#which i tapped on but i just didn’t have my proof of entitlement

[vogelmeister]

me, on the phone to my dad: yeah ill be fine i have a valid ticket i just don’t have proof im a student so im screwed if i get opal checked

my dad:

[hanniiesuckle17]

Lover, Lover, Set Me Free...

A/n: I hope you like this! It’s been a while since I’ve written something like this! (not fully edited only partially edited) also i totally did not pull an all nighter to finish this hahaha.......

Requested by: @hannie-squirrel00​ (thank you for requesting lovely! Sry it took a while! I wanted to do it right! <3)

Warnings: cussing, slightly 18+ themes, POV switching

Word Count: 13k

Summary: Jisung is one of the biggest players on campus. When Hyunjin bets him that he can’t get into the coldest girl on campus’s pants, Y/n gets unknowingly thrown into the ordeal. While doing his best, Jisung unconsciously starts to fall for this girl who means more to him that he is willing to admit to anyone- even himself. 

Genre: Romance, angst, fluff, college!au, fuckboy!jisung, badboy!jisung, non-idol au

❁

When did university become a popularity contest? Wasn’t the whole point to come and learn? Instead, I’m fighting tooth and nail to get a spot in the costuming program with bitches who don’t even know how to sew on a damn zipper. My hard work is being looked over while girls making googly eyes at my professor get top priority in class.

“Y/n, if you aren’t careful you’re gonna sew your finger to your garment again.” My best friend, Felix, said next to me. I shook myself out of my trance and sighed, turning off my sewing machine and running a hand through my hair. 

“Sorry, my head is just somewhere else.” 

Felix scoffed next to me as he focused on hemming a lavender-colored slip. “I’d be spacy too if I hadn’t gotten laid in a year.” He nudged my shoulder making me laugh.

“I’m sorry that I don’t need to have an active sex drive to get work done. Besides, guys are a waste of time.”

“I strongly disagree with that last statement.”

Felix smirked and pulled his garment off the machine. Despite many girls pining after him, it was quite obvious Felix was into guys. Well...obvious to everyone except the girls who kept buying him vodka martinis when we went out to drink.

“Seungmin and I were gonna go out for drinks. You wanna come?” My best friend said packing up his stuff. I looked back at the dress I was sewing, then Felix. He was pulling his best puppy dog eyes on me. 

“I will go tonight if you help me put boning in two corsets tomorrow.”

Felix grimaced. But I knew he would rather have a drinking buddy than have Seungmin leave him at the bar shitfaced. “Fine. But the first drink is on you.” I smiled and packed up my stuff, taking the garment with me. I could work on it back in my dorm tomorrow.

Felix happily dragged me out of the theatre department building and to the most popular campus bar on a Friday night. Seungmin was already seated at the bar nursing a beer when we arrived. Several people greeted Felix as we pushed through the crowded pub. “If it isn’t the famous Arctic Bitch!” I scowled hearing the name. Apparently, I had given myself quite a reputation without even trying.

Seungmin didn’t mean any harm by saying it. He just liked to poke fun at me. I bought Felix his first drink and the three of us shouted at each other over the loud music and voices in the bar. “Why is it so crowded tonight?” I shouted, frowning as someone elbowed me. 

“Apparently, 3RACHA decided to show up a couple hours ago.”

“WHAT? I call dibs on Changbin!” Felix shouted, his eyes going wide. I rolled my eyes and stole a sip from Seungmin’s beer. I could honestly care less about those three bullheaded bone-driven music majors. I didn’t really see the appeal. So, instead, I steered the conversation away so I could in fact enjoy my night. 

❁

Third POV

Han Jisung smirked as he watched the girl whose name he honestly couldn’t remember walk away back to her friends. He looked down at the number she had written on his wrist. He was in the middle of deciding whether or not he actually wanted to call her when a voice called to him.

“Han stop flirting with random girls and come actually spend time with your friends!” 

Chan motioned him over back to the booth that his three friends sat in. Hyunjin scoffed and took another drink from his gin and tonic.

“Do you really have to do that?” Changbin asked, downing the rest of his drink.

“What?”

“Bone everything that moves.”

“Please. Han is not as good as he thinks he is.” Hyunjin said, slapping Jisung on the shoulder. Jisung glared at his friend. He and Hyunjin bickered, but Hyunjin didn’t usually bring out the big punches like that.

“Oh yeah? I can get any girl in this bar to sleep with me.”

“You really wanna do this?”

“Yes. Give me your best shot.”

Chan sighed, his hands covering his face. “Guys, don’t do this. I like this bar. Don’t kill the bar. I wanna come back here.” Changbin chuckled, enjoying the situation as he nursed his second cocktail. Jisung watched with a smirk as Hyunjin looked over all the girls in the bar. His grin stayed strong when Hyunjin turned back to him with a smile.

“You, sir, are in luck. Guess who I spotted at the bar?” Hyunjin quipped.

“Your mom.” Han held his hand up to Changbin for a high five, and the boy reluctantly complied.

“I challenge you to get Seoul University’s Arctic Bitch to sleep with you,” Hyunjin said pointing to the bar. Jisung followed Hyunijn’s direction and looked across the bar. His eyes fell on a girl with h/c hair and a stern expression on her face as she stole a sip from her friend’s beer. She wasn’t the hottest girl he had ever seen, but her ass wasn’t half bad. 

“Challenge accepted.” Han moved to get up from the booth, but Hyunjin stopped him once more. 

“Hold up big boy. You’ve gotta give me proof too.”

“What kind of proof?”

“I don’t know. Picture, video, something like that. I’ve gotta know it’s her and not one of the random sluts you usually hook up with.”

Han thought about it for a minute. He glanced over at Chan who shook his head solemnly. Of course, Chan would be against this. “Fine. What do I get if I win?” Jisung stated, shaking Hyunjin’s hand. Hyunjin thought for a minute.

“If you get her to sleep with you AND get proof- I’ll give you $1500.” 

The other boys’ eyes went wide. Fifteen hundred dollars? Han started daydreaming about the new monitors he could get for his computer and the new sound system for his home studio. Plus that could go to paying off some of his student debt because God knows his parents weren’t gonna pay for this expensive college. “Oh, you got a deal!” Jisung glanced back over at the girl by the bar. This would be a piece of cake.

“If you can’t get Y/n to sleep with you...you have to go to graduation dressed in full lingerie. And heels.” 

Chan and Changbin laughed, calling attention over to the boys for a moment. He had already agreed so there was no way he could back out of this. “Deal. I can’t wait to get my 1.5k!” Jisung smirked and poured himself another shot of soju before downing it like it was water. With a salute to his friends, the brunette haired boy crossed the bar to complete his challenge. 

No way he would need three months to complete this.

❁

Y/n’s POV

We had been at the bar for only an hour and a half and Felix had already had three drinks, one of which was paid for by a very pretty- but not so observant- girl. It was kind of funny to watch him tipsily argue with Seungmin over who was the better role in our university’s musical, Chicago: Roxie or Velma.

“Fuck you, Min! Velma is a boss ass bitch in thigh highs! Whatcha gonna do about it, BRO?”

“Lix, drink some water,” I said, pushing my water towards my best friend. He pulled the drunk move and took the tiniest sip before turning back to his word assault against our other friend. Seungmin was only slightly more sober, but still argued with passion for his girl Roxie. Suddenly, there was a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, you’re....Y/n, right? Lemme buy you a drink.”

My eyes raked over the boy in front of me. His brown hair brushed over the corner of his forehead and his eyes had a mischievous glint to them. A confident smirk played on his lips as his hand ghosted over my waist, before turning to the bar and back to me. 

“What’s your poison? Cosmopolitan, right?”

“Actually, I’ll take a Godfather.”

I stifled a laugh at the near microscopic flash of surprise on his face. He quickly regained his cocky composure and looked me up and down. “Whiskey. A girl after my own heart.” While he turned to the bartender and ordered my drink I took the opportunity to turn back to my friends and roll my eyes. But, to my surprise, Felix was standing slack-jawed behind me staring at the guy attempting to flirt with me, his argument with Seungmin forgotten.

“Sorry, who are you and why should I care you like whiskey?”

The shock was evident on his face as he turned back to me. He blinked a few times before looking around the bar in confusion. “You don’t know who I am?” He scoffed when I shook my head. The bartender handed me my drink as well as a jack and coke for the boy next to me. “This might be harder than I thought,” he muttered under his breath before taking a large sip from his drink. I was driving so this would probably be my one and only drink for the night. “I’m Han Jisung. I’m one of the rappers in 3RACHA.”

“Ah....that explains the air of entitlement.” 

He sighed and took another swig of his drink, leaning on the bar. I was starting to get frustrated; I came to have fun with my two friends, not get hit on by some cocky asshole. “Look Jinyoung-”

“Jisung.”

“Right. Whatever. I came to have fun with my friends. So, thanks for the drink. Why don’t you just call...Mina,” I said reading the name on his arm written in girly handwriting. “Cause she already seems interested in your deal. But, I’m not so.....bye!” 

Without another word, I turned around and returned to my friends, who were speechless. I couldn’t help but watch their eyes track Jisung’s form all the way back to the booth with the rest of his friends who could be heard laughing- most likely at him- from all the way across the bar.

“You just shot down the second hottest guy on campus.”

“Second hottest?”

“Yeah, have you seen his friend Chan? Boy’s got abs like a washboard.” 

I could practically see Felix’s mouth start to water. “Keep it in your pants, bud.” Seungmin laughed at my comment and threw an arm lazily around my shoulder. “Min, are you drunk already?” He just giggled and started poking my cheeks. I downed the rest of my drink and let Seungmin rest his head on my shoulder. 

“Come on, dummies. Let’s go home.” Felix followed me out of the bar as I carried Seungmin to my car. I was pretty sure I heard cheers behind me as I opened the door, when I turned I saw Felix twirling his shirt over his head and dancing with some random guy near the exit.

“FELIX!” 

He whined as I dragged him away from the guy he was dancing with. “Noooooooooooo! He was so sweet!” I laughed and strapped my best friend into the car safely. Tonight was certainly not what I had expected.

❁

A car horn blaring outside my window sent me shooting up in bed. My hair stuck up in ungodly directions. Yet another night of restless sleep. 

I rubbed my eyes and checked the time. About nine in the morning. No matter how early I went to bed I never seemed to get a good night’s rest.

Lazily I rolled out of bed and slipped on some shorts. My tired body shuffled into the dorm living room. I laughed seeing Seungmin half falling off my couch, asleep; it wasn’t uncommon for him to crash at my dorm after having a few drinks. My roommate didn’t really mind seeing as she had quite the little crush on him.

Speaking of, the sound of her door opening caught my attention. “Morning Lia,” I whispered. She started to speak but covered her mouth when she saw Seungmin passed out on the couch. “You want some tea?” I asked, setting a kettle on one of the burners. She nodded, sitting down and crossing her long legs on one of the kitchen stools.

Lia was maybe a year older than me and also a theatre major with a focus in performance. She had landed the lead in many of our university productions including our current musical, Chicago. 

“So, Seungmin was in quite the heated argument last night.” My dormmate’s eyes widened at the mention of the boy’s name. “He was quite adamant on making Lix understand that Roxie was the greatest lead in the show.” A dark tint rose to her cheeks as she glanced at the sleeping hungover boy on our couch. Lia was playing Roxie in our production this year.

“He probably just likes the character.”

I rose a brow and handed her a mug of tea, before sipping on my own. “Sure, he does. Because our techie Seungmin just adores the motivations of a starstruck murderess.” Somehow her cheeks grew even darker. 

“I have to go work in the Shop today, could you watch him while I’m gone?” She nodded with a small smile. The Shop was what we called the costume and scene shop. Basically, the backstage tech work area was the Shop. 

After finishing our tea, we parted ways and got ready for the day. I slipped on my favorite sweatpants and threw on a semi-clean crop top. Feeling a little chilly, I threw on the matching grey jacket hanging on my desk chair. After fighting with my hair for ten minutes I gave up and started packing my backpack with things I needed for the day.

I groaned looking over at the corner of my room; I’d forgotten to take four rolls of rather expensive and custom fabric to the workroom yesterday, so I had to do it today. Gathering the fabric up in my arms, I headed out.

The sidewalks were practically empty as I crossed campus on my way to the Arts part of the university. My knee pushed up a slipping fabric roll before I continued my walk, pace quickening as I saw the auditorium building up ahead. Finally, I would be able to set these down soon.

“Ahh!”

My foot caught on a crack on the sidewalk and fabric unrolled and went flying through the air. I scraped my hands against the pavement bracing my fall. Slowly I sat up and looked at my palms. They were red, some of the scrapes breaking the skin. 

“Fuck. Really?” 

With a groan, I reached for the nearest roll and checked the material. Thankfully the black silk was still intact and not ruined. Carefully I started the process of re-rolling it, wincing at the rawness on my hands.

“Need any help?” A voice spoke beside me. Before I could respond, the person knelt down and started rolling up another length of red material. I scoffed seeing who the voice belonged to. It was Jisung, from the bar last night.

“I’ve got it.”

“I just saw you hardcore face plant. I don’t think you’ve ‘got it’.” 

He laughed at my scowl and continued to help pick up the fabric I had dropped. As I began standing up, he grabbed my hand. “What the hell dude?” I said, pulling away from his grasp.

“Woah. Chill! You scraped your hand. I’m just trying to help.”

He tucked the rolls under his arm and unzipped a pocket in his backpack, bringing out bandaids and some antiseptic spray. I eyed him warily, but let him take my hand again. He glanced up at my eyes, gauging my expression before continuing to uncap the spray.

“This will sting a little.”

“Tsk. I’ve sewed through my finger, I think I can handle- AHHH OW! FUCK!”

He laughed, his eyes turning into happy crescent moons. I had to admit he had a nice smile. Then again, how many times had that smile gotten him into the pants of half the female student body?

I watched as he opened up two bandaids, gently laid them over my palm, and covered the scrapes. When they were secure, he looked back up at me with that cocky smirk. 

“Want me to kiss it better?” 

I rolled my eyes and yanked my hand away. “Anyway, Jiwon-”

“Jisung.”

His brows furrowed in frustration but he quickly plastered on a more than fake smile. It was honestly kind of fun messing with him; he was so used to being treated like some kind of sex god it seemed he had forgotten what it was like to be a normal human being like the rest of us. “Thanks for the help. I’m gonna go now.”

“Hey! Wait! That’s not how you thank someone.” Jisung said, grabbing back the two rolls of fabric in his arms as I tried to take them. 

“Oh? And how do you propose I thank you?”

He smirked and looked me up and down. His hand ran through his brown locks as his tongue ghosted over his lips. “Well, I mean...” He shrugged as if the thought was just occurring to him. “I can think of a few ways you could return the favor.”

“Your genitals don’t come with a built-in bulletproof shield, so you better watch yourself, fuckboy.”

Jisung visibly gulped and slowly shifted the fabric rolls in front of his waist. I almost smirked seeing the brief look of fear for his manhood; he shivered under my stare and then regained his composure. “Man, they don’t call you the Arctic Bitch for nothing.”

My face fell and I ran a hand through my hair. “Look, I’ve got work to do, corsets to make, and I have to figure out how to sew rhinestones onto a lavalier.” Jisung seemed to take notice of my change in demeanor. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“Well, you’d be pretty offended if I called you a man whore. Same shit.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” He scuffed his shoe on the sidewalk and played with the edge of one of the rolls. Just because I would rather get through my insane credit hours than suck up to some bitch who’d probably drop out in a year doesn’t mean I deserve to have this hurtful nickname. 

“Where are you going? I’ll help you carry these.” Jisung interjected, breaking the very awkward silence. I shook my head and once again tried to take back my fabric. 

“I’m fine. You can go back to class or whatever.”

“I was actually headed to the studio to record with Changbin, but I’ve got time.”

I sighed. This man was persistent and not in a good way. There was no way I was going to get rid of him. “Fine. But if you fuck up that fabric I’m making you pay for it.” He smiled and tucked the fabric under his arm, following me to the back of the auditorium building. 

I watched Jisung take in everything in the hallway and on the walls as we made our way to the costume shop. “What? Have you never seen the backstage of a theater before?”

“Nah. I’ve only done small venues. Nothing with a stage like this.” 

I had almost forgotten Jisung was a rapper. As we came upon the workroom door, I adjusted the fabric in my hand and then pushed the door open with my foot. Jisung followed after I motioned for him to enter the room.

“Y/n! Do we really have to bone corsets? Like can’t we just cheat and put in a plastic lining?” Felix called out not looking up from his workstation. He sounded hungover. “Lia is tiny. Why does she need a fucking corset anyway--heyyyy there’s Jisung......Y/n why is he here?”

I dumped the fabric on a work table and Jisung did the same. “I picked up a stray. Thought you might like a pet.” Jisung rolled his eyes when I pointed behind me. When I turned around, Jisung still stood with his hands in his pockets. “You can go now.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Yeah, what if he doesn’t want to, Y/n?” Felix said in a teasing tone. A quick but deadly glare sent his way quickly shut him up and caused him to turn around back to his workstation. Jisung sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Look. I’m meeting a couple friends at the bar tonight. Why don’t you come by?”

“Hard pass.”

“What if I want to go?” Felix chimed in.

“Yeah, what if he wants to go!” Jisung said with a smirk.

“Felix, shut up for like two seconds.”

Felix scoffed and returned to putting boning in a red lingerie corset. “We both know that’s not gonna happen.” He muttered under his breath. I heard Jisung let out a laugh at the little exchange.

“Whether I go to the bar or not tonight has nothing to do with you. It is probably reliant on the fact that I have no control over my best friend.” Felix chuckled behind me. Jisung shrugged and looked around the room before backing away.

“Okay.”

“Hey, Jisung! Put in a good word for me with Changbin?” Felix called out, leaning over his chair. Jisung let out a lighthearted laugh as he opened the door. Felix had a hopeful look on his face that made me want to vomit.

“Sure, why not.”

Then we were left in silence. I quickly began working, but I felt Felix’s stare on my profile. I knew he couldn’t stay silent for long. Felix couldn’t go four minutes and eighteen seconds without immediately spewing out his opinion. Seungmin and I had timed it once; exactly four minutes later, he erupted.

“ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH JISUNG?”

“Did you see me go home with him last night?”

“No....you went home with Seungmin--OH MY GOD ARE YOU SLEEPING WITH SEUNGMIN?!”

“What? No! Ew!” I said tossing an empty pin cushion at him. “Never in a million years.” Felix let out a hefty sigh of relief. My fingers quickly worked through sewing up a finished section of a corset. 

Another silence followed as Felix turned back to our work. It was so obvious his thoughts were festering, just waiting to once again pop out. “So... how did Mr. Balls-for-Brains wind up helping you carry costume fabric?” 

I shrugged, putting in another piece of spiral steel and lining it up in a corset panel. “He helped me when I tripped. Apparently, the music department recording studios are near here.” 

“Uh....no they're not. The studios are on the other side of the Arts campus.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m pretty sure he was just hanging around the theatre buildings until he saw you.” Felix laughed as I shuddered. I took a quick breath as the needle pricked my finger. This conversation was seriously distracting me. “So....we are going out tonight though. Right?” 

“I’m not going out dressed like this.”

“Just grab something from the racks. Mr. Jung won’t mind.”

“If we are going out, I’m drinking.”

“No argument from me. Then we get fun Y/n.” I threw another pin cushion at him, hearing a high pitched yelp beside me. The two of us worked for the next 6 hours until the sun started to set outside the Shop window. I let Felix dress me up from stuff on the racks and we called Lia and Seungmin to meet us at the bar.

When we arrived, it was certainly less packed than the night before. I pulled at the tight skirt Felix had put me in, wishing it to cover more of my thighs than its length allowed. Seungmin whistled as I sat down next to him at the bar. He turned my barstool to face him and Lia, who smiled and clapped at my appearance. 

“Is this global warming because the Arctic is hot tonight!”

I slapped his shoulder and turned back to the bartender to order my drink. “I would recognize this anywhere. This is the work of the Great Felix Stylist extraordinaire.” Lia exclaimed, letting Felix take a bow. The bartender slid over my drink and I rested my feet against the bar stool. They were sore from the heels Felix had put me in; only once every so often would I let him play dress up on me.

The night rolled on and I even danced with Lia after a couple more drinks. We came back off the dance floor to see Jisung talking with Felix and Seungmin, his arm leaning against the bar. “Jackass alert,” I whispered to Lia as we approached. 

Jisung’s eyes widened when he saw our approach. He seemed to drink in my entire body, not letting any part of me go unseen. “Hey, gorgeous.” He said with a smirk, his eyes dragging over me once again as he sipped his drink. “Can I talk to you?” 

“Sure, I said standing next to Felix and stealing a sip from his gin martini. I was really thirsty after dancing so much with Lia. He glanced from me back to my friends who were watching us expectantly. 

“I meant alone.” 

With a nod, the rest of my friends started moving towards an open booth. I stopped Felix, a hand on his martini glass. “Leave it. I’m going to need more alcohol for this.” With a sigh and longing look at his drink, he left it in my hands.

“Are you drunk?”

“Not nearly enough.” I plainly stated before drinking some more of Felix’s martini. My face soured. I forgot he liked gin. Jisung laughed as I put the drink on the bartop. 

“Look. I think you and I should go out.”

“And I think you should jump off a cliff. Preferably one the size of your ego.”

“Ouch.” He said with an unaffected smile.  His eyes darted to a girl walking by us, but he quickly diverted his attention back to me. I tried not visibly throw up in my mouth at the action. “Let’s hang out this week.”

“Sorry; not into late-night booty calls since...well...ever.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his brown hair, a habit of his I had picked up on. I couldn’t decide if it was out of frustration or nerves. “Come on. I’m not that bad.” 

“Your reputation says otherwise.” 

“I could say the same about you.”

He smirked when I fell silent. My fingers played with the rim of the martini glass. I hated that he totally won that argument. 

“I’ll make you a deal,” His words made me look up and quirk an eyebrow. “For the next two months, you get dinner with me twice a week and we text once a day.” 

“I’m not going on a dinner date with you. I have zero time. I have to bring home my costume work as it is.”

“I never said it was a date. I just want to get to know you, Y/n.” Jisung chuckled and adjusted the clasp of my necklace, making me freeze. “We don’t have to go out to eat. I’m sure it’s hard to focus on work with a theatre major as a roommate. You can come over and I’ll order take out.” I had to admit that the offer sounded tempting. I loved Lia but she could be loud as fuck when prepping for a show. 

“Still low key sounds like a date.” 

“I swear I will not touch you unless you ask me to.” He winked and I rolled my eyes. “And you will ask me to. Eventually.” A heavy and anger filled sigh left my lips and Jisung leaned away. I honestly hadn’t noticed he had gotten closer.

“Lia is going to think something is up. Felix is for sure going to think I’m sleeping with you. And Seungmin...”

“You aren’t dating Seungmin are you?” 

He smiled when I shook my head no. “Anyway, there is no way I’m telling my friends I am hanging out with you.” He shrugged and sipped more on his drink. I was starting to feel a little bit of the alcohol’s effect. 

“I’m chill with that. So, you bring over your costume...stuff...on Monday and we can order in and get to know each other.” I shrugged and gave him a small nod. Jisung smiled in victory. 

“You do know I’m not going to let you walk away from this conversation looking that happy.”

“And how do you propose you fix that?” 

“I was thinking either a slap or a drink.” Jisung laughed and downed the rest of his drink, I assumed Jack and Coke, like the night before. He motioned with his fingers and tapped his chest. 

“Give me your best shot, gorgeous.” His willingness made me laugh, genuinely. “Although, I would prefer not to have a huge red mark on my cheek.” 

I nodded sarcastically. “Oh. Of course. We can’t damage the precious merchandise.” He groaned when I pinched his cheek. To be honest, I could not believe I was having a nice casual conversation with Han Jisung, 3RACHA’s legendary fuckboy.

“Well then, I’ll see you on Monday. I’ll be at the Shop.”

“I’ll see you then, gorgeous.” 

I rolled my eyes and picked up Felix’s martini. “ASSHOLE!” I yelled before tossing the drink in Jisung’s face. “Wow, that was really fun,” I whispered with a smile before walking away to my friends. 

“Y/N THAT WAS MY DRINK!! NO! MY ALCOHOL!” Felix said, fake crying.

❁

Jisung’s POV

The gin stung my eyes and Y/n was kind of blurry as she walked away, but I could hear the smile in her voice. This was ironically the first time I had let a girl toss a drink in my face. AND FUCK I WOULD NEVER LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN. 

I wiped my face and stumbled away from the bar, trying not to get even more liquor in my eye as I followed the laughter of my supposed ‘friends’ in our usual booth. 

“And the King has struck out yet again,” Changbin said as I sat down. Chan laughed but handed me a napkin to wipe my stinging face. A couple strands of my hair fell wet in front of my eyes. “What is this? The third time you been denied by Y/n?” Bin laughed and drank from his (probably) fifth beer of the night. 

“Han, I hate to say it. But I am so looking forward to seeing you in lingerie accepting your diploma.”

“I wouldn’t get ahead of yourself, Hyunjin.” All eyes turned to me as I blinked wildly. My vision was just starting to come back. I looked over to Y/n and her friends. Felix was chiding her about destroying his drink and Lia was high fiving her for throwing it. 

“...But she threw a martini in your face. I think that qualifies failure in every book I’ve ever read.” Hyunjin scoffed. Little did he know I had Y/n exactly where I wanted her. Soon she would be eating out of my hands. She would be begging for me to sleep with her before she even knew it herself.

❁

Y/n’s POV

Three weeks had passed and I had been drowning in work. Though I hated to admit it...Jisung was the only thing keeping me sane. He had been a really good friend to me for the past few weeks. Lia was the only one who knew about my little dinner rendezvouses with Jisung. And I was correct in the fact that I had been subject to her relentless teasing. 

“Are you sure you guys aren’t dating?”

“We are not dating. We are just getting dinner twice a week, getting to know each other, not seeing other people casually, and maybe some.....flirting-- AND OH MY GOD HE TRICKED ME. WE’RE DATING.”

Lia laughed at my realization. I threw down the dress I was working on for Lia’s finale scene. The sound of beads hitting the floor rung throughout the dorm. “What are you gonna do about it?” Lia questioned, adjusting herself on the couch.

“I’m going to go over there and question the shit out of his ass.”

“Hell yeah! Text me!” She cheered as I grabbed my keys and ran out the door. 

I slammed my car door and stomped up the stairs of Jisung’s apartment building. A million angry thoughts ran through my mind as I stormed down the hall to his apartment. Without another thought, I burst through the front door, which was oddly...unlocked. 

“HAN MOTHER FUCKING JISUNG! YOU TRICKED ME INTO DATING YOU AND I-”

I froze taking in the scene in front of me. Jisung stood wide-eyed shirtless and holding a bottle of water, sweat dripping off his forehead. Another boy, who I recognized as Chan from 3RACHA, dressed in a tank top and sweats was seated on the couch, his face full of surprise at my entrance.

“Oh- uh.....sorry...I’ll just come back when you have...clothes.”

“No, it’s fine! I was just leaving anyway. Thanks for going to the gym with me Han.” Chan grabbed his jacket and exited in the most polite power walk he could manage. Though not without giving Jisung a thumbs up and then shutting the door.

“So how long did you think you were gonna get away with this?” He smirked and opened the water bottle. I was struggling to look anywhere but his tan chest. He obviously noticed. “Oh my god. Would you please put a shirt on!” He chuckled and came closer to me.

“What? Do I make you nervous?” He looked me up and down with dark eyes. My heart pounded in my chest. “Look, I know you’re mad. But, you can’t tell me that you didn’t have fun hanging out with me. Can you?”

“No,”

“And you can’t say that you aren’t at least the tiniest bit attracted to me. Right?”

“I’m not...not attracted to you...”

Jisung smirked and slid his hand around my waist, pulling me so our chests brushed against each other. “That’s not a straight answer.” He smiled at my lack of response. Jisung was clearly enjoying this.

“Well- you’re...not a... straight answer.”

Jisung laughed and let go of me. “But, seriously Y/n. I don’t know about you, but I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you these past few weeks and I really like you.” He took my hand in his and laughed, making his eyes turn into crescents. “So, why don’t we make it official? Y/n, let’s date.”

I blinked a few times before turning away from him. This was not normal. My hands came up to my temple, a sharp pain suddenly emitting from there. “You can’t be serious,” I said, turning back to Jisung. “There’s no way you like me. You like girls for one night stands. I’m not like that. So there is no-”

Jisung’s lips crashed against mine, his hands gripping my wrists gently. He’s kissing me. What do I do? As if reading my thoughts he pulled away just enough to look into my eyes and smile. “Y/n, don’t overthink it. Just let go for once. You’re with me.”

His hand slid down to my waist and his fingers tangled in my belt loops, pulling me closer. My brain was in overdrive. I hadn’t been kissed in so long. Maybe what I said to Felix wasn’t totally the truth. Maybe I had just been depressing my long starved sex drive. Jisung was really nice and I really liked him. What would be the harm in letting myself have fun with someone I actually like for once?

“Okay...so maybe I like you a little bit.” Jisung smiled and brushed away a piece of hair near my face, grazing my cheek. My hands slowly came up to rest on his chest, his warm skin radiating off heat. 

“So are we on the same page? You’re mine now?”

“Fine. I guess so,” I said with a laugh. Jisung smiled and kissed me again. His fingers dug into my hips and he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. 

Kissing Jisung made my head spin in the best way possible. Needing air for more than one reason, I pushed against his chest. “Hey, why don’t you go shower. I’m sure you need one after working out with Chan.” He smirked, his hands slowly moving lower than my waist. “No, I’m not showering with you.”

“Damn. Worth a shot. You wanna stay? I’ll order pizza.”

“Sounds good to me.” After kissing my cheek, Jisung turned and made his way to his bathroom. When the door closed I leaned against the couch for support. Keep it cool, Y/n. I have to remember to keep my guard up. Jisung can’t possibly just change overnight. While I want to trust him...something is holding me back. 

Hopefully, I’m just paranoid.

❁

I rolled over in bed, not wanting to wake up. My hand brushed up against something cold. Opening my eyes, I saw my phone under my hand. The screen was still lit up and displayed a caller ID and call time of almost five hours. I smiled seeing Jisung’s name scrolling across the top. Did we really fall asleep on the phone? 

Picking up the phone, I heard the sounds of his small breaths and soft snores. “Jisung,” Another soft snore made me smile. We had only been dating officially about a week, but I was really enjoying my time with him. “Jisung?” 

“Mmph...I’m up...what’s happening?” He mumbled into the phone. Jisung must have fallen asleep on top of the phone. I laughed and sat up in bed, running a hand through my messy hair.

“I think we fell asleep on the phone, Ji.” His laugh could be heard over the phone.

“Ji?”

“What?” 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me something other than my name or an asshole.” I blushed and rolled out of bed. “Y/n L/n are you starting to like me?” Jisung asked, his voice rough from just waking up.  The gravely low tone sent a chill down my spine. 

“Well, we are dating. That’s what two people do when they like each other, dummy.” I leafed through my closet, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder. He let out what sounded like a forced laugh. Maybe it was just my imagination. It was my brain searching for things to make me not trust him.

“You want to drop by the studio later? I should be working all day but it would be kinda cool to see you.” My ears picked up on the sound of his fingers racing across a keyboard. What could he be working on this early? 

No, Y/n. Don’t go there. I have to at least try and trust him. I can’t be nosy and wondering about everything in his life when we’ve only been going out a short time. 

“Uh, I can probably drop by around three. I have an exam today I can’t miss.”

“Okay. I’ll text you the studio number. See you later, gorgeous.” With that, he hung up the phone. I tossed the device on my bed and finished getting dressed. A ding notified me of a text. Glancing at it, I saw Jisung sent me the number of the studio number he would be working in and a heart. 

It almost set me a little on edge. I knew his personality. I even knew a few of the girls who had the unfortunate experience of falling into bed with him. It just seemed a little weird to me how doting he was with me when he was never like that with other girls. 

Maybe he really was trying to make a change? That couldn’t be impossible. Could it? People change. Most often in fairytales and movies, but it happens like 1% of the time, right? These thoughts swarmed through my head as I walked into my lecture hall. 

I sat in my usual seat, arriving about five minutes before class was set to begin. Looking up, I saw several sets of eyes staring at me; all belonging to different girls. Some had looked of pity, some disgust, but all looked slightly confused. Ignoring them, I pulled out my notes for a few more moments of study time.

“You’re the girl whose dating Han, am I right?”

I looked up to find a very pretty girl with blonde hair and big doe-like eyes. “Umm...yeah. Is there a problem or something?” She shook her head and sat down next to me with a smile. 

“Oh! No, not at all. I just had to see for myself that’s all. My name’s Momo. I’m a dance major. I have a mutual friend of Han’s, Hyunjin.”

I nodded, glancing from her to my paper. I wasn’t really used to this much attention during class. Usually, I just focused on the lecture or project and didn’t talk much. “Yeah, I know they are friends, but I don’t really know Hyunjin myself.”

She nodded and twirled a pen between her fingers. I started to wonder what her relationship was with the boys. She was obviously gorgeous and she seemed just like Jisung’s type. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had slept together before.”I’ve just heard so much about you. All those rumors are totally bogus by the way. I would love if we could be friends.”

She took my hand in hers with a bright and blindingly white perfect smile. Did she not know what personal space was? “Uh....sure. I guess that would be cool. I’m usually pretty busy with making costumes for the university’s musical.”

“Here! Take my number! We can go get coffee sometime. I’d love to hear all the juicy tea about the girl who finally got the famous Han Jisung to stop sleeping around.” Momo ripped a piece of paper from her perfectly organized agenda and wrote her number on it. The professor started speaking as she handed it to me. Holy shit it was scented! 

This day was just getting more and more confusing for me.

❁

Jisung’s POV

The studio was freezing as per usual. Even bundled up in a beanie and hoodie I was cold, pulling the sleeves further down my hands. I watched the monitor carefully and adjusted the headphones over my ears. 

“Okay, Bin! You’re good.” Chan called to the boy in the booth after I gave him a thumbs up. “So, I take it things with Y/n are...good,” Chan asked hesitantly. The topic of Y/n was a sore subject for him so I was surprised he brought it up. 

“Oooooo We talking about the Snow Queen?” Changbin said plopping down on the couch near the wall. I turned in my chair to roll my eyes at him. “I’m taking that as a sign you haven’t gotten in her pants yet?”

“She’s honestly kind of a prude....well. Not a prude. But you know what I mean.” Chan shook his head at my words.  

Changbin threw a ball of paper at my head, making me send another glare his way. “Isn’t this the longest dry spell you’ve had. How long has it been?” I sighed pulling the headphones down around my neck.

“One month, five days, twelve hours, and twenty-two minutes.”

“You know it’s gross that you keep track like that,” Chan said taking a swig from his water bottle. “Y/n seems like a nice girl. It’s kind of sick you and Hyunjin using her like this.” I shrugged, not really caring.

“I mean, I guess. But, I would rather be $1,500 richer.”

“Just remember Y/n has feelings too.”

I nodded and turned back to the monitor looking at the track we just recorded. As if on cue, the door opened and Y/n’s voice could be heard greeting the other boys. 

“Hi!- Oh! Sorry, I didn’t expect anyone else. I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet you.”

Turning, I saw her shaking hands with Changbin and Chan. “Y/n that’s Bin, and you’ve met Chan,” I said pointing to the boys. “Now you’ve met all of 3RACHA.” I pulled her hand, dragging her closer to my chair. Chan rolled his eyes when I pulled her down and kissed her cheek. The smile on her face did not go unnoticed by the boys.

“How was your exam?” I asked, playing with her fingers.

“It was okay. I passed for sure. A girl named Momo asked to get coffee with me. Apparently, she knows your friend Hyunjin.” My eyes went wide and I stood up, pulling her to my side with a nervous laugh. 

“Well, uh... I think we’ve all done enough work today. Y/n you wanna go get some boba or something. I’m hungry what about you? Bye guys!” Quickly I pushed her out the door and waved goodbye to the boys. 

I had my fingers crossed that Hyunjin was keeping his big mouth shut.

❁

A month and a half. That’s how long I had left before I lost and was forced to be utterly humiliated in front of the entire university. Y/n and I had been dating for almost three weeks and hanging out for longer. I had to make a move tonight. 

My friend Minho had hooked me up with some tiny night vision camera that I had hidden all around my apartment. I knew Y/n was starting to trust me more, so this was the opportune time. She was coming over any minute now. I checked my reflection in the mirror and ran my hands through my hair. 

$1,500 here I come.

A knock bounced off the walls of my apartment. I checked the time. 8:30 pm. She was late by about forty-five minutes, which was not usual for her. What was it she always said? Early is on time and on time is late? Some weird theater shit like that. 

Something was up.

I rushed to the door and opened it to find Y/n standing at my doorstep. She gave me a tired smile and kissed my cheek in greeting. She looked like she felt awful. “Hi, Ji! Sorry, I’m late. Felix bailed on me so I had all this extra work to do for the musical and I have a semester project due this week-”

“Y/n what’s wrong?” She sighed and collapsed onto the couch. Sitting next to her I could see the concealer under her eyes attempting to hide the dark shadows. She never wore makeup unless she was going out. I was surprised even remembered that. “You can tell me anything, gorgeous.” She smiled when I took her hand. 

This might be better than I thought. Comfort her. Get the proof I need. Shove it in Hyunijn’s face. I could tell she was deciding whether or not to trust me. If it was something small she would tell me no problem.

But... maybe this was something bigger. 

“I’m just...really stressed.” She said, pushing her hair away from her face. I could see the wall she had slowly building itself back up. There was pain behind her eyes. She was hurting. Why did that make me sad?

“That’s not all this is.” I turned towards her fully, giving her my complete attention. She crossed her legs up on the couch and stared at her fingers. When I lifted her chin I saw tears on the brink of falling from her eyes.

“I just... feel like...- nevermind it’s stupid.” She shook her head and looked around my apartment. She tried to laugh it off but frowned when she saw my face. Y/n let out a shaky breath when I took her hands in mine, resting them in her lap. 

We sat in silence for a few minutes. Just sitting across from each other on the couch. She seemed to be working up the courage to tell me something.

“Nothing I ever do...seems to be...enough.” I looked at her, waiting for her to continue. “I work my ass off. All the time. But, it feels like I can’t do anything right lately. Not enough for my mom. Not enough for my teachers. Certainly not enough for Tech Recruiters. I just feel like I’m falling short on everything I do. And I’m tired. I just want to be enough for someone. But, who am I kidding? Nobody likes me. I’m Seoul University’s Arctic Bitch, right? I’m too coldhearted and selfish to get anywhere in life, let alone convince any theatre company to hire me so I can pay off my student loans. I’m just so fucking tired of feeling this way. Sorry for whining. I know you probably had other plans for tonight.” 

She wiped the tears from her cheeks and stared out the living room window. “Hey,” I said pulling her attention back to me. Surprisingly, she let me reach up and wipe a tear from her cheek. “Look at me,” Reluctantly Y/n met my eyes. “You are more than enough for me.” She looked down and smiled, wiping more tears on her sleeve.

“Really?”

“Really.” I ran my thumb over her knuckles and smiled at her. It took a lot for her to open up to me like that. “You have just been bottling this up haven’t you?” She nodded and wiped another tear, before looking back up at me. Her eyes were still beautiful even when she was crying. “I do that too. It’s a habit we should both fix. Could you talk to Lia? Or Felix?”

She shook her head and started playing with my fingers. I started to like the feeling of her smaller hands in mine. “Lia has her own stuff to worry about. Her dad keeps pressuring her to join an entertainment company. And Felix...well Felix means well, but...” I was relieved to see her smile again. Her laugh was contagious. 

“Yeah, I get it. Kind of like Changbin and Chan. They mean well, but they don’t understand sometimes.”

She nodded and played with one of the rings on my right hand. “Thank you for listening. It really means a lot that I can trust you like this.”

“You trust me?”

“I never thought I would say that but... I would never have told Felix that and he is my best friend.”She reached up a cupped my cheek. Her hands were warm and inviting. I stared into her eyes no longer seeing hurt behind her E/c orbs. 

“You’re beautiful. You know that?” I said without thinking. My eyes widened and I pulled away from her touch. I had never said anything like that. Usually, everything I said to Y/n had a purpose or plan behind it. But, I just spoke without thinking. 

Y/n smiled, her eyes turning even brighter. She leaned forward and kissed me. Something about this kiss felt different than the times I had kissed her before. My heart started to race and goosebumps crawled over my skin. I smiled when her hands pulled me closer to her, tangling her fingers through my hair.

A sigh escaped my chest when her teeth grazed over my lip. She pulled away only for a second to catch her breath before coming back to me. I pulled away when she threw her leg over my lap and straddled me. “What are you doing?” I asked as she kissed from my lips down to my jaw. It was exciting not to be in control for once. 

“Showing you how much you mean to me,” She whispered before kissing my lips again. Instinctively, my hands gripped her waist wanting for no space left between my body and hers. I felt close to Y/n in a different way. I feel like I had been in this exact position with other girls, but with her it was different. Something about kissing her like this felt intimate. Like it was just for us to share. 

Fuck. The cameras. They were still recording all over the apartment.

“Uh- Y/n...” I said pulling away from her, my hands planted firmly on her hips. “Are you sure you want to do this, gorgeous?” My eyes widened as she nodded and continued to drag her lips across mine. “Because we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Please tell me to stop. If you don’t I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. 

“Ji, I want this. Do you?”

“You have no idea.”

“Good. Do you trust me?” Y/n asked with a mischievous smile. I nodded watching her eyes twinkle in the low light of my apartment. She dragged her fingers down my chest and pulled at the hem of my shirt. As soon as the fabric was over my head and flung somewhere in the living room she smashed her lips onto mine. 

My thoughts were running a mile a minute. How was I supposed to turn off all the cameras without her knowing? After seeing her in pain, I couldn’t hurt her like that. An idea popped in my head. Wrapping my arms around her waist I pulled her up and carried her, pushing her back against the nearest wall. 

Her legs tightened around my waist, holding herself up. She looked down at me with hooded eyes before kissing me again. With one hand I kept her steady while the other searched the bookshelf next to me for the camera I put in the living room. Feeling the metal and plastic, I quickly turned it around blocking its view. 

There should just be two more in my bedroom. “Ji,” Y/n moaned into my lips. She was driving me crazy. I was already more worked up from this than I had ever been with any other girl. She giggled when I carried her through the bedroom door and pressed her up against the wall. “You know...I haven’t done this in a pretty long time...” Her words were breathy and cut off when she joined her lips back to mine.

“You could have fooled me.”

My mind was kind of in a haze. All I could think about was Y/n. I couldn’t think straight with her hands all over me. Where did I put the second camera again? Her lips trailed down to my neck sending my brain and body into overdrive. Come on, Han. Focus. 

The desk! Then the third was by my nightstand. I moved us over slowly, hoping she wouldn’t notice. I wanted to touch her so badly. But, I couldn’t betray her trust after she opened up to me like that. Joining my lips with hers, I felt blindly around the table for the small device. After I found it, I tucked it behind the monitor. 

“Are you sure, gorgeous?” I asked one more time looking into her eyes.

“Jisung, stop asking or I swear I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna what?”

“I don’t know. Just kiss me damn it.” She smiled when I smashed my lips onto hers. Her fingers pulled at my hair as I dragged my lips down her jaw. She joined our lips as I picked her up and carried her to the bed. The bed dipped as she laid on the mattress. Before I could reach for the nightstand she pulled me over, straddling me on the bed again. 

I tried to keep my brain clear as she attacked my neck and chest with her lips. Knowing she was distracted, I grabbed the camera and threw it across the room wanting this to be done. Her head turned at the sound, but I pulled her back to my lips. 

“You drive me crazy,” I whispered, reaching down and pulling at the hem of her shirt. My lips latched onto every bare piece of skin I could find, wanting to feel every part of her. I was ready to be with her, in more ways than I had thought.

❁

Y/n’s POV

I lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling. Jisung laid beside me his arm slung across my stomach and soft snores leaving his lips. I smiled seeing him next to me. I had slept for a few hours but like usual, I had woken up in the middle of the night unable to fall back asleep. 

Shifting onto my side, I looked at Jisung. He looked peaceful in his sleep. There was always something active about him when he was awake. Like he was never still. Seeing him in a state of calm was intriguing. My hand brushed the side of his cheek. A strand of his brown hair fell over his eyes, so I gently pushed it back and softly moved my hands through his locks.

Jisung let out a little hum in his sleep, making me smile. I started to pull away my fingers but Jisung’s hand shot up to keep it there, startling me. “What’s wrong, gorgeous?” Jisung mumbled, placing my hand back in his messy hair. 

“I can’t sleep. Don’t worry about me.” I said quietly going back to playing with his soft brown tresses. He shook his head, brows furrowing in the cutest way. His fingers latched themselves onto my wrist, rubbing his thumb against my skin. 

“I’m not sleeping unless you are,” He whispered, obviously half asleep. 

“Shhh. Ji, go back to sleep.” Instead of complying he tugged me into his bare chest and started tracing soothing patterns on my lower back. In all honestly just that alone was making me just a little sleepy. My eyes were starting to droop, just laying in his arms, but my brain was still wide awake. 

Suddenly, my ears picked up on the soft sound of Jisung singing. It was slow and gentle, his voice a little rough from sleep, but beautiful all the same. His voice was like honey, soothing my entire body. My fingers started to slow their movements as I tucked myself into Jisung’s chest. 

I finally fell into a deep sleep listening to Jisung softly sing to me.

❁

Light streamed through the window, hitting me straight in the face. I groaned and tried to roll over. My brows furrowed when something stopped me. My tired eyes opened more to see Jisung still sounds asleep, holding onto me like a teddy bear. 

Sensing my movements, Jisung’s eyes cracked open and smiled. “Good morning, gorgeous,” His voice was scratchy and low, sending chills down my spine. Jisung pushed himself up on his elbow and hovered over me with a drowsy smile. 

“Morning, Ji,” 

He genuinely smiled down at me and leaned down pressing his lips against mine. I felt him smile when I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Do you have class this morning?” He asked against my lips, which were most likely swollen from last night. Jisung himself had several darkening marks on his neck and collarbone. 

“Not until tomorrow. Do you?” 

“I was supposed to go record with Chan and Bin.”

“Supposed?”

“Like hell, I am going to leave you looking this beautiful in my bed,” Jisung said pressing his lips down my neck. “You want a shower? I’m gonna call Chan and tell him I’m not coming.” I nodded and pulled him up to my lips one more time.

“Thank you for last night, Ji. For everything.” 

He smiled and kissed my cheek. “Feel free to borrow some of my clothes,” Jisung said with a smirk before rolling over and grabbing his phone on the nightstand. I grabbed a hoodie from his closet while he was distracted with his phone and headed to the bathroom.

❁

Jisung’s  POV

“Chan, I’m in deep shit,” I whispered into the phone. I checked to make sure Y/n was out of the room. Chan scoffed over the line.

“Han. It is way too early for this. Did you accidentally email your professor a pornhub link again?” 

“What no!” Chan sighed. “Look, Y/n’s over here.” He started freaking out over the phone. I sighed letting his panic play out. 

“Oh no, no, no. You are not dragging me into this. Y/n is a nice girl. I want nothing to do with your and Hyunjin’s sick bet-”

“I think I’m starting to really like her. Like a lot.”

There was silence on the other side of the line. I decided that he was probably waiting for more information. Or he had passed out. Either was a probable response from Chris. “But, she’s at your apartment? Han, it’s like ten in the mornin-...You didn’t.” He took my silence as confirmation. “How could you? You said you like her!”

“I didn’t technically. I had these cameras set up, but I turned them off after she opened up to me and stuff started to happen.”

“YOU SET UP ACTUAL CAMERAS TO FILM HER?”

Chan screamed so loud I had to pull the phone away from my ear. Even then I could still hear him. “Did you hear the part where I said I turned them off. I have no proof....and honestly....I’m starting to question if I want any.”

“Wow. Good for you. You’ve had personal growth. Whoop-de-doo.” 

“Hey. I am asking for advice, not sarcasm.” I said with a sigh. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling it sticking up in weird places. “What should I do? Chan...I really like Y/n, but I’ve been lying to her up until now.”

“You’ve got to tell her the truth eventually.”

“But, what if she hates me. I don’t think I could handle hurting her.” Chan sighed again. I could practically see his face. The guy probably just woke up and I was putting all this stress on him. 

“I don’t know what to tell you,”

“I get it. Just don’t tell anyone about what we talked about, okay? At least until I figure out how to tell Y/n. I’m gonna stay here and think about it.” With that, I hung up the phone and laid back in bed. My fingers massaged my temple, feeling a sharp pain there. 

Did I really want to keep up this bet?

❁

Y/n’s POV

A weel later Jisung and I were doing even better than we were before. We were actually going out on dates and also...staying in and doing...other things. Jisung had invited me to come and see 3RACHA perform tonight at a local club, so Felix was fussing over my outfit. 

“Felix, I am not fitting into that dress.”

“You can squeeze!”

“A Polly pocket couldn’t fit into that tiny ass thing!” 

“Come on, Y/n! Be my Barbie!” Felix said chasing me around the costume shop with a tiny piece of white fabric that barely passed the social standard of being a dress. Eventually, he tackled me and wrestled me into the tight-fitting dress. 

“I feel naked.”

“Oh, please. He’ll love it.” Felix said throwing a pair of heels at me. I looked longingly at my pair of old tennis shoes. “If you aren’t wearing pumps at least wear some boots. We are clubbing after all.”

“Lix, we aren’t clubbing. We are watching Han perform.” 

“Same difference.”

I sighed and slipped on the black heeled boots Lix threw on my workstation and grabbed the brightly colored graffiti jacket that Jisung ‘left’ at my dorm. He had been leaving more and more of his clothes lying around my room. I wasn’t complaining.  

I drove both of us to the club and covered my ears entering the loud establishment. 3RACHA were already up on stage and performing a song so we pushed our way to the front. All the boys looked a little tipsy and had beers up on stage with them. Jisung saw me in the crowd and blew a kiss in my direction sending the whole crowd into a frenzy.

The show was incredible, though after I couldn't seem to get anywhere near Jisung. All the boys were hounded with fans and the crowd around them was too big to get through. “This is ridiculous. I can’t even get to my own boyfrien-” My world stopped when I looked over in Jisung’s direction by the bar. I swear everything happened in slow motion.

A girl with long platinum blonde wavy hair was draped all over Jisung’s arm. He talked to her while drinking yet another beer. I watched as she leaned up and cupped his cheeks, bringing him down for a sloppy kiss. The crowd cheered and I began to feel dizzy. “Y/n,” I heard Felix say, grabbing onto my elbow.

“I’ve gotta get out of here.”

The bass was so loud I could feel it pounding against my brain as I pushed through the crowd of dancing bodies. I heard someone calling my name, but I didn’t really want to talk to anybody. I just needed air. I needed to think.

“Y/n!”

I finally broke through the crowd and made my way outside the club. Where was my car? Where the fuck did I park? I ran a hand through my hair and looked around me trying to find my car in the see of dimly lit vehicles. 

“Y/n!” A hand grabbed my arm and turned me around. Jisung stood before me, clearly drunk with lipstick all over his face. “Y/n, baby, it’s not what you think.” His voice, which had become my favorite sound,  was slurred and broken up.

“Not what I think? Tell me, then. What was it?”

“Mina, she was drunk. She kissed me, but it didn’t mean anything. You know I only have feelings for you.” Did I know that? There was always this little thought in the back of my mind no matter how much I trusted Jisung that told me I was just another number in his playbook.

“Yes, she did kiss you. But that is a fucking cop-out. Because there is a reason she felt like that was an option.” 

I tried to push away the tears that threatened to fall. Jisung broke looking at me. I wanted nothing more than for him to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t know if I could trust him right now. I could tell it hurt him when he reached out and I backed away, tears inevitably falling down my cheeks.

“Don’t cry. I die when you cry.”

“Jisung you can’t do that!” I said watching a tear drip down his cheek.

“What?” 

“You can’t make me love you when I’m supposed to hate you!” I said slapping his shoulder and letting the tears flow freely.  Not hesitating, he wrapped me up in his arms, even when I tried to push him away. He let me cry on his shoulder and beat on his chest until it physically hurt to breathe.

“You’re right. It is a cop-out.” His hand came up and rubbed my back like he had done every night he stayed with me. “Y/n, I’m so sorry I let it happen. I don’t know what I was thinking.” My knuckles turned white, gripping onto his shirt. 

“Jisung, I’m tired of being hurt.”

“You are my everything, gorgeous.” He said lifting up my chin. I hated crying and feeling like this. It just sucked not being able to trust him when I wanted to be with him so badly. 

“How do I know I’m not just another random hookup for you?” 

“Because...” My heart dropped when he couldn't say anything.

“That’s the answer I needed. Thanks.” 

I started to walk away but he grabbed my arm, pulling me back into his chest. Jisung smashed his lips on mine, desperation, and passion filling the kiss making my knees go weak.

“That’s how.” He said, pulling away.

❁

I woke up the next morning, in Jisung’s bed light streaming through the window. I really should get him curtains. I smiled thinking back to last night. Jisung promised to show me that I wasn’t just another girl to him. And boy did he. I had never felt so loved than when I was with Jisung last night. 

I grabbed a big shirt of his that was lying around and slipped it over my head. My feet carried me out into his living room, where bright sunlight illuminated his only slightly messy apartment. A note on the coffee table caught my eyes.

Morning gorgeous,

Went out to get coffee and breakfast for us. 

I’ll be back soon, so sit tight. 

Ji <3

I smiled at his handwriting and the heart he left me. Lifting my legs up, I got comfortable on the couch and waited for Jisung to get back. The sound of a notification filled the room. Did I leave my phone in here? 

I searched for the device and found it face-up on the counter. It said I had one voicemail. Swiping on the notification the voicemail started playing. The voice of a boy I didn’t recognize filled the living room as I brought the phone back over to the couch. “Hey, it’s Hyunjin,” Oh. This must be Jisung’s phone. I was about to put it back until I heard the boy continue.

“Just reminding you, you’ve got two weeks to get into Y/n’s pants or you lose the bet. Your reputation as campus King is on the line, bro. Oh and don’t forget the cash prize.” 

I couldn't move.

❁

Han  Jisung’s POV

The coffee line took forever, but I finally got my order and excited the shop. I was trying to balance the cup holder in one hand and hold the door open for another customer when something slammed into my shoulder. “Hey! Watch it!” 

“Han?”

I looked up to see Hyunjin with a sly grin on his handsome face. “Hyunjin?” He clapped me on the back and helped me hold the door. “What’s up, man?” I asked when we were both standing outside. 

“I actually just called you like twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh, sorry I think I left my phone at my apartment.” I shrugged, trying to move along the conversation. Hyunjin was the last person I wanted to see. Especially after what happened last night with Y/n. “What about?”

“Just to remind you that you’ve got two weeks until you officially lose our bet. Don’t worry, I left a message so you can’t forget.”

My heart dropped to my stomach. My phone was still in the apartment with Y/n. “Oh, shit,” I muttered, eyes going wide. Hyunjin seemed to pay my reaction no mind. He was still stuck in his own world like usual.

“Whose the other coffee for by the way?” 

Fuck. She was gonna hear the message. No. She can’t hear it from Hyunjin. That asshole is going to ruin any chance I have left with her. Dropping the coffee and take away bag, I started sprinting across campus back to my apartment.

“HAN, WHAT THE FUCK?” 

I prayed that Y/n was still asleep. Maybe I could get there before she woke up, delete the message and just put this whole bet thing behind me. Doing Hyunjin’s punishment seemed like nothing compared to losing Y/n. I burst through the lobby doors and spotted my landlord already in his office. 

“Mr.Kang!”

“Good lord! Mr. Han, what can I do for you?”

“Uh...my girlfriend- the uh woman I came back with last night. Has she left yet?” I said completely out of breath. He stared at me like I was insane. 

“Not to my knowledge. I didn’t even realize you were serious about someone.” 

Before he even finished his sentence, I was pushing myself off his doorframe and racing to the elevator. I slammed the button and watched the elevator come down but it was taking too long for me. “Fuck this.” Racing up the stairs my heart pounded in my chest. Would she even still be there? Or would she just leave and not give me a second chance?

“Y/n?” I called halfway down the hall. I could care less about my neighbors at this point. “Y/n?” I burst through the door, knowing I left it unlocked. I let out a sigh seeing Y/n seated on the couch. My face fell, when I saw the dried tears on her cheeks. Without looking at me, she reached in front of her and played a recording on my phone. Hyunjin’s voice filled the room. 

“Hey, it’s Hyunjin. Just reminding you, you’ve got two weeks to get into Y/n’s pants or you lose the bet. Your reputation as campus King is on the line, bro. Oh and don’t forget the cash prize.”

She stood up and kept her stare on the phone. She looked broken.

“Are you going to say something?” Her voice cracked like she was holding back tears.

All I could do was cross to her and take her in my arms. I held onto her, cradling her head against my chest, my heart still racing from the mild panic attack that was just now catching up to me. 

“Thank god you’re still here.” 

I felt a few tears fall from my cheek and into her hair. “Jisung...was that all I was to you? Some payout? A way to keep your title of Biggest Fuckboy on campus?” She pushed away from me and walked to the other side of the room. The distance felt like miles.

I could feel my heart breaking. “What-no. Maybe at the beginning, but it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter? It doesn’t matter, Jisung? Yes. Yes, it does matter. You can’t keep lying to me and expect me to forgive you every time.” She yelled at me from across the room. I had never seen her this hurt or angry and it killed me.

“Y/n, please. Listen to me.”

“Listen to you? Your buddy Hyunjin just told me the whole fucking thing!”

“No! You have to hear it from me! What he said- it’s all turned around and screwed up. That’s why I wanted to be the one to tell you.” She backed away as I came closer. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me last night?”

“Because I was afraid! I was afraid none of this would be real and this feeling would go away; that the meaning would be lost.”

“The meaning of what, Jisung?”

I grabbed her hand in desperation, scared she might walk out the door at any moment. “This. Right here. Us. You and me.”

“Jisung, there is no you and me anymore.” She said pulling away and walking back towards the bedroom. I raced forward and blocked the doorway. “Jisung, move.” She said pushing against my chest.

“No.”

“Jisung! I want out! I can’t love someone I can’t trust.” She pushed through me with as much force as she could manage. I watched as she picked up the dress she was wearing last night from the floor. She tore off my shirt that she was wearing and threw it in my face. Y/n struggled to put the white dress back on before grabbing her shoes and trying to walk past me. 

“Y/n! Don’t leave, please.”

“How much was I worth Jisung? How much money were you going to get for fucking me?”

“$1,500. But, I didn’t take it! I didn’t even tell them that I slept with you because I didn’t care about the bet anymore. Y/n, please believe me. I will get down on my knees if you want me to.” She just stared at me in the doorway. “I will do anything to get you to stay.” Another silence passed. I felt small under her gaze. She had every right to be furious at me. 

“Kneel.”

Quickly, I got down on my knees. I had never moved faster in my entire life. I looked up at her, sharing the same tear-stained cheeks. To my surprise, she got on her knees with me and wrapped her arms around my neck. 

“Please, don’t hurt me anymore, Ji.”

Nodding I wrapped my arms around her and pulled Y/n into my lap. “I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry. I love you, Y/n. I’m sorry.” I cried into her shoulder. We just sat on the floor of my bedroom, holding onto each other, waiting for what would happen next.

❁

Y/n’s POV

The zipper on Jisung’s graduation gown was being a real pain in the ass. It had gotten stuck two inches from the top. They had already called my name and given me a diploma, so I came to sit with my boyfriend. He fidgeted while I sat in his lap.

“Man, this thing is tight.” 

“Well, keep in mind I didn’t make it for you. I made it for Lia. Also, do you know how many girls would love their waist to fit into this?” I said slapping his shoulder. 

“I think I’d rather be able to breathe.”

“Beauty is pain, Ji.” I said as I messed with his zipped. He nervously tapped on my thigh and waist as he listened to the Dean call out the names of students. “Damn this zipper.” My years of costume study were now being defeated by the zipper on my boyfriends graduation robe. “Ah-ha!” The zipper finally complied and moved up to the top of the robe.

“Han Jisung. Music Production Major.” The Dean called out over the speakers.

“Knock em dead, Ji,” I said kissing his cheek. Jisung smiled and walked up to the stage. Before the Dean could hand him his diploma Jisung unzipped his robe and the entire student body was filled with gasps and laughs. Jisung proudly presented himself wearing the red and black lingerie and corset I had made for Lia in the musical. It left nothing to the imagination, especially below the bodice. 

The look on the Dean’s face was priceless and Jisung twirled in front of him and laughed along with our graduating class. Jisung shook the Dean’s hand and took his diploma. Before he walked off the stage he turned around pushed his robe aside and slapped his own ass receiving many cheers and wolf whistles from the students. 

I laughed as he came back to his seat. He gave me a great big kiss and pulled me back onto his lap. “That was a piece of cake,” Jisung said, wrapping his arms around my stomach and resting his chin on my shoulder. I kissed his forehead with a big grin.

“I have never been so attracted to a man in lingerie.”

❁

Requests are open! Just send and ask, lovelies!

Masterlist

[kendochick-moor]

March 2017 - ATLA - “Love Unfortunately” - Zutara

Another Zutara fic for a friend... which I just realized I didn’t finish.... *this is me currently hiding under a rock because this is YEARS overdue...*. It has a “Love Actually”-sort of vibe.

“Tulip” is part of this.

The usual fanfare outside her tall windows, bullet-proof glass protected by manicured hedgeways and wrought-iron fencing, rose as Katara sat with her advisors Aang and Toph in the most important office in the country.

Her kitchen.

“Are we expecting visitors?” asked Toph around a mouthful of ice cream. The collar of her bone-white shirt was popped and her knee-high black skirt hiked comfortably as she sat on the counter beside the fridge, bare feet dangling over the edge.

“Aang?” asked Katara with a frustrated sigh, her long, wavy chestnut hair scrunched up into a messy bun atop her head. She leaned over the stove and heated the large pot of soup as they day faded to night outside.

“Could be the caterer that was supposed to be here four hours ago. I’ll ask Security to check,” he said with a tired smile her way. 

“Thank you,” she grumbled, glancing up at him and sharing his tired smile. “Please let them know that this is the last time we’ll be ‘enjoying’ their services. Toph prepared a new tender notice per the contract specifications since this is the third time they’re late.”

Aang nodded as he left to speak to the Chief of Security, Katara’s father, Hakoda.

“You’re sure you don’t want a kitchen staff? Everyone else had a kitchen staff. Prime Ministers should have a kitchen staff ready to go at a moment’s notice,” said Toph from the counter.

Katara turned back to the stove and gave the pot a final stir before tapping the spoon on the side and pulling out a ladle.

“I am more than happy to have you and Aang here to keep me company in this palace, but I couldn’t live with a whole team of strangers,” admitted Katara. “Not after…”

Toph’s brow knotted as she crossed her arms, deep in thought.

“What about a private chef?”

“Too entitled. He or she would think this was their kitchen,” snorted Katara. She poured the final bowl of soup and collected the soup spoons and carried them to the small island in the middle of the kitchen where she had already set out oven-fresh biscuits, some goldfish crackers, margarine and veggie sticks. And a large bottle of wine beside her own spot.

Toph dumped her empty ice cream bowl in the sink then joined Katara at the island, finding her bowl immediately. They were quiet as each considered their own thoughts.

“You’re plotting,” said Katara after a beat.

“I have a friend in the city who’s in the restaurant business. He’s used to some pretty fancy clientele. He could have a staffer he could spare us while we look. I’ll speak to him,” said Toph.

Katara narrowed her eyes at Toph but shook her head and moved on.

Then Toph shot her soup clear across the island in a spectacular spit-take.

“Bean medley? Again!?” she shouted in disgust. “I wanted chicken noodle!”

Equally bitter but better mannered, Katara let out a deep breath through her nose. “I am not making three different kinds of soup at the end of the day, and Aang’s eating with us which means all meats are off the menu.”

Toph’s jaw jutted out mutinously before she heaved a sigh and picked up her abandoned spoon again.

“Bar food would be better than bean medley for six days in a row,” muttered Toph. “I’ll speak to my guy tomorrow,” she said.

“Sounds good,” said Katara, reaching for the far-too-light bag of goldfish crackers with a sense of pending betrayal. She opened the top and looked inside only to discover a  smidgen of crumbs.

The bag crumpled in her fist as she took a deep, calming breath.

“Hire someone tomorrow,” she said darkly. “And make sure they bring goldfish crackers.”

“Hn,” agreed Toph over her unsatisfactory soup.

“Good news!” said Aang, returning with a large smile on his face and his arms full of grocery bags of styrofoam containers. “The caterers were late, but they still brought the food.”

Hope dawning in Katara’s cerulean eyes and blooming across Toph’s eager face, they leaned forward to see what treasures abounded. 

“Wontons, shrimp, hell I’ll take vegetables at this point,” said Toph, mouth watering.

“Noodles, oysters, haddock,” whimpered Katara.

“Bean salads all around!” cheered Aang.

# # #

His back to his mirror, Zuko adjusted the Eldredge Knot of his tie, its faint pattern matching the texture of his business shirt, tucking the collar down over top. His pressed dress trousers were fitted, his shoes polished. His dark hair he’d tamed back—the shaggy bangs, at any rate—in a queue and took only the most cursory glance in the mirror before leaning forward to check his teeth.

“Protein spill at table three!”

“Oy! Zuko! You’re needed at table three,” called the floor supervisor.

Closing his amber eyes, his shoulders slumping, he collected his waist-apron and knotted it securely before collecting extra napkins—families always needed extra napkins—along with the mop, bucket, and spill towels onto the custodial cart. He proceeded through the narrow corridor from the employee changeroom out to the busy restaurant’s main dining room.

Donning the filthy rubber gloves from the cart, he cleaned the floor and chairs the child had vomited upon. He was turning away when he heard a shrill voice from across the room.

“Zuzu, brother dear, is that you?”

Jaw twitching, Zuko filled his lungs with a cleansing breath and pretended to ignore the stench of vomit that wafted from the cleanup bucket. He nodded politely towards the voice and began towing the bucket-cart back to the custodial closet to rinse it out in the grimy utility sink.

But the gods were against him that day as his sister—the family pride and joy, the successful one, the one their parents always introduced first, in spite of him being the oldest—appeared in front of him, blocking his path.

“It’s been too long, come join us, brother,” said Azula, smile wide and predatory between dark red lips.

“I’m working,” he said.

“Come on, Zuko! You can take a break!” 

“Working earns money to buy lame-ass things. He needs… stuff.”

Ignoring the sycophants that hung off his sister’s reputation and shoulders, Zuko glared down at Azula while feeling somehow like she was the one looking down her chin at him.

“Since when do the children of Ozai Sozin serve others?” she asked, smirking.

He narrowed his eyes at her, controlling his breathing as it rose in frustration.

“Zuko what are you doing standing there—Minister Sozin! I hadn’t seen you there, I apologize. Is my employee being rude to you?”

The restaurant manager appeared from behind Zuko’s shoulder, face red and impatient. The man dropped into a bow, sweat beading at his temples as he stared at the floor between Azula’s high-heeled feet.

“P-please let me know if there’s anything I can do to serve the Trade Minister. We are honoured you chose to dine at our fine establishment.”

Azula ignored the man, her eyes still on Zuko.

“What do you say? Join us at our table?”

“I need to return this to the—”

“I’ll take it,” broke in the manager. “Zuko, please see to our honoured guests.”

Swallowing hard, Zuko went to wash his hands before finding Azula at her own table again.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” she said, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder and pointing to the table. “This table was set up all wrong.”

Zuko bit the inside of his cheek.

“The glasses are dirty, the forks have food on them, the plates have spots—honestly, it’s like you aren’t even trying, Zuko. Replace. Everything.”

The table was spotless. 

Everything she said was a lie.

But people were staring by now, whispering, recognizing him, recognizing the resemblance between himself and Azula. Rumours resurfaced about what happened, those weeks ago when he—

Shame flooded his ears and the back of his neck. 

“I’ll go get a basin to collect—” he began, turning away—

—then fell face-first into the lap of a man at a nearby table when his legs were kicked out from under him.

The customer bellowed angrily and shoved Zuko away, cursing his clumsiness. The man’s food fell onto Zuko’s pristine hair and uniform, before he felt wine splashing his face, burning his eyes.

“Fool! Do you know who you’re dealing with!” the man yelled as Zuko tried to pull a spare napkin from his apron to wipe his face.

“I-I apologize—” he stammered, wincing as his ankle twisted a bit. The sharp pain on the side he knew resulted from Azula kicking him off-balance.

Behind him he heard Azula giggling, joined in by her friends.

“Oh Zuzu, look at the mess you made,” she tutted in disapproval.

“What’s going on here,” demanded the manager, rushing up to them. “Zuko? Again?”

“He really doesn’t seem to be having a very good night. Is this a regular occurrence?” asked Azula, lifting her glass of wine to her red, red lips. “I have to say, this isn’t very impressive for a restaurant of such normally high standards. I’m… disappointed.”

She lifted her phone up to take a photo, sharing it to social media.

“Worst. Experience. Ever,” she said, tagging the photo of Zuko covered in food, drowning in shame and impotence.

His eyes widening, the squat manager straightened before turning a thunderous look on Zuko.

“You’re fired!”

# # #

The following day

The tea shop, normally fairly lively by that point in the morning was quiet and cozy as Iroh poured tea for his nephew. They sat in a private booth towards the back of the traditional-style tea house, curtained off from the rest of the patrons, mainly retirees playing pai-sho, though the occasional student or artist dotted a booth, their books laid out around them like an introverted paper fortress.

Finished wrapping his nephew’s ankle and listening to his tale from the night before, Iroh’s brow furrowed.

“I’ll speak to that manager. I told him to watch out for you, and that people would be targeting you—”

“No,” said Zuko with a sigh. “No, it’s… She played us. All of us.” He looked away.

Iroh’s hard mouth softened as he understood that at the root of this, Zuko was too embarrassed to return to the restaurant.

In fact, Zuko was turning in on himself again. Depression made the boy listless, and he’d noticed Zuko’s increasing frustration and apathy since…

“We’ll find a good fit for you,” promised Iroh. “Is there another restaurant you’d like to work at? In a different part of the city?” he offered.

Zuko shrugged.

So educated. So experienced. 

So betrayed.

Iroh watched his beloved nephew and struggled with how to engage him and turn his defeated attitude around. 

Zuko had to want again, had to strive for something again. He’d lost his vigour for life after what happened, months ago. He didn’t blame his nephew in the slightest from wanting to escape the spotlight for a bit, but he was a young man in his prime who deserved far better than he’d received. 

He just needed to find the right fit.

Then Iroh’s phone chimed in a jaunty tone, alerting him to a text message.

“Excuse me a moment,” he said to Zuko, recognizing the personalized sound he assigned to one of his favourite people.

He read the message as Zuko sipped his tea and picked at the noodles he’d made them. While no master, Zuko’s tea and short-order cook days had served Iroh well when he’d needed a back-up kitchen hand in the past. Zuko’s—at times, obsessive—attention to detail and personal background had also assured that whatever was served was prepared and presented with care and aplomb. Under Iroh’s training, he’d also become one of the most knowledgeable, skilled brewers in the capital.

What the boy really needed was friends, and a place to find his confidence again.

Iroh’s lips quirked in a smile as he re-read the message.

Opportunity knocked by text.

# # #

In another milieu

Their bedroom was controlled chaos as Sokka lifted two of their three children in his arms and corralled the third towards the door while Suki packed her luggage.

“I thought you were staying the whole day? I made your favourite, crock-pot death by chocolate mess,” he lamented, as if the scent of chocolate and truffles through the house had somehow bypassed the rowdy children.

“My flight was moved up,” explained Suki, choosing three suits and carefully zipping them into their travelling bags before folding them inside her case. “Could you pass me that belt? Thanks.”

“Do you think you could get back early? I wanted to make a reservation for us at that new restaurant down by the—”

“Sorry,” said Suki, genuinely, as she glanced up at Sokka with furrowed brows. “This assignment has really taken over our resources. We’re hoping to tie it up soon, though. Your sister’s doing an amazing job with trying to smooth the path for us, but we still have legwork to do.”

Sokka watched Suki pack another suit and underwear—nice underwear—and he juggled the squirming children in his arms.

He leaned in close to her and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“I’ll get out of your way,” he said as she packed some jewellery. He didn’t recognize it. She must have picked it up on her last business trip.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know when I’m leaving.”

“You aren’t staying for lunch?”

She shook her head and wrapped her shoes, packing them, too. “No, my flight is just after and I need to be at the airport two hours early.”

“Daaaaad, you promised to play Legos with us!”

“Yeah, and make cinnamon rolls!”

Suki met Sokka’s eyes and gave him a fond smile.

“Go, I can pack my own things. I’m a big girl. They wouldn’t have made me Minister of Defence otherwise,” she said, patting him on the cheek.

“Call if you need anything. I’ll give you a ride to the—”

“There’s a car coming to get me.”

Sokka’s words died in his throat.

“Right. Well… I’ll just go.”

“Mmmm,” agreed Suki, already packing her toiletries.

Sokka wasn’t sure if she noticed him leave or not.

# # #

A day or so later, early evening…

Zuko’s insides squirmed as he accompanied his uncle towards the familiar brick-and-mortar building he’d fled several months before. His arms, heavily laden with insulated containers of food, tightened around the feast he carried.

“Stop fidgeting, you’ll spill the food,” said Iroh as they passed the security guards. Iroh himself toted a reusable shopping bag emblazoned with his tea-restaurant chain’s logo, the white lotus flower. He was completely at ease as they strolled down the marble corridors.

“Uncle—” began Zuko, his palms sweating the further they got into the private residence of the Prime Minister. They turned a corner and approached the private kitchens. “I—”

“Tea Bag? You’re here! Guys, food’s here!” whooped an eager female voice from inside.

A slender young woman with bouffant dark hair and alabaster skin rushed towards them, inhaling deeply and throwing her arms around—

—Zuko’s food.

“I knew you’d make it, delicious feast,” she sighed happily. 

At Zuko’s stiff side, Iroh chuckled.

“Your enthusiasm for our simple fare never ceases to amaze and gladden me, Miss Toph,” said Iroh. “Now where should Zuko set up?”

Dragging Zuko by his precious cargo, Toph led the pair into the private kitchens and to the island where cutlery and plates were already set up. Aang peeked up from his laptop and immediately shut the lid, smiling and greeting them, while two canines, a well-groomed English sheepdog and a curious Chihuahua, poked their noses and whuffled against the metal gate that closed off part of the kitchen to their make-shift kennel as the tempting aroma of seasonings and spices wafted through the room.

“Hey! Welcome to…” His voice died in his throat as Zuko set down the food and his face became visible.

Toph ignored Aang’s sudden silence in favour of opening up the containers Zuko had laid out on the counter. She inhaled deeply once more, grinning wider.

“Meat! You brought meat! A thousand blessings on the house of Iroh!” she cheered, lifting another lid and tossing it across the room to bounce off the pebble-patterned backsplash and into the sink. 

“Meat?” asked Aang in a strangled voice. His eyes never left Zuko’s face and he approached Toph, standing in front of her protectively.

Zuko remained quiet, focusing on his role of servant as he revealed dish after dish, before looking around for the fridge to set aside the dessert platter.

“We brought a variety of meals; many are vegetarian, several are entirely vegan,” assured Iroh.

“Does Katara know,” began Aang slowly, only to be interrupted as Katara burst through the door on her mobile phone, her long, dark wavy hair pinned up with a chopstick and her cheeks flushed with temper.

“—and if he thinks he can get away with such deplorable behaviour after what I did for him, then you tell him that the next time I see him it won’t be so—”

Katara froze as the room went quiet.

She lifted the phone to her ear again.

“Call you back.”

The beep as she ended the call echoed in the kitchen.

She straightened as she pasted on her Professional Smile and stuck out her hand.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. Hi, I’m Dr Katara Kuruk,” she said pleasantly. 

Iroh smiled back.

“I am General Iroh Sozin, of the Jasmine Dragon Tea Company,” he said in a low rumble. “Miss Toph is an old friend who invited us to serve you this evening.”

“Thank you so much, we really appreciate—’Us’?” asked Katara, drawing up as she still held Iroh’s hand.

No longer able to hide, Zuko quietly shut the door of the fridge and bowed towards Katara with impeccable precision and manners.

Iroh’s amiable and professional cheer never faltered. “May I present my nephew and assistant, Zuko Sozin.”

The silence was almost physical as it blanketed the room.

Releasing Iroh’s hand, Katara’s smile tightened as she forced it to shine on while turning to Zuko and reaching out once more.

“Charmed,” she said, her hand barely brushing Zuko’s and before he could grip and shake it properly she’d already pulled it back. “Well, let’s eat. I’m famished.”

“Already on it,” said Toph around a mouthful of wontons. “This is the best, Tea Bag.”

Iroh merely smiled, his eyes twinkling.

There was a moment of tension as Zuko stepped forward to serve the food, and Aang stepped in front of Katara when she reached for the serving spoons.

“Aang, what are you… Zuko… Please sit and join us,” said Katara tiredly. 

At Aang’s meaningful throat-clearing, Katara glared. At Aang.

“At my table, you serve yourself. If you’re here, you’re family,” she said firmly. After a moment of hesitation, she offered a plate to Zuko. “Sit down and eat,” she muttered.

Unsure what to do—for the last few months, all he’d done was serve others—Zuko froze again.

“If you don’t hurry, we’ll be all out of whatever these are,” said Toph, lifting up a deep fried treat.

“A pakora,” said Zuko awkwardly, still holding the plate Katara had given him. “That’s… that’s a chicken pakora. We have vegetable ones, too—” he began, trying to be helpful and reaching for another platter.

“You brought vegetable pakoras? I love vegetable pakoras!” cried Aang, coal eyes widening.

“And onion bajees,” said Zuko quickly, already reaching for another platter. “Try these. We make them with chickpea flour, so they’re a bit nuttier.”

With little encouragement Aang chose one and popped it in his mouth. His face practically glowed.

“These are amazing!” said Aang, his mouth full and eyes bright. “You have got to teach me how to make these!”

“He’ll be happy to!” said Iroh.

“Holy cow, what are these?” Toph swooned, scooping up another savoury dumpling-like morsel. It was liberally drizzled with a snow-white sauce and smelled of tantalizing meats and spices. 

“That’s mantoo, it’s Afghani. It’s like a potsticker dumpling with yogurt sauce,” explained Zuko. “I wasn’t sure if—”

“Next time bring more,” ordered Toph, mouth full.

“Uh… okay, yeah,” said Zuko.

“I love bar food as much as the next gal, but is there anything… not deep-fried?” asked Katara as she stared at the spread. She spooned a small portion of mantoo onto her plate and chewed on a bajee.

Iroh nudged Zuko.

“Oh, uh. Yes. Grilled salmon. And steamed asparagus. And we have a light lemon-couscous salad, with some sauteed—”

“Sea prunes,” whispered Katara, staring at the familiar Water Tribe dish.

“... yeah. I… I tried to incorporate a few traditional Water Tribe dishes. I hope they’re okay,” said Zuko in a rush as he stood again and offered the platters to Katara.

She looked up at him in confused wonder.

“You. You did this. All this?” she asked. The hand lifting the serving spoon to her plate paused as she waited for his answer.

The back of Zuko’s neck and ears warmed.

“Yeah. With Uncle,” he said.

Katara served herself and nodded at Zuko who sat down again.

He waited with baited breath as she lifted her fork to her mouth, the firm and tender sea prunes disappearing behind her lips.

He must have stared a moment too long as Katara blushed and looked away after catching his eye.

Zuko swallowed and leaned back, hunching his shoulders until his uncle poked him in the side.

“I hope everything’s okay,” he said, looking around and gauging each individual’s expression.

“This is the best food we’ve had in a long time,” said Toph.

“You are so teaching me how to make these,” added Aang.

Zuko’s chest lifted slightly, as a cautious grin crept to his lips. He turned to Katara once again, hopeful yet bracing himself for dismissal.

She chewed thoughtfully before setting down her fork.

“Needs a little sea salt next time, but otherwise perfect. You’re hired,” she said with a crooked grin. “Your room is already prepared for you.”

“Good,” said Iroh. “I brought his things.” He lifted the reusable grocery bag a bit too enthusiastically and a pair of Zuko’s black boxer-briefs flipped over the top to dangle its buttoned foldover fly teasingly in front of Katara’s face.

She immediately turned beet red.

“Uncle!” gasped Zuko, mortified.

He grabbed at the bag from his far-too-innocent Uncle and shoved it beneath his chair. Then whirled around to stare at him in open-mouthed horror.

“What do you mean ‘my room is ready’?”

“You’re officially hired as our new assistant. And personal chef. Mostly for the evenings, since we’re too busy to cook. But having goodies around is always a smart move.”

Completely bewildered, Zuko’s mouth worked as he tried to figure out aloud what was going on around him and to him.

“Chef—assistant—but—”

“Well, it’s getting late. I best get home before I fall asleep on my feet.”

Before Zuko knew it, his uncle had been escorted out the front door, Zuko’s bags had been remanded to his room, and he stood at its door while Aang explained where to find all the essentials he could need. 

Then the door shut behind Zuko and he was left alone in his room holding his glass of water from supper wherein the ice cubes had long since melted, his exhaustion left him limp and his confusion left him numb.

He set down the glass of water on the night stand and fell face-first into bed.

“... what do they mean, personal chef… and assistant?” he mumbled to himself before drifting to sleep.

# # #

The household was quiet as Zuko rose at his phone’s familiar alarm chime. He had always been an early bird, rising with or before the sun. Now that he had a new job, he woke even earlier. It was instinctive and a coping tactic at this point; the better prepared he was, the better he was able to anticipate adversity and thus the better he performed his tasks and responsibilities.

This morning, that task was breakfast in an unfamiliar territory.

He neatly folded his pyjamas and slid them under his bedding, also military-perfect in its hospital corners. Then he pulled on a clean, collared t-shirt, comfortable pressed slacks and slippers, and padded to the kitchen.

The havoc from the night before was cleaned up and he realized there must be a separate team on staff for housekeeping. He was slightly relieved he wouldn’t need to start from behind on his first day.

Then he narrowed his eyes at the cupboards, fridge and stove and snapped out his apron. With efficient movements he tied it—tight.

“Let’s get to work,” he said to himself in the quiet room.

# # #

“We need another advisor in that department,” argued Katara into her phone as she pulled her hand through her housecoat. “No, I don’t think it’s an exorbitant expense; I think that department is mired in groupthink and needs fresh ideas because they’re cronies from the old guard and elitist and—”

She shoved through the door to the kitchen, her mind entirely focused on the call while her stomach craved coffee and whatever leftovers may still be hanging around from the night before.

“—and I know they’re keeping secrets because they think knowledge is power but we need to share knowledge or they’re going to tank the trade agreement—”

She yanked open a cupboard and slammed it shut when she couldn’t find her usual mug. It was a super-sized tureen, neon green and the only thing big enough to hold her sanity-sustaining coffee.

And it. Was. Gone.

“Uh, good… morning.”

Katara paused.

Suddenly the scent of heavenly baking, cooked eggs, roasted vegetables, sliced fruit, sausages, tea and toast assailed her.

The chef from the night before stood before her, his trim hips wrapped snugly with a bartender’s apron, his shaggy hair tied back from his handsome face, and a plate full of fresh waffles offered to her.

Katara’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.

Zuko swallowed and set the waffles down when Katara didn’t reach for them. “I… I made apple-blossom dumplings. There’s tea on the table and freshly squeezed orange juice. Eggs four different ways, French toast, warmed Canadian maple syrup, béarnaise sauce in the gravy boat on the table, orange-banana-mango smoothies in a jug on ice, oatmeal, congee with preserves, the fruit platter will be ready when I finish the kiwi and pomelo. I baked bread this morning, and the donuts will be cooled enough to eat it—”

Katara’s response was clipped.

“Coffee.”

Zuko blinked.

“Coffee,” repeated Katara, half-feral.

Turning down the stove, Zuko hurried to the coffee grinder and pulled out three different bags of beans. “Would you like Costa Rican? Indonesian Java? Samoan? Espresso? Latte—”

“Get a coffee in my hands or you’re fired.”

Desperate, Zuko seized the closest beans he could reach, then hand-ground just enough for a single cup, poured scalded milk overtop of the filter and grinds and shoved the shameful concoction at Katara, along with milk, cream, sugar—

“JUST GIVE IT TO ME.”

He swallowed the urge to flinch and chose to stand up straighter. He’d faced worse than her before.

Glaring over the top of the cup at him, Katara took her first sip.

And sighed in disbelief and relief.

“Make me three more of these,” she said, lifting her cup and retreating from the kitchen back to the hall. “And no, I wasn’t ignoring you… No, I was getting my coffee… Fine, what’s your plan, then?...”

Her conversation continued as she disappeared back down the hallway towards her private living quarters again.

Zuko’s shoulders relaxed only when her footsteps faded away.

He looked around at the feast he’d assembled in his genuine efforts to please her and wondered where he’d gone wrong.

And also, how he was supposed to know when to have the other three cups of coffee ready. (Four cups of coffee? He thought to himself. That wasn’t healthy.)

He went back to the fruit peels he’d piled into the neon green bowl from the cupboard, shaking his head.

It was only a few minutes later when he heard running and the door of the kitchen slamming open again, and a half-crazed voice call out,

“Food! I smell food!”

“Uh, I have plates…”

“No need!” garbled Toph around a mouthful of food before she moaned in happiness. “Oh man, you’re staying forever, this is awesome. Is that… Sriracha sauce? For my eggs?”

“Yes…”

“You, my man, are my new best friend.”

In spite of his bewilderment, a hesitant smile rose to Zuko’s lips.

# # #

Katara looked up at the supper table, her brow furrowed.

“Did we have a delivery today?” she asked, looking at the centerpiece.

From his place at the stove, his raven hair tied back, Zuko followed her gaze before turning back to the braised tofu and eggplant he was cooking in the wok.

“No.”

The pinks, purples, blues, yellows and oranges in the cut-glass vase were bright, lively and warmed the often cold, cluttered room. Katara took a moment to look around, noting that not only was the room clean and tidy now, it was organized and simplified. The spare appliances and gadgets that had always lined and piled upon each other on the counters were neatly arranged on shelves with dust covers overtop. The sink had a few dishes in it but wasn’t over run. The floors were clean and shining. The room smelled freshly, lemony clean instead of slightly sweet and decaying from rotten food that hadn’t been properly put away or cleaned up. It was a vast improvement over their rushed day-to-day housekeeping, and it looked like Zuko had made a point to speak to the cleaning staff about the standards to be kept, too.

When she heard a whisper-faint whirring sound, she looked to the left and smiled when she saw the rice cooker humming away, steam releasing from the top valve. Ah, so that was the homey smell she’d noticed earlier.

“Tea’s in the pot,” he said, still focused on his wok as he tossed the contents in the air with a flick of his wrist. “Jasmine.”

“Coffee,” said Katara automatically.

“It’ll take me a second to get to it,” he said.

“That’s fine.”

Katara stood for a moment before starting to feel a bit awkward with the silence. She moved to the island and hoisted herself up onto a stool, resting on her elbows as she watched Zuko cook. Beside him were neat piles and bowls of vegetables and chopped meats, while on the counter opposite the stove were several dishes ready and steaming. Katara watched his confident hands, mesmerized by the shift of muscle in his strong forearms.

“See something you like?” he asked.

Shocked into half-tipping off her chair, Katara’s jaw dropped as she gaped at Zuko.

“You—you think I was—”

He gestured with his chin to the hot food on the sideboard. “I made plenty. The rice still needs a few minutes but you can help yourself.”

Katara’s jaw snapped shut as her cheeks burned.

“I’ll wait for the others,” she said, steadying her heart as she composed herself outwardly.

To her mild infuriation, Zuko shrugged.

Needing to distract herself, Katara turned back to the bouquet of flowers in the middle of the table. A faint smile curved her lips as she reached out to stroke the soft petals.

“Why tulips?”

“Hn?” he asked, the crackle from the fry pan drowning out her words.

“Why did you choose tulips? You bought them, didn’t you?”

Zuko hesitated, and to her surprise she noted the way his shoulder blades tensed. “I used my own funds, not the kitchen budget—”

“Use the kitchen budget next time. And I like them. And gerbera daisies, too. They’re often colourful,” said Katara. “I’ll make sure we increase the budget a bit if we need to, so we can have flowers once in a while. Let me know how much you need.”

“We have a special occasion budget, for—” broke in Zuko, but Katara waved him off.

“I know you are very careful about the kitchen budget. You shop at the cheaper grocery stores and buy quality food there instead of always visiting the gourmet shops for over-priced non-essentials. You always go with your Uncle. Iroh, wasn’t it?” said Katara. Her left foot remained hooked under the stool’s brace while her right foot dangled and swayed. She hadn’t spoken much to Zuko since he was hired. Now she was curious about him. He was obviously an overachiever, but he’d had his background and earnestness used against him. He still sought approval, attention, from those around him. Outside his uncle, she’d never seen him associate with a friend. And truly, outside of his shopping trips her intelligence network informed her he didn’t meet or speak to anyone. He worked and cooked for her, met and shopped with his uncle… and went to sleep.

For the first time Katara wondered if he was lonely.

She looked back at the flowers. “Would you like a small ‘experimental dish’ budget? To try new recipes without having to worry about it taking away from the kitchen budget?”

By now Zuko had set aside the braised tofu and eggplant in a casserole dish and had moved on to grinding up Katara’s coffee beans to make her latte.

He paused as he fumbled with the shiny, stainless steel grinder.

“Wh-what?”

“You. For yourself. A small budget for you to experiment with new dishes, so you don’t have to worry about the cost or time affecting the rest of the meal budget. And you’re welcome to invite your Uncle Iroh to visit and cook with you.” She added the last bit on the spur of the moment, and was rewarded with at first wide amber eyes, then relaxed shoulders and a hint of a smile. It warmed her insides and she found herself reciprocating it before she could help it.

“Uncle would love the opportunity to show off,” said Zuko. His wrists flicked as he ground up the coffee beans again, turning to the counter. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“You’ll still have your regular duties to attend to,” said Katara, feeling the warmth spreading dangerously close to her cheeks, ears and throat.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a nod.

Katara’s heart stuck in her throat with that single word.

Ma’am.

Of course. Ma’am. Because she was his supervisor, his leader, not his friend.

The kitchen soon filled with noise from Aang and Toph as they joined in for dinner, and Katara took the opportunity to mentally shake herself.

Zuko was her employee. Not her friend.

It was easy enough to remember before. Nothing had changed.

Unconsciously her eyes fell upon the colourful vase of tulips before the delicious scent of cinnamon-topped latte broke through her senses.

“It’s ready,” said Zuko, setting the cup down in front of her on a coaster.

“Thank you,” she replied automatically.

Employee. Not friend.

# # #

Zuko’s phone alarm beeped at 6am the next morning, rousing him from a restless, dreamless sleep.

Mumbling to himself as he tapped the phone to stop the chime, he rubbed his eyes and wondered at the unfamiliar mattress beneath him.

[rhysismydaddy]

Felons pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nessian multichapter. Next part out probably Monday. As always, this one just sets up some stuff so it’s kinda boring. This one’s probably going to be long. And an emotional roller coaster. Just letting you know :) 

Lightly based off the book The Witness. I say lightly because I’ve actually never even read this book, but my mom told me about it. ALSO no offense to anyone who’s from/lives in Nebraska lol.

Cassian swiveled around in his chair and looked at his partner with raised brows. “She’s in Nebraska?”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

Someone’s a little testy today. He ignores the tone and repeats, “But... Nebraska? What the hell is she doing there? And why did it take us so long to find her?”

Azriel gives him a tight look, and he realizes the reason for his pissy attitude. He’s annoyed it took him so long to track her down. 

Before he can tell his partner it isn’t his fault, he says, “She isn’t doing much. She’s completely off the grid. Which answers your second stupid question, too.”

“Okay... how off the grid are we talking?”

The woman had grown up in a penthouse, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t imagine her living in the middle of nowhere without any of the comfort she’d lived with her entire life. 

“No cell phone or bank records for the last two years. The last time she was seen by any sort of traffic camera was before that, and it was in Atlanta.” He scrolls through something on his desktop with a frown. “From what I can tell, she took all her money out in cash and hoped on a bus.”

Nothing about that sounded like the woman he’d been reading about, but he wasn’t about to argue with Azriel in such a bad mood. “So she went straight to Nebraska?”

“I don’t know.”

His least favorite answer. “How’d you find her, anyway?”

“Well, I figured that unless she was sleeping under a bridge, she had to be paying rent somewhere. So I went state by state, looking at new property purchases under her known aliases.” Azriel sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. “But that didn’t pull up any results, so I looked at all the IDs on new renter’s insurance purchases until I matched one to her.”

His eyebrows rose. “That’s...”

“Tedious as shit.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why it took so damn long,” he mutters. “She’s been careful, Cass. I mean really, really careful.”

A laugh bubbled out of him at that. “Well, she should be. She’s a felon.”

~Nesta~

Nesta’s breath clouded in front of her as she ran up the hill, panting like crazy. Even though she’d taken up running after the move, she still fucking hated it. Especially when it was cold. 

Which, in Nebraska, was somehow year round.  

Even the summers here were cold compared to back home-

No. Not home. 

This was home now. 

California was slowly, painfully becoming a distant memory, and she had to constantly force herself to remember that Mackenzie Brooks had never lived there. She was born in Michigan. She has no family or friends. Her hobbies include reading and running (the last of which was a definite mistake to include). 

And she was her. 

God, it honestly was a miracle she hadn’t slipped up yet. 

Maybe it was still the fear that drove her. Maybe it was just that she knew she could never go back to her old life. No matter that she wanted to.

No matter that she’d picked up and left without a word.  No matter that her sisters probably thought she was dead. 

Thankfully, she made it to the top of the hill before she passed out or died, and she bent over, sucking down the freezing air. It was only October, but it was already cold enough to force her to wear three layers and a beanie. 

Despite being miserable and cold, she forced herself to go through her training course. 

Because it couldn’t just be enough to be fit enough to run away anymore. If the person chasing her was faster... 

Nesta punched her hand through the target, satisfied when the wood cracked down the middle. Her knuckles luckily had gotten used to the abuse, so when she ducked under the branch and struck again, another target went flying. 

By the time she was done, her hands and arms were tired and her body was aching for a bath. 

Or two hours on a warm, sunny beach. 

Since only one of those things was bound to actually happen, she trudged back to her cabin, praying the hot water would hold out long enough for a full bath. 

One thing about Blair, Nebraska was that somehow, the less than ten thousand people who lived here were always experiencing a water shortage. 

It rivaled the cold ass weather for her least favorite thing about the place as a very close second. 

Noticing who was parked in front of her small little house, she grimaced and amended her statement. Lack of hot water was actually third, second only to the one and only Sheriff Marks. 

He spun around when he finally heard her steps, smiling a big, ugly, fake smile. “Miss Brooks.”

“Marks.”

According to small-town social guidelines, she was being beyond rude for not calling him Sheriff. But he was a short, ugly, annoying man, and she didn’t hold an ounce of respect for him. 

And because she wasn’t completely fake, she didn’t bother hiding it. 

“What are you doing on my property?”

His smile dimmed as his eyes beady eyes narrowed slightly. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. You never come into town. And here in Blair, we take care of each other.”

That right there was the reason for her dislike; Sheriff Marks was an insatiably curious man. 

And ever since she’d shown up a year ago, he’d been trying to put together the puzzle of why a moderately attractive young woman would move to the middle of butt-fucking nowhere. 

“I’m fine.”

She wanted to walk by him and go inside, where she could blissfully lock him out, but she had a list of rules now, and not putting her back to people she didn’t know or like was at the top of it. 

“Okay, sure, but-”

“Listen, Marks. I appreciate this... gesture, but I moved here to be left alone. I’d appreciate it if you would respect that.” It was the most she’d ever said to him, and he looked a little shocked. “I think I’ve made it more than clear.”

His face went somehow even ruddier, and for a split second, she regretted the harsh words. 

She couldn’t have people caring about her, though. When people cared, they stopped by more and felt entitled to know your business. Neither of which were things she wanted. 

So she just raised a brow and shot a meaningful glance to his cruiser. 

“Yes. It’s perfectly clear exactly who you are.” 

She almost rolled her eyes at the attempted insult, thankful when he finally turned to leave. As he was pulling away, she united her muddy shoes and got her house key from her sock, grimacing at how tight her back was when she stood up. 

Inside, she went through and made sure every door and window was locked, a habit she’d picked up two years ago and hadn’t been able to shake. 

God apparently was looking out for her today, because when she finally made it upstairs, there was enough hot water to fill the tub. 

When she sunk down to her shoulders and closed her eyes, enjoying the moment of peace. But then images of her sisters’ faces, the ocean, and her old home popped up uninvited in her head. 

It was always quiet moments like these when she found it the hardest to shake the memories of who she used to be. And since Nebraska was always fucking quiet... 

Nesta reminded herself of why she was here; why it had been necessary to leave. She reminded herself that her family was safer with her gone, that she was safer. 

But the hole in her chest refused to listen and close up. 

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she was too tired to even brush it away and chastise herself. Because for the first time in twenty-five years, she admitted she was lonely. 

She’d been alone for most of her life, but there was a difference between alone and lonely. Even when she’d isolated herself from her family and friends, they’d still been there for her. 

But now... she had no one here. And she’d never felt so alone in her life. 

It was horrible enough to make her consider going back, despite the risks. 

This is home now, she told herself, dunking under the water to wash away the thoughts hounding her. You didn’t work your ass off to get safe just to bitch out after a year. 

Coming up and gasping for air, she went through her cover, just like she did every night. 

“My name is Mackenzie Brooks, nickname Mackie. I’m from Michigan, but I moved to Nebraska last year to start over. I like to read and run. I’m twenty-five.” Taking a deep breathe, she finished, “I don’t have any family.” 

No amount of time under the water could ebb the sting of those words, though.

~Cassian~

Cassian was honestly a little surprised he hadn’t gotten fired. 

He absolutely hated his orders, and he’d made that more than clear. They’d come straight from Command and “weren’t negotiable,” but that didn’t mean he hadn’t tried. 

Calling his boss a two-faced asshole might’ve been a bit much, but it felt justified in the moment.

Because in all the time he’d spent searching for Nesta Archeron, he’d always pictured the day he’d finally track her down and slap some cuffs on her wrists, haul her away to jail.

He’d never imagined he’d be given orders to find out what she knew first. 

And he’d also never imagined having to do so in fucking Nebraska. 

An hour in the state, and he already hated it. He was from Boston, so he didn’t mind the cold weather, but the lack of buildings over thirty feet was a shock to the system. 

That, alongside the fact that everyone here was wearing some form of plaid, only worsened his mood. 

It wasn’t like he cared about her or anything, but he’d never really liked undercover work. Deceiving a woman--no matter that she was a criminal--never felt right to him. 

But orders were orders. 

He had to find out why she’d run, what she knew about what had happened, and if she had any proof. The goal was to get it all recorded, so he had to carry around a stupid little tap recorder in his jacket pocket. 

Maybe she’d meet him and just spill her guts immediately. That’d be ideal, but it seemed pretty fucking unlikely. At the very least, he’d have to get her to trust him enough to talk about the events of two years ago.

He drove the crappy old truck Azriel had gotten him through the small town, gaining the eyes of pretty much every person he passed. 

Not a lot of new people, apparently.

Ignoring them, he drove to the address of a small house on the outskirts of town. Or home for however long it took him to get close to her. 

Gods, I hope she’s talkative, he thought, walking up the creaky stairs and shouldering the door open. 

Quiet and small, but at least it was clean. 

Throwing his bag down, Cassian grabbed his laptop and started to get to work. 

~

Three hours and a trip to the grocery store later, he’d learned absolutely nothing Nesta--or Mackenzie Brooks, rather. 

There had been nothing online, and no one in the store had much to say besides, “She moved here a year ago. Keeps to herself.”

Great. 

Luckily, he had a reason to go see her. They were neighbors. Kind of. 

Her house was further out of town than his, and she owned the land around it, so she didn’t actually have neighbors. But he lived within a two mile radius, so he counted it. 

Which is why he found himself sitting in her gravel driveway, eyebrows high on his forehead, staring at the place.

And for the first time, he questioned if Azriel was right. 

Because the woman he’d read about... she definitely didn’t seem the type to live here. 

The porch was missing floor boards, the roof was caving in on one side, and the paint on the outside of the house was peeling off. The only thing that looked somewhat new was the front door. 

It had three locks and seemed to be a little heavy duty compared to the house, which made it stand out in a pretty obvious way.

Stepping out of the car, he walked up to get a better look, avoiding the holes in the floor. The house was quiet, and he knocked on the door, finding it to be solid and heavy. 

No answer. 

He knocked again, waiting a few minutes. Then he decided to be nosy and peek in the window. 

A couch and dining table were all that was visible, furthering his opinion that she couldn’t actually live here. 

She’d grown up in one of the nicest apartment buildings in California. Her father had been a wealthy real-estate tycoon. She’d gone to private school and sailing camp, for Christ’s sake. 

There was no way she lived here. 

That theory was proven very soundly incorrect a second later when he felt something tap the back of his head. Repressing the jump that rose from not hearing anyone sneak up on him, he straightened and turned around. 

And found himself looking down the barrel of a shotgun into the surprisingly beautiful, angry face of Nesta Archeron. 

“You have five seconds to get the hell off my porch.” 

Shock ran through his system like lightening. For a few reasons, the least of which was the gun. 

For starters, pictures didn’t at all do her justice, because she was probably the most attractive thing Cassian had ever laid eyes on. And that was with mud splattered on her face, hair in a ponytail, and athletic clothes covering her thin frame. 

Then there was the fact that Azriel had been completely correct. Nesta Archeron, pampered little trust fund princess, was living here. In Nebraska. Completely off the grid. By herself. 

The gun was also a surprise, but not as much as the way she was holding it. Her feet were squared, her shoulders lined up to absorb the kickback if she fired. She looked... she looked like she knew what she was doing. 

She raised a brow, reminding him of the fact that he still hadn’t spoken. 

And remembering who he was supposed to be, what he was supposed to do, he ignored the gun and smiled broadly. “Or what?”

“Or I will shoot you,” she responded calmly, hand pulling back the fore-end to load the gun with a snap. 

“You aren’t going to shoot me,” he assured her. “I brought you a pie.” He held up the baked good and grinned. It was from the grocery store, but it still counted, right? “It’s blueberry.”

“What? Who the fuck are you? And why are you here?”

Sticking out a hand that she ignored, he said, “Cassian. I’m here because I just moved in to the place about a mile from here, and I wanted to meet my neighbors. I gotta say, I’m loving the hospitality.”

Nesta ignored the joke and asked incredulously, “You moved here?”

He nodded. 

She just narrowed her eyes, not buying it apparently. 

Good God, “stand-off-ish” didn’t begin to cover it. 

He was having a difficult time wrapping his head around the fact that this was the same woman who’d gone to UC Santa Barbara, liked to surf, and had dated a movie star.

“But what about the-”

“I hate pie.”

He scoffed, leaning against the crumbling wall of her house like he was unbothered by the rejection in her voice. “No one hates pie.”

Nesta shrugged, jerking her chin towards his truck in a clear get the fuck out manner. 

“I’ll leave if you tell me your name,” he bargained, acting like he didn’t know who she was already.

There was a pause of silence, and a bit of sadness seeped into her bright blue eyes. “Mackenzie.”

Mackenzie Brooks, one of her aliases.  

“Pretty name.”

“Leave.”

“Sweetheart, I honestly can’t believe you’re trying so hard to get rid of me. I’m the best looking guy around here.”

That might very well be true, considering he hadn’t seen a single person under the age of fifty when he’d gone out earlier. 

“And what if I’m not looking for a man?”

“I have a female cousin you could date instead.”

Her lips twitched, and it made him a little too happy to see. “If I take the pie, will you leave?”

“Counteroffer. We split the pie, then I’ll leave.”

Her eyebrows go up. “Who the hell offers someone half a pie?”

“I was planning on giving you the whole pie, but I didn’t know you’d be so beautiful. And feisty.” He ran his eyes over her slowly. “A quality I never even knew I liked.”

“The urge to shoot you just increased.”

Cassian waggled his eyebrows. “So passionate.”

Nesta just sighed, finally lowering the gun. She engaged the safety and leaned it against the door, then snatched the pie from his hands and walked to the porch railing. 

He noticed she didn’t turn her back to him the entire time, and she she kept the gun in arm’s reach. 

What the hell had she been through?

His train of thought was cut off when he heard a splat. Nesta came back to him, one crumpled half of the pie lying upside down in the lid, the other in the original container. She shoved the crumpled half toward him. “Now leave.”

“How did you even cut it? Do you have a knife hidden between your breasts?”

It was a miracle she didn’t slap him for that one. She just narrowed her eyes again and said, “Yes.”

He honestly believed her. 

Cassian sighed, knowing he had to actually leave now. “Well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but it’ll do. It was lovely to meet you, Mackenzie.”

“Please just leave.”

Ouch.

He laughed and walked to his truck, calling out, “I’ll see you soon, neighbor!”

Nesta frowned at that, but he ignored it and grinned back. 

She stood on the porch watching him drive away until he was a certain distance, then picked up her stuff and unlocked the door. 

Well, Azriel had definitely been right: she was being very, very careful. 

But why? 

Cassian had no idea, but he was definitely going to find out. 

_____________________________________________________

Part 2

@sjm-things​ @santas-dwynwen​ @thebitchupstairs​ @sayosdreams​ @perseusannabeth​ @cursebreaker29​ @a-bit-of-a-cactus​ @elriel4life​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @highqueenofelfhame​ @tswaney17​ @rowanisahunk​ @superspiritfestival​ @studyliketate​ @over300books​ @justgiu12​ @maastrash​ @aesthetics-11​ @bamchickawowow​ @b00kworm​ @sleeping-and-books​ @musicmaam​ @hizqueen4life​ @maybekindasortaace​

[psychemeanscure]

PART 12 {Finally! Yay. Sorry for the long wait. Hehe. Enjoy reading y’all~ :)}

“Sung Eunyoung!”

Now it’s her turn.

She was in the middle of checking and signing some papers in her meeting room fresh from a meeting as she expects the thunderous intonation of Jang Taeyoung’s frustrating stance barge in. “What was that, huh? I’ve been seized as a CEO of my own Casino Hotel?! And when the hell did you become friends with that f*cking prosecutor?! Shit! What are you up to, woman?”

He was even pointing a hand from the direction of her glass walls implying the said person whom he actually stumbles upon on his way to her. Continuous grumbles, posing hands on his waist and vigorous stomping of steps back and forth. She can really see his distress indeed. But the hell she cares. She just going to do her thing comfortably sitting on its comfy chair.

Thy woman in front of him doesn’t even give a flinch and was just right there crossing a leg from where she’s seated, unbothered by his menacing presence. He was pissed. But still tried to control his blazing anger. Taking a suppressing breath, pressing his lips into thin line. Gripping on the headrest of her chair while the other on the opposite vacant side. Domineering eyes finally went open gazing onto her.

“Talk to me.”

Thus a resonating sound of her pen being rest down field their silent tension. As her boring gaze landed through him. “As much as I don’t have time for your petty complaints Mr. Jang, fine I might just entertain you for the last time. So what do you prefer to clarify first, then?”

His jaw tightened. It was as if they went back from where they started. Two risk takers who had just met for the first time. “Eunyoung.”  His stern announce of her first name as if letting her remember that they aren’t just like the days back then. Yet she did not stir even a bit. Concluding her own assumption instead.

“I’ll take the in order it is.”

“Sung Eunyoung.” It was his warning this time. “The first one then. As far as I remember Mr. Jang, Casino Hotel is entitled under my name. Given that I possess the largest stocks in it. Per se that decisions will only be made by me and mine alone. So I can’t seem to seek where you belong when the last thing I know was that I am still the rightful owner. Am I right?”

She obviously continues her own as she even clasps her hands after. While he was now clenching from his grip. “Sung Eunyoung, please.” His hoping plead still. “Second. Mr. Kim? Oh. I never realize he could be much helpful for me with you as a proof. I should have done shaking his hand earlier.”   

“Sung Eunyoung!”

With the defying slump of his palms on the meeting table, he burst out totally. “Is this about the matter of not telling you the reason? Huh?” His cold words to her already, yet the considerate her is nowhere to be seen that only nonchalant eyes been offered for him. “Guess my explanation won’t be needed for your third complaint then, Mr. Jang. You had just answered it by yourself.”

“Then the hell did I just tell you to f*cking trust me, Sung Eunyoung?! TRUST ME, bullsh*t!”            

“And you really think I can just accept a petty excuse over a serious business Jang Taeyoung?!”  

With a thud of her fist on the papers she had checked, standing up with the same intensity as him. She can’t help to erupt indeed. But the moment she senses the number of stares of her employees by the glass walls, she obliged to calm down. Taking a deep breath as she sits again as if what happened was like a casual thing to do. And If weren’t for the soundproof feature of her meeting room there’s no doubt their loud exclaims were long been a news already.

“Mr. Jang, I bet you also forgotten who I really am.  BUSINESS is my obsession. And you dare tell me to trust you? Oh, come on. I’ve been in this industry more than you do, met different alligators all my life only to get stirred by a scavenger who can’t even give a mere valid reason? Tss. I don’t think so.”

A gritted teeth came after him finally as he starts to rest his hands on the table bending a bit of his body forward while arrogantly tilting a head to level their faces. “Scavenger? So I am being addressed as a scavenger now, Sung Eunyoung? Fine, I’ll accept that. But business? Isn’t the pretend fiancé a business to you as well, Ms. Sung? Then how can you compromise the damage when you’re betraying your husband-to-be, huh?”

His threatening tries of words just to be surprised by her sudden shift of emotions as she caressingly cups a hand on his cheek. From lovingly looking at his face as if memorizing every inch of it. To a concern weary eyes staring at him like forever. He was tamed and he can’t deny it when considering the closeness of their faces isn’t helping as well.  Not until…

Before a snorted intimidating laugh came in. She even starts tapping his jaw as if astonished by something beyond her imagination. “God! I can’t believe a fearless Jang Taeyoung can be too absorbed by his own role. Or shall I say, am I really that good of an actress for you to get stirred up this much?”

Letting go of her hand from his face then to later cross arms on her chest, leaning comfortably again to its seat. She proceeds. “My apologies Mr. Jang, but Amilia tolerated you enough for her to get tired already. Don’t worry, you do know that I’m a greatest venturer, aren’t you? So yes, I can manage.”    

“Enough, Sung Eunyoung.”

Just his cold remarks then to obviously not considered by her. “Betrayed? Oh wow, you’re kidding right? You did it first. I’m just returning the favor Mr. Jang. You with my Nightclub and I with your supposed to be Casino Hotel. Win-win with a twist. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Shi---“

He was halt from cursing indeed when she eventually slaps him hard before he can. “Shitty b*tch? Tsk, tsk, tsk. Jang, you’re too late to realize it, really? You thought I’m just dealing with you without a spare on hand? Jeez. I didn’t know you were this reckless, I pity you.”

He can clearly hear her insults surely for his head was still sided from her slap. He’s truly near of his limit as he can foresee it to later. Closing his eyes as the last hold back turning his face towards her again. He sternly speaks. “Stop. Provoking me. Or you would not like what I might going to do to you next, Sung Eunyoung.”

Only to be answered by her mockery. “Aww. As if I am Jang Taeyoung.” She even dodges his pointing finger by her hand, standing up afterwards diligently stuffing her things, stepping to the direction of her secretary who was now waiting outside. “Anyhow, Mr. Jang. I still have an outside appointment to attend. So if you’ll excuse---“

And that’s it!

He exploded absolutely as she was forcefully pinned through the wall, gripping hands tightly holds into her wrists. And so there’s nowhere for her to escape. She was trapped not like literally but from the piercing stare of the man who caused it as she gives the same coldness he was.

“You don’t know anything.”

“Then you should have told me.”

“You assured me.”

“Well, I can’t remember.”

“Sung Eunyoung!”

With another thud from his gripping hands she flinches, as she felt the much tighter hold he did. But the hell she would fall. She managed to regain her domineering composure indeed. “You would not like to add another evidence for your future interrogation as well. Right, Mr. Jang? Assault will be much a problem you know.”    

Understanding what she meant as he can also see the nosy reactions from the outside, he obliged to let go yet for some reason he can’t face her this time. He avoided her gaze by only glancing to the other side. He doesn’t like to accept but he become defeated.

To later felt her hand cupping his cheek again, urging him to face her. Right there they stared in each other’s eyes, cold. So cold as an iceberg can be, little unaware of her next move. She sealed him a kiss. A kiss which for her was something yet for him is nothing. It was deep, that she has to cup another hand with the other to pressed their faces much more and he could have excited him but no, it was empty. He was kissed by a numb lips and he was just being stiffed.  

“Consider that as my last gift. Goodbye, fiancé.”

Her bid of goodbye like there were other meaning from it. He wouldn’t know. All he knew was that he was already left alone with the same paralleled event he once did to her, that the only thing he could do is to pass his anger kicking a thing near him.

~

“Let him be for a while.”

Her secretary knew instantly what she meant without further details. “Yes, ma’am. Are you alright, perhaps?”

“Don’t bother.”

They’re halfway through passing the corner aisle of the employee’s desks when she remembered another one. “Oh, and one more thing.” She purposely scrutinizes her eyes to her employees who’s as well attentive of her presence before turning to her secretary, adamant words she intended to order with conviction.

“Please fire everyone who’s present here if I would hear coherent rumors upon what happened just now. Are we clear, Ms. Yoo?”

Her secretary only bowed at her to later tends to the mass of employees’ sudden gasps, frightened by the possible jeopardy which may come upon them. “You all heard it, right?”

A crystal clear warning of her secretary and it only takes a second before a simultaneous bow of heads as well as a chorus of words they needed to utter can be heard by her ears, dominantly walking the rest of the aisle she takes.

“Yes, ma’am!”  

[mkw-raider]

Fire Ch. 4

Summary: A study session filled with gay panic and revelations.

Chapter 4/4: With A Heart That’s Beating At The Speed Of Light, You’ve Been Waiting For This Feeling All Your Life

Pairing: Chloe/Marinette

AO3     First - Previous - Last

Chloé had never had the Bee Miraculous for long enough to settle into a routine with Pollen. Their lack of routine didn’t stop them from bonding though. She had gotten to know the little kwami in the short time they knew each other, and she did miss her, but their relationship was nothing like the relationship she had with Wayzz. 

Where Pollen had agreed and submitted to Chloé’s every whim, Wayzz expressed his disagreement. He never scolded her, even when she probably deserved it, he instead just made suggestions for things she could be doing, or tried to help her come to the conclusion on her own. Chloé was thankful for him. Even in their short time together, he had made a positive impact on her life. Thanks to him, Chloé had started trying to accept things as they come to her in life. Which is why when Mme. Bustier had paired Chloé with Marinette for a book project, she had kept her freakout internal, and accepted the arrangement with a small smile. The Chloé who felt entitled to the Bee Miraculous probably would have thrown a fit or tried to force Marinette to do everything herself, but the Chloé who was still trying to deserve the Turtle and the trust of Wayzz just sent Marinette a soft smile and accepted that they would be working together.

Ever since Chloé had been appearing on Marinette’s balcony, she had been making more of an effort to acknowledge Marinette in school. A smile here, a wave after class there, and they had been having the most positive interactions between them in years. Chloé didn’t know if the smiling had been enough to make Marinette trust that she wasn’t trying to hurt anyone and was trying to change, but it seemed like the other girl was less suspicious, and she had smiled back at Chloé a few times.

Originally she had been bummed that she had managed at least one positive conversation with everyone else in the class, including Alya which was a miracle that Chloé still couldn’t believe, except for Marinette, but Wayzz had reminded her that progress was still progress regardless of how small it felt.

Chloé rode the wave of hope all the way to her first meeting with Marinette for the project. It had been in a coffee shop between their homes. Neutral ground for them to meet on.

She had arrived half an hour early, in part to find the perfect seat, she figured something closer to the windows so the light could make Marinette’s eyes sparkle, but mostly she needed the half hour to prepare for her first actual nice conversation with Marinette in years. Wayzz had helped her make a list of things she needed to do before they could actually start on the project and they had come up with a plan that had calmed Chloé’s nerves. First she would offer to get Marinette something to drink, as well as something to eat, while she went up to order her own things, so Marinette could settle at their table and they could both have something to occupy themselves with before Chloé moved on to part two. Then, she would apologize, genuinely, for how she had treated Marinette previously and briefly explain that she would no longer behave in the cruel way she had. Wayzz had added a point of expressing that Marinette was under no obligation to forgive her, and though Chloé wanted her forgiveness and friendship, she had to admit that Wayzz was right and had kept it. After her apology, they would work on the project, dividing things in a way that worked for both of them, and working together on what they needed to. If Marinette decided she didn’t want to work with Chloé anymore after her apology, then Chloé would then proceed with part four of the plan, which had been added as a just in case, where she would invite Sabrina over to eat ice cream, cry, and work on their projects so that Chloé wouldn’t be as alone as she would feel.

All in all, it was a simple plan, but having it written on her notebook, tucked safely in her bag beside Wayzz, had made her feel infinitely more calm about the entire project. All that was left now was for Marinette to arrive, and then everything would hopefully go according to plan, bar any akuma attacks that may occur, or epic fights between old rivals.

Chloé had brought her science homework to distract her, and had one airpod in to listen to her work playlist. The other earphone was in the bag with Wayzz, as he had revealed a love of music to her, and she hadn’t wanted him to be bored while he hid in her bag. Chloé became absorbed in her homework, to the point where she hardly noticed the figure who had approached her table, until said figure had cleared their throat. Chloé startled, and found herself looking up at Marinette.

Exactly as Chloé had expected, sitting near the window had caused the natural light to make Marinette’s eyes sparkle. In hindsight, she probably should have sat facing the window as one look into Marinette’s eyes had cleared every thought from her mind, including phase one of her plan. 

Wayzz, hidden from Marinette’s view by the table, had realized his holder had frozen. Briefly poking his head outside of the bag to check for eyes, Wayzz floated himself into Chloé’s lap before lightly jabbing her in the stomach with his paw to get her to refocus herself. If the brief glance and smile he received was anything to go by, he had succeeded. Wayzz slipped back into the bag as Chloé stood.

Gesturing at the other seat, Chloé said, “Can I get you anything? I’m going up to place my order and I figured I could just grab yours while I’m up there.”

“Oh sure! If I could just get a small hot chocolate, and two chocolate chip cookies that would be awesome! I’ll pay you back for it.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.” Chloé’s internal monologue had devolved to prolonged screams. She was not at all prepared for this conversation and she had decided that whatever came out of her mouth was awkward and was making Marinette uncomfortable. She had no proof for this of course, but she was losing her mind with her nerves right now, and she just needed a half hour break to scream into her pillow and remake her plan with Wayzz because she could not do this.

Upon approaching the counter, Chloé quickly went through the motions of ordering her strong blonde roast and usual lemon cake, as well as Marinette’s own order before quickly paying and stepping off to the side. Her attention fell away from the teen working the counter to drift back to the table where Marinette had begun setting up her schoolwork. The light falling on her hair made it appear lighter, and even through a window, the sun had given Marinette’s skin a shine that had Chloé enraptured. Marinette’s hair was in it’s usual style of pigtails and Chloé fell into a daydream of Marinette letting her hair free, while Chloé would run her fingers through the hair. She almost missed the barista calling her name for her order, but quickly grabbed it and rushed back to the table with Marinette.

Chloé made sure to set Marinette’s order down first, before placing hers on the table and plopping back into her seat. She had left her bag hanging on the chair and she could see Wayzz giving her a tiny thumbs up from inside.

Silence stretched between the two girls as they both finished settling into their seats, neither really knowing how to begin. Chloé fiddled with the napkin in front of her, pulling it gently as she watched Marinette raise her hot chocolate to her lips. Momentarily distracted, Chloé blinked herself back into focus, deciding she needed to rip off the bandaid. 

“I’m sorry,” she rushed out. “I’ve treated you like shit over the past few years.” Not her most elegant of starts but the script she had jotted down between classes had slipped her mind. “You didn’t deserve my behaviour, or anything that came with the dumb rivalry I started. It doesn’t matter if I was upset with my life, or jealous over the one you had, I took my feelings out on you and hurt you in the process. You don’t have to forgive me, or believe me, but I know I’ve been terrible and I’m trying to change. I would love a chance to try to be your friend, but if that’s not possible, I totally understand and we can just focus on the project. I just needed to say that first.”

Chloé was actually a little proud of herself. She had spoken fast and she felt like she had rambled a little longer than necessary, but her words had come out clear and now at least Marinette knew. Whatever happened next, Chloé would accept. Even if it was a brutal rejection and she ended up crying with Wayzz later. Chloé promised she would accept the aftermath of her apology with elegance and grace so long as there were other people around to witness her.

Marinette had paused in drinking her hot chocolate, and had listened to Chloé’s spiel with a thoughtful expression on her face. The expression hadn’t changed, but her gaze had shifted from meeting Chloé’s eyes to staring out the window when Chloé had finished. Breath stopped in her throat, Chloé could only watch Marinette’s face for a sign. A subtle movement of her eyebrow, and Chloé’s heart had stuttered, a blink that felt slower than normal and she had almost choked, the smallest of twitches in her jaw and Chloé’s fingers began tapping a nervous rhythm. There was so much to read from Marinette’s expression, but Chloé was unpracticed in her language and could not tell the difference between truth and her own created fiction. 

After what had felt like hours, but could only have been moments, Marinette finally brought her focus back to Chloé. “I believe you. I’ve seen you in school recently, apologizing and trying to be nicer to people, so I believe you’re changing. I don’t know if I can forgive you for everything right now, but I think I’d like to try being friends and see how it goes.”

“Okay.” The relief that flooded through Chloé filled her veins and calmed her immediately. Maybe Marinette would never forgive her, but they could try to be friends, and maybe someday they would be close. For Chloé, it was the best news she had heard all week.

Marinette smiled at her before shifting a notebook between them on the table. “Let’s start breaking the project apart and figuring out what we’re going to do.”

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

The coffee shop study date had gone better than Marinette had expected. She was still surprised by Chloé’s apology, but after a moment to process she felt that the other girl was genuine so she had moved on to try to work with the other girl. After only a few minutes of discussion, they had discovered they actually had similar thought processes for their project, and were mostly on the same page already. Chloé had come prepared with a list of how they could break the project into parts that would require the least interaction from both of them if Marinette hadn’t wanted to work with her, so they had used that as a basis for division of work. After creating a schedule that would work for both of them, they had settled into a routine.

They each began writing their own parts of the project, occasionally breaking to discuss ideas and how to connect the two parts together, before falling back into the comfortable silence. Chloé had bought Marinette another drink and two more snacks in the time they had been there before Marinette had convinced Chloé to let her buy the next round of snacks.

The quiet chatter of the coffee shop was the perfect background noise as they worked together. And Marinette had used Chloé’s focus on their project to slip a cookie to Tikki when she had brought back the new snacks.

All in all, Marinette had found herself genuinely enjoying the blonde’s company, though she couldn’t help but compare their current interactions to how Chloé had been when she was Khelone appearing on Marinette’s balcony. The other girl had offered an insight into fashion that Marinette had only managed to find in Adrien, and strangely, Chat Noir’s company, but the new perspective had been refreshing. Chloé had let Marinette go page by page through her book, letting Marinette explain the components of her favourite pieces, and offering thoughts to the ones that Marinette had been struggling with. Their first interaction on Marinette’s had been strange, and had ended abruptly, but every interaction since had genuinely made Marinette look forward to the next time she would see her.

When Chloé was Khelone and interacting with Ladybug, she was more serious. Her hero worship had faded with time, and now she was just a valued part of the team. They hadn’t managed to truly edge their relationship firmly into friendship territory in the months since Chloé had become a hero because Marinette always felt like Chloé was holding herself at an arm’s length from her. Despite proving herself time and time again, Marinette couldn’t help but feel that Chloé still felt the need to prove she should wield the Turtle. Marinette had almost been jealous when Chat Noir had managed to form a friendship with Khelone and she still hadn’t.

When Chloé was visiting Marinette’s balcony it was different. She still had the serious tone, and had actually been very careful about details surrounding her identity, but she was more relaxed. She would laugh more, smile brighter, and often made Marinette forget who was under the mask as they talked. It was a side of Chloé Marinette was unused to seeing, unguarded, relaxed, not afraid to do the cute snort laugh that she only used when she found something truly funny. It made Marinette miss a friendship she had briefly had with Chloé, but she still felt like there was something Chloé was holding back on the rooftop, something more than just her identity.

The Chloé that was sitting across from her was all of the parts, finally complete in one. As Chloé scribbled notes and wrote her part of their project, Marinette could see the seriousness of Hero Chloé. Every so often she would bite the end of her pen, or scrunch her eyebrows while she thought, and Marinette saw Rooftop Chloé. But above it all was the Chloé that Marinette had always known. Beautiful. Confident. But more relaxed, more open. The girl across from her seemed more content and genuine than Marinette can ever recall seeing her, and she was enthralled. 

Though she knew she should have been focusing on her own work, she couldn’t help but stare at the other girl. The more she looked, the more she saw. Logically she had known Khelone and Chloé were the same people, and she had always known that what one did, the other had technically done, but this was the first time she really got it. Chloé had changed from the girl Marinette knew. She hadn’t been paying attention before, but now that she could see it, she regretted not looking closer sooner. Chloé was different. Chloé had defended civilians in front of a coffee shop because it had been the right thing to do. Chloé had apologized. Chloé had sat on her rooftop talking with her about whatever had come to their minds when they strayed from fashion. Chloé’s mannerisms had bled into her interactions with Marinette the entire time she had been with the hero, and Marinette found that she was waiting for familiar movements she would see with Khelone.

But Chloé was the same. Her confidence was still there, though quieter. She still smirked when she was right. She smiled at Marinette when she showed off her drawings. She still caused a blooming warmth in Marinette’s chest that she could no longer pass as camaraderie with a fellow hero. The girl across from her caused the warmth, no matter what form she appeared in.

Chloé had turned to look at Marinette, a question in her eyes, and Marinette understood. Fire filled her cheeks, as her heart stuttered. There was concern in Chloé’s eyes, the same concern Khelone had when Marinette choked on a too large bite of muffin not even a week ago. It had caused Marinette to blush then, happy her rooftop company had cared enough to worry, but now it was Chloé, still just as concerned, though this time because Marinette had stopped working to stare at her, and Marinette truly understood. Her growing crush on Khelone, the sweet hero on her balcony, translated to the girl in front of her as well. She had a crush on Chloé.

Marinette bolted up in her chair before Chloé could speak, stuttering out a quick, “Bathroom!” before almost tripping multiple times as she made her way away from the table and into the bathroom. Dropping her face into her hands Marinette groaned in frustration. Of all the girls to have a crush on, it had to be her ex-rival, turned very recent friend. And she hadn’t even grabbed her purse before she had gotten up, so now she couldn’t complain about her love life to Tikki.

Taking a few minutes to compose herself, Marinette stared into the mirror. Save your crisis for later. Go out there and finish working on your project. Then go home and tell Tikki everything.

Sufficiently composed, or at least as good as she was going to get after such a revelation, Marinette exited the bathroom. Only a brief pause to stare at Chloé, and then she forced herself to carry on. No matter how this day ended, she was going to be normal, she was going to deal with her crush on Chloé in a normal way, and she was going to live a normal life and do highschool homework with her classmate like the perfectly normal girl she was. She could do this.

[mobius-m-mobius]

23 for the prompt

Thank you so much for the prompt! 😁

Going with a different spin in the usual post EoT setting for 23. Reunion (under a cut because I have no self control, apparently 😂)

Five days.

That's how long it takes before the Master, whose reputation does indeed proceed him, gets stolen away again.

In hindsight the Doctor knows he should have seen this coming. Nothing about the Master is discreet and considering how quickly even Naismith's limited forces managed to track him down it shouldn't be surprising that their confrontation with the council attracted more than enough attention.

Still, he had thought (hoped) the two of them were entitled to - Well, who knows what he expected. Peace is something they'll never know and there's too much history between them to jump into happiness. But traveling together after all this time is as close to either as he thought he could have that more than five days out of nine hundred years worth doesn't seem like much of an ask.

“Apparently not,” he mutters, slamming a hand against the console as he runs yet another scan. It feels like all he's done in the past twenty-four hours is run in circles and trace readings, anything to give him the slightest clue as to where they've gone to no avail.

He keeps flashing back over the days they had. As wary as he had been to let the Master on the Tardis his hearts were pounding with the fact that they battled Rassilon together, finally, unquestionably chose each other and despite the Master's show of reluctance he had to assume he felt the same.

“Please, just – come with me.”

“Oh good, I was wondering when that knack for penance you've got would show back up again.”

“Stop it! You saved my life a few minutes ago. Just like I saved yours, and – No, don't, I didn't do it because I expected anything from you, I just. It's different now, isn't it?”

“... As much as it ever is.”

“Come with me, Master. We can go anywhere. There have to be ground rules, just a few. You know there have to be, but that's all I'm asking.”

“Oh, is that all, Doctor?

But he still followed and though they fought fiercely over the Doctor insisting on remote locations to start it was everything he wished he never ran from in the first place. Watching a nebula they heard about as children, arguing over star formations, picturesque landscapes that went on for miles as the Master cracked tasteless jokes all the while just to get a rise out of him.

Then, their stop yesterday. A remote beach with pink sand and sun that gleamed behind the Master throwing him a wicked smile until a blast threw them apart.

He landed by the Tardis, stunned but reaching up towards the door as he turned to see him now surrounded by masked soldiers and pulled back by what seemed like dozens of hands, shaking his head wildly for him to –  not come after him, he thought at the time even if he's second guessing it now. He had pulled out his sonic, aiming frantically when another sedative was plunged into the Master's neck and the entire scene before him disappeared. Teleportation, maybe? Probably.

“Come on!”

Another scan. He can't even bring himself to care that losing his touch within days of close proximity has to be some sort of sign . Suddenly holding on to this regeneration doesn't feel like the reward it is without the Master next to him. A flicker of shame flashes through him at how ungrateful the thought is but he doesn't regret it. As he leans against the wall pulling fistfuls of his hair in frustration, the console suddenly lights up with an array of lights and blaring noises.

“Yes!”

He scrambles over, pulling printouts and dashing between the screens. “A lock, yes! Absolutely brilliant, you are, thank you!”

The Tardis hurdles towards his destination and he finally throws the doors open to see a lone building burning against a desolated backdrop. There's obviously been an explosion inside what seems to be a primitive version of a laboratory that he barely glances at, racing from room to room ignoring scattered bodies in uniform as the Master is nowhere to be found.

“Ran off in that state?

His eyes land on a guard's uniform collapsed in a corner. It's the Master, unrestrained but injured and throwing a critical look over his disheveled hair. “You must miss me. I'm touched.”

“Really? Now? I thought you were dead!”

“Humans never want to keep me away from computers, do they? Their loss.”

The Doctor frowns at the comment but rushes over, stopping short as his adrenaline suddenly drains. He didn't realize just how much the sudden disappearance had terrified him. He's never been so worried, he realizes, about anyone, and abruptly leans down to tuck his face into the Master's neck as he clutches on to him. He almost backs away moments later, embarrassed to realize the Master hasn't moved, but suddenly a hand slowly rises to rest lightly against his back. The other shortly follows to cup his cheek and he gratefully leans into it. They sit for what feels like an eternity until the Master tries and fails to hold back a cough and the Doctor springs back.

“Sorry! I'm – Sorry. We should probably get you back to the Tardis.”

The Master glances at him but doesn't reply as the Doctor takes his weight while they carefully walk down the hallway. The tension from earlier has vanished from the stale air now that the Master is back at his side, apparently the lone survivor, but somehow things still feel... wrong.

His eyes dart around the lab to the aforementioned computers, which seem fairly basic? He takes in more detail as they walk, finally landing on a drop of blood trailing down the Master's face as he smiles hazily back at him. There's nothing advanced enough here to track them. Not even very impressive organization, even. More blood on his teeth that he runs his tongue over and the Doctor tries not to reel back as he shoves any assumptions out of his head, there's no time. They need to leave, now.

“Go on then, what's the rush? I know you've worked it out by now.”

The Doctor closes his eyes. “Let's just go back to the Tardis.”

At that he jerks away, throwing his arm off and struggling to stay upright as his eyes flare. “Oh, because the setting really matters! I'd rather get it over with now, Doctor, let's hear it!”

“... You let them take you,” he whispers. “You let yourself get kidnapped.”

“I prefer ‘orchestrated’ but eh, semantics. I may have gotten word of an especially pathetic attempt at a repeat performance and laid a few crumbs here and there. Look at this dump! Imagine any idiot here thinking they have the right to touch either of us! We're Time Lords!”

“But -  that's it!? Why go through all this! We were trying to have a fresh start, you don't think it means anything that we're both here now?”

“There is no fresh start!”

At that the Master looks away, seemingly embarrassed at the outburst. “If someone aims to kill, Doctor, I won't ignore it. You think you can pretend we're back on Gallifrey, wide eyed and starstruck. That might still be in your regeneration but I'm not looking back for anyone, not even you, and I won't play house until you realize what I've been saying all along.”

His leg slips as the Doctor leaps to catch him, struggling to hold on as he pushes back.

“Did you hear a word I said!? Just go. Leave!”

“I heard you.”

He feels the Master freeze and takes advantage of the moment to rest his head against his shoulder as he runs a hand down his back. “I heard you. And all of this was, what? Meant to be proof that I'm looking for an excuse to turn you away? I asked you to come with me!”

“To ease your own conscience!”

It's his turn to look away, then back. “Master. Please, I need you to hear me.”

Furious eyes snap to his only to widen in shock as the Doctor gently taps their foreheads together, quickly moving to nuzzle his cheek as he pulls back to look at him directly.

“I know that you retaliated against a threat. That you always will. I also know that you wouldn't have gone looking for one in the first place if you weren't trying to make a point. Come back to the Tardis with me.”

His words hang in the air as the Master searches his face almost desperately, pulling back suddenly to laugh, the echo of it cutting through the room until he centers himself, leaning in.

“Oh Doctor,” he murmurs. “Those standards of yours certainly have fallen, haven't they?”

[fenrys-moonbae]

A Bright Star in Centuries of Darkness--Chapter 4

Eleanor had been avoiding the male like the plague, skirting around him in the palace like a mouse desperately fleeing a hunting feline.  She’d been at this since their awkward exchange days prior when he’d come to check on her and she’d halfheartedly muttered her thanks before claiming she felt faint and shooing him out.

Not that he’d been seeking her out; on the contrary, he’d been a right gentleman about respecting her space.  She hadn’t caught a glimpse of him since that night, and she fully intended to keep it that way until he departed.

Grousing internally, she pulled her scarf about her shoulders and frowned.  Men weren’t allowed to be that endearing, weren’t allowed to be that sincere and certainly weren’t allowed to be that pretty.  He should have been a ripe ass, full of ego and entitlement like the other men she’d had the misfortune of knowing.

It was unnatural.

Walking briskly, she slipped into the hallway and down the stairs, taking them two at a time as she shuffled toward the kitchen hoping to snag a tray of tarts and some stew before lunch was served.  She’d been skulking around in the shadows, only leaving her room when she was certain she could avoid running into anyone.

As far as Glaston was concerned she was still recuperating, healing from her unfortunate accident and unable to handle company and therefore free of her hosting obligation.  Even as gossip ran rampant through the palace like a pox, every recollection of the tale growing grander and more outrageous.

These retellings had included such nonsense as the fae soldier having faced fifty feral boars with nothing more than his bare hands to protect their dear and precious princess.  Eleanor had nearly wept when the tale had cycled back to her, Evalin in fits at the absurdity of it all as she recounted all the stories she’d gleaned.

Eleanor noted that it was most unfortunate they did not possess a moat in which she could drown herself and be rid of such nonsense. Perhaps if she died she’d return as a banshee, wailing her woes and drowning the servants who kept the wheel spinning.  

They’d learn to stop moving their lips then.

Eleanor was nearly to the kitchens when she heard the tap of footsteps and cursed as she glanced around. What if it was Gavriel?  She could not bear to face the male any more than she could bear to sit through another of Dennor’s nasally speeches.

Quickly she darted to the great window on the left of the hall and slipped behind the golden curtains, pulling the thick fabric around her.  Surely even the fae warrior wouldn’t notice her if she remained entirely still and held her breath?

She waited several long seconds, breathing slowly as she heard the footsteps pause before rapidly approaching.  She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head to the side as the curtain was torn back away from her.  She could just pretend she wasn’t there---

“Elle, what in hell’s realm are you doing?” She peeled open one eye, relieved to see Evalin holding the curtain back instead of a certain golden-haired male.  She deflated.

“I was dusting!” She ran her hand over the window, already immaculately scrubbed.  “See? Good as new.” Evalin narrowed her eyes in a way that assured Eleanor that she didn’t buy into such nonsense for a second.  “Are you still hiding from our guest?” Her cousin pointed a lovely finger at her slippers.  “A word of advice: if you’re going to hide, do so in a way that your shoes aren’t sticking out from the bottom of your hiding spot.” “Did you ever consider that the curtains may have started wearing shoes?” Eleanor poked her head out from behind the curtain, glancing sidelong to ensure she and Evalin were alone in the hallway.  “It’s the newest in Adarlanian fashion, as you should know.” Evalin rolled her eyes as she dragged Eleanor out from behind the fabric.  “I’ll make sure to note it.  When was the last time you left the palace?  You look dreadfully pale.”

“Not since the incident, if that’s what you’re asking.  Do not fear, dear cousin, I’ve taken to the idea of becoming a cryptid, pale and monstrous, lurking through halls at night and preying on the innocent.” “Enough nonsense out of you,” Evalin shoved Eleanor forward, “you’ll go outside this instant, or so help me.” “Fine, fine!” Eleanor grumbled, stumbling forward as her cousin guided her toward the archway leading to the gardens.  “Might we grab tarts first?  I’m famished.” “You’ve eaten nothing but sweets for a week,” Evalin clicked her tongue.  “Too much sugar.  Get something with more sustenance.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes.

“Of course, Nan, forgive my ignorance.”

Evalin flicked her ear.

“Ow! Anneith’s bosom, Eva, I have need of that.”

“Then don’t call me Nan.”

She’d still snuck a tart regardless of Evalin’s lecturing after they’d taken an early lunch, nibbling on the edge of the pastry as they strode through the extensive gardens.  Many of the flowers were dormant with autumn beginning to take hold over the earth, but the gourds and changing leaves provided an easel of color for their enjoyment.

Eleanor sincerely hoped the winter might bring a rare ice storm, though with the temperate climate it was highly unlikely.  It did not stop her from wishing for it though.  She’d always had a love for the cold, for the scent of pine and snow she’d had the pleasure of experiencing once on a trip to one of the mountain estates that their family owned.

She’d always wished to live in it, to enjoy the brisk chill and warm herself by the hearth.  Not the continuous drone of heat and humidity that Wendlyn provided.   And perhaps she’d get the chance, if she chose to follow Evalin.  Gods knew she’d been getting her fill of snow when she went north to Terrasen.

“You’re going to become a queen of ice,” Eleanor murmured as she strolled lazily down the path next to Evalin, “encrusted in snow and holly.  We should add more fur to your wardrobe.” Evalin gave a small laugh, her slim shoulders shaking. “You do know there are summers in Terrasen, yes? It was quite lovely during my visit.”

“Oh yes, they brought you there to give you the impression of how lovely it is before it’s buried beneath heaps of frozen ice crystals,” Eleanor put a hand to her mouth, Ashryver eyes twinkling, “I do hope that Prince of yours will be enough to keep you thawed in the dark, frozen nights.  I have heard he is quite . . . delicate.”

A lie.  Eleanor knew just how athletic and strong the young Prince of Terrasen was, but what fun was acknowledging that when it came to teasing Eva?

“He . . . he’s just yet to grow into himself,” Evalin griped indignantly, giving a rare flush as she defended her husband.  “He’s very lean, mind you, and fast as an adder.” “Mm, excellent in a battle but agility will do little when you are turning into an icicle,” she finished off her pastry and dusted the powdery sugar off her fingers.  “You will be queen; however, you can always hold a tourney to acquire yourself a bed warmer.  Or two.”

“I refuse to be as uncouth as my dear aunt,” Evalin’s lips downturned, her features pinching.  “I have no intention of keeping men as pets for my own pleasures.” “Really? That’s the one thing I think that queen got right, I’d be quite content with a palace full of lovely, pretty men to do my bidding.” “Funny, considering you won’t even talk to one of those pretty males.” “Note the difference there, dear cousin, males not man.  I prefer mine mortal and capable of death. What point would there be if I couldn’t become a widow if the need were to arise?” Evalin stopped, looking incredulously at Eleanor.  “You jest.” Eleanor kept her face neutral, willing seriousness to her features even as she felt a smile creeping onto her face.  Evalin merely sighed and shook her head.

“Well, at least I shall never have to fear for your wellbeing.  I’m starting to think I should be more concerned for your future love, however.” “That would be the wisest course of action.” She winked at her cousin, who gave a breathy laugh in reply.

“Nonsense.  You speak nothing but nonsense.”

“Not nearly as much as the rest of the stuffy airheads in court,” Eleanor barely realized they’d wrapped around to the gardens in front of the palace, the training grounds stretching out before them where the palace guard sparred, the sound of practice swords clashing echoing across the grounds.  “Have you heard the newest deliberations?  Apparently, the latest argument is over whether the minstrels for the spring ball will wear blue or teal.  It’s preposterous.” “I’m not even certain Glaston could tell the difference between those colors,” Evalin mused, stepping over a loose stone on the path.  “He’s likely letting them bicker amongst themselves to buy himself a moment’s peace.” “Not a bad strategy, honestly,” Eleanor turned her attention towards the training grounds, hoping to spy some of the young and shirtless recruits training.  “It’s the sole bit of proof that we’re related to soulless husk he’s become.” “He has changed in recent years,” Evalin agreed, longing entering her eyes as she no doubt reflected back on her brother’s youth when he’d been nearly as fierce as the two princesses in the garden.  “Ruling has done him no favors.” Her voice trailed as though she thought to say more.

Eleanor took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.  A decision had formed in her mind as she spoke, one she’d been mulling over for the last few days when she’d confined herself to her room to wait out the rumor mill.

What better time to tell her than now?

“I assure you will never become so unbearably stuffy, it’s not in your nature.  Besides I will be there to shake sense into you if you ever start acting so foolishly.” She squeezed her hand once more, hoping to the gods her cousin understood.

Evalin wheeled on her, blue eyes sparkling at the implication. “You intend to come?”

Eleanor shrugged noncommittally, “I suppose Terrasen couldn’t be too dreadful,” she nudged Evalin gently, “especially if the men are lovely enough to enrapture someone as levelheaded as you are.”

Evalin took both of Eleanor’s hands in her own, true joy sparking across her lovely features.  “Swear it to me, swear you’ll come, and we’ll never have to be apart.” Eleanor rolled her eyes before conceding.  “I swear it, Eva, I’ll join you in your little castle of ice.” Evalin swept her into a hug that nearly squeezed the air from her, her cousin’s grip tighter than any vice.

“You have no idea what joy hearing that brings me,” Evalin stepped back, relief glazing her features, “to know you will be by my side.  I could ask for no better news.” “Don’t forget, Eva we’ll still have to break it to Glaston.”  Eleanor wasn’t exactly keen on telling her cousin and family that she’d be flitting off to a foreign land on a whim, especially when she hadn’t so much as asked their approval to do so.  “We might want to serve him several decanters of wine before we broach the subject.”

“We’ll make it work, I swear it.”

“I’m certain, but in the meantime,” she nodded toward the training field, “I would like to continue our walk and enjoying the view.”

Evalin gave a high laugh before linking arms with her cousin.  “Well, don’t let me keep you from your afternoon’s entertainment,” her voice dropped down to a conspiratorial whisper, “perhaps they’ll take off their shirts off if we’re lucky.” “That is the hope.” Eleanor murmured back just as quietly, her spirit lighter than it had been since Evalin’s engagement.  “If needed I can throw a bucket or two of piss on them to encourage it.”

Evalin snickered.

They quickened their pace as they trailed down the stone path, keeping quiet as they approached on silent feet.  The sound of swords clashing, and shouting grew louder as they approached, trying to keep their presences unknown.  How many times had they made this very walk as teens, feigning interest in their training when all they cared for were the bodies doing the training.

“Oh look, Captain Liam’s even joined the fray,” Evalin’s eyes were fixed on the man she’d held unrequited love for the better part of her teen years, a fleeting infatuation that had crumbled when Evalin came to the harrowing realization that said captain had a wife and a child nearly her own age. “Must be someone keeping him on his toes if he’s getting involved.” Eleanor rose slightly on her tiptoes, trying to see past the dark-haired Captain’s heaving back as he circled his opponent, the sword in his hand held tight, his movements calculated.  It must have been some new recruit with exceptional skill, she’d never seen the man so much as winded when he trained.

She leaned closer, willing Liam to move more quickly so she could get a peek at just who was giving him a run for his money—

She sucked a in breath of disbelief, her eyes glazing as she caught sight of Gavriel circling on the other side of the captain, looking all the world like a storm of seduction that had her clamping her knees together.  She hissed.  What god deemed it appropriate to give him a torso like that, rippling with lean muscle?  Even in his thin shirt she could see the panes of his taut stomach, smooth and no doubt glistening with sweat.

And his hair, pulled up in that half ponytail showing off that elegant jaw--

Were all the fae this forsakenly beautiful?

It was a sin for someone to be that damned attractive.  Tawny eyes flickered briefly towards her before focusing back on his opponent as the captain rushed him in his moment of distraction.

“By the gods, Eva,” she wheezed, her eyes trailing over the thin shirt that clung to his torso, “look at him.”  She missed the look of amusement that overtook her cousin’s features, even as her own eyes kept trailing toward the training warrior.  “He’s not real, I swear it to all the gods.”

She watched, transfixed, as he easily sidestepped Liam’s blow and matched it with one of his own, sending the Captain of the Guard flying.  Liam hit the ground with a resounding thump and let out a groan of pain.  Gavriel immediately sheathed his training blade ad strode forward to offer a hand to the grounded captain, easily lifting him to his feet.

Evalin clicked her tongue.  “He’s a bit broad for my taste.”

Eleanor’s dress suddenly felt too warm, too tight and chaffing, the words mindlessly tumbling out of her slack jaw as she murmured, “I wouldn’t mind if he walloped me like that.”

“Excuse me?” Evalin inquired, laughter coating her tone.  Realizing she’d said the words aloud, Eleanor snapped her mouth shut, heat racing up her cheeks.

“I mean training, perhaps I should ask him to train me,” she finished weakly, her knees wobbling a bit beneath her dress.  He was nothing but a menace in her life, a pest that needed to take its beautiful self back to Doranelle at the earliest convenience—

Gods, even the way he moved was enticing.  She watched as he strode for the table set beside the training ring, his thighs and backside lovely in his tight breeches, and lifted a pitcher of water and promptly dumped it over his head before shaking the excess water free, sending glittering droplets dancing into the late afternoon sun.  She nearly squealed.  She needed to leave right that moment—

“Come on, Eva,” she started tugging at her cousin, willing her to move as she dug her feet into the stone path beneath her.  “We should head back to the palace, go do some needlework or something, anything—”

“Why?” Evalin’s lips had quirked as she remained solidly rooted to the spot.  “He’s headed this way to say hello, I think we should stay and greet him.” “Eva, please—”

“Your Highnesses.”  Eleanor snapped her attention towards Gavriel as he approached, his tawny eyes alight with the rush from sparring, broad shoulders shifting beneath his now translucent shirt—had he no decency?  “I am glad to see you are finally well enough to be up and about, Princess Eleanor.” He stopped opposite the path and inclined his head toward her.  “I assume your shoulder is not giving you any trouble?” She swallowed, letting go of her hold on Evalin’s arm before turning to face him, scrambling for the words.  “It’s . . . fine.”

How terrible would it look if she just bolted for the palace?  She could claim she’d got a severe case of nausea, feign illness again--

“Good, I had hoped as much.”

“I see you’re training,” Evalin noted, nodding towards the training ring, something tightening in her voice, “I assume our training protocols are satisfactory to you.  I know they are vastly different than what you are accustomed to in Doranelle.”

Eleanor hadn’t expected the bite that came with the question, the way Evalin had straightened her shoulders as she stared him down.  It took her a moment to realize the reason for Evalin’s discomfort—she feared he was gleaning tactical information, noting their forces and their abilities.

Understanding filled Gavriel’s tawny eyes.

“Ah, you’re correct, Highness,” he nodded over a shoulder, looking almost sheepish as though he hadn’t thought about what he was doing.  “Some of the men asked if I’d be willing to show them a few of our maneuvers during my stay, I’d hoped to help them, and as I’ve had a large amount of free time . . .”

Even though it shouldn’t have, hearing the words from him gave Eleanor comfort, his tone lacking the manipulation and hatred she’d expected of one of Maeve’s personal soldiers.  It seemed Evalin felt the same as the tension fled her shoulders, her tone softening. “Then please continue, do not let our presence hinder your drilling.  I imagine the men are grateful for any instruction you have to offer them.”

“I’m happy to teach what I know.” He gave a polite smile, “It was a pleasure to see you both.”

“Likewise, my lord,” Evalin said with a curtsey, something like shame flitting over her features.  From the way Gavriel bowed graciously in return, Eleanor got the feeling he did not blame her for the suspicion.

Which was such foolishness, given that he was one of Maeve’s personal guard.

“And, my Lady Eleanor,” a nod to her, “might I expect to see you tomorrow for our early morning ride?”

Eleanor went rigid.  “Err, I suppose so.”

“Then I shall meet you in the stables at sunrise.” Another smile brightened by golden sunlight.  “Hopefully we can avoid any wild boars this time.”

@seekingformangoes

[nebula-award]

Betrothed to A Flame: Chapter 4: Stranded Lullaby

Summary: Katara has become a master at water bending. This caught the attention of many including Fire Lord Ozai, and he has requested a peace treaty between the Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribe. However, this requires Katara to wed Prince Zuko. (Zutara) (Arranged Marriage AU)

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“Ha! Zuzu has to marry some water tribe peasant!” 

“Shut up, Azula!” Azula grinned and patted her brother’s head, “I’m just saying, big brother, maybe this girl will keep you in check. You always needed someone to. For instance, Mother.” 

Zuko pushed Azula’s hand away, and he sat back down beside the fountain. “I don’t need anyone to keep me in check, and Mom was only being caring!” 

Azula scoffed and sat down, “That’s what you think.” 

The two stared at the fountain in silence. Azula’s hand resting on the granite, and Zuko’s holding his hand with his own. 

“Remember when you and Mai fell into this fountain?” Azula tapped the granite. 

“Not this again; I don’t want to hear it. And don’t think you can play your games with Lady Katara.” Zuko warned, “Uncle told me that she’s a waterbending master.” 

“So I heard.” Azula shrugged, “I’ll probably challenge her to a duel or something. Imagine a firebending prodigy verus a waterbending master; that would be an event.” 

Zuko huffed in contempt, “Challenge her to an Agni Kai, for all I care. I don’t want to marry her.” 

“Please, no one wants to be in an arranged marriage; she probably hates you as much as you hate her!” Azula poked Zuko’s nose. 

“I don’t hate her, not yet at least.”

__________________________________

Katara was resting on her plush bed; her right hand held a scroll while the left bended water in a free form manner. Zyun had brought scrolls about Fire Nation customs for Katara to study for the time being as she didn’t have a tutor. Zyun had helped her understand the significance of Agni Kai. How it symbolized honor and proof of one’s strength. Katara had, more or less, perfected her bow; she always gained an understanding on when and how to bow. 

Over the last two days, Katara had introduced Zyun into her own culture. Katara had taught Zyun how to style her hair like Katara’s “hair loopies” Zyun admired. Katara enjoyed her company and was happy to have made a friend on her trip, even if that girl was a servant. Katara felt comfortable with the Fire Nation servant.

 When Zyun had brought Katara her food on the third day, Katara asked her a question. “Would you like to stay? Sit and eat with me for a while?”

 Zyun had bowed and humbly declined, “Sorry, my Lady, but servants are not allowed to eat with royalty.” 

Katara smiled, “I’m not royalty yet, aren’t I?” 

“I suppose not, my Lady.” 

“Good, so come eat with a friend.” 

Zyun nodded, and Katara placed another pillow down beside her place. Zyun set the food down, and plopped down beside the waterbender. Katara offered some food from her plate for Zyun; in which the servant reluctantly accepted. 

“Could you… tell me about the royal family?” Katara asked.

“That has been a part of our many lessons, my Lad-” 

“Katara.” 

“Forgive me, Katara. We’ve already talked about the role of the Fire Lord and his family.” 

“Yes, but I mean the actual family.” Katara said. “Tell me about Prince Zuko, Princess Azula, and Fire Lord Ozai because the most I heard is that they exist.” 

Zyun placed a hand under her chin, “Well… I’m not the best to speak about the family. I’ve only been Princess Azula’s servant before, and I can say she can be entitled. However, her highness is quite strong and capable of herself. She’s only your age, but she’s a firebending prodigy- like yourself.” 

“I’d love to duel her then.” 

“Believe me, you wouldn’t.” Zyun scowled, “She’d do anything she can to win. I’ve seen her fight, and most of her opponents end up burned. Prince Zuko, from what I heard, is very handsome and strong. Most of the palace servants marvel and gossip about how mature and beautiful the prince has grown. His intelligence shows when his strength is weak. You’ll be very lucky to have him as a husband.”

“I don’t know about lucky.” Katara frowned. “I still don’t trust, or know him, enough for me to even think about him as a suitor.”

“I understand, my lad- Katara.” 

Katara smiled and placed a hand on Zyun’s shoulder, “I’m glad you understand, and I’m glad I found a friend in you.”

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[spideyxchelle]

hi friends! i am back and ready to roll. here is some hollywood au nsfw.

“So,” the reporter taps her pen against the fullness of her manufactured bottom lip, “Righteous Minds is being called one of the sexiest movies of the year.” Peter works to keep his expression neutral as she plows forward with the question he can see coming a mile away, “Where did you draw inspiration for your latest flick?”

“Well, uh, my writing partner, Ned Leeds, penned an excellent script. I was interested in the story he was telling, not necessarily the sexiness of it.”

“But it is sexy,” she jumps in.

His eyebrow twitches. “Yes,” he concedes, “Its a love story. And I didn’t want to disservice the reality of love, which has a physical side. Always.”

The reporter chews on his words in delight. Without any subtlety, she asks boldly, “What does your wife think of this movie?”

Peter recites the same line he has fed everyone since he started his press tour, “She supports all of my work. I’m very lucky.”

He can tell she is unsatisfied with his answers, so she breezily switches tactics, “And the content doesn’t bother her?”

The director forces an Oscar-worthy smile on his tense features, “We won’t be showing it to our three year old son, that’s for sure.”

He dislikes the energy of this woman, the entitled air she has about his private life, and he desperately wants the interview to end, but the press junket has only begun.

He slams the hotel door closed when he enters the solace of his personal suite at the end of the day. Michelle barely looks up from the script she is studying and yet she still manages to read his body language, “What’s wrong?

Peter crawls into bed beside his wife and grumbles loudly into the pressed linens, “I knew I shouldn’t have made the film so explicit.”

Michelle begins to casually scratch the back of his head, a calming gesture she adopted early in their relationship, which lightens his stormy mood. She makes him feel in touch with his body immediately. Michelle Jones-Parker is his balm from the shocking celebrity of his life. Without her, this life would be infinitely harder. “It was in Ned’s script,” she says.

“I know,” he shifts his body so his nose is squished against her shoulder. Her warmth radiates bone deep. “I just wish people would stop trying to get details about our sex life under the blanket of the movie. Ned wrote the bulk of it. I just contributed to the final draft.”

His wife shuts her script and puts it away on the bedside table. Her body twists so she can hold him tightly and soothe him all at once. “They know we have sex, Peter. We gave them proof three years ago.”

The oblique mention of his son softens Peter considerably. “Is Ben awake?”

She shakes her head, “He went down about an hour ago.” Michelle presses a patient kiss against his forehead. “Talk to me, what set this off?”

“One of the reporter’s asked if I drew from real life during that closet sex scene.”

His wife’s smile turns feral and he feels his blood heat up at once. He can see the memory— her hot, wanting hands that ripped his slacks open just enough to get at him with her back pressed against a thin closet door— forming in the pools of her eyes. He remembers the same memory, too; the way she had sobbed in his ear when he swiped her skirt up and pushed her underwear aside that night. He recalls the way she had clawed at his suit jacket and ordered him to go harder and faster to get them both there as quickly as possible. After all, she had reasoned, people were bound to notice that they were missing at the Golden Globes.

And when he had shot his new film with a deliriously sexy closet sex scene, he had known his wife would see the similarities to their own closet escapade. But the public was not entitled to those memories. Not that snooty reporter, or the kids that bomb-rushed him at every coffee house in America. What happened between he and his wife was precious and private and wholly theirs.

In their quiet hotel room, she looks at him like she could devour him whole. Michelle places her two flat palms on his shoulders and guides him on his back. Her thin leg falls over his waist and she is suddenly straddling him while her curly hair falls in wild waves around her face. He is forced to look up at her and drink in her deity-like beauty. “Michelle,” he chokes on the English language.

“Ben’s asleep.” Michelle says. “You’re here.” She observes. “And you’ve spent all day talking about your sexy movie.” He gulps as his wife drags her body across his crotch, as if to search for an erection she is now causing. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about this, hoped for it.”

Peter shakes his head, “No, I haven’t.” But his hands betray him as they tighten around the dips at her waist. He holds her firmly as if he is afraid she might float away and never return.

“Mm,” Michelle coos, rolling her hips down against his stiffening hardness, “I don’t believe you.” Peter groans and she preens, “I don’t believe you, Mr. Director. You wanna know why?”

His wife drops her mouth open slightly, the picture of delight, and he roughs out, “Why?”

“Because your dick is already hard.” She grinds her hips against his erection to serve her point.

It has been over a decade since he first touched his wife during the whirlwind of his first film, but every time is still as wondrous and dizzying as the first time. He is not sure how he became the lucky bastard that got to worship Michelle Jones-Parker’s bed, but he is eternally grateful. She makes his world technicolor. He flew over the rainbow and there she was waiting to welcome him to a high-definition world.

“I love you,” he praises.

Something behind her eyes shines with affection, “I love you, too.” And then, the temptress is back and rubbing at his erection over his jeans with her weaponized body. “Now, remind me again, Peter,” she says, sounding suspiciously the part of a reporter, “your main character in this new film loves to really give it to his girlfriend....why?”

Something primal and possessive prowls just beneath the surface of Peter’s civilized nature. He lowers the gates of his self control and flips his wife on her back, effectively pinning her to the pressed sheets of the hotel linens. She blinks up at him and then hooks her leg around his backside and presses. He does not growl, though the temptation strikes him. “She’s chatty,” he offers.

“He fucks her wild because she’s chatty?” she challenges him.

“No,” Peter hisses as he dips his head to whisper in Michelle’s ear. “He fucks her wild so the only talking she’ll be able to do is shouting his name.”

Her little body shivers under his weight, “Oh? She’s going to shout his name?”

“Yes,” he nips her earlobe. “And beg. And cry out for more.”

Michelle arches her back off the bed in an attempt to be closer to him. Her eyes flutter shut, “How do you know she’s going to do that?”

“Easy,” he replies. “It’s in the script.” His mouth crashes against her parted, demanding lips. Their kiss is not new or exploratory. It is filthy and knowledgeable. It is the servant of years and years of practice. It knows how to make his wife tremble and make his own body boil.

He does not need an hour of fumbling foreplay at their age. And neither does she. He knows how to get her wet and desperate for him. So, he rips open her blouse with his demanding hands and does not stop to apologize for the shredded fabric. She is a movie star. She can buy another fucking shirt.

Her breasts are bare and her nipples have pebbled over so he licks them into his mouth. Michelle grips the back of his shirt with one hand and cradles his head to her chest with the other. He sucks and bites at her flesh. When he bites her sensitive skin, she whimpers and urges him to bite her again. So, he does.

He remembers when she was twenty-six and shooting a film in Atlanta, a producer had called him about the bite marks. The shy man had tripped his way through a gentle request not to mark up the talent a day before she shot a nude scene.

She is not filming anything now.

Peter finds a rhythm to his attentions on her chest and it could be four minutes, an hour, or several weeks later when his wife yanks his head up and slams their mouths together. Her needy hands fly down to his zipper and begin to yank him loose.

He sits up enough to pull his own shirt over his head, but he struggles with her pajama pants. Michelle’s breathing is erratic and labored when she kicks him aside and shimmies out of them herself. He makes himself busy with his own jeans and underthings.

When they fall back together, he pins her wrists to the bed. There is a beat, a profound moment, before their coupling, when he looks down at her with her hair spilled across the white sheets and his heart thunders. Her eyes are dark but they are also deeply loving. He gazes down at his wife and inches forward to slant his mouth over hers in a chaste kiss.

Then, he sheathes himself inside of her. The warmth and tightness is all consuming. She pulses around his dick and the pair of them pause to relish the moment, the intensity, the serenity of their bodies. Michelle lifts her head to kiss him lightly and lovingly. It is almost the polar opposite of the nature of this act as he cages her to the bed.

When she drops her head back against her pillow, her eyes are lidded from the stretch of his thickness. “Fuck me, Peter,” she demands. Michelle does not ask. She takes. And takes. And takes. And her husband does his best to grant her wishes.

He lifts her backside off the bed to deepen the angle of his thrusts and begins to hammer away deep inside of her. Her sweaty, reactive body slaps against his skin. The rhythm is furious and punishing. He does not relent and she does not ask him to slow.

Instead, she cries, “Harder, Peter. Baby, harder.” Her requests trigger a base part of his brain that make him angle his body over hers and dig her wrists into the bed. She is at his mercy, she is weighing beneath his thrusting figure and her mouth is open as if every part of her was capable of taking him all at once.

“You like that?” he grunts. She nods uselessly. “Tell me you like that,” he repeats.

“I do,” she mumbles with her eyes closed tightly, as if she could hold the moment between her fingertips if she pretended it was a dream. A wonderful dream.

“Tell me why,” he groans, grinding his member deeper into her.

She sobs his name and arches upwards to search for more of him. There is nothing else to be found. He is buried inside her to the hilt. “Because,” she wanders off the road of coherence.

“Because why?”

He has to ask again before she finds her voice, “Because you’re mine. And I’m yours.”

And that is the whole of it. The sticky sweet ownership of the other’s heart. He knows if someone were to cut his chest open and peak at his heart there would be a singed brand of her name there. It is impossible to explain the relief and love of belonging to another. Peter never tries. Instead, he attempts to show her through actions. He makes her favorite tea in the morning, puts their son down to bed every other night, buys her little gifts whenever he is thinking of her as proof of his devotion. And when all else fails to express the magnitude of his love, he makes passionate love to her.

Or, he fucks her.

Her wrists wiggle under his palms. He feels her body beginning to shiver and shake under his ministrations. “Peter,” she uselessly pleads, “Peter, please.”

All at once, he lifts his body off of her and the pressure of his dick is gone. She is left empty and wanting and he watches her eyes snap open in fury, “What the he—“ But she falls hopelessly silent when he grabs her ankles and loops them up on each of his shoulders. He presses back down on her body and her knees fit snugly against her chest.

Peter reaches down between their bodies and guides himself back inside of his wife. Her head flies backward on the bed and it leaves her long neck exposed. He sucks hot kisses on her neck, greedy and wet.

His pace is growingly frantic as the peak of pleasure licks up his spine. “Peter,” she cries out. He grabs her wrists and pins them back to the bed. He knows the trust she grants him in these moments. It is like a faint whisper— I know you would never hurt me. And he never does.

His hips snap with vigor and she moans with each attack on her senses. Her hands make motions to claw at him, but she cannot reach him pinned to the bed.

There are a few high-pitched pants and begging requests. He lets those words act as kindling to his raging fire. They are dangerous words. “Harder, Peter,” she cries. “Fuck me, baby. Fuck me.”

And when she starts to lose language for some baser, like groans and whimpers, Peter’s own rhythm begins to falter. He bites her neck and she sobs from pleasure. Against that skin, he husks, “Cum for me, Em. Let me feel it.”

She nods, beyond the point of comprehension, and nods more. She keeps nodding and nodding and whining until her body snaps. Her body tightens and pulses around him and her fingers and toes curl. Michelle’s mouth opens in a soundless cry and pleasure slackens her features. She shakes. She trembles and then she relaxes into the sheet.

It nearly topples him over, too.

But he holds onto his restraint just barely and when she recovers from her orgasm, when her sparkly eyes lazily open to gaze up at him, he begins again.

She is sensitive now. He knows. And she lifts her head to fit their foreheads together. Their breathing is heavy. “Peter,” she strains.

He tightens his hold on her wrists, “Em, I’m almost there. Let me take you, again. Please.”

His wife does not have the energy to kiss him, so she brushes her mouth against his words. And nods.

There is nothing leashed about how he fucks her now. He is not the man she married at the end of the alter with tears welling in his eyes. He is not the man that stared at her dallies during their first and only film together all those years ago. He is the man she welcomed into her home and fucked on the couch like she owned him. He is the man she pinned down to her bed in her old, lofty Hollywood Hills home and rode for hours, stealing orgasms as they came and went. He is the man that he can only ever be with her permission.

And this man is desperate one.

She grunts. And groans. And, finally, with one perfectly found thrust, he topples over into a blinding orgasm. In his delirium, he hears her cry his name and feels her clench around him once more. He feels the shocking pleasure of a joint rush. He hears her little moans as her body holds his member for ransom and milks what she can from him.

He feels his own hips shudder into her a few more times, holding onto sensation. He feels how rough those last are.

And then, there is peace.

Deep and meaningful silence as their breathing slows.

Peter releases his wife’s wrists and they immediately fly to his hair to card through his floppy locks. He hides his face in her neck and she presses a smile against his brow.

“Michelle,” he manages after several moments of relishing in her body as he softens inside of her.

“Mm, yes?” she practically glows.

“I was thinking about this all day,” he admits.

She snorts, “Yeah, loser, I know.”

He smiles. The audience can think what they want about his new film. He knows what actually lies between them. And it is perfect. They are perfect.

[deepdisireslonging]

A Night at the Theater

A mission demands the public appearance of Bruce Wayne and yourself at a theater. The mission is quickly put to rest, which leaves you plenty of time to appreciate your husband during intermission.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Reader (Y/N)

Warning: SMUT, public smut, Mr./Mrs. Kink (Is that a thing, or is it just my favorite cute trope? Either way, it’s here.)

Word Count: ~1300

Note: My first Batman smut! It was fun using the different layers between Bruce and Batman and the man in-between that loves the reader. I highly recommend looking up Lysistrata; it’s a Greek comedy with humor that still translates. You can find a good online English translation here.  Please let me know if you enjoyed it with likes, comments, and reblogs. If you have any ideas for another Bruce fic, send it to me! I love challenges. And my tag lists are open. Please enjoy!

“Here are your seats, Mr. and Mrs. Wayne.” The usher pulled back the curtain in the private box to reveal two seats.

“Thank you, Robert. We’ll see you after the final curtain.” Bruce slipped the usher a tip and sat next to you.

“What’s the point of box seats, again? We can’t see half the stage?” You restrained yourself from leaning over the railing like an eager child.

“Wayne industries helped produce the show, and they want to show us off. We can come again and sit like peasants if you’d like.” Bruce’s face cracked into a grin. A real one. Not the variety that made appearances when the former playboy would make trouble.

“And Wayne industries funded a production of Lysistrata because…”

“It amuses Bruce Wayne.” He chuckled again as you shot eyebrows at him again. “The acting troupe is riddled with Music Meister’s henchmen working as techies.” Bruce tapped his earpiece and dropped his voice, “Nightwing?”

“Loud and clear. We’re in position,” you heard on your matching com.

“Good. Let me know if the missus and I have to leave early.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

Bruce took your hand as the lights flickered in the theater signaling the show was about to start. He set his public face as the lights faded out completely and the curtain parted.

Nightwing continued to check in during the first act. Even with the mission going on, you found yourself being pulled into the mission of the women in the comedic play. They all agreed to deny their husbands sex until the war between the Athenians and the Trojans was stopped. Women on both sides took the oath, much to the chagrin of the soldiers. Not half a bad idea. You found yourself laughing honestly; Bruce was doing the same. The audience broke into applause and laughter as the curtains closed on the first act. You and Bruce left the front of the box and paced the private lounge area behind the curtain.

Over the coms, you listened to the mission end as Nightwing and Damian fought off the henchmen. Meister wasn’t there, but they soon found his speakers in a back-stage storage room.

“Good job, everyone. Call me if anything happens after the police collect the Meister minions.”

“A ‘good-job’ and alliteration?” Nightwing whistled. “This play has put you in a very good mood.”

“Yes. Over and out.” Bruce tugged the com out of his ear and turned it off before dropping it his pocket. You followed suit, confused.

“Bruce?” You gasped as he pinned you to the wall. “What are you doing?”

“I’m preparing to fuck my wife,” he whispered in your ear. His hands were tight around your waist. You knew he could feel you shiver.

You licked your lips. “Oh? What gave you that idea? Surely not the play.”

“Yes, the damned play. It is humorous, but what is really getting to me is seeing you laugh for the first time in months.”

“We’ve been busy.”

Bruce’s hand dipped down to the slit in your dress, lightly running a finger over your exposed skin. “I know. Late nights where one or both of us is out doing what we do. Early mornings for our public roles.”

“Not much time for each other,” you sighed, catching on. The heat thrumming through your body started to collect between your thighs. It began to leak into your panties as Bruce hummed deeply in agreement.

“I hope you won’t make me wait ‘till all crime in Gotham is over to let me fuck you.” His eyes bored into yours. His chest caught the swell of your heightened breathing. You could never hide your tells with him. Never wanted too. “So tell me, Mrs. Wayne… how long are you going to make me wait?”

“About three seconds.”

All the women in Greece and Troy would never have been able to turn down a man like Bruce.

His fingers wove into your hair as he guided your lips to meet his. Before long, you were parting your lips for his tongue, humming in pleasure. Bruce’s hand on your thigh continued to work up under your gown. You shuddered as he grazed over your soaked panties. He kept kissing you, keeping your sounds muffled, while he dipped under the band and inserted a finger into your ready sex. He moved your skirt out of the way, baring the sight of his hand pumping in an out of you into the open. He chuckled, rightfully proud of himself.

But two could play at that game.

You reached out and lightly ran your fingers over the prominent bulge in his pants. Bruce groaned into your mouth, chuckling to match your smile.

“Y/N, you have no idea how much I love you.”

“Actually, I think I have a big idea how much you love me.” You unbuckled his pants and tugged the zipper down as slowly as you could muster. Bruce growled, then whimpered as you worked your hand over his length still covered in his boxers. “If you want it, Mr. Wayne,” you breathed into his ear while easing out his manhood, “you might want to hurry before intermission ends.”

A squeak escaped your lips as Bruce lifted you settle on his hips. He moved your panties to one side and toyed the tip at your slit, eyes glittering as you stifled a whimper. You covered your mouth to silence the impending scream when he winked. Your hand was barely enough to cover up the swell of sensations as he sheathed himself in you in one thrust. You shuddered and trembled as your walls gripped him tight. Bruce rested his forehead on yours until you nodded, then began to roll his hips. If there had been more time, endless time, he would have kept this pace till you were begging for him. Instead, he began to thrust faster and harder. You knew the curtain into the house of the theater was too thin to muffle all of your cries and moans.

You didn’t care.

Spots danced in front of your eyes as Bruce twisted in just the right way to find your perfect place. He sucked down on your pulse point, heightening every pulse of pleasure. Your nails raked down the back of his suit jacket, feeling the bullet-proof vest hidden beneath his layers. His hands gripped your thighs, careful not to cut himself on the knives you always kept strapped there. His thumb grazed the band strapping the blade to your thigh.

“My dangerous beauty,” Bruce rasped. His pace began to falter. “Mine.”

Your head lolled to one side as your orgasm came crashing down. Careful of your heels, you dug your feet into the small of Bruce’s back, drawing him impossibly further into you for his release. He came silently besides panting heavily, steadying himself on the wall. Your fingers gripped his hair tightly as he gave one last thrust.

The following kiss was sloppy, openmouthed, exhausted in the best way. Bruce pulled out carefully and steadied you till you could trust your legs to mostly support your weight.

You let out a deep breath you didn’t realize you had been holding. “Are you ready to see if the Greeks and Trojans ever got laid again, Mr. Wayne?”

“Yes.” He did that annoying thing where he fixed his sex-hair by running his finger through it. “Are you, Mrs. Wayne?”

“Yes.” You parted the curtain once the two of you were presentable as if nothing had happened. Coms were back online and in place by the time he guided you to your seat. You swallowed a smile as Bruce ran his hands down your shoulders. “Please silence your cell phones and please keep your hands to yourself,” you teased.

“No promises.”

The rest of the play was just as fantastic as the first act, and it inspired much more action once Bruce got you back to the manor. You might have to start asking for more such outings more often.

 [If you’re interested in a more modern rendition of Lysistrata, there’s a fantastic movie on Amazon Prime entitled Chi-Raq. It’s set in modern Chicago and uses recent events in place of the ancient war. I highly recommend it. There is language and some nudity, not to mention high levels of sexual innuendo. Do not watch with anyone under the age of 18! I also love that they keep the idea of Greek plays being in verse by updating it to include rap. Check it out if you get the chance!]

Masterlist 

Tag lists open

Forever Tags: @laochbaineann @lavitabella87 @thiickreigns @zuni21798

Bruce Wayne/Batman Tags: @batstank @dc-hoe @ellana-ravenwood @hipuddin @queencobblefreezestuff

DC Tags: @bluebirdd @buttoneyedwitch @if-youre-not-a-dog-then-leave @minchen0897 @randomadventure @ravenboysandstarwars @roxiera @sandatgp @solsticestorm 

[shintorikhazumi]

Hikari no Jukyo Chapter 3:”I love you” (Dwelling Place of Light)

Hikari no Jukyo Chapter 3:

A/N: HnJ part 3

Well… Our journey on this request fic, which surprisingly became one of the favorites… wow… I did not expect that. @croissantrose71 Thanks to you! Give yourself some credit on this! Is now… very sadly, coming to an end… maybe… see end note. ;) Well… Oh, but for the finale if you guys could reblog this and tag it “HnJ”, I’d be really thankful, and it shows a lot T^T Since that is my abbreviation for this fic.

Now… before anything. How did I come up with “Hikari no Jukyo” as a title? Just a little story to share. Don’t worry, we’re getting to what you like. Later. It’s just below the A/N.

So, first of all… This had absolutely NO title. But as I was in need of a name for the Inn, which was owned by the Kagaris, I searched up Akko’s name background which shows on Wikipedia and stuff. Really. It meant light, child of light I think, well, her name means her character basically, if I recall correctly? Light and excitement and stuff, fire? I forgot XD, but well… It sounded catchy, thus I decided to put it as the title, since well… they stay at the place… then came the idea for chap2’s ending which was… “Akko was her Hikari no Jukyo” and it was so fun doing, “Welcome my love, to Hikari no Jukyo.” So now everything makes sense… I think.

Kagari Akko kind of relates to light and stuff, so the Dwelling place of light, Hikari no jukyo is like… just a fancy way of saying “Akko’s House.” Or I guess the “Kagari’s house”.

XD This realization is hilarious for me.

Ok so I entitled this chapter “I love you”, because every scene… well there’s an “I love you.”. So… yeah.

And I realized this is significantly shorter than the rest :( Aww.... what was the wait for then? Well... again, please do see the end note.

@hermaeu5mora Finally, yes? @r-lon, thank you so much for the checks, you’re a lifesaver.

To everyone else… well… THANK YOU for being with me the entire time, really... I appreciate it so much!

Anyway, enjoy ?

~Shintori Khazumi

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Ephemeral.

A transitory feeling.

An emotion so unstable, so… hard to put faith in. Something you can just lose, be afraid to lose, knowing you will lose it.

This was what the blonde feared would be the main characteristic of this moment. Fleeting.

“This is real, Diana… This is forever.”

And all those doubts were swiftly erased by a most reassuring existence.

It may have been that shaky breaths, sweaty palms and swollen lips were all that was left from the vividness of memories of touches and kisses.

They might not have had a physical proof, but the memories would have to last longer than those things if Diana still craved reassurance.

They say nothing lasts forever.

But…

Kagari Atsuko looked to change that.

Proving those words everyday would become her mission… It would be accomplished easy as she had said it. Refreshed with everyday reminders that would simply be impossible to forget.

With kisses, hugs, intimacy… warmth-

LOVE.

“I love you.”

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 Many have claimed that ‘I love you’ has become an easier set of words to throw around, and the more they are said, the less significant, the less meaningful, the less sincere they become.

If everyone could so easily give and show their emotions every day without feeling the hardships of expressing them, they may not mean them at all.

“That’s not true.” Some witch from Luna Nova, mischievous and amazingly truthful, spoke with conviction.

“You say it because you mean it. You can only say it if you mean it, right? So what’s the point in saying it at all if you don’t?”

And those words could have shocked many, or annoyed many at the naivety.

“I believe that when I say the words ‘I love you’, I believe in my feelings that drive me to say it.” She smiled proudly. “And besides, I would regret every single day I wouldn’t say it- all the more if I miss it a day and into forever.”

A solemn sad thought.

“So say it as much as you can, while you can. It’s such a waste to regret it when you can’t.”

“These words are not to be thrown freely without feeling, but expressed freely with all the emotions in the world.”

It is never wrong to say…

“I love you.”

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 “You ruined the make-up.”

Akko looked up from staring at their joined hands swinging along with each stride they took on the way down from the hill of remembrance, loving the way they fit and melded together perfectly, wanting to capture the hold in a photograph for remembrance.

She laughed sheepishly, scratching her cheek with her free hand as she looked at Diana. “I didn’t really like wearing it anyway.”

“I liked it though. You were simply exquisite with it.” The heiress gave her hand a squeeze before bringing Akko’s hand to her lips and planting gentle kisses on each finger, before kissing her wrist, her lips staying a tad longer there.

“Only with it?” Akko said with faux-disappointment, pulling a pouty face on Diana, who hummed contemplatively. Akko felt slightly annoyed, pulling the blonde close then bumping their shoulders together, sending Diana stumbling off, but catching her last moment, holding her securely.

“No… Of course not.” Diana laughed, voice tinkling and light. Soon though, the giggles died down and she turned completely serious, staring into the eyes that constantly compelled her to give all her love away to the owner before trailing down to glance at pink, enticing lips. “You’re always beautiful.“

“Diana…”

They were lucky everyone had gone ahead and walked in front, giving them much appreciated privacy, otherwise, Diana would never have had the gall to dare something so intimate under watchful eyes of an audience.

She kissed Akko.

Long, deep, loving, sensual, she gave into her intense feelings and let all of her pent-up emotions free, giving Akko something she knew they both wanted; she pushed their lips together, teaching them to dance to a rhythm, a song they never had danced to before.

And Akko loved every thrilling second of it, feeling her body warm up in all the love, soaking up all Diana’s feelings thrown at her and returning full-force.

Parting with a pop, in dire need of air, Diana’s dazed eyes accompanied her hand in trailing along the brunette’s bottom lip, rubbing it, wiping off any remaining saliva before planting a softer, shorter kiss, but with as much love as there was in the one before it.

“I love you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

The rest had immediately retired to their rooms upon arrival at the inn, claiming that the night had worn them out and most wanted to hit the sack as soon as they could.

Most meaning, not Diana.

The blonde insisted she take Akko back to her room, if only for the walk to provide her more minutes to waste away- no, spend wisely by the girl’s side.

The corridors were dimly lit, filled with only the sounds of tapping feet with the background of silence, not one word uttered, but every thought and emotion felt.

Akko stopped in front of that familiar wooden door, sighing, before turning to face Diana with a sad parting smile.

“You know… I hate to think how much sadder it will be when we part longer than tonight.” Of course she referred to a time approaching so surely, so soon and Diana gave their joined hands a small squeeze, heart clenching in longing and sorrow.

“I don’t want to leave.” She muttered, eyes so expressive and upset, her words meant not only for tonight, but for a day they wished wouldn’t happen, but knew was inevitable and needed to happen.

“Do you think I want you to leave?” Akko giggled, eyes drifting to their hands as she smiled at the sight. “But you have to.” She sang out, voice wavering.

“Do I really?” Diana whined, the sound so unbecoming of her as she drew nigh to Akko, enveloping her in her arms, rocking them both back and forth. “I am against it, and I honestly oppose the thought.”

Akko giggled, burying her nose through fluffy strands of white and light green, inhaling the enriching scent, kissing through them before reaching her lover’s cheek.

“Yes, you do; and yes, I know you don’t like it either.” She laughed some more at the pout before she brought her arms to rest around Diana’s shoulders, bumping their foreheads and noses together.

“Good night, My Warm Diana~.” She hummed against her girlfriend’s cheek, lips leaving a small trail to her jaw before planting a small smooch on her cheek.

“Aww…” Diana frowned, a little playful with her next comment. “You missed a spot.”

Akko may have rolled her eyes, but the implications were just too adorable as she giggled breathily against Diana’s plump reds, giving them their desired action, biting for extra spice.

“Good night, love. For real this time, okay?” Akko pinched Diana’s cheek as the blonde sighed in bliss, leaning into the now gentler touch as the other witch cradled her face lovingly.

“Good night, my personal ‘Hikari no Jukyo’.” Diana chuckled, and Akko giggled along with her, confused and amused.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She pinched Diana’s nose this time, before kissing it for healing.

“It means I want to come home to you.”

Akko was quiet, feeling a bit overloaded and emotional, a few tears forming at the corners of her eyes which made Diana gasp in surprise, desperately wiping them away.

“What’s wrong?” She questioned frantically.

“Nothing… just- I want you to come home to me too.” Akko murmured as Diana planted another comforting kiss on her lips. “I will always welcome you back with open arms.”

“And parted lips?”

Akko laughed at the suggestion, running her thumb over Diana’s pair of delicious lips over and over, leaving them tingly and warm.

“If you want?” She replied, shaking her head at the cheesiness they were both displaying as well as their silliness.

“I would love that.” Diana whispered, sighing as she knew time was slipping by and they both had to get to bed. But- one more comment couldn’t hurt. “I would love that as much as I love you.”

“Hmmm?” Akko blushed at that, but grinned widely.

“Oh, no… forget that thought.” Diana hummed contemplatively. “I’d love you much more.”

Akko would argue with any judge who would say otherwise as she strongly believed Diana deserved that one big kiss from her, of course the heiress couldn’t help but smile all throughout, their teeth clashing a bit.

“Good night.” Akko breathed, slapping the Cavendish’s shoulder lightly before turning her around and pushing her in the direction leading back into her own room, Akko sliding her door open and entering just in case Diana baited her to prolong their already extended good nights.

“Sleep well, love. Sweet dreams and Good night.” Diana relented, giving a curtsy before looking into Akko’s deep red eyes and drowning herself in them. “I love you.”

It was simply irresistible, Akko running to her, one last hug, one last kiss, she swore, whispering, “See you in the morning.” While Diana simply nodded, holding Akko for a few seconds more before releasing the girl and allowing her repose for the night.

At the same time, both in their hearts and out loud, they spoke.

“I love you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Morning came too soon, some would say. Amanda still desired more sleep as they had turned in quite late that night and even Ursula requested a few more minutes to sleep in, eye bags in place while Lotte looked perfectly fine, used to all-nighters from reading so much, and Sucy was well… Sucy.

Diana wasn’t faring any better either, nearly staying awake all night after all the interactions, all the intimate ones replaying in her mind over and over again driving her mad with embarrassment and love, overflowing for her clumsy counterpart.

Gosh, she was so deeply in love with Akko.

Which was probably no problem as their family motto was “Affection”.

And maybe that was the sole reason she willed herself up, if only to be able to see the girl soon as she was able, and believe her, she was a very capable person.

In one of her night gowns, she tried to sneak out of her room as subtly as she could, jumping a bit as Sucy’s voice echoed through the quiet room.

“Please keep your PDA to a minimum.” Diana nearly yelped, realizing they had been seen, as she turned her head around to see the potion-maniac sitting peacefully by the window, drinking something in a mug. “Last night was just allowance since it was special.”

Diana nodded, grateful for the consideration and warning as Sucy waved her hand, shooing the girl off, out and hurriedly, reminding her of how desperately she wanted to see Akko.

If it were not allowed to run in lengthy hallways, even here, Diana was already in trouble, and twice now. She didn’t care however, the more she hesitated, the longer it would take to see Akko.

Besides, feeling the wind in your hair- that cold morning air- was refreshing.

Now, reaching their dining area, Diana could smell traces of a meal in the making. Pancakes, butter, bacon, sunny-side-up eggs, scrambled eggs? The smell of Hot chocolate- maybe that was what Sucy had been drinking, and maybe the smell of some fruits.

But then there was this unmistakable scent that drew her in closer.

Like a dog, Diana followed the guiding of her nose to some sweet, flowery, free fragrance. Her eyes nearly shut as her feet wandered aimlessly till she found her nose buried in the sweet soft, tickling threads of brown hair, nuzzling into it as she blew near the girl’s ear causing her to yelp.

“D-diana!” She knew the culprit without looking, that familiar warmth wrapping around her in a hug as the heiress’ hands encircled her waist.

“Good morning~.” She whispered into the cook’s ear, planting kisses on her cheek, squeezing tighter. “I’m happy to see you.” Diana murmured against Akko’s shoulder as the girl giggled, face red.

“Well, I’m happy to see you too, but as you can see,” Akko tried wiggling against the grasp of the unrelenting prodigy who refused to let go. “I’m kind of in the middle of something important.” She smacked Diana’s hand lightly, rubbing it consolingly afterwards.

“More important than me?” Akko gaped at the puppy eyes, not imagining in a million years that Diana Cavendish would dare try that type of bribery.

“That’s underhanded.” Akko frowned, transferring the eggs on the pan to a plate beside her. “Fine, I just finished anyway.” The brunette gave in, turning off the stove and gas, before rotating inside her girlfriend’s grasp till they came face to face.

Diana smirked, happy at her win as Akko cupped her face, rubbing her palms and squishing pinkish cheeks together, before pinching them outward, then rubbing them tenderly again. Red eyes met with blue ones as they drew closer together, lips meeting in a kiss, the heiress humming against perfect lips.

“Good morning.” Akko greeted, smiling so brightly as she rested her head against Diana’s chest.

“Good morning.” The blonde responded, putting her chin atop her partner’s head.

“I love you.” Akko spoke, kissing the place above Diana’s heart over her shirt, making the organ flutter against its cage.

One of her hands went to tilt Akko’s face upward before planting more soft kisses on the girl’s mouth, never wanting to give up the addiction she had now developed to them.

“I love you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Akko was having a field day, laughing endlessly at her friend because Sucy had finally been released from her pale complexion and was donning a gorgeous tan.

“Look at your own girlfriend; she tanned too.” The mushroom-enthusiast retorted, not really caring that she was Akko’s laughing-stock, but also needed a bit of revenge.

Because she was Sucy Manbavaran. She loved getting the last laugh.

“Yeah, and it only makes her look all the more gorgeous.” Akko grinned, slightly embarrassed at her own honest words, but proud of the beauty she could call hers.

She saw Diana in the distance, bantering and exchanging opinions with Amanda and their professor.

The couple’s eyes met, and at the same time, their lips moved to form silent words, expressing what they felt at all times.

“I love you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

“Miss Cavendish, may I have a word?”

The blonde magical genius felt a shiver run up her spine as she froze midway in hugging Akko at her father’s deep and unnaturally strict voice.

“Y-yes, of course… I… I shall remove myself from your daughter.” She bowed, releasing Akko who tried to reach for her wrist, but was stopped by a pointed glare from her own father to which she backed down.

“Let’s talk in the other room.”

Akko felt very nervous. The click of the lock to the side room sounded through the now quiet living area, Akiko looking like she knew something and gesturing to Akko to follow her and listen in by the door.

But as her mother whispered what was about to occur, Akko slapped her forehead in exasperation, wanting to barge in on her father’s ridiculous shenanigans and means of amusement.

“It’s fine.” The older brunette assured. “Also, if she can handle this, it proves she really loves you.”

Akko decided to give her father a chance, and obeyed the request of her mother.

“Okay.”

Meanwhile, Diana was bathing in her own cold sweat, legs tucked below her and hands balled into shivering fists on her lap, back straighter and stiffer than her already usual straight and stiff posture.

“Diana Cavendish.” The deep voice bellowed in her ears.

“Yes?!” She answered, loud, clear, scared.

“I will be getting straight to the point.” Kentarou looked her square in the eyes, impressed that at least her gaze never wavered. “What are your intentions with my beloved daughter?”

Diana choked on her saliva despite expecting that comment. Sure, she had admitted it to the girl’s mom, but this was Akko’s father. And gods knew that those were terrifying beings.

“I-I!” She tried braving it, looking the man in those familiar red pools, the similarities to other red jewels calming her somewhat. She sucked in a deep breath, knowing there was no point in trying to hide something like love.

Also, she wanted the formal permission to have Akko by her side.

“Sir,” She addressed him, an air of her usual seriousness around her. “I would like to date your daughter.” She said the words clearly, before lowering herself to the ground, waiting for the final verdict.

“And what makes you think you can take care of her? What makes you so sure that you will not tear her heart apart?”

Diana gulped, the beads of sweat on her brow increasing. She tried to be rational, thinking of her answers carefully.

“I, sir, Umm…” Stuttering was rarely associated with Diana, but the immense pressure she felt killed her inside. “I, I can’t promise that I won’t hurt her. Things like that are just inevitable in relationships.”

Ken remained quiet, allowing Diana a chance at explaining. He was surprised when the girl’s nervousness dissipated, replaced by a warm loving look in her eyes as she stared into the distance, smiling softly.

“But sir, what I do know, and am totally assured of, is that…” She looked the man square in the eye before, once more, prostrating herself before him. “I love your daughter very much. May I have the honor of dating her?”

“…”

Diana gripped the hem of her clothes tightly, nails digging deep into her palms, waiting for an answer- or any sound at all!

She felt as if she had been slapped in the face, laughter ringing wildly in her ears.

“Hahahahahaha! Oh dear, my, my… Wow, you are… so serious? I guess it was to be expected, but… Well.” Kento stood them both up before wrapping Diana in a bone-crushing hug. “That seriousness means you’ll be taking very good care of Akko.” He patted her on the back, proud. “Welcome to the Kagari Family.”

Diana’s relief flowed out in tears as her posture gave out and she now sat slouching on one of the floor cushions, disbelieving and shocked, breathing heavy.

“I knew you’d say yes.”

The heiress looked up to see two identical women by the door, one playfully grinning; the other, worried and relieved at the same time.

Of course, the younger Kagari female immediately rushed to her side, cupping Diana’s cheek.

“You okay? My dad didn’t scare you too much, right?” Akko looked into her eyes, concern all over her features- and Diana enjoyed the loving attention- before Akko glared at her father, then gazed upon Diana again.

“I’m fine. Just a bit… shaken up, I suppose.” She said, leaning forward into Akko’s chest, inhaling her scent, before remembering they had an audience, Akko’s parents to be exact. That fact alone made her jerk away so fast, she nearly had whiplash.

“Diana?!”

“Oh? What’s this?” Akiko grinned, going closer to poke both girls. “Don’t tell me…” She gasped in faux shock. “How far have you two gone?!”

Akko gaped, blushing fifty shades of red, and Diana felt as if she could just faint.

“We-WE, no! Mom, we haven’t-, there’s nothing like that, Diana is, I’m-!”

“Ahahahaha…” Akiko burst into fits of laughter, slapping her husband’s back painfully enough. “I was teasing dear.” She waved a hand, still laughing at the stupefied expressions of the youngsters.

“But really,” Kento cut in, serious as always, just before dropping lethal grenades into the play field. “At least we won’t have to worry about teen pregnancy. Or does magic allow that?”

“Dad!”

“Oh, but mind you, we do expect grandkids.”

Diana fell over, Akko panicking as she shooed her naughty parents off to tend to her lover, now resting her head on the brunette’s lap.

“The… the pressure, they expect grand… teen preg-“

“Diana, love, please calm down.” Akko smoothed out her hair, wiping away the perspiration on her forehead, planting a kiss on it. “We’ll be fine. A-and those things are too far ahead.” Akko looked away, blushing.

“Akko.”

Again they became lost in one another’s eyes, faces drawing closer and closer.

“Thank you.” Akko whispered against Diana’s lips, just before they touched.

“For what?” Diana replied, reaching her hand up to rub along Akko’s cheeks.

“For answering the way you did. For being so brave for me.” Akko kissed her again, hand entwining, playing together. “For loving me.”

Diana brought their joined hands to her lips, kissing Akko’s.

“Well, of course I’d answer the way I did… we both know why.”

She smiled softly, urging another kiss from Akko.

“I love you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

“Kyaaaa!!! Look, look! Ahhh, so cute!”

Constanze’s brows furrowed deeply as her robot complained about the master being treated as a small child by the Japanese woman, who had picked her up, reminding the mechanic of a similar situation with Akko before. She waved her arms about, Akiko twirling her around in the air. Really; like mother, like daughter.

“Akko-chan! Look, look! She’s adorable!”

“Yes, mom. I can see that.” Akko laughed at her mother’s excitable nature, not that she could say much as she had inherited the same character.

“Aww… I wanna adopt her! What do you say to a younger sister, Akko?”

“No! Mom, you can’t! As cute as Constanze is, you can’t!” Akko reprimanded, taking the little techno expert away from her mother’s stifling grasp, placing her back down, holding a thumbs-up to reply to the girl’s grateful gestures.

“Fine.” She pouted, before grinning. “But maybe… Diana-chan~ About the grandkids-“

“Mom!”

Diana laughed at the mother-daughter antics, amused. The pair was cute and endearing, very much so for Diana.

Now, the group had begun put together their plans for today, as Constanze and Jasminka had finally arrived to join them, despite it only being for two days.

They’d certainly try to make the most out of it.

But while everyone was discussing such plans, Diana attempted to spirit Akko away to a nearby corner, hoping to get a moment alone before they had group activities and she wouldn’t have the chance to do these things any longer.

“Diana?”

Akko found herself smothered in affection and kisses, trying to keep up with Diana’s frantic love, before they had to head back as Akiko’s voice was calling for them.

They tried to fix themselves up, not looking suspicious in the slightest.

The group decided to go back to the beach the first day, then maybe do a hike in the early morning. With that agreement in place, everyone went off to change, Akko’s mother taking the two new members along to choose their swimsuits.

But before the couple could separate, Diana pulled Akko in to kiss her on the cheek, whispering in her ear as they parted.

“I love you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

The hike had been marvelous. Extremely fun.

Besides the usual mishaps cause by none other than Akko, it was an invigorating experience, exploring the wild, touching wild animals, squirrels, small birds and the like (All of whom seemed to be Akko’s woodland-creature friends).

Akko had a lighter burden in food preparation this time, as Jasminka was here to lend a helping hand, and Diana had basic kitchen skills to help the pace move along nicely.

It was delicious, refreshing and fulfilling.

But now that that was done and over with… The night that was left, these moments were for the guests to pack up, ready to go home.

A knock interrupted the Cavendish girl, currently folding her clothes before placing them neatly into her bag, taking a break from her work to address her visitor.

“Come in.”

The culprit knocked once more, before speaking in a strange, funny voice, tickling Diana’s humor.

“Ms. Diana Cavendish? I am Kagari Atsuko.” The brunette tried to speak in as deep a voice as she could, doing her best act at being professional.

“Yes, Miss Kagari? And what business might you have here?” Diana replied, straightening up her posture as she sat on her bed, legs crossed over one another as Akko neared her, sitting on her legs in front of Diana.

The mischief-maker grinned, before opening her mouth.

“I would like to apply for a position in your heart.”

Diana tried not to reveal just how much that comment made her heart flutter, emotions going wild. “Oh?” She replied in an amused tone, face betraying nothing. “What are your qualifications?” She decided to play along at least, if only to see where this was going.

“Well… “Akko approached closer, standing before the heiress and reaching out for Diana’s hand, kissing it before pulling Diana to her feet, twirling the blonde around. “I am quite the cook.” She started counting her ‘skills’ on her fingers. “I am athletically inclined, and I can send you flowers and all that for the rest of your life.”

“Anything else?” Diana asked, genuinely interested to know more. “What major thing can you contribute to my heart?” She inquired, wanting to know how much deeper Akko’s love ran for her, and she already felt it to be quite deep.

There was a pause in the air, but then the Japanese placed a hand on her partner’s waist and bringing Diana close, hugging her, listening to her heartbeat as Akko kissed her exposed collarbone.

“I can love you forever with all of mine.”

Diana found it simply irresistible, kissing Akko again.

It took them a few moments and then some, seconds ticking by, turning into minutes as their session stretched out for a time unidentified.

Diana sucked on Akko’s lower lip, earning her a small pleasing sound from her girlfriend as she tightened her embrace.

As they finally parted, a thin string of saliva connecting them, Akko looked broken all of a sudden, and in turn, Diana felt hurt for her.

“Is something wrong?”

“I’ll miss you.” The words were spoken in a sad whisper, murmur, the Inn’s owner shifting to hug Diana from behind with arms around the girl’s waist, swaying lightly as Akko hummed more tunes to her.

Now Diana felt like crying, remembering that they’d have to live apart for a while, only being able to see each other at school anymore.

Sure, there were ways of them staying together, Diana renting a room in this Inn, but she’d feel as though she’d get special treatment and would have overstayed her welcome.

Plus, she needed to go home.

Nevertheless, the tiny whimpers pulled at her heart as she brought the smaller hands that held her, up to her lips, kissing them.

“I’ll miss you too.”

And she hated the feeling of having to say goodbye to someone she loved.

-But Diana remembered something, something to make this parting more bearable, and in a flash, she dug through her bag, taking out a small black box, brand name engraved on it as she took Akko’s hands, the other confused as she was led to sit on the bed with Diana.

“Diana?”

“Akko.” The prodigy spoke, taking Akko’s left hand into hers after opening the box, revealing to small silver bands.

“Diana?!” The brunette’s heart swelled, tears welling up again as she cried, finding it difficult to accept such things.

Inserting the silver promise ring onto Akko’s pinky, Diana’s name carved neatly onto it, the heiress proceeded to pepper that finger with kisses, leading up to hand, then wrist, forearm, shoulder and even higher up, following Akko’s anatomy, planting kisses on her collarbone, neck, jaw and cheek. She even kissed Akko’s ear, moving in to place her lips on that cute button nose, up to the forehead and back down to the final destination, Akko’s lips.

After completing her journey, she looked into Akko’s hazy eyes, still registering everything that had just happened. “This is as much as I can do slowing down.” Diana admitted, bashful and slightly put-off by herself. “But I really, I sincerely want everyone to know you are mine, and I am yours.”

She cupped Akko’s cheek, running her thumb over it as Akko’s tears rolled down in minute rivulets, tainting Diana’s skin with sweet drops of rain.

“Diana… You are… are you sure?” Akko was still at the point of questioning whether all of this was real or not, but her girlfriend’s insistent nodding spoke all the answers clearly.

“I’ll wait for the day I can put a real one on you.” She spoke again, referring to the ring. “Not there,” She kiss the adorable pinky. “But here.” She placed a lingering kiss this time on Akko’s ring finger.

Akko giggled, making Diana curious as to what was so funny.

“You sure like kissing my hands.”

“Well, they certainly are beautiful.” Diana smiled, loving the laughter unique only to Akko. “Just like the rest of you.”

Akko felt another Diana-induced blush coming on, as the cause of it licked her lips hungrily while staring at Akko’s.

“And they aren’t the only things I like kissing.”

Their faces drew near again, and for who knows what time this was, they kissed. The felt their words put into action, into feelings.

“I love you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

It was fun, the last few hours together before all the guests had to ride the van with the Kagari’s, Ryuunosuke taking them to the airport.

It would be a lie to say no tears were shed, but it was still as happy as a parting could get. No good byes were said, simply ‘See you later.’ And that was a promise Diana took to heart as she waved goodbye, riding up the escalator with her suitcase, willing herself to stay still and not run back into Akko’s arms and reassure her she wasn’t going anywhere.

Alas, fate was decided and they must separate for the time being.

It was truly puzzling, Diana had not felt the least bit jetlagged, and that was a true wonder- though, she could also say it was mainly due to the fact her mind had been occupied by other things such as how she missed Akko among other thoughts.

Even as Anna and other servants had come to pick her up and give her a pleasant welcome home, she found herself, guiltily, only half as excited as she would have been usually.

Her glumness continued throughout the night, into her quarters as she tried to count sheep as a means of falling asleep.

A ring broke her noisy peace.

“Hello, love.” Diana didn’t even need to check the digits on the smartphone she had bought, just for occasions such as these. If this was the only way to keep in touch with the love of her life, the cost was a tiny thing compared to the utter joy of hearing the girl’s melodic voice.

“I miss you.”

And Diana’s heart ached.

She felt tears trying to fight their way out, wanting release, and she had never felt this much pain or longing before. The dire need to touch and hold someone. Only Akko. Only she made Diana go mad with need and want.

“I miss you, too.” She replied, her emotions overflowing unbearably into her voice, into the call.

Talking for hours about anything really was Diana’s only way to relieve that longing, if only for these few short moments, though she knew she’d crave even more after this, like a drug that you tried to abstain from, but upon tasting it, you’d need more in your system.

That was just how addicting Akko and her love was.

Even the virtual hugs, and the phone kisses lightened and burdened Diana’s heart.

Just as they bid each other good night, Diana would dare not forget these words, waiting impatiently for the next time she’d be able to speak them out loud, face to face again.

“Akko?” It was so painful, only hearing the girl’s voice, unable to touch her, feel her warmth and kisses.

“Yes?” Indeed, it hurt so much, but she’d endure… a few weeks, a few months. They would meet again, that was for certain.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

 A new semester, a new time for students to learn new lessons, get assigned new partners, teachers, classes. A fresh start again.

And here, with the wind blowing gently through blonde strands awaiting just outside the gates, Diana tapped her foot against the pavement, counting down the minutes to Akko’s arrival, her internal stopwatch resetting once more as Akko was still missing from her arms.

She gasped, surprise falling from her lips as she was momentarily blinded before a much desired, melodious sound filled her ears, a sweet, flowery fragrance wafting into her nose, and warm touches sent shivers down her spine.

Akko had infiltrated her senses.

Diana turned to the girl, seeing the witch she had missed so dearly, enveloping her in the tightest embrace they’ve had yet.

“I missed you so much.”

Akko only smiled, cupping Diana’s cheek, an action the heiress had been dreaming of for so long, and her next wish was about to be granted, the pair leaning in at the same time.

They were about to start a new life, school life, love life, again. Together.

Parting, that familiar murmur against each other’s lips filled Diana with life again, fully intent on making the most of living in the same place at the same time.

She took Akko’s hand in hers, leading her into the building and into the gates, winding through hallways and stairs to reach their favorite place, the library.

Trapping Akko against the shelves, the couple shared a smile before diving in to their last few moments of private time before the bell would ring.

Their matching promise rings glittered in the morning sunlight, reflecting its early rays that seeped in through the windows.

Diana embraced Akko tightly, her heart speaking everything for her, placed into words.

“I love you.”

 ~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

Diana thought she would be the one to do it.

She seriously believed it would be her.

But now, in her seat, crying her heart out as she stared at the figure knelt before her, golden ring sparkling with that beautiful diamond that matched her eyes, lover’s name engraved on it, Diana admitted it was nice to be on the receiving end of such things.

In the end, Akko was the one who proposed. After her amazing trials with Diana’s family, she had finally gotten them to accept her, and here she was, living with her dream

And her dream had always been Diana.

Diana cried so much she ruined her make-up and hair, but Akko thought she was still the most beautiful lady in the world. She was so proud and happy, and loved Diana more and more each passing second as the Cavendish head could barely reply, head nodding rapidly as she jumped into Akko’s arms, hugging her tightly, kissing her all over as she completely forgot about the ring and was more content on drowning herself in Akko and her warm embrace.

Akko laughed, trying to return as many kisses as she could, before settling Diana back into her chair, presenting the ring again as Diana held out her own hand once more, still teary and tussled.

“This time, I’ll be the one to give you a promise for a lifetime.” Akko vowed, kissing Diana’s hand, doing the same pattern as her now-fiancée had done all those years ago with the promise rings.

And again, Akko finds her hands full of blonde hair and kisses, her face probably marked all over, but she didn’t really mind.

It was time to become happier than she already was.

It was time for them to join into the family they wanted to be.

It was time to welcome Diana home, cook her breakfast and all that.

It was time to say it again. Though revised, as Akko giggled, speaking such nostalgic words.

“Welcome my love, to your personal Hikari no Jukyo.”

“I love you.”

~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~

A/N: So… want an epilogue to show proposal? And Wedding? I mean, I’m up for it?

[theautumnarchive]

Dysphoria can suck it

This past week, I've been really struggling with dysphoria. A huge part of transitioning, at least for me, has been dealing with this constant nagging voice in the back of my head that tells me I'm lying or that I'll never really be a man. It's one of those things that you can say is a result of society's views of the trans community or something like that, but having some rational explanation for it doesn't make that voice any quieter. On Thursday, I came out to everyone at work. I posted a big thing on Facebook the week prior - which was really nerve-wracking, but turned out overwhelmingly positive - so a lot of my co-workers already knew, but there are a handful of older guys who are decidedly not Facebook friends of mine. My boss and I decided that the best way to get this over with was to have a nonmandatory meeting at the end of the day. All day long, I'm freaking out about this meeting. There's only one person who I think will react badly - he's a Vietnam vet, a proud trump supporter, known to be very anti-lgbtqa+ - and I am dreading it. It turns out, though, that I never needed to worry about him. Instead, it was friendly fire that destroyed me. The maintenance man is an older dude who looks a touch like Red Green and has a proud dad vibe every time I finish a carpentry project at work. I love this guy; he's absolutely one of my favorite people at work. When I see him on Thursday, he says that he's heard I'd like to be called something else now and asks what it is. The other maintenance man asks why I'm changing it and Red says, "because that's what he wants to be called." Hell yeah, right? I'm elated. Brian is with me and he's amazed and thrilled for me. I almost forget about the meeting later because, if Red is unquestionably on-board, then that's pretty damn good. But, I felt too safe. A friendly debate about whether men can have vaginal bacteriosis went south pretty quickly when I tried to explain that some men can, indeed, because having a vagina doesn't necessarily make you a woman. I'm living proof, right there in front of him, and he's acknowledged my pronouns and defended them to his co-worker. Evidently, though, his support of me and his approval of the concept in blunt terms are not a package deal. What started as an amusing story from Brian quickly devolved into Red telling us that, "it doesn't matter what you think you feel like. If you have a vagina, you are not a man." Ladies and gentlemen, having people that I care about feel their heart of hearts that I am not and will never be a man has been my utmost fear with this process. Having someone I care about say that they support me and then adamantly telling me to my face that "what I think I feel like" is wrong because I don't have the requisite parts is soul-crushing. This situation was made all the more devastating by the presence of Brian - sweet, supportive, wonderful Brian - who doesn't know how to react and whom I have been afraid to tell that I am stupid in love with because I'm worried he will say the exact thing that Red just said. Unfortunately, on our way to the fort to find Red, I did tell him (a half-truth, because I couldn't get the word love out), and he doesn't feel the same. That would have been alright, honestly, but now I am just hearing Red say that over and over and my brain jumps into overdrive and tells me, "hey, you know why he doesn't like you back... He doesn't think you're a man, either." Cue panic. Brian and I took our lunch breaks because we'd put in a lot of work ripping out the walkway to the fort already and it's over a hundred degrees outside with the humidity and all the while I'm trying to regulate my breathing and not cry in front of these people. When we got to the building where our lunch breaks usually are, my brain just shut down. I held that panic down for as long as I could, but walking into the Messer House was like running out of batteries. I had just enough energy to get an ice pack for my neck, and then I walked into the ballroom and laid down on the floor in the corner and cried. I cried and cried and cried and my breath was choppy and my muscles were tensing and I couldn't stop thinking and that's how Brian found me. You guys, I appreciate this guy so much for sitting there with me and trying to distract me and calm me down and eventually just laying there next to me so people wouldn't ask what I was doing, but my panic brain wasn't having it. Eventually all I could hear was Red's words coming out of Brian's mouth. I just shattered, right there on the floor at work, dressed like a 1700s carpenter, dehydrated and covered in sweat and dirt and tears and snot, laying next to my best friend who is doing his absolute best to keep me safe and sane. I eventually told him why Red's choice of words was so especially upsetting. I know he felt awful, but I'm not upset with him if he feels that way. He's entitled to be attracted to whatever he likes, and that's fine, but, again, rational logic doesn't quiet the little voice. Brian stayed with me all day at work after that. We went to see Marlena in the Spanish House so I could get my phone and text Julian, which helped, because Julian knows everything and has been there before. Brian sat next to me at the meeting at the end of the day and made eye contact every time I looked in his direction so I could stay calm. When Red walked in, I tapped Brian's elbow and he pushed it out so I could drum my fingers on it until I calmed down again. The meeting was fine, all told, but I was so on edge that my voice wavered at the end and I almost cried. The rest of the day was a weird haze. We played through this epic battle in the D&D group, but it was so hard to focus and I just wanted to sleep. The next day was the real kicker, though. I woke up from a nightmare where I killed my brother's baby (thank you, cymbalta) and my body was so sore from tensing up that I could barely move my arms. I sat around useless for a few hours until I got the energy to shower, which actually helped. But then I had to get dressed. I didn't want to wear a binder because my chest was sore, but having to wear a sports bra was upsetting, so I put a tank top over it, but my chest is too big, and I saw myself in the mirror and got so frustrated with my reflection that I broke down. I threw on a bunch of layers and drove to town to call my mom and find Julian, because he told me that if I was still feeling terrible that he'd come over and we could watch a movie. Mom helped a little - although she had a lot of family news that made me sad, but it didn't trigger my panic - but I should've just stayed on the phone with her. I finally got in touch with J only to have him say that he wasn't up to hang out. Y'all, I was a mess that day, and I needed him, and I couldn't handle that text. Hating yourself for what you look like and what parts you have is awful, but adding in that one of your best friends can't be bothered to be there for you is devastating. I'm not sure if it's sadder to break down on the floor of the Messer House or in my car in the parking lot of Publix, but neither of them are experiences I'd like to repeat. But, y'all, there is always a light in the darkness. I don't know what higher power is responsible for putting Brian on this earth and in my life, but holy crap, thank you. This poor guy babysat me for an entire day after that conversation with Red only to have me text him the next day, right when he's getting off work, asking him to "please talk me off the ledge." I dumped out everything messing me up and he sat there in the grass next to me in the Waffle House parking lot getting roasted by the sun and eaten my mosquitos until I calmed down. Pecan waffles are pretty good medicine, too. After that, I went home and resolved to be better. Dysphoria sucks and eats at you, but you have to move past it. You have to find something to do or someone to talk to so you aren't thinking about it or so that you can address it in a constructive way. Brian is my guardian angel, but he's also a person with his own problems and stress and needs, and the best way I can show him how much I appreciate his support is by getting better. There will be people for the rest of my life who tell me that I'm not a man. Maybe Brian will be one of those people, although he would never tell me that or say it out loud. Maybe. But it doesn't matter. I know what I am. I know who I was always supposed to be and who I am becoming. This journey is long and arduous and stressful, but it is worth it. For every person who wants to tear me down, there are two who are proud and excited for me. My mother loves me, my brothers are happy for me and weren't surprised. My friends back home in Louisiana and in Kansas were all excited and supportive. My undergrad professors sent me really sweet messages of encouragement. The people I love here have been amazing from the start. Who cares about the people who don't want to learn or who spew hate or try to tear you down? The people who matter have my back.

[smartalker]

Magpie Bridge  [4/10 - Morrigan]

ENTITLED: Magpie Bridge FANDOM: Mass Effect Andromeda - Reyes/Ryder RATING: M LENGTH: 50k via 10 chapters GENRE: Romance/Sci-Fi/Drama/Humor, in that order SUMMARY: With the Kett subdued and Andromeda’s terraforming system running at full power, Kadara Port swiftly establishes itself as the trade capital of the galaxy. The city’s unique combination of affluence, corruption, and growing power inevitably earns the ire of both the Nexus, and Aya. Under tremendous pressure to disavow a known criminal’s legitimacy, Ryder once again returns to Kadara hoping to broker peace, but the Charlatan wants something very different from her… ALT SUMMARY: Two people fall in love, galaxy breaks.

It wasn’t unusual for Keema to be targeted for assassination.

But she usually didn’t call him about it.

“Is the riot about you?” Reyes asked. Keema glared through the com at him, clutching her shoulder. She was naked to the waist, being stitched up before his eyes by an extremely nervous Salarian. She’d been shot, but not by a big bullet, and her hand was flat against the flesh near her wound, protective.

“I don’t care about the bloody riot,” Keema gasped. Her voice was flatter than usual, stretched thin with pain. He tried to remember the last time she’d been targeted—in both instances she’d escaped with minor injuries. Some people would call it luck. The Salarian, looking regretful, approached the bullet wound with forceps. Her surgeon kept moving in and out of the camera, his instruments flashing in the light. “Do you know who just tried to kill me?” Keema hissed.

“No. But I hope you learned something.”

“An Angaran child. Couldn’t have been taller than my waist.” Her face contorted with pain, and she made a sudden animal noise—then controlled herself, breathing heavily.

“You killed him,” Reyes concluded, calmly.

“My sniper killed him, because the little darling shot me, and he was about to do it again,” Keema forced through her teeth. “At a public forum. So yes, the riot is all my fucking fault. Next time I’ll just die politely.”

Reyes swore. Of course it had to be a child. Of course it had to be a fucking child.

Think. Everything was an opportunity, every situation had two perspectives. He needed to get them on the right one, now. “What about the kid’s body? Have we scanned it?”

“The fucking Angara—!” Keema swore, then collected herself. A warped, twisted bit of metal was being pulled out of her as he watched. Keema breathed carefully. “My countrymen seized the child’s body. They seem to think that we’ll desecrate it the second we get our hands on it. They aren’t going to budge.”

“Fine. We’ll collaborate with a third party, some neutral examiner. Say we have an obligation to find and punish whoever would manipulate someone innocent.”

Keema nodded. She was quivering and pale, now that he took the time to notice. Her bullet wound was still bleeding freely, as the surgeon kept pulling bits of metal from her body. Reyes was impressed she hadn’t fainted. “Anything else? Did you notice anything about the kid?”

Keema’s eyelids fluttered. The anger that had so effectively held her together was dissipating. She wasn’t going to hold on much longer. “He’d been drugged,” she managed to say. “I don’t know with what. How. His eyes were all wrong. They should find something when they examine him.” She paused, shaking as the final, bloody scrap of metal was pulled from her. Haltingly, she asked, “I need you to deal with this.”

“What’s one riot?” Reyes snorted. “You do it all the time. It can’t be that hard.”

“Fuck you,” Keema replied, looking marginally more cheerful. She closed her eyes, and Reyes ended the call.

Ryder woke up.

She was definitely, undoubtedly, drugged up her eyeballs. Her entire body, especially her face, felt amazingly heavy. Her lips were like thick, meaty slabs. She chewed them curiously.

“Stop that,” Lexi barked. She rolled over in her wheelie chair, tablet in hand. “Right, I’m going to scan—follow the light?”

Ryder watched the penlight. Pretty. Too bright! “So. I got fried.”

Lexi made a disgusted noise. “Accurate enough. Stop blinking. I’ve had some very stern words with SAM, and we’ve agreed it’s best if the combat matrices be uninstalled for the time being.”

“This blows,” Ryder whined. “I didn’t even get to use it!”

Lexi rolled her eyes. “Alright, sit up.”

Ryder ambled upright, watching Lexi whack at her knees. “That seems related to a head injury.”

“Reflexes normal,” Lexi reported. “Good. Remember anything?”

“I started having headaches after SAM installed his program. Well. More frequent headaches. Sometimes fluorescent lights hurt my eyes too…anyway, I started having more headaches, then the day I conked out my migraine was seriously killer, then I had a crazy psychic vision, and then I collapsed. And I hit my head.” She abruptly straightened. “Reyes.”

“He’s fine,” Lexi drawled. She was tapping things into her tablet, distracted. “Alright, more or less what SAM told me. Don’t worry too much, Pathfinder. Precognition is a hoax.”

“Right.” Ryder smiled sweetly. “That would be ridiculous, says the alien telekinetic.”

Lexi ignored her again. Ryder returned to nibbling on her numbed lips. Suvi and Gil were right, Lexi’s patient beds were almost nice enough for Ryder to consider quietly submitting to the healing process. Almost. As if sensing Ryder’s restlessness, Lexi looked sternly at her most disobedient patient. “Bed rest. At least a day. I want to monitor that head, make sure your concussion hasn’t led to complications I might have missed. Do not pick at your scabs.” Lexi brandished her stylus at Ryder, who grumpily released said scabs. Lexi watched her for another moment, then softened. “You’ve been through a lot. Try to get some rest. I’m having my lunch brought here so I can keep an eye on you.”

Ryder snuggled into her pillow. “You really don’t trust me at all.”

Lexi snapped her fingers, as though Ryder were a dog trying to get at a forbidden treat. “Scabs.”  

Kadara was not a difficult city to understand, but that didn’t mean it was well designed. It had a few official buildings, those large enough to seem intimidating and of such essential that even the worst criminals were inclined to leave them alone. Back when the Port had been controlled by the Angara, there had been laboratories, warehouses for mining supplies, and the docks built to supply shipment. There had been no real need to consider the layout or placement of these structures, because there hadn’t been a population sizeable enough to create any sort of issue.

But things had changed. Now, the docking port spanned for miles, and the market stretched to match it. Paths that led up to those few official buildings were followed by the traders, who crammed and cluttered themselves into every available nook. Every possible square foot of space that might be seen by a buyer was leveraged. There were no vendor licenses, less than the minimum mandated law enforcement, and above all—a pulsing, swollen, tangible need. A desperate, filthy, lawless need. People lived and slept in their booths, or in the ugly, colorless buildings that pulled themselves up around these already cluttered pathways. They squatted, and they waited for the day their lives would change.

It became obvious, then, that the true real estate of Kadara Port was its rooftops. The higher you went, the more you paid, the further you traveled from the smell and the swell of its people. The streets, which were inaccessible by anything other than foot, could be watched from above, in relative comfort.

Reyes watched.

The Angara were furious. Frightened. They hated the Milky Way aliens, the barbarians who would do such unspeakable things to their children. To anyone’s children. The Milky Way aliens had come offering peace, and exchange, and culture. Instead they had given corruption, violence, and greed.

The Charlatan, the Angara were hissing, was a human. Everyone knew that Keema Dohrgun was a face. It was a mystery to outsiders but not to them, not to a people who watched each alien carefully, catalogued their differences. The Charlatan thought and acted like a human. The Charlatan may or may not have been a monster, a child murdering thug, but either way he was in power. Either way, his grip was loose enough for these things to happen.

The Milky Way aliens snarled back. Face or not, Keema Dohrgun was hardly innocent, and the Angara had never been saints. The fact that they had the vocabulary for words like murder, rape, torture—that was proof enough.

Reyes had sent operatives of every species throughout the city, to target the areas of greatest unrest with whispered news that the Charlatan was cooperating, that he was already in talks with the Nexus on beefing up law enforcement—that this violence, this fear, was unforgivable. It would be purged.

But mostly, he watched. He watched the city he had helped shape, and wondered when it had become so ugly. He’d imagined discipline, and beauty, and excitement. Instead Kadara had become a stopping place for the lost—for those with nowhere else to go.

He watched a woman pull her baby beneath her shirt to breastfeed, and he feared for her.

Ryder lasted at least twenty minutes before she was forced to mutiny. “SAM, exactly how definite is that 86 percent chance of Reyes dying thing?”

Our prediction is not set in stone. We do not have psychic abilities, merely predictive algorithms that run simulations based on the available data.

Relief, weirdly, was something she felt in her shoulders. They dropped. “Okay,” Ryder acknowledged. “Good. So we can change things to prevent this outcome?”

Correct, but given the high chance of his murder, I anticipate that several major changes will need to be made. SAM paused, then added, Additionally, it is worth noting that Reyes Vidal’s line of work will always naturally lead him to have a significantly higher mortality rate when compared to the average citizen.

“Great. So I just need to convince him to get back on the forty hour work week.” Ryder considered. “Or set up an enticing retirement package?” She wondered, for a moment, how many hours she worked in a given week. Did Pathfinders get overtime? Why didn’t Addison ever talk about anything important! “SAM, as a point of comparison, how good is my survival rate?”

Your recent head trauma has certainly not helped things.

It figured. Ryder reached up to poke around her wound. The amount of gauze was alarming in itself. “In your robot overseer opinion, what events need to happen for us to get Reyes’ murder chances below, uh, maybe ten percent?”

Irrelevant. We are on bed rest. SAM said, pretty firmly. And I do not want to die.

“We aren’t going to die. We’re going to change things. Just a few tweaks.”

I will inform Lexi, if I must.

“Don’t be such a snitch.” Ryder growled. “Where are my shoes?”

I will not tell you. I do not want to die.

“Tell me where my shoes are, or I swear I will never give you a single Sudoku Master problem again.” Ryder, who had been struggling to her feet, received a nasty static shock from her blanket. “Holy fuck! Was that you?”

Your shoes are in the top left cabinet behind the cleaning supplies. I will be unable to communicate for the next several minutes due to bandwidth restrictions.

Ryder dragged Lexi’s desk toward the instructed cabinet, cursing. The arm that had been shocked was still smarting. “Bandwidth restrictions. Okay.”

Bandwidth restrictions are due to the necessity of updating my back up files, SAM countered. For being an emotionless automated voice, he could get pretty snooty.

Ryder yanked on her shoes, pulled her hair back to hide the lump of gauze patched to the back of her head, and briefly tried to hi-jack Lexi’s cosmetics station to cover some of the damage she’d done to her face. She gave up when navigating the blue skin-tone presets became overwhelming.

Feeling proud of her own stealth parameters, Ryder snuck out of the Med-Bay to encounter the person obviously assigned to keep her from leaving. Kallo blinked at her, reproving. He set aside his catalogue of engine models, an obvious sacrifice.

“That’s ridiculous,” Ryder argued. “If you’re here, who’s even flying the ship?”

“No one. We’re docked,” Kallo explained. He shrugged. “The others fancied a night on the town.”

That was just rude. “Without me?”

Kallo looked as though he were fast approaching a stress-induced breakdown. “You have a concussion,” the pilot pointed out. He added, “Once they get back, I’m hoping you’ll agree that we should return to the Nexus and request formal backup. In case you were wondering, my personal best for exiting this planet’s atmosphere is two minutes, eighteen seconds.”

“I’m not going to run away,” Ryder lied. “I was just going to check my terminal. See if I could maybe access the forensic records on the murder victims.”

Kallo looked annoyed. “You’re supposed to be on bed rest. You have a computer in your head that should be able to access that information for you instantly.”

“Fine. I wanted a snack.”

“I’ll get it for you. Did you want the sausage or the spinach casserole?”

She and Kallo stared at each other in silence. Quietly, Ryder cleared her throat. “Get out of my way,” she ordered.

Bravely, Kallo puffed out his chest. “I suppose I could accompany you.”

The thought of judo-throwing poor Kallo over her shoulder didn’t sit well with Ryder. If only they’d left Drack behind! She had precisely zero qualms when it came to pummeling Drack. Attacking Drack was practically self-defense, considering all the times a friendly tap from the old Krogan had sent Ryder flying into walls, tables, and people she might want to bang in the future.

Ryder took off, with Kallo as her shadow. She was now apparently stuck eating still more casserole. As she waited for her latest dosage of sausage monstrosity to heat up, Ryder pulled up the coroner’s reports on one of the Tempest’s terminals, flicking through the notes her other crew members had already highlighted for her. “So all the kids get torn into pieces, scattered around, and eventually discovered in varying stages of decay…cause of death is difficult to determine due to the extent of damage the victim’s bodies have suffered, but the concentration of blood spilt suggests that victims were killed by some kind of wound—they’re leaning towards stabbing since no evidence of guns have been found—and after suffering an injury, the victims die from blood loss.”

“At least they aren’t being torn apart while they’re alive,” Kallo noted. He reached over Ryder’s shoulder, skipping a few pages. “I’ll surmise. The two main points of interest at this time are the drugs found in the victims’ systems, and the summary of their remains. Right now the forensics teams have been unable to recover a single one of the victim’s hearts.”

“Are they eating them?” Ryder blurted out. She stuffed a bit of sausage in her own mouth. Kallo, watching her, looked horrified.

“I…I don’t know. If you were wondering, the missing heart is also likely a reference to the myth of Zagerus. The god was torn apart as a small child, but reborn because his heart was saved, rather than being destroyed with the rest of his remains.”

God she hated casserole. Ryder swallowed. “And the drugs?”

“Lethal doses of some off-market stimulant, we’ve been calling it Ambrosia. It seemed fitting, with all the Greek mythology connections. Each cadaver’s strain of Ambrosia contains fairly broad variations in the exact chemical composition, which indicates that the formula is still being tested. It is also worth noting that the victims are cross-species and therefore would have very different reactions to imbibing the drug, though Lexi believes the intended effect is meant to simulate the sort of ‘ritual madness’ the god Dionysus was patron of. Suvi tells me that in humans, the effects should be similar to taking Ecstasy.”

“So, there’s some kind of drug lab. Somewhere. If we find them, we find our cultists.” Ryder considered this, wondering how she was supposed to trace an industry notorious for its secrecy. She faced Kallo. “Have you ever gone undercover? For like, anything?”

Kallo shook his head frantically. “No. Stop. I know what you’re doing, Pathfinder! If you leave me right now I’m going to get yelled at by at least three people!”

I agree, SAM chimed in. Ryder had already turned to go. Kallo hovered behind her, whimpering.

“This isn’t fair! I just fly ships through wormholes and asteroid belts! I don’t do combat!”

“I know,” Ryder soothed. “It’s actually pretty ridiculous you were supposed to stop me all by yourself. Hell, I would argue they aren’t even trying to put me on lockdown. Which, by the way, I don’t think Lexi technically has the authority to do? She’s getting pretty uppity.”

Actually, Lexi gave you a generous does of sedatives, SAM pointed out. Both she and I assumed you would not be moving in the first place. It would seem that your metabolism, high activity level, and, perhaps, a genetic predisposition for bullheadedness have all contributed to making your system more resistant to drugs.

Ryder chortled. “That’s stupid. I just drink a lot.”

“No,” Kallo moaned. He grabbed Ryder’s elbow, and she rather gently shook him off. “No,” he moaned again. “Pathfinder, you don’t understand! You can’t singlehandedly infiltrate a drug ring!”

“You’re so right. What I need is discretion. Call Drack,” Ryder chirped, and rolled her eyes. Kallo suddenly brightened, and scurried away to do just that. Ryder slapped the shuttle call button just as Kallo did as she’d suggested, and she even had time to hear him wail, “The Pathfinder’s escaping!” before the shuttle doors closed, and she was once again gliding towards Kadara’s surface.

The riot was diverted, if not outwardly oppressed. No one had been able to find the Angaran boy’s immediate family – no one, in fact, had any idea what his name was. With so little to stand on and money tight, the Angaran community had surrendered his body for investigation – with supervision.

Keema, for her part, was already onto her third dirty martini. Very dirty. Essentially, just olive juice and vinegar. Reyes would never understand Angaran taste.

“Well, it’s a start,” she acknowledged. The martini swirled, almost oily. She was probably not supposed to be drinking, especially considering her pain meds. But Keema drank a lot, as Reyes was beginning to notice. He wondered how an Angara’s body tolerated addiction.

There was something he had to say, something they both knew, but neither wished to discuss. Reyes sighed. “We need to talk about the police.”

Keema’s nostrils flared. “Kill-joy.”

“We can’t keep going like this,” Reyes argued. He let himself sit on the edge of her bed – Keema refused to be treated at a clinic – and hoped that this physical closeness would, somehow, help ease the discussion. “It doesn’t have to be Nexus. But if we install some sort of law enforcement, one that’s sympathetic—”

“Corrupt,” Keema interrupted. “You mean corrupt. A corrupt police is even worse than a known criminal. It will solve nothing, perhaps only increase violence.”

Reyes made a face. “I want someone else to clean up this mess. At this point, no one will even believe us if we do catch them.”

“Why do you think I invited the Pathfinder?” Keema’s drink had sloshed over the rim, she paused to lick her fingers. “But, you’re right. The Pathfinder is still only one person. She can be killed.”

Reyes just looked at her. Keema stared back, defiant, icy. She never slurred. “It’s a fact.”

She wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t matter. His mother would have said it was bad luck to talk that way. Reyes had just opened his mouth to tell her off, when his omni-tool began to buzz. One of the Tempest’s crew, Ryder’s people. He answered before asking for excusal.

“Hey,” Peebee yawned. “Is she with you?”

“The Pathfinder? No.” His follow-up thought was immediate. “Are you saying you don’t know where she is?”

“I hope you’re lying to me,” Peebee sang. She drew closer to her camera lens, until all he could see was a single, gigantic hazel eye. The eye blinked, and squinted. “Ugh!” Peebee withdrew. “So typical! Typical Pathfinder Messiah-complex bullshit! This is totally your fault.” She gestured furiously through the com at him—perhaps it was some vulgar Asari gesture? Or just the physical expression of her frustration? Peebee wasn’t finished. “Children, all of you. Not even thirty years old and she thinks she’s allowed to just ditch her concerned Asari bestie with like a hundred years of experience in the dating game, just saying. Not to mention Drack! I mean, actually, we shouldn’t mention him.”

“Messiah complex?” Reyes repeated. A wash of exasperation blew across him. “She didn’t say where she was going?”

“I just said that!” Peebee hollered. “Goddess! Look, her SAM did some creepy future algorithm weirdness which I guess ends with you dying, spoiler alert, and maybe some other bad stuff but the bottom line is she has head trauma and we can’t find her.”

“I’m going to die?” Reyes repeated, then then with considerably more emotion, “Head trauma?”

“Never mind!” Peebee wailed. “Not helpful! Later.”

She hung up. Reyes dialed back immediately, pounding at his omni-tool with excessive force. Peebee ignored him. She ignored his next five calls so ruthlessly that he began to suspect that the whole thing was some kind of prank. Keema, who had watched the entire exchange in cool silence, finally spoke. “There’s no sense in breaking your omni-tool, darling. The Pathfinder will be just fine.” She crossed her legs, and made a show of rubbing her temples. “What I’m more worried about now is you. If you’re dead, my chances aren’t much better.”

Reyes ground his teeth. His back had begun to ache with tension. “Tell me you’ve at least gotten something out of the Asari assassin.”

Keema snorted. “She won’t talk. The Asari never talk. They aren’t as attached to their bodies as the rest of us.” She cringed back, startled, when Reyes gave in and kicked her bedside table, sending the furniture into the wall with a terrible smash. Reyes jerked away from Keema and her shocked, curdling stare. “You aren’t usually so violent,” Keema drawled, after a pause.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t violent. He didn’t want to be that person. Reyes dragged a hand over his face, trying to think about his breathing, trying to rewire himself. “Are you saying that the Asari is a complete dead end? Or just that she won’t talk.”

“No. There’s something.” Keema confirmed. He looked back at her, expectant. She tilted her head. “There was a certain kind of mud in the tread of her shoes. The bacteria, I’m told, are amazing. She was somewhere in the wastelands recently, somewhere with unique geothermal activity. Get your Pathfinder to wire into a mining satellite for us, tell her to look for somewhere with a massive amount of lithium. Some zinc, too.”

“Lithium?” Reyes repeated, then, as he realized the natural connection, his eyes widened. “The drugs.”

Keema smiled. “Theoretical. But why would they pass up the natural cure for mania? They’ve got to have some bad batches. And a cure’s even better if you can get it for free.”

Reyes nodded, considering the possibilities. “You forget. It’s not so easy to ask the Pathfinder for favors when she’s missing.”

“I forget nothing. You haven’t tried calling her yet,” Keema returned scornfully. She closed her eyes, and slid back beneath her covers. “I need to rest. Take care of things quickly, Reyes. We won’t get much more time.”

Ryder was not exactly a born criminal.

With SAM’s scanner, identifying drug mules was laughably easy. The problem was that she practically had NARC! emblazoned across her chest. After three blow-offs, two arguments, and four people growling, “Fuck off, Pathfinder,” she was forced to reconsider her approach.

Obviously, SAM agreed. This is embarrassing.

Undercover was overrated and, also, boring. “New plan,” Ryder decided. “We stalk. SAM, pull up city cameras, do whatever you can to trace their path—”

Reyes was calling. Ryder hit the denial button. She had a lot of missed calls.

“—what was I saying? Oh. While you’re tracing, I’ll hit the clubs and start scanning for Ambrosia.”

Cora was calling. Ryder hit the denial button three times.

Pathfinder, you could just turn off your phone.

“No, because that confirms that I am in trouble. Right now, I am just out for a stroll. They have no proof.”

Peebee was calling. Ryder, who felt that Peebee was the least effective lecturer of the group, strategically surrendered by answering. “Hey Peebs.”

“Gah!” Peebee yelped. “Finally! Do you know how many times I called you?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I certainly do.”

“Cool. Awesome. I was giving you the benefit of the doubt, like maybe you had fainted from running around with a concussion or, I don’t know, you got jumped by a gang of hangry Krogan because you decided to—once again—solo-mission the dirty space equivalent of the Wild Wild West—!”

“Peebs.”

“But! I was wrong. You’re just an asshat,” Peebee concluded. She made a show of moving around, trying to look over Ryder’s shoulder. “Also. Where the hell are you? I want to come.”

“I’m trying to trace Ambrosia back to the supplier.” Ryder explained. She had begun moving again, distantly aware of SAM’s monitoring – he had hijacked most of her omni-tool’s bandwidth. Ryder lowered her voice. “SAM’s following some dealers, maybe they’ll go back to the supplier. So far none of them have been selling Ambrosia but I figure the higher up we go, the more people will know, right? I’m going to scan the clubs for traces.”

Peebee nodded eagerly. “Right. And I want to come.”

Ryder shook off a vendor. She did not want to eat barbequed space lizard. Plus, she’d already broken enough of Lexi’s rules. Suvi could continue the charge on experimental eating. “Peebs, I actually think it makes more sense for me to solo this—I mean how many drug dealers do you know that like to sell in groups?”

“The lazy ones,” Peebee answered at once. She puffed out her cheeks, now pouting. “Ryder! Ugh! Seriously, have you even smoked?”

“What, like marijuana?”

“Oh. Goddess.” Peebee screamed. Fortunately the Asari had once again cocooned herself in an escape pod, which was naturally very sound proof. “You fucking military-baby dweeb!” Peebee roared. “How dare you? Out of the people on this ship, you thought that you were the best person for a drug deal?”

“Hey,” Ryder defended, now feeling a bit wounded. “I adapted.”

And then she smacked into Reyes.

There were several surprising things about this. First: Ryder was pretty much a champion when it came to dodging things. Second: how had he found her? Third: she had known it was him the half-second before she collided with his chest, without having seen his face, which could really only mean she had adapted some freaky pheromone-sensors.

Ryder looked up. “Oh hey,” she squeaked.

“Get her,” Peebee hissed from her wrist. It was easy to forget that a vindictive hellcat slept beneath Peebee’s bubbly exterior. Ryder hurriedly ended the call.

Reyes looked pissed. There was really no other way to describe it. More disturbing still, Ryder wasn’t sure she had ever seen him get angry before. He regarded her silently for a moment, expression tight, and then smiled. His eyes still creased as he did so. Now she was officially terrified.

“So I hear I’m going to die?” he asked.

“What? No.” Ryder shook her head. “Definitely not.”

“And I heard you have a concussion.”

“Uh,” Ryder stalled. God, she wanted to lie. She wanted to lie so bad. Except her face was beat to shit so her chances of success were admittedly not great. She scratched her undamaged cheek. “I’ve had worse?”

“You’re walking around with a concussion, trying to make a drug deal, because you believe that by doing so…I can only assume the world will be saved and I won’t die,” Reyes surmised. “You also decided not to tell me any of this, why?”

Ryder squirmed. There were times when not speaking was definitely the best answer. Reyes watched her for another moment, still smiling, still terrifying. Ryder cleared her throat, “Well—well you finding me like this means you apparently put a tracker on me so that’s also bad.”

“I don’t need a tracker to find you,” Reyes retorted, now looking scornful. “But that reminds me, you also dodged my calls.”

Ryder considered her possible escape routes. Maybe SAM could reinstall those combat matrices and she could just parkour the hell out of there. She looked at her toes, feeling like a teenager, like a naughty child, like all the things she didn’t want him to see her as, all the things she was dying to prove she wasn’t.

“Come with me,” Reyes said.

Ryder jerked up. “But—I have SAM tailing some people and—”

“I can find your drugs,” Reyes snapped. He was somehow more handsome when he was angry. “Obviously.”

Obviously. Ryder just nodded. She nodded, and she followed.

He took her back to a different but identical apartment, still not sure what he wanted. Keema would want him to get her scanning for Lithium. Her crew would want her stitched up and sent back. She looked like she wanted to lie down, but would never ask. He stepped back to let her inside first, and as she passed him, he saw the clump of bandages fixed to the back of her head, peeking through her hair.

She stood awkwardly in the middle of his room, trying not to look at him. He stared her down. A frustrated, angry energy tightened around him, the longer he looked at her.

“What’s here?” Ryder asked. Answer: nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Like an animal, he’d wanted to stow her somewhere safe. Somewhere he could just keep an eye on her while he figured out what happened next.

Reyes shrugged. She kept waiting for him to explain, a slow heat creeping through her face. “I should get back,” she piped up, rather weakly. Reyes slammed the door, and she flinched. He wasn’t sorry.

“Stay here,” he said, without emotion. He pointed at the bed. “Sit.”

“But I should really—”

He realized that he’d been grinding his jaw only when the muscles began to burn. He spun on her, trying not to shout. “Sit down.”

She sat, her face frozen. Mortified? Angry? For once, he didn’t care. He watched her, running through every conversation they’d ever had, every word she’d ever said to him. Her face was shifting, adapting. She was going to make a joke. She was going to try to force the mood, to dodge the things she didn’t want to talk about. She was used to people listening to her.

He cut her off just as her mouth opened. “You were wrong. You should have told me.”

She hesitated. Her hands twisted together in her lap. “I didn’t want to waste anyone’s time until I had more intel.”

“No. You just didn’t trust me.” Reyes shook out his shoulders. He couldn’t stop thinking about his family, the one he’d left behind. When it had all gone to shit. His old fly buddies, shaking their heads at him. You’re crazy when you’re angry. He wasn’t that person.

Ryder stood. He didn’t miss the slight wobble—the very suggestion of unsteadiness. It frightened him. She was supposed to be indestructible, iron boned, wearing the best armor the galaxy had to offer. He could see the stress, the heaviness of it, how it pulled on her eyes and her mouth. Where did she think she was going, all banged up like that? Ryder had squared her shoulders. “Alright fine, I didn’t trust you,” she acknowledged. “Is that what you wanted from me, my trust? Because the Initiative has to come first. You know that.”

“So why are you here?” Reyes countered. “You’re right, the Initiative does come first. But here you stand, because you risked everything for a smuggler. For me.”

She faltered. “I can handle it.”

“Fine, you can handle it. You can handle being drugged and kidnapped and shot and the rest of the galaxy’s problems while you’re at it. Except I don’t want you to. So what about me?”

She took a half-step towards him, as angry as she was pleading, and as her hand came up to—shove him? Gesticulate?—he caught it without thinking, pulling her into him.

“What about me?” Reyes snarled. Two splotches of color were coming into her cheekbones, making her eyes seem brighter, as though she were about to cry. Fine.

Shakily, she said, “You don’t get to be angry at me for—!”

“Of course I do!” He snapped, and she flinched away from him. Fine. Really, that was fine, that was more than fine. Logically, he preferred the world where she hated him to the one where she ended up dead trying to save him. Emotionally, maybe there was just an ugly streak, a vicious part of him that thought she deserved to be punished.

Glaring, Ryder bared her small, white teeth. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” she shouted back. “And even if I did, so what? Why the fuck do you think you get to judge me for it! Who the hell do you think you are?”

Reyes laughed. “Who am I? Certainly not the Pathfinder. I don’t go around thinking that my every decision is somehow mandated by God.”

That had hurt her. She didn’t back down. “Shut up.”

“No, you shut up this time,” Reyes snapped. “You shut up, because that’s exactly what you did, what you’ve been doing since the second your little feet touched down in my docking bay. Because some part of you genuinely believes that you are the ultimate voice of authority, and I guess the rest of us can go fuck ourselves. I’ve seen the things you can do, and you can call me a true believer, but you should remember that at the end of the day you are just a person.”

She was crying now. Angry, frustrated tears. She was trying to look away, trying to hide her face. When she spoke, her voice was still angry—but shaking. “You know what? Fine. Excuse the fuck out of me. I came here because I wanted to fix things—I wanted to help you. Maybe I should apologize for my methods but I’m not sorry that I cared because you fucking made me!”

He was going to say something ugly back to her, but she’d taken that last half-step towards him, and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, her face pressed into his neck. She was unnaturally still, every muscled tensed—whether that was to keep from shaking or because she expected his resistance, he couldn’t guess. “Don’t be mad at me,” she mumbled. “You’re such a bully.”

He didn’t want to be angry. He didn’t want to be that person. He just wanted her to listen. He let himself touch her. Was she frightened? For him, or because of him? He held the base of her neck, a hot place. He could let this go. He could change. He let himself flick away her armor. All these things, getting in his way. Always. “I should be angry. Just how heartless do you think I am?”

“The worst,” she insisted, not pulling back even one centimeter. “Completely heartless. I have a concussion.”

He tugged her back. She was silent, almost docile, as he undressed her. He knelt, and she had to brace a hand against his shoulder as he lifted her feet from her boots, one at a time. “You have pretty feet,” he noted. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them before.”

“Reyes,” she began, but stopped. He looked up at her, into her bruised face. She struggled to say, “I’m sorry.”

He kissed her stomach, her warm skin. “I shouldn’t have yelled,” he told her, with his eyes closed. “I’m embarrassed.”

“When are you ever embarrassed?” Ryder grumbled, now flushed herself. He nipped at junction where her thigh met her body, his hands smoothing down the backs of her legs. Ryder squeaked. “Are you—um, are you doing what I think you’re doing?”

“You could make it easier for me,” he snipped, pretending to be annoyed. He pushed her a little, back towards the bed. “Sit down.”

“But—”

“Sit down,” he said again, a little more gently. She sat on the edge of his bed, looking dazed. The top of her chest was flushed now as well. He braced his elbows on her knees, and looked at her slowly, letting her embarrassment peak. “You’re naked.”

“Shut up.” Ryder growled. He reached up, and traced the scoop of skin that folded below her breast. Ryder’s hands flew up to cover herself, entirely by instinct, and she twisted around, now yelping. “What are you, some kind of predator?”

“Just frustrated,” Reyes grinned. “You don’t listen well.”

“If I listened to you all of Andromeda would be operating under some kinda bullshit omertà in less than three months,” Ryder hissed. He pulled her legs open. She did a bad job of not looking shy. He bit the soft, fleshy part of her inner thigh and she practically writhed.

“You’re so excited,” Reyes observed, with complete innocence. Ryder glowered.

“If you don’t take your clothes off I’m seriously leaving.”

He took his clothes off. He pinched her, stroked her, scratched her. He didn’t think, or at least he tried not to. Her skin was so pliant, so satisfying to press. He wanted to sink his teeth into every single inch.

He pressed his mouth against everything he could reach, wanting to know her completely, wanting to recognize her body even if he were blinded. When she bent to wrap her lips around his shaft he fell in love with the way her eyes closed.

She crawled, she sank around him. He wanted to yank on her hair, to close his hands over her throat, but the bruises on her face kept him gentle. Almost gentle. He pulled down her hips, dragging her to him, tucking her against his body. He rolled her beneath him, felt her nails cut into his back.

“Promise me something,” Reyes hissed into her ear. He ground himself into her, hard enough for her to gasp, hard as the teeth she sank in his shoulder. “Promise me this won’t happen again. Don’t get in the middle.”

“No,” she whimpered. He kissed her swollen mouth, the edge of her bruised eye. She squirmed, but didn’t ask him to stop. She just took it. That acceptance of pain, that willingness to sacrifice—it seriously pissed him off.

“You have to,” he stressed. “You have to.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” she panted. Her voice ratcheted up when he slammed into her again. “Why?”

What a stupid thing to ask. And yet he couldn’t answer her—nothing felt quite right. There was no one reason. So instead he said again, viciously, “Promise me.”

“Okay,” she whispered, and folded. She lied, so obviously. He felt her shutter down around him, closing. Her eyelids fluttered, and she looked away. She pressed her face into his neck, her breath wet and ragged. And he could feel, in that moment, that he’d lost her. She was leaving even as she came. He could feel her stubborn, arrogant youth and the armor of her idealism. Her dreams, and her ideas about romance, and her distance. And he realized, at last, why she could never understand him. Why she held herself back, even as she forced herself further into his arms. Why, why, why.

She didn’t want to admit, to herself or to anyone, that he was not a good man.

He reached between her legs, and she came again with him. But it was different now, mechanical. He rolled off her, but kept her pulled tightly against his side. She was close enough for him to smell the old blood on her bandages. He had felt lonely before, but never like the way he did now. There was something there, something he couldn’t quite get. It should have been frustrating.

“You promised me,” he spoke into the skin at the back of her head, the crack he pictured in her skull. He imagined he was whispering into her dreams, changing them, fixing her truths. Like a shout into an empty chasm. “Don’t forget.”

She tried to roll over to face him, to argue, and he tightened his grip, fingers digging into her hip, her flank. She had to hear this. “I am not worth your life,” he said again, more violently. “This is my problem. Don’t try to fix it by yourself.”

She was silent, her body wrung out and lean and burning. Her breathing came slower. He could feel her heart beating through the sharp, hard curves of her shoulders. Her hand tried to cover his, but wasn’t large enough.

“Okay,” she lied again. “Okay.”

[libertariantaoist]

The intensifying hysteria over Russia has pushed Official Washington over the edge into outright madness. On one side of this asylum, you have the Democrats, neoconservatives and mainstream media, while on the other, you have the embattled Trump administration. Both sides have been making grave allegations with little or no evidence to support them.

The Democratic/neocon/MSM side has pushed the conspiracy theory that Donald Trump’s campaign colluded with Russians to put the real-estate mogul in the White House, but there is, as yet, no evidence that such a thing happened.

Even one of the top advocates feeding this Russia frenzy, New York Times correspondent Thomas L. Friedman, acknowledged on Sunday on NBC’s “Meet the Press” that “I agree, there is no evidence,” but then added: “which is why we need a special prosecutor or an independent commission to get to the bottom of it.”

But that is not how investigations are supposed to work. You’re supposed to have evidence of wrongdoing and then examine it in the investigative phase to see if the evidence withstands scrutiny. What Friedman is suggesting is more like a “fishing expedition” or a “witch hunt.”

The drip-drip of this investigative water torture finally got to President Trump last week as he flew down to his winter home at Mar-a-Lago. He joined the crazy melee early Saturday morning by sending out a flurry of tweets accusing President Obama of wiretapping Trump Tower in New York City in the weeks before the Nov. 8 election. Trump also offered no evidence while demanding an investigation to get to the bottom of this.

By contrast, in all the major investigations that I have handled as an investigative reporter, such as Oliver North’s secret White House paramilitary operation; the related Nicaraguan Contra drug trafficking scandal; Richard Nixon interference with President Lyndon Johnson’s Vietnam peace talks in 1968; and Ronald Reagan’s campaign sabotage of President Jimmy Carter’s Iranian-hostage negotiations in 1980 – there was substantial evidence from eyewitnesses and documents supporting the suspicions before the story was published.

At no point would I have argued that just because Oliver North met a Contra leader that it was time to investigate whether he and his Reagan administration superiors were breaking the law. I first found multiple insiders, including people in the U.S. government and the Contra movement, describing how North was running his back-channel war. In some of these investigative situations, we had two dozen or so sources describing detailed aspects of these operations before we made any allegations in print.

Now the argument is that because some people suspect something, even without evidence, major investigations are warranted. That is usually what a conspiracy theory sounds like. Someone claims not to understand how something could have happened a certain way and thus a full-scale inquiry is needed into some highly unlikely and speculative scenario.

Opening Salvos

In the case of the Russia investigation, the opening salvos came from President Obama’s intelligence agencies, which alleged that Russia had “hacked” Democratic emails and slipped the contents to WikiLeaks, but the agencies offered nothing in the way of U.S. government evidence to support that supposition.

The two reports that were issued were heavy on the word “assesses” – which in intelligence jargon usually means “guesses” – but short on anything that could be checked out or verified.

The Jan. 6 report, issued by the Office of the Director of National Intelligence, admitted as much, saying, “Judgments are not intended to imply that we have proof that shows something to be a fact. Assessments are based on collected information, which is often incomplete or fragmentary, as well as logic, argumentation, and precedents.”

Meanwhile, WikiLeaks representatives denied getting the two batches of Democratic emails from Russia, suggesting that two different American insiders had leaked the material.

Yet, despite this dubious send-off, the “scandal” careened into the area of “secondary” offenses, such as the conversation between Trump’s National Security Adviser-designate Michael Flynn and Russian Ambassador Sergey Kislyak which was intercepted by the National Security Agency on Dec. 29, 2016.

Rather than redact Flynn’s name as “minimization” procedures usually require for an American citizen who is inadvertently picked up on an intelligence wiretap, the transcript was given to the FBI which then tested Flynn’s memory of the conversation and found it wanting.

The Flynn case should be of particular concern to civil libertarians because it shows how NSA whistleblower Edward Snowden’s warning of a “turnkey tyranny” could work, with the Surveillance State monitoring phone calls and then finding flimsy legal excuses to justify an FBI probe – in Flynn’s case the never-tested-in-court 1799 Logan Act was used – and then manufacturing the crime of lying to the FBI if a person’s memory doesn’t match with the NSA transcript.

For Flynn, who was on vacation in the Dominican Republic when Kislyak called and thus didn’t have his usual support network with him, the immediate penalty for lacking total recall of the conversation was to lose his job. But there is still pressure for him to be prosecuted.

Similar demands have come from Democrats who want Attorney General Jeff Sessions to resign and face prosecution for perjury over his clumsy answer to a question about the Trump campaign’s possible collusion with Russia to which Sessions claimed he had not met with Russians (although it turned out he had two conversations with Kislyak, one a group meeting with several ambassadors at the Republican National Convention and the other in his Capitol Hill office with aides present.

Again, there is no evidence that Sessions conspired with Kislyak on any plans to have the Russians undercut Hillary Clinton’s campaign, an unlikely possibility in either of the two settings. But Sessions is under fire for lying about the seemingly innocuous meetings – and there are demands that the Sessions-Kislyak contacts be investigated, too. In this Russia case, the absence of evidence appears not to be evidence for the absence of a special prosecutor.

On “Meet the Press” on Sunday, President Obama’s Director of National Intelligence James Clapper also said he was unaware of evidence that the Trump campaign had colluded with the Russians.

Moderator Chuck Todd asked, “Does intelligence exist that can definitively answer the following question, whether there were improper contacts between the Trump campaign and Russian officials?”

Clapper: “We did not include any evidence in our report, and I say, ‘our,’ that’s N.S.A., F.B.I. and C.I.A., with my office, the Director of National Intelligence, that had anything, that had any reflection of collusion between members of the Trump campaign and the Russians. There was no evidence of that included in our report.”

Todd: “I understand that. But does it exist?”

Clapper: “Not to my knowledge. … at the time [of the report in early January], we had no evidence of such collusion.”

Bill Clinton Echoes

In many ways, what is happening now to Trump reminds me of the situation in 1992-93 at the start of Bill Clinton’s presidency when Republicans were furious that they had lost the White House after 12 years of Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush. They considered Clinton an unworthy interloper and sought to cripple his presidency from the outset by pursuing one investigation after another.

During the campaign, President Bush and his team even suggested that the Arkansas governor may have been a KGB mole because of a student trip to Moscow in 1970. The idea was to portray the trip to the Soviet Union as prima facie evidence of Clinton’s disloyalty even though there was no evidence of any wrongdoing by Clinton.

Back then, Bill Clinton countered that smear by accusing the elder President Bush of stooping to the tactics of Sen. Joe McCarthy, the infamous Red-baiter from the 1950s. But today’s Democrats apparently feel little shame in whipping up an anti-Russian hysteria and then using it to discredit Trump, who – like Bill Clinton in 1992 – is being forced to fend off vague accusations that he is some kind of Manchurian candidate.

However, unlike Bill Clinton who seemed able to “compartmentalize” between governing as president and sparring with Republicans over their unending accusations, Trump lashed out in a flurry of Twitter messages accusing President Obama of wiretapping phones at Trump Tower.

“Terrible! Just found out that Obama had my ‘wires tapped’ in Trump Tower just before the victory,” Trump said. “Nothing found. This is McCarthyism!” Trump added: “This is Nixon/Watergate. Bad (or sick) guy!”

In making this extraordinary charge against his predecessor, Trump offered no evidence to back it up, leaving the impression that he may have gleaned this information from the right-wing Breitbart News web site which published an article summarizing claims by conservative radio talk show hosts. Trump and White House officials then called for an investigation into Obama’s alleged wiretapping.

Obama’s spokesman Kevin Lewis responded with a statement of dubious veracity, saying: “neither President Obama nor any White House official ever ordered surveillance on any U.S. citizen. Any suggestion otherwise is simply false.” However, Obama did more than surveil at least one U.S. citizen; he had an American Al Qaeda operative Anwar al-Awlaki not just put under surveillance but killed by a drone attack in 2011 in Yemen.

Reacting to all these crazy exchanges, a Wall Street Journal editorial even managed to make some sense. Entitled “Washington Goes Nuts,” the editorial said:

“What the country desperately needs are some grown-ups to intervene, discover the facts, and then lay them out to the American people,” both regarding any untoward contacts between Russian officials and Trump’s advisers and whether the Obama administration crossed any lines in its zeal to nail Trump’s team over Russia.

The Journal’s editors expressed hopes the congressional intelligence committees could step up and perform this function. But the problem with the Journal’s idea is that it will be hard, if not impossible, to find the requisite “adults” in Official Washington where traditional standards of evidence and fair play have long since disappeared.

[theblacktivity-blog]

Taking The Stage

In these crazy times the ABC network special “Taking The Stage; African American Music and Stories That Changed America” was a reminder of a gallant history. It was at once a testament to the resilience of a people and in some ways, the constant invocation of that trait seem to quietly whisper to the viewers for whom it was meant: “we must begin  again to prepare ourselves”. In the main, it was a Black musical tribute celebration of the new Smithsonian National Museum of African American Art and Culture. But the panning of the camera’s throughout the Kennedy Center’s mostly Black and illustrious audience, (not the least of which included takes of President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama dancing harmoniously to the rhythms like college sweethearts reliving the conjured up memories brought on by the songs) gave it the air of pomp and circumstance. To a degree, it was the sort of thing that's met with a wink and a nod, in that it seemed very much like a celebratory send off to The First Couple and all that they mean to us in symbol and reality. And as each performer did the stage their justice, often times acknowledging the President and First Lady in the rafters, that love was radiated back in the form of warm appreciative smiles and what seemed like chest thumps and air daps sent telepathically...the Black way. The show opened up with a jovial Oprah Winfrey as host who exclaimed “Although I should open up the show by saying, ‘good evening everyone’, what I’d really like to say is hallelujah!”. Getting a rise out of the crowd as only Oprah can, and with the president and first lady looking on, she continued; "We’re here to celebrate, from our first days here as African Americans, we’ve left a record of how we felt and how we moved through life, from the spiritual side to the sexy side, life in all of its colors. Tonight is about music and it’s about memories and it’s about imagination and tonight is about taking the stage and changing America." What may have seemed on the surface like a typical awards show or tribute show introduction when looked at with more depth seemed more like a soft call to arms. It showed something of an acknowledgement of the days ahead and as usual, the role we as African Americans will have to play in bringing about and insuring justice.  Afterwards, the performances began to roll in. Beginning with a tribute to the legendary Black opera singer Marian Anderson, Mary J. Blige performed ‘My Country Tis’ Of Thee’ as a projected background of the Lincoln Memorial served to create the ambiance of the moment Anderson made history by singing on those very steps in 1939. Following was actor Jesse Williams, with an introduction to the musical form of ‘The Blues’. Amid the receding of thunderous applause, grew the somewhat tense silence of an audience more than likely familiar in some way or another with Williams’ strident and fiery oratory, the very type displayed at the 2016 BET Awards. Among the Black faces in the crowd were white ones as well, some celebrities, some carrying an air of quiet importance, all of whom visibly appeared to be on either end of a black to white spectrum. They either seemed genuinely engaged with the words of Williams as he linked the history of ‘The Blues’ to the dark legacy of chattel slavery, or developed that reddish blush indicated when some whites anxiously await guilt (real or perceived) to be transmitted into their souls via the rhetorical barbs of the smart or “radical” Black man in-residence. The air was broken when Gary Clark Jr. performed a number in the blues tradition followed by a performance by the Alvin Ailey Dance Troupe of the lyric ‘Wade In The Water’. In the lead up to the first commercial brake was an article on display at the Smithsonian National Museum of African American Art & Culture entitled; “Bill of Sale of a slave”. It’s a record dating back to 1835,  detailing the sale of a slave (more than likely a fair skinned woman) between the seller a local judge, and the buyer, both from Arkansas, right around the time when slavery was beginning to expand further westward. This intermission was timely as it highlighted the historic ills from which such a racially divided nation sprung. Then, as the show continued there was a moment of awkwardness. The type that makes one say to oneself; “And....exactly why is this?”. Dave Grohl  (former drummer for the legendary band Nirvana and Foo Fighters founder and guitarist...rock renaissance man) joined the stage with legendary go-go icon Trouble Funk as a tribute to the musical form that has its origins in the nation’s capital. Granted, Grohl did grow up near the D.C. area (northern Virginia more specifically Alexandria) and may have very well been influenced by the art form, it just seemed out of place. One wonders why not UCB and Trouble Funk? That would have been appropriate and more in tune with Washington D.C.’s historic sound. Instead what happened is overbearing guitar and vocal riffs that overpowered the very percussive rhythms for which go-go is known. Whether that was a producer or network choice, who knows? In any event it had the slight air of paternalism (no fault of Grohl to be sure) that tends to occur when white America feels the need to awkwardly force itself into spaces in the name of an over-the-top proof of solidarity with Black culture. I mean all due respect to the white brothers and sisters who are really down. Let’s be clear, we appreciate those who truly are, the Black delegation fucks with you! But sometimes we would rather you refrain from messing up the beat. Post that incident, Fantasia took us down home with her rendition of Aretha Franklin’s 1967 song Dr. Feelgood. Such a performance from the North Carolina bred songstress reminded us that there is indeed a difference between singing and sangin’. Usher’s tribute to the late great James Brown left nothing to be desired as he slid, glided, and jump-split his way all over the stage in the way only he could, clad in the flyest damn black tuxedo I’ve ever seen. Then there was another awkward “huh?” moment, albeit less than the go-go performance. Actor Tom Hanks introduced the 7 surviving members of the legendary Tuskegee Airmen. Of all the tributes of the night, this one was undoubtedly the most moving as their wasn't a dry eye in the house as Hanks described the story men despised by their country for the color of their skin, even as they shot down America’s enemies abroad in record numbers. The airmen, some walking some in wheelchairs and all who looked incredibly well kept (Black don’t crack ya’ll) were then met by Fmr. General and Secretary of State Colin Powell who gave an emotional salute and greeted each man with an embrace and handshake. A moving moment indeed but also one that begged the question; “Why wasn’t Colin Powell himself slated to tell that story in addition to everything else?”. At the very least if they wanted an actor to introduce the story, why not someone like Lawrence Fishburne? After all, he was casted in the original movie about the Tuskegee Airmen circa 1995. No disrespect to Tom Hanks (one of my favorite actors by the way) but it just seemed like yet another example of that paternalistic brand of altruism. Afterwards the gorgeous Angela Basset led an introduction of tributes to singers Billie Holiday, Lena Horne, Ethel Waters, Sarah Vaugh, and Nina Simone which were performed by various artist including Christina Aguilera and accompanied by jazz musician Robert Glasper on piano. At break, we were introduced to yet another artifact on display at what will henceforth called the “Black Smithsonian”, rock-n-roll founder Chuck Berry’s candy apple red 1973 Cadillac El Darado. Little was mentioned about Berry being the founder of the musical form of rock-n-roll as we know it, instead the break opted to say the he was “influential” in early rock-n-roll. I noted that, duly. The convenient avoidance of the fact the Elvis Presley stole practically every move he had from Chuck Berry....but I’ll move on. Usher graced the stage once more to give tribute to the role of Black athletes in America including a montage of Jesse Owens, Muhammad Ali, Jackie Robinson, Arthur Ashe (Rich--what! Richmond!), Althea Gibson, Juan Carlos, Tommie Smith, and a host of others past and present. In usual form, comedian Chris Tucker took the stage to lead into what would be NeYo’s best Michael Jackson rendition. It was yet another reminder of just how big a hole that loss will always be in the world of entertainment at large and the Black community. While NeYo in true fashion did ‘The King’ much justice...it’s just not the same. P.S. The person that didn’t think to schedule the Prince tribute there after should definitely be demoted, possibly fired. The incomparable comedian Dave Chappelle, broke the seriousness of the moment as only he could with some sharp and socially observant zingers before his piece honoring the tradition and importance of Black humor. From Moms Mabley, to Dick Gregory, to Redd Foxx, to Richard Pryor and Eddie Murphy, the montage provided reminded us of the role of Black comedy in the analysis and coping with life in an often absurd America. Janelle Monae did her part prefacing the Motown sound that brought Black soul music to “mainstream” America. Gladys Knight was honored and how better to honor the honor the legendary soulstress than the Ms. Knight herself, leading the crowd in the classic “Midnight Train To Georgia”. John Legend followed, tapping into his inner Marvin Gaye with a rendition of “What’s Going On?” in his signature staccato voicing, as perfectly timed a song as it was when Marvin first wrote it. After a commercial break which included a commemoration of the revolutionary Nat Turner (white America’s historic candy man) in which the Bible that Turner was caught with after the Southampton, VA insurrection was explained, the Blackness continued with a tribute to the jazz art form.  The legendary Herbie Hancock was introduced to the crowd by one of the coolest Black men on the planet in Samuel L. Jackson. Hancock performed the signature contortions and improvisations that make the art was it is from piano, to electronic synthesized keyboard as the crowd looked on in awe. Improvisation being a key trait of the Black experience as a whole, it was only right that jazz would be preceded by hip hop. Will Smith took the reigns by citing a Paul Lawrence Dunbar, Common cited Langston Hughes’ “I Too, Am America” Chuck D when into his legendary verse on “Fight The Power” as President Barack Obama mouthed along, and Doug E. Fresh set the proverbial “it” off when he laid as only he could the a vocal percussive that would serve as an instrumental to “The Message”. The crowd clapped and lip synched along; don’t push me/cause I’m close to the edge/I’m tryin, not to lose my head/a huh huh huh huh/it’s like a jungle sometimes/that make’s me wonder/how I keep from going under. I watched on wondering if those in the crowd (more particularly the white folks) yet understood poignancy of Melly Mel’s words after almost four decades. Arguably hip hop’s most famous bridge, this is in varying degrees, the Black experience in America summed up. Essentially a hip hop version of writer James Baldwin’s quote that; “To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time”. With an inward chuckle, my inner Mr. T pitied the fools. Ending the night were actress Octavia Spencer and Stevie Wonder. Spencer played her part introducing us to that timbre, that down home sound that we know as gospel.  After the pleasantries, Donnie McClurkin graced the stage joined by the legendary Howard University Gospel Choir in a performance that was so good it should’ve been followed by 1st Sunday church basement potato salad after. Thereafter Beyoncé protégés Chloe and Halle led the crowd in a soulful and vocally mature version of “There Eye Is On The Sparrow” that was certainly another check off of the list in a series of performances in which the duo should aptly be considered soul music’s generation next. Of course though, what is a tribute to gospel without the incomparable Rev. Shirley Ceasar! As she always does Ceasar the lit the stage as only a traditional down home Reverend and gospel icon can, sweat dripping from the forehead and all, as she too was joined by Howard University’s gospel choir. After catching the holy ghost like Julio Jones in one on one man coverage, the crowd welcomed none other than Stevie Wonder onto the stage. Breaking into his classic “Higher Ground” he was joined on stage by all the performers and guest as he beat the piano up like self defense. Such an ending seemed to serve as a signal to Black America at large, that this musical and cultural tribute would've been best summed up by the words of Kendrick Lamar: “we gon be alright!”.