were proven to be forgeries, and now we just need to know who fenced the real one.”

            Jones chuckled. “You’re a dangerous woman sometimes, Miss Caffrey.”

            “You flatter me,” you responded with a smile.

            Neal chuckled, leaning back in his chair. He’d taught you most everything you knew, but the body language and the lines you used for flirting had been taught to you by Kate.

            The open conference room door was pushed open wider. You, along with everyone else in the room, turned your heads to see Ruiz.

            “Eric,” Peter greeted, holding a folder closed with the spine against his palm. “Looking particularly morally indignant today, I see. How can we help you?”

            Ruiz, grinding his teeth and glowering at Peter, crossed his arms and held his chin high, not taking the bait. “We have guests in my department. They’re experts from Quantico.” You and Neal both shared another look, and you beat out a rapid note to him with your fingers.

            So he’s saying he’s not an expert?

            Neal started to grin but caught himself, looking back up at Ruiz with a very serious and understanding face.

            “They want to borrow a Caffrey,” Ruiz finished, very intentionally not looking at you or your brother. Peter smiled secretly behind his hand. He did like that his CIs were known to consistently be the best.

            Neal pushed his chair out from the table in a move to stand up. “I’m getting more popular!” He declared pleasantly.

            “Not you,” Ruiz snapped shortly.

            Both of you turned to stare at the homicide investigator with wide eyes. You pointed at your own chest. Neal pointed at you, seconding the silent question. Neal was well-known for how well he performed undercover. When you went into the field, it was, more often than not, as an observational consultant or a distraction for Neal to get past a suspect. Because Neal was essentially an indentured servant while you had never been convicted, the bureau preferred to place him in the more dangerous situations. Using you made them more vulnerable to liability lawsuits. As such, Neal was the go-to for anything dangerous, and you were more commonly the criminal version of Diana.

            Still, you smiled delightedly, showing your best charismatic glee. “People are noticing I exist!”

            Peter came over to your chair, put a hand on your shoulder, and stated to Ruiz, “You don’t want her.”

            You looked up at him, wounded and a little insulted. The stinging feeling faded when you saw how concerned and guarded Peter was and you realized he was just worried about you. Nevertheless, he was interfering in your opportunity to do something interesting for once.

            “Why don’t you love me?” You demanded of him solemnly.

             Peter didn’t miss a beat. “My wife is superior to all other beings.”

            “Good answer,” Diana snickered.

            The camaraderie and easygoing comedy just annoyed Ruiz even further. “What do you want for me to borrow her, Burke?” Ruiz asked impatiently. “I could bring the Quantico guys up here, but they’ve already set up shop with a bulletin downstairs. I will if I have to. We need an informant and yours fits the bill. She’d be perfect if she wasn’t a criminal, but we can’t do better.”

            Your first thought wasn’t very polite, so you went with a second one. “It’s innocent until proven guilty, Eric,” you chided, using his first name because you knew it would press his buttons. “I’m an angel. If you look at me in the sunlight you can see a faint impression of my ethereal halo.”

            “Actually,” Peter said with a very innocent and amicable face. “Y/N isn’t obligated by any contract to work for me. Unlike Neal, she has the right to make that decision herself. If you want her to make a temporary position in violent crimes, all you can do is present the details to her and let her choose.”

            Ruiz looked incredibly upset that he couldn’t just get a leash to yank you around on from your supervising agent, but while Peter was the agent who supervised your consulting work, the FBI didn’t have leverage on you the way they did with a lot of their informants. Mozzie and Neal were always very, very meticulous about keeping your record clean, especially once Neal was officially on a wanted list.

            To rub it in, you stood up gracefully and folded your hands in front of you. “Let’s go,” you beamed at Ruiz. “I wanna meet the team from Quantico. Maybe I can ask them about the programs at the FBI Academy.”

            Ruiz snarled as he stepped aside to let you lead the way out. “You can’t join the FBI.”

            “Innocent until proven guilty,” you sang, winking at a grinning Diana on your way out.

            “You just wait,” Ruiz threatened. “You’ll slip up one day, Caffrey, and I’ll be waiting.”

            “Oh, my,” you said in hushed surprise. “Are you going to stalk me like Peter stalked Neal? This is exciting. I can lure you out to Paris when I’m actually in Brussels, and I can send you some champagne and a reminder to go home to your wife before your anniversary.”

            “Shut up and walk!”

            “I missed you,” you sniffed, your eyes tearing up. You blinked and let them roll partway down your face, falling onto Neal’s turtleneck and wetting his shoulder.

            “You have no idea,” he whispered back, taking you by the shoulders and holding you at arm’s length. He smiled with pride and affection. “You look so much older.” You blushed. You’d last seen him at seventeen, and now you were twenty-two.

            “You’re one to talk,” you said, prodding his cheek. “You look ten years older.”

            “Yeah, but I’m still pretty,” he charmingly said.

            “And modest,” you agreed dryly.

            Both of you stared at each other for another minute, hardly able to believe that after so long, you were finally back together. You were going to thank Moz next time you saw him, possibly with a bottle of wine worth hundreds of dollars, because nothing he had ever done for you had ever meant as much as this – as letting you be the first person to welcome Neal back into the real world beyond grey prison walls.

            “If you ever get arrested again,” you vowed emotionally, “I’m going to make you bleed.”

            You, like your brother, had all the skills to charm at least ninety percent of the people you met – you simply didn’t like people the way Neal did, and you generally kept to yourself. There were very few faces in the violent crimes division that you recognized, even including Ruiz.

            He took you to a conference room. It was the same layout as the WCCD, and had several floors’ worth of ceilings and floors caved in, you would then be in the same space as your team, yet again. This room was fuller than the one you’d just left, filled with a tall and lanky man in a sweater vest, a tall and dark-haired man who might as well have boss written on his forehead, a big and strong-looking black man, a slim and pretty blonde woman, and an older European man sitting down around the table. They all had guns in holsters at their waists, even the one that looked like he belonged in a university. Peter carried a gun, and you could shoot just as well as any agent, but Neal’s attitude towards weapons had made you wary around them.

            “Hotchner, I got just the kind of girl you asked for,” Ruiz announced, leaving the door wide open. You made yourself look far more comfortable than you felt – when you looked uneasy, people tended to treat you like you weren’t qualified for whatever it was you wanted. “Y/N Caffrey.”

            The teacher’s aid turned to you and looked over your face with intent curiosity. “Any relation to the art forger?”

            You waved with a smirk. “My brother was never convicted of any art forgeries.”

            The oldest man turned a smug look on the blond, who smiled at you apologetically and nervously, and he started chewing on his lip. The guy sitting next to him slugged his shoulder, laughing.

            “Reid’s mouth runs almost as fast as his brain,” he said to you, giving you the same sort of handsome smile your brother often flashed. Unlike with Neal, you could tell his was sincere. “SSA Derek Morgan. That’s Spencer Reid.”

            “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Caffrey,” the boss of the unit said, reaching over the table to shake your hand. “We’re sorry to pull you from your team.”

            “Don’t be. No insurance fraud is interesting unless Sterling Bosch is involved,” you answered jokingly, waving it off. It was no secret that insurance fraud was your least favorite crime to look into, despite having – allegedly! – had a hand in it before. “So, I’m dying to know what kind of criteria you listed to make this grunt think oh, I think she fits the role perfectly.”

            The old one raised his hand, then pointed to himself. “SSA David Rossi.” Rossi lowered his arm and looked at you seriously. “What do you know about La Cosa Nostra?”

            You frowned slightly and didn’t care if they saw. The last time anything had come up with organized crime, your brother had almost been killed, and you’d fought for your life against a hired muscleman. “The Italian mafia hasn’t had as threatening a presence in America since around the time the Patriot Act was put in place,” you summarized, just to prove you knew what you were talking about. “The Russians have been a more current threat – and trust me, I might know a guy who the Russians dislike, and they’re definitely scarier than the Italians.”

            “We’re not so sure about that,” the blonde woman put in with a grimace. “There have been several murders in the Harlem area that have key signs of enforcers carrying out the crimes.”

            “For various reasons, we believe that this is the work of a La Cosa Nostra family.” The boss nodded slightly to Reid, who perked up.

            “We have our suspicions about the Gambinos,” he said, tapping a pencil against his forefinger with a slight smile. “Although they’ve been generally more in the shadows since Richard Kuklinski’s arrest and subsequent conviction, they’ve left a distinct signature.”

            Derek nodded in corroboration.  “What we need is someone to get in with the Gambino’s Don. He’s a traditionalist – he won’t trust men without years of rapport we don’t have time to build. Without completely burning a real agent’s identity, we can’t offer out one of our own.”

            The boss met your eyes gravely. “I won’t lie to you, Miss Caffrey; this is dangerous. You’re under no obligation. Agent Ruiz brought you to us because he believes you can do the job. As the sister of a con artist, you must realize how hard it can be to pretend to be someone else, even under threat of death.”

            You smiled wryly. “Just the sister of a conman? Hypothetically, my brother and I were on our own for years. Try asking yourself how no one knew who I was until I told them.”

            “Ha!” Ruiz interrupted loudly, pointing at you. “You just confessed! I told you, Caffrey, you and your brother’s arrogance-“

            “Actually,” Derek intervened, raising an eyebrow at Ruiz skeptically, “She said hypothetically.”

            Smiling briefly at Derek, you continued to speak. “I understand danger, Agents. One of my brother’s former employers tried to have me killed to send a message. So.” You clapped your hands excitedly and broke into a smile, hoping that the butterflies in your stomach would dissipate sooner rather than later. “When do I start?”

[artificialqueens]

Kitty Boy 2 (Bianca x Adore)- Squeaky

AU where people are born with cat ears, which they lose when have sex. Those who no longer have animal features are differentiated by society as “adults”.

OR: The story of how Danny loses his ears.

Danny sometimes pretends to be a girl. He’s got a baby face and penchant for wearing skirts. With his hair up in pigtails and his soft ears, Danny easily passes as female on the streets of Azusa. It’s just easier that way. No one questions a seventeen year old girl, who’s still got her ears. Not the way they hiss and jeer at a ‘pussy boy.’

He feels disjointed from his body. Danny watches the cute boys at school, tail curling at the edges, but they never look back. One of his friends trips him down the stairs in front of his crush, and he turns into a red tomato. Fuck, he’s going to be a virgin forever, isn’t he?

It feels like there’s two version of him: there’s pathetic Danny, and there’s big voice Danny. That version is stronger and more powerful. So when he fails to get all the way on American Idol, it’s a huge blow to his already struggling self esteem.

After that, Danny spends too much time in the shower, trying to escape the world by singing songs to himself. Only there, away from everything, can he relax. But Danny can’t hide behind a tattered skirt or his shower forever. He still wants to share his voice with the world. He still wants to become something more than just another gay boy, who hasn’t lost his ears.

Danny smooths his black shirt as he waits for his number to be called. This time he’s older and…no, not wiser. Just a little less naive. He counts to ten and then pushes the door open.

“I remember you,” Paula Abdul says as he strides in. Danny’s tail curls around his jeans as he stands before the judges, sizing them up as they size him up. Simon Cowell bites his pen and stares straight at him. Shit.

Randy Jackson snaps his fingers: “Danny, wassup?”

“Nothing much,” he says even as his ears twitch. “Just trying to keep my nerves down.”

“What do you think happened last time?” Paula questions as she scribbles something down on her notepad.

“Uh, a lot. Bad song choice- one. And my nerves just…” Danny trails off as he widens his eyes and gesticulates wildly.

Him? Nervous? It’s more likely than you think.

Then he just throws his head back and sings ‘Proud Mary.’ His tail swings to the beat, and he feels every note. In his lungs. In the snap of his fingers. In the curl of his toes. It’s like Danny’s back in the shower, and all his anxiety is vanishing to the hot smoke.

Danny takes a final breath and waits for the judges to speak. His tail curls around his legs again as he comes down from the high.

“I can’t believe the voice that comes out of this body,” Paula says as Randy Jackson laughs. He flushes as he waits for Simon to say something, anything.

“You’ve got a very good voice, Danny.”

“Thank you very much, Simon.”

“You’re more confident, if that’s possible, this year.”

“I’m just trying to be myself more,” Danny explains. “Last year I was so not myself.”

Randy Jackson interrupts him: “But I thought it was a really good audition. One of the best I’ve seen all day. I was like, woah, what!”

“It’s just not expected to have that kinda voice to come out of you,” Paula repeats, and if Danny wasn’t beaming, he might have wondered what she meant by that. Unexpected because of his age? Or because he still had his ears? But then he realizes that’s three ‘yes’s, and he dosen’t care.

“I’m going to Hollywood, baby!” Danny screams, black shirt riding up, as he runs out the room with the golden ticket above his head. For once in his life, he’s not self conscious of his ears or his tail. He feels whole and ready to take on the world.

“This is what I needed,” Danny tells the camera with a wink as he waves his ticket. “A second chance.”

——-

So then why do they treat him like he’s some sort of comedy act?

The PR people tell him straight to his face “don’t lose your ears while you’re on the show.” That’s not a problem- there’s no boy in boot camp crawling up into his bunk. Still, their words sting a little. Is that his only appeal? He’s innocent like a Jonas Brother? Should also he start wearing a purity ring around his tail to appeal to middle America?

“This is bullshit,” Danny rants to his mother on the phone. 

“Just butch it up baby, so they don’t make fun of me.”

“But…I just want to be me!”

“So be yourself. Just…” his mother sighs. “Just try to have fun?”

“I’ll try,” he sighs and holds the phone to his chest, heart twisting.

Once more, Danny is a stranger inside his own skin. When he’s practicing his songs, he tugs on his ears. Simon, aside from his first audition, doesn’t take too kindly to him. He calls him ‘grotesque’ and ‘useless,’ and all that does wonders for Danny’s self-esteem.

When he’s eliminated, Danny is more relieved than heartbroken.

“Our next guest is one of the most popular contestants on this year’s American Idol,” Ellen Degeneres announces.

When Danny walks onto the stage of the Ellen show, his heart sinks as he sees himself on the TV monitors. Oh god, they dressed him up like a preacher’s daughter. His cat ears are sleek and perky on top of his fringe, and he’s got a white collared shirt like a pilgrim. They might as well just have written ‘Chasity Kink’ over his chest. 

“Hey, Danny.”

“Hey, Ellen,” he grins, tucking his fingertips under his jeans. His tail has curled itself around his ridiculous shirt, as if to hide him from the eyes of the crowd.

“I think you’re great, and I love your voice. What do you think went wrong on American Idol? And do you have any regrets?”

“I don’t have any r-” He cuts himself off with a laugh. “Yeah, I do. I regret my first song choice. I would have put more thought into it. The one that Simon called ‘grotesque.’ I mean I liked my other two…I was having fun with it…I was being myself?”

“That’s what I love about you. You’re yourself,” Ellen says empathetically, and Danny’s heart twists in his chest even as he nods.

His tail nervously twitches, but he keeps smiling as Ellen continues to call him “un-apologetically” himself. If only he was.

Danny’s relieved when Ellen asks him to sing. Only then does his tail relax. He sways to the sweet rhythm, closes his eyes, and tries to forget everything but the words and the melody.

——-

Angel Baby is his first escape. His ears are hidden beneath a thick, black wig. His tail is strapped to his padded thighs, tucked away just like his cock. He loves to make videos on Youtube pretending to be his “chola” persona. Then comes Violet Valentine for when he’s working the club scene. Valentine is sexy and free, in every way that Danny isn’t.

But Adore is his perfect escape.

He created her to leave Danny behind, and Adore lets him do just that. It’s not the same as the early days when he used to dress up as a girl because Adore is a queen not some little girl. She’s an illusion that everyone chooses to believe in. It’s less about gender or sexuality, although it’s that too, and more of a home. Yes, when Danny is Adore, he finally feels like he’s at ease inside himself.

So when he gets the call to be on Drag Race, Danny screams even louder than he did when he got the Hollywood ticket. Here’s the chance to show the world, really show them, who he is. Everything is a flurry of panic and heels and sparkles as he struggles to fill up a suitcase.

Before she knows it, Adore’s strutting into the workroom with a “I’m hooome”. She feels fishy and fresh in her green wig and tight, red dress.

“I’m so excited I could pee,” Adore giggles as she throws her coat over her shoulder and totters over to the one of the chairs. She’s not wearing any underwear, but she has her tail tucked away. Priorities.

Then there’s a commotion as Bendla “Terminally Delightful” Creme flutters in, Gia lands like fresh tilapia, and Laganja death drops. Adore’s known Laganja ever since she was in her first club, so to see her here? It’s nice to have a friend.

Then some other bitches arrive, whose names Adore can’t remember cause they leave five minutes later. The Rumail siren sounds, and she falls off her chair. Classic. Adore isn’t the queen of math, but she’s counts seven instead of fourteen queens.

More than anything though, she’s nervous for the first challenge. Adore ends up jumping off a platform looking like a crazy person. As she stumbles away and takes off her wig, Adore can hear audible gasps from the other girls. Oh right, she has ears.

“I still can’t believe you have them,” Laganja, of all the queens, remarks.

Adore flushes: “I’m not a prude, I’m just waiting for the right guy to show up, you know what I mean?”

“Aw, I think it’s sweet,” Bendela chimes in.

“Very purr-e. Get it…like pure?” Gia jokes and makes a clawing motion. No one laughs.

While Gia is stacked with a wardrobe of glam gowns, Adore has like…four gowns. Her tail wraps around her as she stares at all the glittering gowns that the other queens produce from their suitcases. Suddenly, her clothes from Azusa don’t seem as dazzling.

Laganja her, uh, “sister” wins the mini-challenge and gives her a box full of crap to work with. Adore may or may not have hot glued the fabric to her mannequin. Everyone’s ready, and Adore’s still trying to de-tatter her pile of tatters to form a dress. Basically, she’s a hot mess, minus the ‘hot’ part.

Somehow, Adore manages to escape the bottom two, and Kelly-What’s-Her-Face leaves. It’ll be a whole week until she sees the other seven queens.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she confesses to Laganja as they load up into the cars. The other girl just kinda squeezes her shoulder, and Adore’s heart sinks. So much for friends.

But Adore has more to worry about then Langaja’s betrayal. Like seven new queens. There’s Courtney Act AKA drop dead gorgeous with a voice to match Adore’s. Then there’s Miss.Pack-Your-Bags-Del-Rio.

She doesn’t like Bianca from the moment she meets her. Bianca’s quick and sharp tongued, while Adore’s tripping over her tongue like she’s still learning to read. Adore can sense competition, and this bitch is fierce. But she’s also…a bitch.

Adore takes off her wig for the first time in front of her, ears wiggling free, and Bianca gives the camera a look. How can she read Adore with nothing but her eyes alone? It makes Adore’s stomach twist into a small, insecure knot, and her tail twists with it.

When she’s alone in her hotel room, worrying about everything she could have done better, Adore remembers that look. Bianca’s twisting face haunts her as she tosses and turns.

So when Bendela asks “if there’s anyone on the other team that you just wouldn’t want to work with,” Adore’s honest as fuck.

“Probably Bianca. I feel like she’s just ‘competition, competition, competition.’”

Adore, tugging on the strands of her red wig, can sense the drama stirring as the other team comes back in. Speak of the devil and Bianca will appear.

“So…what were you saying?” Bianca asks as she perches, like a black crow, across from Adore. She can hear the whirr of the cameras eagerly zoom in on her face. Fuck, Adore’s done reality TV but never like this.

“They asked me who I wouldn’t work with, and I said you, Bianca.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t?”

“The energy I get from you is very competition-”

“Well, isn’t that what we’re here for?”

“I just feel like you have a really strong personality, and our personalities would clash, and if I was the team leader, you’d sell me up the river.”

“Oh, I…what’s your name again?” Bianca quips.

Even if she’s joking, Adore doesn’t laugh like the other girls. In every dark joke, there’s a glimmer of truth. Bianca doesn’t think Adore’s serious competition.

While the cameras and conversation drift away, Adore hasn’t forgotten.

Later that night, Danny dreams that Bianca’s pulling at his tail, hard. When he tries to get away, the queen just holds him down and forcibly strokes his ears, humiliating him in front of the hungry glint of the cameras.

Danny wakes up in a cold sweat, and he’s hot with arousal. He groans as he rolls in his hotel bed, trying to ignore his flushed cock. Finally, humiliated, he shoves his hand down into his boxers. Bianca’s harsh face melts away into Roy’s.

Fuck, what is this competition doing to me? Danny thinks as he bites his bottom lip. He pants and strokes himself, tail desperately curling around his thigh. It’s not enough. Danny hates how much his stomach twists with arousal as he imagines Roy holding him down, petting him, and whispering taunting words into his ear.

Danny bites his pillow as he cums. Pathetic. Why is he thirsting over this bitch? Maybe it’s like prison where people start to look more attractive than they are. Maybe.

——–

He feels trapped by the judges expectations. Usually, he’s free to be his punk rock self. Now, Danny has to worry about cinching up Adore for Visage and being glam for Ru Paul. The more they push, the more he wants to push back. It feels like he’s just came back from singing in front of Simon Cowell and been told that his song’s grotesque.

The last human being on earth he expects to come to his rescue is Roy.

“You’ve just got to breathe,” Roy whispers in the hallway, hand resting against Danny’s shoulder. He leans into his touch.

“Easy for you to say, you’ve got this competition on lock.”

“Do you want to borrow one of my corsets? Here, I’ll help you,” Roy says, and his whole body language has changed. He seems so human and real. It’s nothing like the competition-hungry beast in Danny’s head.

Danny nods, takes a deep breathe, and feels…ok.

Not perfect but ok.

True to his word, Roy helps him with his body shape. Maybe, just maybe, Roy might not be as evil or as cunty as he wants everyone to believe.

“You can do this,” Bianca whispers before the run way.

“Why are you being so nice to me? Are you ok?“

“I…you’re a good kid,” Bianca replies, but Adore wonders if there’s anything else. Adore can’t stay a moment longer, has to go out on stage to strut, but Adore wants to look closer, wants to know if there’s more.

——–

Bianca wins the crown, but Adore, cliche as it may sound, feels like she’s won something better. Even when she’s not in drag, Adore has a different energy to her. Everything is open with possibility and adventure. Suddenly, the world is her stage, but she’s not listening to the ‘judges.’ She’s playing her own rules.

“Look pretty happy for a loser,” Bianca teases.

Adore only laughs. Before she might have taken the comment to heart, but outside of the competition, she can see that it is just a joke. What’s this strange glow? Confidence?

“Bitch, you know Ru’s taking half that money through taxes anyways.”

“That’s the government,” Bianca corrects with a wink as they walk back to their Uber. Adore bites her red lip as they squeeze inside. Bianca is pressed up so close to her, and Adore’s tail, strapped to her, twitches. Oh god, how is that just one touch sets her off like this?

“Whatever, I’m going to earn my money through tax free stripping and singing,” Adore giggles. She feels drunk off the LA night. The city is rushing by them, but she’s safe here, pressed up against Bianca’s side.

Adore strips off into Danny, one lash at a time. His ears twitch as he shakes off his wig and curls up into Roy’s bed. It’s so soft and warm, and it has Roy’s familiar scent. Then Roy squeaks down onto the bed and messes up his hair, hands running over his ears. Danny can’t help but purr at the sensation.

“I think you’re driving Reddit crazy looking like that,” Roy says, and his hand rests on Danny’s head. Danny looks up at him with a yawn, nose twitching, as he leans into his touch.

“Like what?”

“Like that,” Roy grumbles as he flops down next to him and then tugs at his ears. “With these.”

“Is this still Reddit we’re talking about? Or you?” Danny asks, dipping his voice lower. He scoots closer, so their thighs are touching again. Roy’s in nothing but sweats. There’s just a hint of aftershave and strong perfume, and Danny wants to bury his face into his shoulder. So he does.

“What are you doing?” Roy grumbles, but his hand betrays him as it wraps up into Danny’s hair and starts to stroke his ears. Danny’s cock twitches in his boxers at the same time as his tail. Stomach twisting, Danny starts to purr a little bit louder.

Roy’s face is just inches from his: “Feel good, hm?”

Danny, feeling bold, leans closer. Roy tastes like a shot of vodka, and he shivers. When Roy pushes him back and pins him to the bed, Danny’s sure he could drunk just from the taste of him. He can feel Roy’s bulge against his thigh. So thick and nice. When the older man pulls back, Danny whimpers with need.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Because I…” Roy flushes. “I don’t want to take anyone's ears. I….”

“Who said anything about taking them?”

Roy stiffens even as Danny crawls closer, tail wagging behind him.

“I’m giving them to you,” he purrs.

Danny wraps his legs around Roy’s waist, so he’s straddling him, and he runs his hand down his bare chest. Just the gentle brush of his fingertips made Roy moan. Danny leaned down for another kiss as he ground his hips down, his couch twitched under him.

Roy is so gentle. Nothing like he thought he would be. He’s sweet and takes his time covering his fingers with lube. By the time he’s pressing one inside of Danny, he’s hard with anticipation.

“I’m a virgin not a fucking baby; you can be a little rougher,” Danny whines.

“Calm down,” Roy whispers in his ear. “I want this to feel good for you and your virginal ass.”

“Is that your idea of sexy talk?”

Roy just kisses him quite, and Danny’s giggling against his lips. He’d never thought sex would be this normal. He’d always thought it’d be fucking wild and life changing, but this feels so perfect and natural. Danny bites back a groan as Roy squeezes in another finger inside of him. They fit so perfectly. Big and nice. 

“Any slower and we’d be going backwards,” Danny complains only because he loves the way it makes Roy’s fingers twitch in annoyance. They curve inside him and rub against that spot. 

“Shut up,” Roy groans. 

“Make me, how ‘bout that?”

Three fingers now, and Danny’s starting to feel the pain. It only turns him on more. His cock is leaking precum. His tail and toes curl in need. He feels like he’s been stretched open, and Danny loves it. 

Then Roy instructs him to get on all fours and rubs his cock against the curve of Danny’s ass. Danny whimpers at the loss of fingers, but he’s excited for more. The change of positions makes him squirm. He can’t believe this is finally happening.

“There we go,” Roy breathes as he presses the tip of his cock inside and reaches forward to rub Danny’s ears. The stimulation is everything. Oh, god, he needs to be filled up now. He wants Roy to just-

“F-fuck me,” Danny moans as Roy does just that.

Roy’s running his hands over his ears as he fucks him, and the pressure of his cock against his prostate combined with his fingers in his hair? It’s heaven. Danny’s eyes roll back from the pleasure. His cock twitches, ignored. 

“Feeling it now, baby?” Roy teases.

“O-oh, yeah,” Danny laughs and then it turns into a groan.

Roy’s speeding up his pace, and the foreign feeling of being filled up is so fucking nice. Danny just wants Roy to stay inside him. Fuck him. Take him. 

It’s the feeling of Roy pulling on his ears as he slams into his prostate that pushes him over the edge. Danny cums with a groan, spilling all over the sheets. Roy grunts as he pulls out and cums all over his back. 

“Messy,” Danny whines as he curls up on Roy’s chest, eyes fluttering shut. He yawns. 

“Exhausted after only one round? And I’m the old one?”

“You really gonna judge me if I fall asleep?”

Roy presses a soft kiss to his cheek: “Fuck, no. I’m sleeping too.”

You know what? For once in his goddamned life Danny doesn’t feel judged. He just feels…happy. He isn’t sure why he thought the ears were a big of a deal. In the morning, they’re gone, but he has something better- Roy.