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everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

Text

Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death.

“Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago.

The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod.

That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face.

“Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother.

Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain.

It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister.

I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life.

I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning, watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children.

I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate.

We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying.

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

“We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag.

Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully.

I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles.

We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor.

My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up.

“No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man.

He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me.

“My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names.

“Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

“Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

Marvel nods, grimly.

“We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes.

“Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps.

“Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly.

Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?

Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

“Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk.

“Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow.

I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile.

“I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly.

My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head.

Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,”

My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers.

“Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?”

My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

“Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?”

I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

“Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”

I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12.

I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be.

I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things.

Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night.

————————-

Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings.

We talk about baseball:

“You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?”

I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

“Wow, beautiful and smart!”

We talk about cars:

“I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

“The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?”

No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child.

Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly.

I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up.

“Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight, alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden!

I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting!

Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches.

“Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

“Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

“You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!”

It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed.

A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here.

“I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants.

I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us.

“You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

“You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

“My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise.

“That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!”

We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house.

He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound.

But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried.

————————-

Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down.

Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something!

I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth.

I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure.

I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes.

My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare.

At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

“Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs.

I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

“I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.”

————————-

Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face.

I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

“I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,”

“Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

“The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

“I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…”

I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence.

My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news.

I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way.

The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters.

“It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says.

At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad.

Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack.

I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary.

My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!”

“Katniss, what’s going on?”

I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

“At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care.

“That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically.

I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t.

I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now.

“I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

“Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath.

I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

———————-

My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough.

I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold.

In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day.

There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption.

“Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper.

“Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father.

I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly.

She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation.

“Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly.

I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?”

“It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

“This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?”

My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

—————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

“Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth.

“Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

“Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command.

I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,”

I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade!

Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason!

I shudder at the thought.

But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name.

Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible.

“Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment.

I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here.

“Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.”

Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

#alliswell21 #prompt 71 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years ago

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Ginger Snap, Chapter 2

A/N I am breaking probably the only rule I gave myself when I started writing fanfic, which was Don’t Ever Post a WIP. But lord knows I’m not immune to peer pressure and the narcotic that is reader feedback, so here it is, the second chapter of what is now an open-ended modern AU story about Jamie the Chef and Claire the Kitchen Disaster. Still a first person Claire POV, so I apologize in advance for any stray pronouns.

For the first chapter, I recommend reading it on Ao3, since I’ve made some minor edits since I first posted it on Tumblr. See above re. not planning on posting a WIP.

Oh, and funny story. When I decided to check the location of the real Ginger Snap catering company in Edinburgh, it was squished between “FrazersOnline” and “McKenzie Flooring”. If that’s not kismet, I don’t know what is. The location I describe below, however, is based on a catering venue here in Ottawa called Urban Element, where I’ve attended a few team-building events. I have yet to set anything on fire, though.

I checked my phone for the third time, confirming I wasn’t lost.

Frank and I moved to Edinburgh over the summer, just in time for him to start his position as Associate Professor of History at the University of Edinburgh. Despite our years spent in America, neither of us cared overmuch for driving, so we chose a flat (or rather, Frank chose a flat and I concurred) not far from campus. Therefore, this was the first time I’d ventured as far afield as Leith, a maritime enclave just to the north of the capital that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be grittily working class or artistically hip.

When I finally reached the address, I had to smile. No main street pretensions or non-descript commercial frontage for Ginger Snap Catering. Before me stood a two-story red brick fire station, still emblazoned with the crest of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Services. The two massive truck bays were now enclosed by see-through doors that could be drawn back on a sunny day. Through these a warm yellow light could be seen, spilling onto the grey, damp pavement.

A petite woman with dark hair manned the small reception area, a red-haired toddler clinging to her like a marsupial. She held a phone to one ear while simultaneously pacing the polished concrete floor. I stood as unobtrusively as possible near the door, but in such an open space it was impossible not to overhear her side of the conversation.

“... they willna take ‘im back until ‘is fever goes down... aye, an hour ago when I picked him up but it hasn’t... nay, i dinna think it’s... tis jus’ terrible timing with two weddings t’morrow... Could ye? Och, I owe ye Mrs. Fitz, a million times o’er... Anytime, we’ll be here. Alright, soon.”

The speaker turned to me, the harried look of a working mother sharpening her already honed features.

“I apologize fer keeping ye waiting. What can I do fer ye t’day?”

Before I could respond, the young boy, probably no older than two, began to fuss, rubbing his flushed cheek against his mother’s shoulder.

“Och, mo ghille, Mam kens ye’re poorly. Mrs. Fitz is coming as fast as she may.”

Unable to quell my instinct to diagnose and then cure, I spoke up.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Based on his age and the way he’s holding his head, it may be an ear infection.” At the woman’s penetrating look, I hastened to explain: “I’m a doctor. Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

Permission granted, I carefully palpated the boy under the jaw and peered as best I could without an otoscope into the offending ear canal. Confident in my diagnosis, I recommended treatment with a warm compress, an over-the-counter analgesic ear drop, and children’s paracetamol to control his fever. If, after twenty-four hours the symptoms had not improved, they could consider seeing his pediatrician for antibiotics, but these were only truly necessary for a persistent infection.

“Och, ye ‘ave no idea what a relief it is tae hear ye say so, lass. He’s my first bairn, ye ken, an’ I can ne’er tell if I’m over-reacting or being negligent. Can ye say thank ye tae the nice doctor, Wee Jamie?”

My stomach jumped. “Wee Jamie? Is he related by chance to Jamie Fraser?”

“Aye, tis his nephew. I’m Jamie’s sister, Jenny. Ye ken my brother, then?”

The pieces fell into place, and my insides settled.

“We’ve spoken before,” I explained. “I’m Claire Beauchamp. You and your brother helped me with a dinner party emergency last Tuesday. I came to return your market bags, and to thank you again for coming to my aid during my hour of need.”

Jenny and I spoke for another ten minutes, sharing the superficial narratives of two strangers brought together by circumstance. She was warm and thistly by turns, and I felt a longing for the honesty of female friendship that I’d given up when we left Boston. Eventually a matronly woman arrived to collect Wee Jamie. I carefully wrote down the exact names and dosages of my prescribed remedy.

After Mrs. Fitz and Wee Jamie had left, it occurred to me that Jenny needed to get back to work. I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, even if I hadn’t thanked Jamie himself. As I began to make my goodbyes, however, Jenny interjected. “If ye’re no’ in a rush, why dinna ye join our afternoon cooking class? My brother will be demonstrating how tae make quiche. Tis the least we can do, after ye helped Wee Jamie.”

Which was how I found myself standing behind one of six cooking stations arranged across the fire station’s main area, a bright red apron covering my black slacks and saffron turtleneck. My impetuous curls were slowly breaking ranks from where I’d slicked them into a bun that morning. I worried I looked like a human Pez dispenser.

I glanced at the workstation immediately to my left. A slight woman who I guessed to be roughly my own age was engrossed in her phone, a cheeky smirk playing on her berried lips. Her strawberry blond hair was swept into an effortless chignon that made me twitch with envy. She looked up from her screen and caught me looking her way.

“Geillis Duncan,” she said, offering a well-manicured hand.

“Claire Beauchamp. Pleased to meet you.”

“Is it yer first time taking a class, Claire?” At my nod, she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: “Ye’re in for a treat.”

Before I could enquire what she meant, a murmur amongst the other students (all women, save one) was accompanied by the heavy tread of work boots on polished concrete and a familiar Scottish burr.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank ye fer joining me on this dreich Scottish day. I ken a few of ye are new, so let’s start with a brief overview of yer stations and some basic safety reminders, before we tackle the quiche.”

Today Jamie was wearing a pair of olive pants that tapered down his endless legs and a technical shirt that clung valiantly to his upper body. He looked like he’d just stepped off the nearest rock climbing pitch. I wondered if he owned anything that answered to the name of a professional wardrobe, but I couldn’t deny that he looked impressive, in an athleisure sort of way.

“See what I mean?” Geillis hissed at me as Jamie made his way to the front of the hall, speaking now about optimal burner temperatures. “That man is a dozen kinds of yes.”

I concentrated on each step of the ostensibly simple recipe. Pie crust had been the previous week’s assignment, so I had only to blind bake the prepared dough already at my workstation. Once I had the crust centered exactly in the pie pan, pierced with a fork in orderly rows and placed in the oven, I rushed to catch up with the others. I’d missed Jamie’s instructions regarding pan frying the bacon, so I increased the flame, thinking I could make up a little time. The fatty meat crackled pleasingly as I set it in the lightly greased pan. I was inordinately proud of myself.

Things went very badly, very fast. First, my eyes wouldn’t stop watering as I meticulously peeled then dissected the onion into near-transparent crescents. Tears obscured my vision and I tried to wipe them away without contaminating my hands. To my left I could make out Geillis skillfully cracking eggs into a glass bowl, her pie crust already elegantly filled with crispy morsels of bacon and caramelized onion bits.

A vague sense of having forgotten something important tickled my mind. My pie crust! Grabbing a silicone glove (I wasn’t making that mistake twice) I rushed to the wall oven and extracted the pan. Giddy with relief, I saw the dough was only a little dark around the edges.

Before I could return victorious to my station, Jamie uttered a Scottish noise of alarm from his vantage at the front of the class. We both rushed across the room to where my rashers of bacon now resembled blackened shoe laces obscured by a heavy veil of smoke. With practiced ease, Jamie lifted the entire skillet into the adjacent sink and turned on the cold water. A cloud of steam enveloped his head, highlighting his auburn curls. I bit my lip as he looked my way in amusement.

“I hope ye werena planning on serving quiche to yer faculty guests t’night, Ms. Beauchamp?”

I stood meekly next to Geillis for the remainder of the class, no longer trusted around open flame without adult supervision. She graciously allowed me to extract her quiche when it was done baking. It looked like a magazine cover. Meanwhile, my workstation looked like the scene of an industrial accident.

While we were waiting for her quiche to cook, Geillis and I got to know each other a little better. She was a Highland lass from up near Inverness. Married to a wealthy older man, her life sounded like an endless quest for diversion. Despite this, or because of it, she had a sharp-witted frankness that I appreciated. She was also a hard-core gossip.

“Wee besom,” she remarked with a nod towards a blond girl who was currently monopolizing Jamie’s attention with endless questions punctuated by manufactured giggles and flicks of her pin-straight hair. “Tha’s Laoghaire Mackenzie of the Mackenzie brewing dynasty. They’ve a live-in cook, so there’s only one reason she attends these classes, and it isna for the quiche.”

I watched Jamie laugh over something the girl said, mineral eyes alight and his perfect white teeth on display. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t here for the quiche either.

The interminable ninety minute lesson finally ended. I thanked Geillis profusely and we exchanged numbers before she rushed off for her reiki treatment. Gathering my trench coat and purse, I tried to slink away without calling any further attention to myself.

“Ms. Beauchamp!”

I cursed under my breath, then turned to face him.

“Please, call me Claire. After I nearly burned down your place of business, we should probably be on a first name basis.”

Jamie chuckled. It sounded more natural and lived-in than his earlier response to Laoghaire, but I was likely fooling myself.

“Och, wha’s a cooking demonstration wi’out a wee bit of drama. Will ye be joining us next week? We’ll be making ceviche, sae I willna need tae put the fire brigade on stand-by.”

“Bastard,” I replied to his cheeky smirk. “Alas, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a cook. It appears to be the one science I can’t master.”

“Cooking isna a science, Claire,” he explained with sincere intensity. “Tis an art. Perhaps tha’s the root of yer struggle.”

“Perhaps it is. But in that case, I may as well give up now. I haven’t an artistic bone in my body.”

His languorous perusal of said body lit a different kind of flame in my belly. Geillis was right; he really was a dozen kinds of yes.

“I canna say as I agree. Come back any time if ye’d like tae try again.”

I blushed, thoroughly discomfited by his blatant flirting. He knew about Frank. He’d fled from him onto my fire escape, for Christ’s sake! Maybe when you looked like James Fraser, every interaction with a woman was merely a chance to hone your craft. Or maybe he was truly ignorant of his effect.

“I’ll take that under advisement. Thank you again, Jamie.”

“Until the next time, Arsonist.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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amaranthinecanicular · 4 years ago

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and the name for your order is

The guy snarls his order, and Kirishima is glad because clearly he's an unrepentant dick to everyone, not just Amajiki. It's easier to come to terms with than he thought it would be. “And your name?” he says, plucking a cup from the stack and uncapping the marker with his teeth.

“Who the fuck wants to know?” says the customer.

“Oh no,” says Kirishima, because oh no, he likes this guy. It's one of those sudden revelations that takes him by the throat and shakes him down. Who wants to know, he says, as though it wasn't obvious. Who wants to know. So absurdly aggressive it ends up amusing instead of intimidating. Endearing, even.

[My belated @fyeahbnha secret santa gift for @pointy-hat-witch! Please enjoy, and happy holidays!!!]

[Alternatively read on ao3.]

OCTOBER

Fat Gum’s Café has a new customer.

Well. Not new, exactly. He's been showing up for the last two weeks or so but only on days Kirishima wasn’t working. The news shared by his coworkers more closely resemble war stories than work gossip, ranging exclusively from horrible to terrible.

“He’s the scariest person I’ve ever met in my life,” says Amajiki.

“He’s like a sentient piece of crap rolled up in a garbage can and set on fire,” says Kaminari.

“He makes Give me a mocha double espresso sound like an order of execution,” says Amajiki.

“He’s rude and violent and he has no honor,” says Tetsutetsu.

“If he’s not actually a demon sent from the depths of hell to torture me specifically I would be very surprised,” says Amajiki. Most of the stories are from Amajiki.

Kirishima is dying to meet him, in part to defend his friends’ honor and in part to put a face to the legend. Luckily, the start of the new quarter means new classes at new times, and that means new work hours. What was originally a Tuesday-Thursday-Friday-Sunday schedule shifts to a Monday-Wednesday-Saturday schedule. Kirishima feels bad about that. He likes the coffee shop, likes his coworkers, likes his boss. If he could ace his tests and help out at Fat Gum’s every day he would, but he can't. His grades are dragging.

On the bright side, he meets their local celebrity, like, immediately.

It’s his first Saturday on the job. He knows it’s about to go down when he finds Amajiki attempting to assimilate himself into the storage closet.

“He's back,” says Amajiki, doing an excellent impression of coffee grounds quaking in fear. “If I have to deal with him again I'll die, I'll just die. Tell Mirio and Hadou I said goodbye. I'm sorry, Kirishima-kun, I can't do it.”

Poor guy. Amajiki is convinced this dude is terrorizing him deliberately, which Kirishima sincerely hopes isn't true. Anyone who would go out of their way to frighten serious, hardworking, anxious Amajiki must be a monster.

As if to punctuate this point, someone out at the front begins to brutalize the counter bell. To be fair, they really shouldn't leave it unmanned.

“Don't sweat it, senpai,” Kirishima says. He doesn't give Amajiki the manly clap to the shoulder that he wants to—Amajiki isn't so good with physical contact from anyone other than Togata or Hadou. “I'll handle the problem customer.”

Amajiki peeks at Kirishima through coffee filters and the dark wedge of his fringe. “You—you mean it?”

“Sure do. I like a challenge.”

He flashes his brightest smile. Amajiki squints a little at the force of it.

Kirishima is honestly surprised that the poor bell isn’t dented by the time he comes to its rescue.

“About fucking time,” says the problem customer. He's got riotous blond hair and a scowl on his face like it's been carved there. There's a grenade logo sprayed on his baggy black tee, which makes sense, because one look at this guy brings to mind the word explosive.

“How may I help you, sir?” says Kirishima, with deliberate pep. Impossibly, impressively, the scowl cuts deeper. Like an attack—like he's never not on the offensive. That's fine. Kirishima’s smile will be his armor.

“Who the fuck wants to know?” says the customer.

Kirishima spits the cap out of his mouth. “I want to know. For your order, man.”

The problem customer narrows his eyes as though to peer through Kirishima’s question to the ulterior motives behind it, which is insane, since there are no ulterior motives to be found in the absolutely routine procedure of a coffee shop. Cheerfully oblivious seems to be getting under his skin, so Kirishima leans into it. “What if I forget who asked for the mocha double espresso?”

The customer rolls his eyes. He rolls his eyes violently. “Right, because I'm real fucking forgettable.”

“You could be.” The look he gets for that is entirely worth breaking the Customer Is Always Right creed. “We get a lot of traffic, man, it’s nothing personal.”

The customer braces himself on the counter and leans into Kirishima’s space. Instinct hooks in his spine and tries to reel him back a step or two, but he hardens his resolve into stone and ties it to his feet, weighs himself down, refuses to budge.

“You'll remember me,” the customer says. A promise like a threat, and for the first time in the duration of this exchange Kirishima feels seen by him. Acknowledged. It's the same feeling as scoring well on a test, or making a sad friend laugh. Hard-won and worth it. Kirishima can't stop the grin from breaking onto his face so he doesn't try to.

“Sure I will. I like you.”

And the look he gets for that, well, that's priceless.

“So that name?”

“Fuck off.”

The guy recovers fast, that's for sure. Kirishima watches him skulk to the serving counter where he roots himself like a particularly irritable tree and barks at anyone who gets too close. The next customer gets an extra punch in her punch card for the wait, and when the guy's order is up, Kirishima is ready with a sharpie in hand. Amajiki has ventured back out to help with orders, steadfastly avoiding anything problem-customer-related, but he blanches when he sees what Kirishima is scribbling on the cup. “Are you insane? Do you have a death wish? Should I be getting you help?”

“Trust me,” Kirishima says. He caps the coffee and walks it to its rightful owner. “One mocha double espresso for Mr. Unforgettable.”

The guy snatches the cup. He stomps off without another word.

Thirty seconds later he stomps right back.

“Blasty McSplode?”

Amajiki ducks under the counter. Kirishima, in the process of taking another order, smiles wide enough to cramp his cheeks.

“Hey! Back already?”

“Blasty Mc-Fucking-Splode?”

“You wouldn't give me your name. I had to take a stab at it myself. Was I close?”

“I'll show you taking a stab—”

Blasty rants and raves for a full minute, splashing mocha just about everywhere, until finally Fat Gum himself ambles out of his office to gently shoo him from the shop. Kirishima waves at him around Fat Gum’s bulk. Blasty waves his middle finger in response. When Fat Gum comes back in he raises an eyebrow at Kirishima, which, yeah, he definitely deserves, but he also passes a heavy hand through his carefully gelled hair to show that he's not really mad. Kirishima fixes his hair as best he can while Amajiki climbs out from under the counter.

“I can't believe he didn't kill you for that,” he says, his voice buffed by awe.

Kirishima gives the next customer's punch card an extra punch too. Hell, he gives her two extra punches. Why not? He's in a great mood.

Two days later Blasty stalks in and Kirishima can't believe his good fortune. He calls out a greeting from across the cafe and gets a glare in response, but that glare holds, a few seconds of extended eye contact, long enough to stay in Kirishima’s belly after it's ended and flutter there.

Blasty growls his order. Kirishima asks for his name. Blasty tells him to go die and Kirishima scribbles Lord Explosion Murder on the cup. He's rewarded with a snort of amusement.

“Did you see that?” he gushes to Kaminari, after Blasty has left. “He totally laughed! He liked it!”

“I saw it I saw it ow stop hitting me!” Kaminari rubs the place on his shoulder that Kirishima had been slapping repeatedly. “I dunno, man. That sounded more like a scoff to me.”

Nah, he's pretty sure he was amused.

The next time he comes in, after the requisite exchange (“Your name for the order?” “Eat a dick,” “Cool cool I think I'd get fired if I wrote that but cool,”) Kirishima writes King Explosion Murder on the side of the cup.

“Better,” Blasty huffs.

Kirishima feels like cloud-walking for the rest of the day. Kaminari isn’t on shift, but when Kirishima texts him, he texts back: “I stand corrected. When are you asking him out?”

“All in due time,” Kirishima promises his phone.

NOVEMBER

Blasty’s schedule:

He shows up Monday mornings, rumpled by sleep and grouchier than usual, before he heads off to class. Wednesday evenings he drinks and studies until closing time. Saturday afternoons he sits at the window with a bento. Coincidentally these are the three days and times that Kirishima is on duty. And it must be coincidental, because if it's not then that means that Blasty memorized his schedule and molded his life accordingly, learned to fit him in, looks forward to seeing him three days out of the week. Kirishima may be an optimist, but he's not delusional. He knows how dangerous a daydream like that can be.

He’s probably just here because it’s a good place to study. And there must be an exam coming up, because lately he’s been showing up with even more books than usual, and suitcases under his eyes instead of bags. He’s crabbier, too, which Kirishima didn’t think was possible and is honestly impressed by. By this point he has unofficially become the only one willing to serve him, but this wild-eyed evolution of Problem Customer into Demon Customer From Hell just clinches it.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Kirishima says, when he brings over Blasty’s third espresso in as many hours. It’s Saturday, usually Blasty’s day to sit and gaze out the window with one of his more pensive death glares, but today he’s entombed himself in a mountain of notes and textbooks. Kirishima nudges aside a few notebooks to make room for the cup.

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself with a rake,” says Blasty, without looking up from the violent strokes of his pen. “Touch my stuff again and I’ll kill you myself, shitty hair.”

Watching from behind the counter, Amajiki wheezes with secondhand horror. Kirishima peers at the crowded table. “Hey, where’s your bento?”

Blasty slams his pen down. “Was I not clear enough, you moron? Fuck off! Leave me alone!”

Kirishima raises his hands in surrender. Blasty’s mouth opens as if to say something else, but nothing comes out. Maybe he’s realized he’s gone a step too far. They stare at each other for a beat, and then his jaw snaps shut. He jerks his head back to his books and Kirishima retreats to the counter.

“He can’t speak to you like that,” Amajiki says, suddenly stern. He’s always braver on someone else’s account. “I’ll tell Fat Gum, he’ll understand. We don’t have to serve him. You don’t have to take his abuse.”

“The guy’s under a lot of stress,” Kirishima says. It’s overindulgent even for him, but when he glances over his shoulder he sees Blasty wrench his gaze away. “And I think he feels bad.”

Amajiki obviously doesn’t think so, but he says nothing more, which Kirishima appreciates. By closing time Blasty is the only customer left in the shop, still hunched over his books and writing furiously. Kirishima has given him his space, and he hasn’t asked for another coffee. Amajiki is still angry enough to go tell him they’re closing—he’ll even be properly intimidating about it—but Kirishima stops him.

“I’ll lock up,” he offers. Amajiki’s look of disapproval is a blow to Kirishima’s pride, but he stands firm. So Fatgum leaves, and Amajiki leaves, with a sigh and a firm promise that he’ll be on standby if Kirishima needs anything, and then the place is empty and it’s just him, Blasty, and the scritching sound of his pen.

Kirishima takes his time. He cleans up and Blasty keeps studying. He locks the doors and Blasty keeps studying. He sits down at a table across the cafe and gets some of his own homework done, and Blasty keeps studying. Then he goes back to the machines, knowing he’ll have to clean them again, and whips up a special drink. When he’s done, he writes FIGHT ON! where the name should go.

“I don't want your fucking charity,” Blasty says as he sets it down.

“You’ve accepted it so far,” Kirishima points out blandly, gesturing to the very obviously closed cafe. Before Blasty can bite his head off, he continues, “Anyway, don't think of it as charity. Think of it as…an investment.”

“Investment in what?” His eyes are narrowed and very red, both in the iris and the bloodshot sclera.

Kirishima weighs the pros and cons of his next move and decides to go for it. He hazards a wink. “In my future best customer.”

Blasty is unimpressed. Like, fatally unimpressed. Like, it's impressive how unimpressed he looks. Aggressively deadpan. He has to practice that look in the mirror.

But he takes the cup, and when Kirishima peeks at him later, he's smirking at the sharpie message.

Monday morning sees Blasty quiet and terse, but civil. Civil for him, anyway. Kaminari is disturbed.

“What did you do?” he hisses once Blasty bulls out of the shop.

“Nothing.” Even if he barely met Kirishima’s eyes. Not promising.

“Did you fight?”

“No.”

“Did he turn you down?”

“No. Dude, nothing happened.”

Kaminari raises his hands. For a minute they work in silence.

“So if you didn’t get turned down, are you gonna ask him out soon?”

Kirishima hands off an order, and then lets his customer service smile drop. “Now isn’t a good time. I’ve got to give him some space.”

“Okay, but what about all your fortune favors the manly stuff? Isn’t that the reason you got this far in the first place?”

“How far is that? I still don’t know his name.” He can feel Kaminari’s eyes on him, and he tries to rally. Picks up his smile and pastes it back on. “Hey, enough about me. How’s it going with you and Shinsou?”

Kaminari lights up. For the next twenty minutes he regales Kirishima—and the whole cafe—with his loud and maudlin romantic woes, all he’s so hot the bags under his eyes should not be so hot and his dry sense of humor is so hard to read and I think he’s flirting with me but I thought that with Jirou and she and Momo still won’t let me live it down.

Kirishima listens and laughs and offers advice, and he does his job, and he doesn’t think about his grumpy favorite customer even once. Really he doesn’t.

When Blasty comes in on Wednesday, he looks well rested. Kirishima waves before getting back to orders. This is apparently not good enough for Blasty, because he scowls at the people in line and then stalks over to the serving counter and proceeds to glare daggers, like he expects Kirishima to just up and abandon his work to attend to him. Like, yeah, he wants to, but it wouldn’t be right. Even if Blasty scares other customers away from the counter. And even if Kirishima is getting steadily more distracted the longer he stares.

On the third order he messes up, Tetsutetsu intervenes.

“Go on,” he sighs, nudging Kirishima aside as the next customer steps up. “Make it fast, bro.”

Kirishima promises him a meat bun after work and hurries over. “Hey. You’re looking better. Did you ace the test?”

“Obviously.”

“That’s great. Congratulations.”

There’s a stalled moment. Kirishima taps his fingers on the counter. Blasty is visibly grinding his molars.

“Cool, so I’m gonna get back to work, I’ll make you your regular—”

“Last week,” Blasty starts. He bites out each word. “Last week, I was.” He stops, lips pressed tight and bloodless.

“An asshole,” Kirishima supplies.

Blasty hums low in his throat. Or he growls. Either way it’s as close to an admission as Kirishima is going to get, and it clearly took a hilarious amount of self restraint for even that much.

Blasty clears his throat and says, “That drink you made. What was in it?”

Kirishima is a little thrown by the shift. “Xoaxacl chocolate, a little chili powder. I thought you might like an extra kick.”

“It wasn’t half bad.” There’s color along the bridge of his nose. “I’ll take one of those.”

Maybe Kirishima had been more upset by Blasty’s behavior on Saturday than he thought, because now he feels loads lighter, any old hurts dissipating like clouds under the sun. He smiles, and Blasty blinks a lot, the color spreading to his cheeks and his ears and down his throat.

“One special order, comin’ right up!”

Kirishima turns around and reaches for a cup and marker. And then, behind him: “Bakugou Katsuki.”

He pauses. “Sorry?”

Blasty is rubbing roughly at his mouth. His whole face is glowing. “You heard me.”

“Bakugou,” says Kirishima, trying the taste on his tongue. Bakugou, full of plosives and hard consonants. “I love it. It suits you.”

Bakugou’s eyes snap wide, then narrow just as fast. “Why the fuck should I care what you think of my name? It doesn't need your approval, dipshit.”

When Kirishima is finished making his drink, Bakugou snatches it from his hand and whirls on his heel, a dramatic spray of foam following him out. Kirishima tingles where their fingers touched.

Then he watches Bakugou take a deep pull, and he has to go clean the latte machine before he’s murdered by the lethal and lovely line of Bakugou’s throat.

DECEMBER

“Y’know, I still don’t know what you study.”

“Probably because it’s none of your business.”

“Right. Except how it kind of is literally my business, since I let you study here, in my place of work, after we’ve closed.”

This has become their ritual. On Saturdays Bakugou stay past closing, sometimes doing schoolwork, sometimes helping clean up, sometimes just chatting. He never stays past nine thirty—Kirishima has learned that he likes to turn in before ten every night, which is bizarrely adorable—but it doesn’t matter. Any amount of time with him is always going to feel like a blessing, and it’s never going to feel like enough.

“You’re not doing me any favors, shitty hair, get that thought out of your empty skull this instant.”

“Sure, sure.”

Kirishima finishes cleaning up. Once the last table is wiped down he sits heavily across from Bakugou, happy to finally be off his feet. His eyes feel swollen, too big for his skull. His grades have yet to pick up despite the extra hours of studying he’s been putting in. He presses his knuckles into his eyes for a moment of relief.

“I’m a med student.”

He blinks the colorless starbursts from his eyes. Bakugou, across from him, comes into focus: his head is still down, his gaze still fixed on his book. Sometimes he wears glasses, thick dark frames that Kirishima loves, and today is one of those days. He grins.

“No shit! You’re going to be a doctor?”

“A surgeon.” Some color rises in his ears; he looks pleased. Maybe because of how awed Kirishima sounds. But why wouldn’t he? Anyone working to help people is worthy of admiration, and manly as hell.

“Dude, that’s awesome. I’m studying to be a nurse.”

The corner of Bakugou’s mouth twitches upward. “Nurses are badass.”

“I think so. You a doctor, me a nurse. I bet we’d make a good team.”

Bakugou scoffs, even as pink starts to pool in his collarbones. Kirishima still doesn’t get why certain things make him flush, but he’s happy to learn. He rests his cheek in his hand and tries not to smile too dopily. “Y’know, for a med student you sure drink a lot of coffee. You know too much of this stuff is terrible for you, right?”

“I’m going to tell your boss you said that and get you fired.”

“That’s really not how it works.”

Bakugou’s glare is magnified by the glasses. He takes a long, aggressive sip of his drink—the strength it takes Kirishima not to burst out laughing is Herculean, truly, with the slurping and the deliberate eye contact and all, because only Bakugou could turn coffee into an intimidation tactic. Then he says, “Whatever. I'm invincible.”

Kirishima bursts out laughing. Bakugou grumbles beneath his breath, but his threats delight Kirishima more than they intimidate; Kirishima’s laughter seems to confound Bakugou more than it enrages. They're good for each other, is his sudden thought, and it thrills him.

He’s a little teary and a little breathless by the time he gets himself under control. Through the blurry smudge of his eyelashes he sees Bakugou. Then he’s breathless all over again.

Bakugou’s face—Kirishima wouldn’t say it softens. But there is a softness there, in his unsmiling mouth, in his brow, stern but smooth. He’s just—watching him, steadily. Intent.

“Hey,” Kirishima says, and it’s easy, it’s so easy. “Make sure you come in on Christmas, alright? I get out early, and I want to ask you something.”

And maybe he expects Bakugou to fluster, or to scowl, or to demand to hear his question then and there. He doesn’t.

“Fine,” he says, and he just keeps watching. Like he wouldn’t mind watching Kirishima forever.

Maybe Kirishima’s projecting a little.

Bakugou would probably tear him a new one for spreading the news around, but Kirishima is too excited to keep it to himself.

“I’m happy for you,” says Amajiki, sounding worried but sincere.

“Congrats, man,” says Tetsutetsu, and then they have a celebratory arm wrestling match.

Kaminari is a little more suspicious. “So you haven’t asked him out yet?”

He’s standing on a stepladder, hanging Christmas decorations while Kirishima mans the counter. Bakugou has already stopped by for his morning coffee, and it’s been a slow morning since. The few people trickling in have been couples, sharing hot chocolate and slices of cake. Kirishima has spent an inordinate amount of time daydreaming about similar situations. In his head it’s usually a little less cozy and a little more explosive, but he likes it better that way.

“Technically no.” He tops the latte he’s working on with extra foam. “I asked him to come by on Christmas, and I’m going to ask him out then. I’ve got a plan.”

Kaminari doesn’t need to know how nebulous said plan is. At the moment it includes things like Step One: Bribe With Spicy Food (Addendum: Can Christmas Cake Be Spicy?), Step Two: Sweep Bakugou Off His Feet, Step C: Profess Manly Adoration, Step N: Kiss Just Like, Wow, A Whole Bunch. The truth is he’s always been more of an in the moment kind of guy. But he likes Bakugou—he really, really likes Bakugou. He doesn’t want to screw everything up with an impulsive word or action. And if that means taking precautions he wouldn’t usually bother with, he’ll take them.

“I dunno, man,” says Kaminari. “Midoriya and Momo are all about plans. You…not so much.”

Kirishima decides Kaminari knows him too well. “Any progress with Shinsou?”

That does the trick. Kaminari brightens like the bunch of LED Christmas lights in his arms. He practically swoons, the stepladder protesting beneath him. “Dude, you have no idea. I took a leaf out of your book, just asked him straight out, and lemme tell you I knew Hitoshi was hot but I’ve never seen anyone blush so cute in my whole damn life—”

He swoons a little too hard, arms wheeling, and Kirishima barely vaults the counter in time to catch him. There’s some polite applause from the handful of patrons in the shop. Kirishima and Kaminari bow, and then Fat Gum tells them to quit fooling and get back to work.

Kirishima does not spend the rest of his shift thinking about how Kaminari called Shinsou Hitoshi. And he definitely does not think about calling Bakugou by his first name on Christmas.

He does, however, scrawl Katsuki on no less than three to-go cups.

Kirishima does not see Bakugou on Christmas. He does not see much of anyone, or anything, on Christmas. He can barely see his own hand in front of his face, which could be the delirium brought on by the fever or the copious amount of sweat rolling into his eyes, which is also brought on by the fever.

As badly as he wants to push through the pain, not even he is hardheaded enough to try and drag his sorry carcass to work. It’s hard enough to drag his sorry carcass to the bathroom and back. He tries to text his coworkers (Tamaki? Kaminari? Tetsutetsu? He can’t recall who’s working today, so he texts all of them) and asks them to apologize to Bakugou, but the characters are swimming in his vision and he’s pretty sure the result is gibberish. Which means it’s over. He’s going to be laid up in bed for weeks, he’s going to fail his finals, and come next semester he’ll have a new class schedule, and he’ll never see Bakugou again. He’s blown it. Romance is dead.

Someone’s knocking on the door. He doesn’t answer it right away—it takes a minute for him to peel the rhythm of the pounding door from the pounding in his head. It takes a minute longer for him to stumble up and open it.

“You look like shit,” says Bakugou. He’s standing there looking like god’s gift to the earth, even scowling, even bundled in hat and scarf and mask, even laden down with groceries. Kirishima is pretty sure he’s hallucinating.

“Well? Are you letting me in or what?”

Kirishima lets him in. Bakugou toes out of his boots and then he plants himself in the middle of the room, jerking his head this way and that, taking it all in: the kitchenette-slash-living room, the card table turned dining table, the clashing red and hot pink interior design. “This place is a shitshow,” he declares. “No roommate?”

“She’s spending Christmas with friends.” More specifically, Mina had left last night with the implication that if Kirishima’s date went well he was free to come back to the apartment. There was a lot of obnoxious winking and innuendos. It was sweet of her, if a little mortifying and inappropriate, and in the end entirely wasted when he woke up with the mother of all migraines.

Bakugou drops the groceries on the table and starts shucking his outerwear. The hat, the scarf, the puffy coat. Kirishima sways in place and watches him. He’s wearing a red button down, and beneath that a black tee with the Punisher logo on it. It’s just a little bit dressier than his everyday attire. Is this what he would have worn on their date? If Kirishima had ever gotten to ask him properly? He sighs, forlorn.

Bakugou turns back to him, and they stare at each other. They keep staring at each other until Bakugou reaches past him to close the door, which was still hanging open over his shoulder. Whoops.

“God damn, you’re out of it. Get back to bed, loser.”

He cuffs him over the head, except it’s less of a cuff and more of a ruffle, exasperated and fond. So Kirishima totters back to bed. Hallucination or not, he’s happy to see Bakugou one last time.

When he wakes up, it’s to the rich, earthy kinds of aromas he associates with home cooking, if not necessarily his home. His first thought is that Mina came home early, but she’s just as useless in the kitchen as he is. So either a burglar broke in to cook for him or he wasn’t having an incredibly vivid fever dream, as he’d previously assumed. Which means Bakugou is really, actually, truly in his home.

The door to his bedroom bangs open while he’s wrestling with the sweat-soaked sheets. Bakugou is armed to the teeth with soup, water, tea, pills, and towel, all laid out and puffing steam on a serving tray that Kirishima doesn’t remember owning. He raises an eyebrow at Kirishima’s ogling and knees him in the side.

“Sit up. You have to eat and rehydrate.”

The tray lands on Kirishima’s lap, and then the water and the pills are pushed into his hands. While he’s downing both, Bakugou makes a sour face at the state of his room, and bustles out to change the bedside wastebasket for a clean bag. Kirishima would be more humiliated if he weren’t so happy to see him at all.

When Bakugou comes back he’s got a thermometer in one hand and the card table’s folding chair under an arm. He kicks the chair open, spins it around, and slings one leg over the side. He brandishes the thermometer like a weapon of war.

“Open.”

The thermometer jabs under Kirishima’s tongue. He winces only a little, and his voice comes out nasally and muffled and a little wondering. “I can’t believe you’re really real.”

“What else would I be?”

“I don’t know, a dream? A near death hallucination?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Shut up until I get your temperature.”

A few seconds later the thermometer chirps. Bakugou snaps it up and glares at it, and then something in his face relaxes.

“Barely a fever. You’ll live, moron.”

Kirishima asks, “How’d you know where I live?”

“Your dumbass coworker said you were sick. I threatened him bodily harm until he gave me your address.” Like it’s so obvious. Which, yeah, maybe it is. Probably Kaminari, who is both susceptible to Bakugou’s intimidation tactics and has been pushing for them to get together. When Bakugou snaps open the damp towel and starts mopping at Kirishima’s sweaty face, grumbling beneath his breath, he decides that he’s grateful.

For the first time he’s realizing how silly his fever induced fears were. He might be down for the count for a few days, but he won’t miss his finals, even if he might fail them. And even if his schedule falls out of sync with Bakugou’s, it’s not like he’ll be gone forever. They have a mutual friend in Midoriya, as Kirishima learned recently. Or else he could just loiter around the cafe until they learn each other’s new schedules. This doesn’t have to be the end at all. Bakugou proved that by coming here.

“Sorry, Bakugou,” he croaks. “I really wanted to be there with you today. Was looking forward to it all week.”

Bakugou dismisses him with a roll of his eyes. He folds his arms across the back of the chair and rests his chin on them. “So? What happened?”

“End of the semester. Bad grades. Finals.” He waves a vague hand to encompass the studying and the stress and the lack of sleep. It probably didn’t help that he ran himself into the ground trying to justify a night off with Bakugou, though he doubts that comes across with his flappy wrist.

“Guess it all caught up to me.” He spoons some soup into his mouth. “Oh my god, this is delicious. You made this?”

“I’m great at everything, obviously.” His mask twists with a frown. “You’re having trouble in school?”

“’M not a genius like you.”

“It’s not about being a genius, it’s about studying habits. You need someone to quiz you, keep you on task.” A pause, nearly short enough to be casual. “I’ll do it.”

Kirishima lowers the bowl he had been tipping over for the last of the broth. “You?”

“What, you think I can’t? I’ll be the best damn tutor you’ve ever seen, shitty hair.” Another pause. This one is more thoughtful.

“What?” says Kirishima.

Bakugou shakes his head. His voice has dropped to a low rumble in his chest. “Never seen you with your hair down. You should chuck all your gel, it’s not so shitty like this.”

“Didn’t think I’d have company to put it up for. I’d have to flip upside down to do it right, I probably would have passed out and died.”

Bakugou snorts. “You’d think a nurse would take better care of himself.”

Kirishima snorts back, with a little more phlegm. “You’d think a doctor would have better bedside manner.”

All of a sudden Bakugou’s scowl is a little less—scowly, than it usually is. More searching. More intense. Their eyes meet for a second too long and it’s like someone is pouring nitroglycerin down the column of Kirishima’s spine.

“Sounds like you want to know more about my bedside manner.”

He’s smirking, and there are so many things—so many things—that Kirishima could say to that. Things that would be smart or things that would be manly or things that would be safe. So many things.

His fever speaks for him. “Well, if you’re offering.”

The smirk falls away and that intensity comes roaring back. Kirishima’s insides ignite. Bakugou rises slowly and doesn’t once blink, and his chair scrapes on the floor, and Kirishima has the thought I hope that doesn’t scratch the wood—

Then Bakugou is kissing him. The rough weave of his mask and the heat of his mouth behind it, like a brand. His open eyes. His hand cradling the curve of Kirishima’s skull. It’s overwhelming and it’s nothing at all, less of a kiss than a touch, less of a touch than a promise. Kirishima clutches at him because he’ll fall away otherwise, he’s hungry and dizzy and unmoored, and he’s got one hand clenched in Bakugou’s shirt and one in his hair and it’s soft, how is it so soft? His heart lurches in his chest.

No no no, not his heart. “Bakugou, back up, I—oh shit—”

He pulls away and flops over the side of the bed, unable to see if his hail mary aim for the wastebasket came through. Only once he’s done tossing his guts does he register the steadying arm around his shoulders. The hand pushing back his hair. It’s warm and square and dry, with callouses on every finger.

“You’re disgusting,” Bakugou says from somewhere above him. He sounds like he’s trying not to laugh.

“You’re the one who just kissed a sick man. What does that make you?”

“Magnanimous as fuck.”

Kirishima laughs. It hurts every part of him, but it’s good. It’s really good.

“I really like you, Bakugou. Like a lot.”

It comes out so easy, just like that day in the cafe. He’s still half upside down and his mouth is still sour. Bakugou’s hand is still in his hair. Through the damp red locks that escape his grip Kirishima can see him, and for the first time since they met, he looks starry-eyed. It is the most amazing feeling in the world, even when Bakugou blinks the stars away and glowers.

“Is that why you wanted me to come by the cafe today? I already knew that, dipshit.”

His voice is dismissive and mocking, but his hand is still in Kirishima’s hair, and his collarbones have flooded pink. It’s just like Bakugou to flirt and kiss him within an inch of his life only to get shy about a little sincerity.

“Yeah. That’s all I wanted to say. I was hoping we could go out and, I don’t know, look at Christmas lights. Bake a cake together. Pelt each other with snowballs or something. I like you a lot.”

Bakugou helps him sit up. At his urging Kirishima rinses his mouth with water and then sips some of the tea. It’s lemony and sweet.

Bakugou demands, “What took you so long? I don’t like idiots who beat around the bush, Kirishima. Didn’t think you were like that.”

Kirishima. He doesn’t think he ever wants anyone else to say his name. “Yeah, Kaminari said the same thing. But I didn’t want to mess things up with you.”

“So you decided to be a dumbass? How’d that work out for you?”

He mulls it over. “The guy I like is seeing me half dead, so that’s embarrassing. On the other hand, the guy I like is taking care of me while I’m sick, which is pretty sweet. Net gain, I think.” He’s heartened by the amused squint of Bakugou’s eyes. “So? Want to go out with me?”

For a long moment, Bakugou doesn’t say anything. He just watches, steady, intent, and his hand weaves slow, thoughtless paths through Kirishima’s hair. Kirishima has never been in love before, but he thinks this must be it. He can’t imagine anything else hurting quite so sweetly.

“I’m not dating anyone while I’m still in school,” Bakugou says. “That would be fucking stupid.”

“Okay. After med school is residency, right? You think you’ll be dating then?”

Bakugou’s expression isn’t starry-eyed anymore, but it’s pretty damn close.

He says, “Stick around and find out.”

JANUARY

A new semester means a new schedule, and Kirishima’s does not match up with Bakugou’s even once. It’s a little bit of a bummer, sure, but he’ll survive.

The last customer of the day leaves the cafe two minutes to closing. Kirishima sighs, cracks his neck, and starts prepping the last drink of the day. He sets it on the counter and then he starts wiping down tables, and when the clock strikes the hour, Kaminari goes to lock the doors.

They burst open before he gets there and Kaminari jumps two feet in the air and falls flat on his back. In strides Bakugou, and Kirishima’s heart flutters even as he stands back and cackles at Kaminari for a solid thirty seconds.

“Kirishima,” Kaminari whines from the floor, “your boyfriend’s being mean to me!”

Bakugou kicks at him. “We’re not dating.”

“Ha! Sure, and I’m not dating an insomniac with a fine ass—okay okay you’re not dating, quit kicking me!”

He does, but only after Kirishima scolds him and entices him away with a drink. He grabs it off the counter and passes it to Bakugou. Then he snatches it back.

“Forgot the name, just a sec!”

“You already know my name,” Bakugou groans, but he follows Kirishima behind the counter with barely a frown. “Hurry up, shitty hair, I don’t have all night to tutor your ass.”

“Tutor your ass,” Kaminari laughs from the floor. Bakugou growls.

Kirishima finds the marker and uncaps it. Before he can start to write, Bakugou threads their fingers together and squeezes hard.

“I can’t write your name with my left hand, Bakugou.”

Bakugou hooks his chin over Kirishima’s shoulder. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Well, Kirishima likes a challenge. The final result is messy, but legible. He garnishes it with a heart. “Here.”

“Stupid,” Bakugou huffs, but he accepts the cup and takes a swig. Then he yanks Kirishima toward the exit, where Kaminari is finally peeling himself off the floor.

“We’re still on for Saturday, right?” he asks, dusting himself off. “Double--”

“If you say double date, I’ll set you on fire,” says Bakugou. “And only if shitty hair here passes his test with flying colors.”

Kaminari endeavors to look contrite--his face wasn’t really built for it--but when Bakugou’s back is turned, he shoots Kirishima a subtle thumbs up and mouths double date. Kirishima returns the favor.

Out on the street it’s cold and biting. Bakugou hisses, and takes another gulp of his drink. Kirishima watches him glance at the name on the side of the cup again. If he pointed out the color in his cheeks he knows Bakugou would say it was the cold, or the heat of the drink, and then he’d punch him for good measure. But Kirishima can see his smile, hard-won and worth it. He can see how he passes a thumb over the shaky black characters, over and over: Katsuki.

#fyeahbnhasecretsanta #my hero academia #kiribaku #kirishima eijirou #bakugou katsuki #boku no hero academia #shinkami #in the background mostly #kaminari denki #amajiki tamaki #tetsutetsu tetsutetsu #fat gum #bnha fic #ran's writing #pointy-hat-witch #fyeahbnha #coffeeshop au #university au

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imagine-loki · 4 years ago

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Caught in his web, Chapter 39

TITLE: Caught in his web CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 39 AUTHOR: fanficshiddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki is a crime lord, a very dangerous man in the city. He is owed money, but the man is unable to pay Loki back, so Loki takes his daughter as payment instead. RATING: M

When the jet started to descend, Chloe was a little bit nervous again. Not sure what to expect. But it went smoother than she had thought it would and it wasn’t too bad. The pilot was good at his job and always did nice landings, that’s one of the reasons why Loki had hired him.

It was a short drive from the private runway to the dock where there was a small speed boat waiting for them.

The driver, Lucas, carried their bags from the car onto the boat and handed Loki the keys for said boat.

‘Have a great stay, Mr Laufeyson.’ He said politely with a bow of the head.

‘Thank you, Lucas. If you can be here to pick us up on Tuesday at two in the afternoon. I won’t have my mobile on, so any issues contact the house phone.’

‘Of course, Mr Laufeyson.’ He nodded with a smile.

Loki took Chloe’s hand and led her onto the boat. There were life jackets waiting for them, Loki made sure that Chloe got hers on first and that it was on securely.

‘Don’t want you falling into the sea.’ Loki was very focused while he tightened various straps, Chloe couldn’t help but stare at his beautiful face.

‘There we go.’ He said, pleased with her life jacket he smiled at her and cupped her cheek.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled back at him.

It made her feel warm and fuzzy inside how he was looking out for her. So attune to her health and safety.

It was exciting being on the speed boat, even though Loki didn’t make it go as fast as it could. They were in no rush so he took it easy over the waves, not wanting Chloe to get sea sick.

‘There it is.’ Loki grinned and pointed ahead of them.

There was a small island that was coming into view. Chloe’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She could see the beautiful looking villa just off the beach, surrounded by a few hills and some small forest areas. The villa stood out well because it had white walls with a lovely red colour slated roof, with plenty of large windows.

‘So there’s absolutely no one else on the island?’ She asked, struggling to believe that he actually owned the entire thing.

‘Not a soul. Apart from some birds.’ Loki chuckled.

‘Wow.’ She kept staring at the island as it started getting larger and larger. ‘And you said it was a small island!’

‘It is, in comparison to a lot of others.’ He grinned. ‘But I am glad you think otherwise.’

‘This is just insane.’ She shook her head, making Loki chuckle again. He enjoyed surprising her. And he was a man that was definitely full of surprises.

When they got to the beach, Loki jumped off the boat and held his hand out, helping Chloe off before then grabbing their bags. He tied the boat to a post further up the sand, making sure it wouldn’t get taken out to sea.

Chloe was already wandering slowly up the beach with her bag, taking it all in. Loki easily caught up with her and slid his arm around her waist, smiling down at her.

‘Do you like it?’ Though Loki could tell by the look on her face what the answer was.

‘I love it! It’s stunning.’ She grinned, her heart was racing with excitement.

Loki led her up towards the villa. It was up some steps and had a perfect view out to the ocean. You could just see mainland in the far distance.

As soon as Loki unlocked the villa and pushed the door open, Chloe rushed inside to take a look around. Loki watched in amusement, Chloe was like a kid in a candy shop as she rushed around all the rooms, ooo’ing and aah’ing at every room. Plus a swearword or two in shock when she saw the likes of the swimming pool outside that overlooked the beach, it was huge and had a lovely patio area next to it that also went undercover. There was a hot tub too and a large barbecue installed with stone built around it, so it blended in well.

‘Did you have this place built yourself or did you buy it like this?’ Chloe asked when Loki caught up with her after putting their bags in the master bedroom.

‘I had it built. When I bought the island I wanted a blank slate, so I could build my own home away from home, exactly as I wanted it.’ Loki draped his arm over her shoulder and guided her through to the kitchen.

‘It’s absolutely amazing. Really beautiful!’ Chloe said as Loki went and opened a secret looking cupboard, revealing an array of alcohol.

Chloe face-palmed at how well hidden, yet well stocked, the cupboard was. Loki just grinned at her and poured them both a drink.

With drinks in hand, Loki showed Chloe their room. Of course it had an en-suite and was very luxurious. She fished out her bikini, wanting to go for a swim as Loki had suggested they swim before drinking too much.

‘Who says you’re getting to wear a bikini?’ Loki growled, grabbing her wrist before she could make it to the bathroom to get changed.

‘What else would I wear in the pool?’ She knew what he was going to say, though.

‘One rule. No clothing of any kind is allowed in the pool.’ He wiggled his eyebrows and prised the bikini out of her hand, tossing it behind him onto the dresser.

Chloe opened her mouth, about to protest in worry of someone seeing. Then she remembered where they were. And she didn’t know what to say as a comeback to that.

Loki smirked in triumph when she couldn’t think of anything to say in response. He gripped her chin and kissed her, then stepped back and started removing his own clothes. ‘Come on, doll. Get naked.’

Chloe bit her lip and started taking off her clothes too. But as she took her dress off, she realised something…

‘SHIT!’

‘What’s wrong?’ Loki frowned, pausing with his trousers down around his ankles as he looked up at her, concerned.

‘I… I must have left my knickers on the plane! I forgot them! What if the cleaner finds them under my chair?’ Her eyes were wide in panic.

Loki threw his head back laughing. He finished removing his clothes, including his boxers, then stalked over to her. She tried her best to keep her eyes up on his, instead of looking down at his semi erection.

‘Don’t worry, doll. I’m sure the cleaners find much worse on other private jets.’ He chuckled, amused at how horrified she was. And he slyly unclasped her bra and pulled the straps down off her shoulders.

‘But… They’ll know it’s your jet…’

Loki flicked her bra to the floor, then cupped her face and kissed her forehead. ‘Relax, Chloe. Trust me, they’ll have seen worse. It’s just a company here in Greece anyway that deals with the cleaning on this end. The cleaners won’t know who the jet belongs to.’

He stepped away and bent over to pick up his trousers. Chloe was momentarily distracted at how amazing his ass was. She wanted to just bite it…

‘Besides.’ Loki’s voice pulled her from her thoughts as he stood up straight and turned around to her. ‘I wouldn’t leave these delightful garments behind.’ He grinned cheekily, holding up said knickers.

‘You fucker! You had them all along!’ She snarled and launched at him, making him laugh when she tried to wrestle him down, but he just stood like a marble column, laughing.

Loki wrapped his arms around her and threw her up over his shoulder, she just huffed in defeat. ‘You’re an ass!’

Loki chuckled and gave her bum a slap, making her yelp.

‘Behave, doll. Or I’ll redden this lovely behind of yours.’ He growled.

Chloe didn’t want to admit that the mere threat, and taster, had her clenching her thighs together a little, not entirely opposed to the idea. But with how powerful his swing could be when he wanted to, she decided against asking for it.

Loki carried her out to the pool. Without any warning or putting her down first, he just jumped straight into the deep end.

When they came above water, she couldn’t resist splashing at him and then swimming away while giggling.

‘Oh you are so asking for it!’ Loki called out and swam after her.

Chloe glanced over her shoulder but didn’t see him above water, she could just make out his form underneath. Coming after her like a shark. She squealed loudly and tried to swim faster, but Loki was a strong swimmer and managed to grab her ankle, hauling her back to him.

The two enjoyed their swim together. They mainly messed around, teasing one another. Loki was enjoying this playfully braver side of Chloe that was coming out. And Chloe was enjoying the calmer, playful side of Loki too. He just seemed a bit more relaxed as soon as they stepped onto the island. Though she wasn’t surprised really, considering he was basically on twenty-four seven at home.

But she was hopeful, perhaps being alone on an island with Loki wasn’t going to be such a scary thing after all.

#Loki #Others #Submitted fic #submission #fanfichiddles #chapter 39 #caught in his web

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bartholomewmacmillan · 3 years ago

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You'll need a boutonniere. Actress Kathryn Harrold is 66.

You'll need a boutonniere. Actress Kathryn Harrold is 66. That ended when the tigers tried to swallow Tyrosh. A few service members are called into a room, where they are connected virtually to their family members who are at the game.. And Jetlines will stick to one model of aircraft to streamline maintenance costs, cutting the company costs by another 2.5 per cent. When he hears his wife’s ‘bused, ‘t an’t like as how it is when he sees it. Benson and Arts each had specific projects for renovating different parts of the icebreaker. In fact, improving our breathing could help to lower blood pressure, decrease stress, improve athletic performance, and maybe even increase brain size.. Bells sang in his hair. He took her to Mexico, emancipated and married her. At his command, Quentyn Martell had been laid out in the queen’s own bed. These might not hurt too much in asia but will hurt on away tours to aus nz eng sa. 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damienthepious · 4 years ago

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owo november is over babesssss back 2 your regularly scheduled full-size lizard content

Made A Garden (Chapter 3)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ao3]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Rilla

Characters: Rilla, Lord Arum, Rilla’s Parents, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, (categorized as ‘other’ bc arum is nonbinary when i write him bye), Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, POV Alternating, canon typical Arum ignoring feelings, edited to feature my Rilla's Two Dads theory

Fic Summary: Rilla’s parents take her out when they do field work. She’s a smart kid, and she knows how not to get in trouble when they’re caught up with their experiments and research. This time, they’ve taken her to an enormous, beautiful swamp, and their theory is that the monstrous presence in this place should be entirely dormant- which is why Rilla is so surprised, when she meets a monster for herself.

Chapter Summary: Lord Arum tries to prove a point. Rilla gets excited!

Notes: no, i absolutely did not mean to take this long between chapters. i promise that i NEVER do. i'm just an easily distractible mess, is the thing. welcome to december here are the summery vibes again!!! loveyou

The Keep murmurs a question, a song that whispers in Arum's mind, awash with affection and concern. Are you not going to walk your swamp today, little Lord?

Arum scowls, pacing in a narrow figure eight as he reads through one of his predecessors’ journals. Again. “I do not need to do the same thing every day, Keep,” he grumbles. “And don't call me that.”

It hums an assent, clearly unconvinced. It pauses for a long moment, allowing him to continue his reading, but he isn't surprised when it chimes again, a light offer of assistance, a nudge towards what the Keep may do, to protect the both of them, if Arum wishes to have his swamp to himself again-

“Don’t-”

The book tumbles from his hands, thwumping to the floor as Arum winces.

It sings another nudge, pushing further in that direction, encouraging and warm.

“I simply do not feel like gallivanting around today!” he snarls. “It has nothing to do with her.”

There is another pause, and then the Keep trills in a vague, bemused sort of way.

Arum snatches the book back up from the floor with his tail, then clutches it to his chest. “I am not afraid of the humans,” he deflects, sticking his snout in the air. “They are utterly nonthreatening. They aren’t warriors or knights- they are some sort of- explorers,” he says derisively. “Scholars or researchers or some such. No threat, none at all.”

The Keep hums, even softer, how that will make it all the easier, to chase them out-

“No!” Arum stuffs the book back onto the shelves, his tail lashing behind him and his frill high. “It- it isn’t worth your effort, Keep. If they come close enough to be troublesome we can- can push them back away, but as it stands they hardly bear mentioning. It is highly obnoxious that we have spent even this much time discussing them.”

The Keep hums, clearly unconvinced, but Arum turns his snout up. He has ended the conversation. The conversation is over, and the humans need not be mentioned again. Obviously.

However. Arum has now put away his book, and he does not, in fact, know what he wishes to do next. He intended to spend his morning decoding and researching, but now- well, thanks to his meddling plant, he is far too agitated for that sort of focus-driven task, and he refuses to waste time trying to plug away at old Vetch ’s journals when his mind is not at its keenest. It would be pointless.

The Keep warbles again, and Arum bristles at the teasing edge in its tone.

“Fine,” Arum snaps after a moment, his frill fluttering at his neck. “Fine. If you should like me to prove my words, then I shall. You are in my mind, you ridiculous creature, but if that is not evidence enough for you, I will deign to assuage your pointless worries. I am not afraid of them,” he says, the hint of a snarl in his controlled tone. “I am not, and I will prove it. I shall go, and I shall walk my swamp, and no humans nor ridiculous ancient structures will deny me what I wish.”

The Keep hums one more question, its concern not quite assuaged.

“I know what I am doing!” Arum snarls, and he tries very hard not to wince when his voice creaks in the middle. “I will not be patronized! Am I Lord Arum, Keep, or am I some whelp for you to coddle and dismiss?”

It sings, patient, that he is Lord of the Swamp, and then after a moment it acquiesces, pulling a doorway open for him, out into his wilderness. It adds, gentle, that its duty is to protect Arum, just as Arum’s duty is to protect it in turn, and Arum stuffs down the little lance of guilt that stabs through him at that. He sticks his snout in the air, instead.

"And so I shall, if you simply allow me to do as I please."

The Keep pauses, and then it gives an indulgent hum as he steps out into the humid warmth of the afternoon.

Arum waits with his arms tangled across his chest until the Keep closes the way behind him, and then he-

He manages perhaps a half an hour inspecting his swamp before the curiosity worms through his scales. His tools and traps seem to be growing well, and those left by his predecessor are, he begrudgingly admits, even more promising. The fauna of the swamp seem perfectly content as well, with no management required from his part (excepting a particularly unlucky mongoose with a paw trapped between some tangled roots, but that hardly takes more than a moment to rectify).

He can't simply return home, though. Not this soon. That would hardly prove his point, would it? It would make the Keep insufferably smug, especially considering the wide berth he's given the humans and their little encampment.

Well. He can fix that part, at the very least, can't he?

It will play into the Keep's vines just as much to seek the humans out, he thinks irritably, but if he is going to lose regardless he may as well lose in the way he wishes to. He is not afraid of them, and if he wishes to make certain that they are not causing trouble, if he wishes to prove to the Keep that they are nonthreatening in no uncertain terms, then by the Universe itself he will.

They are embarrassingly easy to find. It is as if they have no desire to obscure their presence at all. Amaryllis mentioned, he supposes, that they had not been expecting to find much of an active monstrous presence here, but certainly since Amaryllis knows better now-

Has she not… told her parents? Or are they simply unworried over Arum himself, despite every reason they should have to be concerned? Clearly their hypotheses were wrong, so they should reassess their methods, should they not?

Her parents are doing something incomprehensible with glass vials full of swamp water. They perch carefully in a narrow canoe, each counterbalancing for the other as they gather their… samples, perhaps. Arum watches, suspicious, long enough to note that they are rather careful not to disturb the trees they are paddling between, that they avoid the floating flora. He watches long enough to observe as one of them accidentally ducks his hand too deeply into the water, his nose wrinkling as he pulls it back, and then he-

Grins, and his grin is the precise image of the one that Amaryllis wears, and then he flicks the water across the back of his companion, laughing as he squawks and smacks him in the leg.

They both laugh, then, and Arum is unsettled enough that he slips away.

Amaryllis herself it not difficult to find, after that. Still within earshot of the laughter as it subsides, unfortunately, but- the laughter does subside, and Amaryllis is smiling as she sketches away in that little journal of hers.

He watches her for quite some time as well, and he settles against the bark as he does, and he is comforted by the fact that he was, of course, correct.

These humans are entirely without teeth. He is certain that if he desired, he could frighten them away even without the Keep's help. He has no cause whatsoever to worry about them. No reason to fear, no reason to even keep an eye on them.

He remains in the tree for a good long while, however, watching Amaryllis summon with ink the detailed veins of leaves, the segmented bodies of insects, meticulously reconstructed pieces of his swamp.

~~~

Rilla yawns, suddenly, nearly startled by her own body's derailment and only barely managing not to ruin her latest sketch with an errant line. She grumbles to herself, shaking her head, and then she narrows her eyes at the page again, scrutinizing the roots she's drawn for this floating plant uncertainly. She's seen the roots when pulled out of the water, but that's not really representative of how they'd look underwater. She's tried to get a better look with her own head submerged, too, but- well, her eyes aren't really meant for that, and the water here isn't the most clear, either. She holds her breath for a moment, puffing out her cheeks, and then she huffs out the breath, tapping a finger on the page impatiently.

"They spread a bit wider than that," Arum says from above her, and Rilla startles. "And they curve slightly when there's a current, though I suppose most of the ones you've seen here would likely be in more calm waters than that."

Rilla tilts her head up, squinting against the sun until she spots the vivid violet of his eyes gazing back, narrowed and hesitant now that she's looking at him.

"…oh," she says, a little hesitant herself. "Uh-" she just barely stops herself from thanking him, considering how grumpy he got about it the last time. "Neat?"

"Hm," he grumbles, glancing off into the canopy rather than continue to look at her, and she bites her lip in consideration for a long moment.

"Would you- do you wanna show me what you mean?" she asks, lifting the book in her hands just slightly, and Arum's eyes dart to her again. "I think I know what you mean, but…"

He grumbles something, either wordless or just too quiet for her to understand, and then he slips further behind the leaves for a moment. She can still hear the scritch of his claws against the bark, though, which seems like a good sign. When he disappears, he seems to be able to do it without making any sound at all. She hears him growling low as he descends, and then his head peeks out from behind the trunk of a nearby tree, his eyes narrowed again in suspicion.

"Or…" Rilla angles her body a little, leaning sideways to see just a little bit more of the monster before he leans the opposite way in response. "I mean, you don't have to, if you don't-"

"Of course I don't have to," he snaps, "I don't have to do anything. I am ruler here. If I wish to ensure that your catalogue of my home is not full of incorrect information that is my business."

He steps out slightly, two clawed hands still curled around the trunk of the tree beside him, and Rilla realizes with a widening of the eyes that he has two other hands, as well, because the monster apparently has four arms, in addition to his long, twiggy legs and his dexterous tail. She hadn't been expecting that, hadn't realized that in between his first appearance mostly under the water and his second up among the branches, this is the first truly good look she's gotten of him so far. She knows that it's rude to stare, of course, but- but does that really count for scientifically significant and anomalous anatomies?

"Well?" Arum says, apparently wary of her scrutiny. "Do you want me to show you how it grows or don't you?"

"Which hand do you write with?" Rilla blurts, entirely unable to help herself, and Arum blinks.

"Whichever I wish to?" he answers, his scaly brow raising in confusion, and then he comes a little closer, watching her carefully as he reaches a hand out for Rilla to pass the journal to him. She doesn't hesitate, practically shoving it into his hands, extra plural implied. "Does it matter?"

"I mean-" Rilla watches him, noting the way he holds the book in his two lower hands, sketching with his upper left. "Yeah? Can you write with all of them equally well?"

"I'm a monster, not an idiot," he mutters, "of course I can write with all of them. It would hardly be convenient otherwise."

"But-" Rilla wants to bounce, instead she just steps a little closer, watching as Arum switches hands and continues to sketch with equal skill, his own style less detailed and more impressionistic than her own. "I mean, that's not how it is with humans, you know? Most people have a dominant arm that they can more easily perform tasks with, and usually they get so used to using the one arm for specific detailed tasks that the other one falls out of practice and isn't useful for the task anymore! There's a strange prevalence, too, a trend towards- the right hand side is more likely to be dominant than the left, and no one really seems to be sure why, just yet, though I bet we could figure it out if we just did a little bit more research. Though! There are people who can use both arms equally well, or- I mean, I guess some folks probably just train themselves to do so, and maybe it's not entirely an ingrained trait? I'm not sure about that one. Those people are called ambidextrous, which I guess would be okay to call you for a similar trait? Though, it means both sides, so I think a more accurate word would be omnidextrous, as in, all of your hands, though I don't know how many monsters have your limb configuration so it's hard to say how useful a word like that might-"

Arum narrows his eyes, his frill pressing tight against his neck as she talks, but she doesn’t recognize his annoyance for what it is until he interrupts her in a stammering hiss.

“S-slow- will you stop- will you stop yammering on so quickly that only your own shadow can follow? It is infuriating.”

Rilla snaps her mouth shut. She's convinced that her cheeks are flushing dark with the combined anger and embarrassment that smacks through her. This is even worse than when the shopkeep in market square told her to just shut her squawking little mouth already when her father sent her to fetch supplies by herself for the first time. Worse, because she never actually liked that shopkeep very much, but Arum-

“S-sorry,” she says, and her voice comes out quiet and blank and clipped. "I- sorry."

Arum huffs, wrinkling his snout and looking away, and then after a moment he flicks his eyes back towards her. She swallows, her shoulders hunching, and after another odd little pause his brow furrows.

"Well?"

She blinks. "W-well?"

He looks away again. "I did not think you were… finished with your explanation, little human."

"I- I wasn't, but-" she pauses, and Arum hazards another glance towards her, his expression wary. "I thought you- I thought you wanted me to shut up."

Arum pulls his head back. "What? No, I simply-" his frill flutters at his neck, and then it rises to frame his face as the monster winces. "I- I could not- understand, while you spoke so- so quickly. I do not converse in this way very often."

Rilla feels the sense of shame slowly, slowly bleed away, replaced by curiosity. "How do you… usually converse?" she asks, and Arum scowls.

"Monstrously," he says with a sneer, but when she only purses her lips at him he sighs. "I and my- my parent, as you would call it, do not need spoken words to communicate. They are merely … one layer of how we converse. It sings, and I sing, or speak, and we feel each other's intent," he explains, sticking his snout in the air. "It is far more efficient and accurate than a simple verbal exchange."

"Huh," Rilla says, furrowing her brow. "Huh, that's- I mean, Saints, yeah, that… that sounds like it would be nice." She pauses, frowning at her hands. "It'd be… It'd be nice if there was someone who always knew exactly what I meant."

After a moment, Rilla raises her eyes again. She expected Arum to have some sort of response to that, honestly. Seems like the sort of thing he'd leap at the chance to boast about, but- well, he looks distracted now, deep in thought. He seems to feel her attention, though, and he shakes his head.

"It is… nice, I suppose," he agrees, his tone a little begrudging. "It is difficult… difficult to imagine not having such. I suppose it must make it harder for you and yours to understand each other," he muses, "though, I suppose that you do still sing together."

Rilla blinks. "How… do you know that?"

Arum's eyes widen, and then he looks to the side, shrugging. "You were singing when I first found you," he says quickly, unconvincingly. "I simply- assumed."

"You've… you've been watching me?" she says, her tone rising, and Arum winces. "You've been watching my family?" She isn't even sure- she can't say if that idea bothers her, exactly, though it probably should-

"I- of course n-" Arum's eyes flick anxiously among the trees, and then his frill presses flat against his neck and his expression curls into a scowl as he looks her dead in the eyes again. "You are on my lands," he says, more sharply. "You are trespassers, not guests, so you may hardly complain when you are observed by those who are actually meant to be here. To live here."

Rilla opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again. "Well- yeah, I guess that makes- sense. I just- I was surprised, I guess."

Arum blinks, and then his scowl goes even more furious. "Don't pretend to be- to be magnanimous about it, little creature, I saw the look in your eyes, I saw what you were thinking."

"I was surprised," Rilla says again. "And- and I didn't think you'd want to hear me sing. Most of the other kids don't."

Arum snaps his teeth together, a thin hiss slipping between them, and then he looks away again. "I- I didn't say that," he grumbles. "And- and I am not some other kid. I am a monster."

The word kid sounds- strange in his inhuman voice. Almost silly. She buries a laugh, mostly because she thinks that would probably make him even more grumpy. "I-" she starts, and then she cuts herself off as a thought occurs. "Huh. I had just been assuming … you are a young monster, though, aren't you? You're not just- small?"

Arum's eyes flash, and Rilla- Rilla can see for a moment that he's considering- something. Lying, maybe? And then he glances away again.

"I am the… new Lord of the Swamp," he mutters, begrudgingly. "But I am not a child. And I am not a hatchling anymore, either."

Rilla bites her tongue to stifle her curiosity at the distinction, but when she opens her mouth to respond, Arum interrupts.

"And I am not small," he snaps, a raspy growl in his throat. "I am precisely the size I am meant to be at the moment, and it is hardly my fault if other creatures feel the need to be so unnecessarily large."

Rilla can't help the laugh, this time, and it seems to derail Arum from his ranting. He stares at her as she presses a hand over her lips, and then he ducks his head, looking at her sulkily.

"You… do that rather a lot, don't you?"

"What," she asks through her fingers, "laugh?"

"Indeed. Do you find everything quite so amusing, then?"

Rilla tries not to feel- that stab of mortification again. She bites her lip, and the monster shakes his head.

"Don't-" he stumbles, winces, and then tries again. "I'm not demanding you stop. It was simply an observation and a question. Nothing more than that."

It's unexpected, honestly, that he would catch her reaction that quickly, and she nods more out of surprise than anything. "I just- laugh when I'm happy? Or- when I'm surprised sometimes."

He tilts his head. "Hm."

"You… you don't seem to laugh that much," she says, hoping that it just sounds like an observation in kind and not like a judgment.

"Hm," Arum says again, and then he looks down at the journal still in his hands, at the wavering lines of his sketches beside her own neater, less accurate ones. "No, I suppose I don't."

#elle's fanfic #the penumbra podcast #second citadel #rad bouquet #lizard kissin' tuesday #lord arum #amaryllis of exile #the keep #made a garden #bouquet childhood friends au

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80s-roger · 5 years ago

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Not On My Watch (pt 7)

Pairing: Dad!Roger x Mum!Reader

summary: you’re divorced with queen’s roger taylor due to constant cheating and irrational behaviour towards you. but u have one person in common: your daughter, Laura aka your favourite human on earth. Your marriage with roger had its ups and downs but laura was the happiness in it. Now that she’s 8 and starts to realise how your terms with roger are, you finally tell her that you’re seeing another man except her father and she took it really warmly. She seemed excited to meet the new man unlikely your ex husband who accidentally learns about it by Laura, the weekend you would leave her at his place: on weekends you had some cute getaways with R/N because the court decided that Laura could stay or visit her dad on weekends and stay with him for five days each Christmas and easter vacations. On summers he has the right to be with her for two weeks.

catch up: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

masterlist //dialogue prompts

taglist: @madeinheavxn @namelesslosers @stacymaytaylor @drwse @cherries-n-rocknroll

words: 3,336

warnings: some tense in the middle hehe and woman talk.

It was around seven in the morning. Your head was dizzying and took you ages to get out of bed after blaming the wine for the headache you're feeling now. Roger was a sleepy angel with his blonde messy hair and his back covering his bedside. You had to fix and prepare yourself for work. It's nice going to work from Tuesday to Friday but the work you put in within these eight hours as an accountant in the bank, is exhausting.

"Roger, I have to go..." you knell next to him, softly playing with his hair. His face was turned against yours, you could see him sleeping deeply. What a cutie he was.

"Mmm?" He asked on his sleep, without being aware of what you said.

"Babe?" You kissed his forehead. You haven't done that for ages. Your relationship starts involving again. After the short name you called him, he opened his eyes and seemed kinda lost.

"Wh- where are you going?" He asked again after stretching himself.

"I have to go to work..." you explained.

"I can drive you off." He offered himself.

"No, the public should not see us together, you know, the paps." You narrowed your brows. They always annoyed you.

"Yeah, that's right... I'll have to go to work in a couple of hours too. I'll call you from there. I think I have your office's phone number," he scratched his head and looked at you focused.

"I think you do, yeah. We'll see each other later?" You asked, wishing to be true.

"What a stupid question, of course." He smiled and came closer to you for a kiss. "Laura will be here when you arrive." He slightly squeezed your cheek.

"Nice." you stood on your feet again and attempted to walk away but his hand stopped you.

"Last night was amazing. So refreshing for us, right?" He stated, waiting for your approval.

"Couldn't agree more." You laughed.

"You look so freshly fucked by me, I can see that." He joked and a giggle escaped your mouth.

"Is that visible?" You asked, checking yourself at the mirror.

"Yes, you're happy." He wasnt laughing anymore, he was serious about it and with that, you turned to him smiling. It's true, you were feeling happy. You were happy everytime he gave you pleasure. You give him soul and body, he gives you pleasure and happiness after it. You wanted to feel like that. You needed it by him. You didn't say a word. Just a simple smile to him and it made his day and yours too.

Your work to bank was going to be productive but an unpleasant surprise sooner or later would ruin it all.

At your launch time, you walked with your colleague, Mary, at the bank's restroom, where you can calmly drink some coffee and chat.

"I tried to reach you last night but you wouldn't pick up." Mary started and sipped a little of her coffee. "I was thinking you'd come over at my place to drink some wine and listen to jazz." She added.

"I wasn't home actually and I don't think I'll be again." You nodded your head in refusal while the little spoon you used to mix sugar with coffee was thrown at the sink.

"Wait, you're moving out?" She asked confused.

"Basically I'm moving back to Roger's house. I was living there before the divorce." You answered.

"Holy s-" she was a little louder than she wanted to be but she already covered her mouth with her hand. You made her the shush gesture with your finger. "Holy shit!" She whispered close to you fully excited. "So you two are..." she winked.

"Yes, I think so." You smiled.

"I'm so happy about it, I mean you look happy too, I haven't seen you like this since..." she stopped. "Wait, I haven't seen you like that." She came a little closer to your face trying to check your eyes. "What happened last night, naughty girl?" She winked again and teased your arm. She was open about her relationships to you and so were you to her. She's probably the closest friend you have.

"Mary, that's personal!" You laughed trying to hide your excitement.

"It wasn't so personal to you telling me about R/N's poor sexual skills." She sarcastically raised her brow.

"Yes because he lacked on that, I wouldn't come if I didn't masturbate after-party, y' know?" You hinted and she totally understood. "I wanted to share this problem with you."

"Too pity, he only likes flexing around his cars but on sex, poor guy..." she started. "But you know, I never liked this man. How come you, Roger Taylor's ex-wife and current girlfriend date a man like R/N?" She reminded your standards and she was right. It was all about your image and your dignity.

"I guess I was too hurt by Roger, I couldn't see clearly. I always loved him." You stared at the floor and sipped from your cup.

"And you're back again which is perfect than before. I'm sure Laura will be happier." She smiled.

"She already is." You nodded and smiled back.

"Hey ladies, you have some work to do out there, what's taking you so long?" A colleague of yours, came in the room demanding you to get back to work.

"Sure, we're going back, sorry for that." Mary took the lead and left the room, now both of you went back at your posts.

At the studio

Roger was on studio with Brian and John, fixing their instruments before starting recording. Freddie was yet to be seen so John asked, knowing what was happening. "Everything alright?"

Roger finished fixing his drum kit and turned to John's side, "If you're talking about last night, you better be sure about it. What about Laura?" Roger asked.

"Vera drove them off to school earlier, she said she will pick them up. She'll be in our place." John replied.

"Oh nice then, sure, I'll pick her up, I'm thinking of a fancy dinner with Y/N and Laura at some restaurant." Roger was arranging a dinner with his beloved family, thinking something big.

"Oh, I'm curious to find out!" John smiled.

"Rog," Brian took part in the conversation, coming closer to his bandmates. "You should book a table if you're going to do what I'm thinking." He pressed his hand on Roger's shoulder.

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Roger asked confused.

"Sweet lord," John gasped. "Wait, you're not going to propose her again, right?"

"Why not?" Roger asked in disbelief.

"Roger, it didn't work all this time. Just because you spent two days together doesn't mean you'll be like that again." Brian was negative about Roger's thought.

"And why not? I changed my mind, I was immature, I know. But now I'm different." He tried to defend himself.

"Roger, she might feel pressed if you propose her again." John was trying to explain.

"No she won't, she won't see R/N again, I know it. She ran to me the moment he raised a hand on her." Roger protested.

"He what?" John was shocked. "Y/N would never let a man hit her, what are you talking about?" John couldn't believe his ears.

"Her cheeks were burning when she ran to me and-" Roger was feeling tense.

"Roger, you won't let him get away with it, will you?" Brian crossed his arms.

"What can I do? I am not the one who was assaulted." Roger loudly said, feeling ready to explode.

"Who was assaulted?" Freddie's voice echoed in the studio and his bandmates' gave him a death stare. "What? I'm not late." He arrogantly raised his brow and smoked a bit of his cigarette.

"We were having a conversation about Roger and Y/N." Brian made a briefing of the situation.

"Oh, I'm all ears, did you have sex?" He winked to Roger.

"Yes we did, but that's not the thing." He shook his head in total confusion.

"Alright, alright, what's the matter? I heard about someone getting assaulted?" Freddie asked concerned.

"Yes, Y/N was. He spied on her on Sunday night because she didn't want him to stay there." Roger started.

"Oh, you drove Laura off that night, didn't you? At her flat." Freddie asked, recalling the facts cause he was there that afternoon, at Roger's house.

"Correct. So, Laura kind of wanted me to stay and Y/N made her the favour, but I prepared our ground, I fixed a drink she was relaxed and we ended up making love." Roger felt like missing you right now.

"Oh, that's, that's good!" Brian commented.

"Yes, it is. And what happened next?" John asked, trying to learn all the details. They all wanted actually.

"Well yeah, the next day things were a little awkward between us but in the end it wasn't anymore. That asshole, went at her home, raised a hand on her and my girl ran to my place." Roger said.

"Who the fuck does he think he is?" Freddie gasped. He was nuts.

"She obviously ran to her shelter." John made a romantic comment

"She won't leave it unpunished, will she?" Freddie asked.

"I don't know." Roger thoughtfully said.

"Well, fucking call her," Freddie yelled.

"Stop yelling at me, okay? I'll do it." Roger yelled back and Brian with John shared a laugh.

Roger grabbed the phone and dialled your office's phone number. He was impatient to call you, but at least he had a reason to do it. You picked up from the other side, too busy from your work. "Hello?"

"Y/N?" Roger's voice was unsure and unsteady. He barely spoke to you on the phone. He would call at his early days while on tour.

"Roger? Hi!" You smiled after recognizing his voice. "Are you at the studio?" You stopped archiving loan papers and focused on him.

"Yes, Freddie just arrived." He tried to remain calm.

"Oh, tell the boys I said hi." You giggled.

"Of course." Roger cleared his voice before getting to the topic. "So um, about yesterday, when R/N appeared at your flat, will you sue him or something?" He asked fully concerned about your safety.

"How come asking me this?" You asked confused.

"I was talking to the boys about it, I needed some advice. Will you sue him?" He asked.

"I don't know, Roger. I don't think he'll appear again. Not after what happened. I guess he knows we are starting over." You explained.

"But what if he appears?" He asked.

"Don't panic me, please. I don't want to work in fear." Now that Roger gave you a reason to be scared, it wouldn't leave your mind that R/N would come again to hurt you. He has shown some red flag signs at the time but you never really paid attention because they weren't a big deal.

"I just care about you, y/n. I want to feel sure that you're not getting hurt or approached by him." His voice lowered but his head was thinking many things.

"Nothing to worry about. I'm happy that you called." You changed the subject trying to talk about something else.

"Um, y/n?" He asked while playing with phone's wire.

"Yeah?" You playfully asked while opening clients' folders to verify their deposits.

"I was thinking if you'd like us to go for dinner tonight, as a family." He finally said kicking out his stress.

"That would be great!" Your eyes got wide opened. You liked the idea.

"Perfect. We'll talk about the details when we get home. I mean, at my place." He clarified.

"Sure. Do you think I should move out?" You asked.

"Yes, come where you were staying first. At my house. I'll help you with that." He offered his help which you couldn't deny.

"Nice then." You said. "Y/n, can you sign these client's papers, please?" A female voice was heard from the back.

"Should I hang up?" Roger asked.

"Yes, we'll talk later! Bye!" You were rushing to hang up.

"Love y-" you hung up and left Roger wondering if you heard his last words. "You." He ended it, being sure now that you didn't hear that. "How did it go?" Roger asked Fred.

"Better than I thought." Freddie giggled.

---------

Recordings today, finished earlier than expected, Queen brainstormed more than usual, making some good progress. They were free to go.

"Should we go to the pub downtown?" Brian asked.

"Sure, I haven't planned anything," Freddie answered and John nodded.

"Roger?" Brian turned to the drummer.

"Go and I'll catch up with you." He smiled and they all left the studio.

Roger was on his way to the bank you work. He parked at the opposite corner waiting for you to finish your work. He wanted you to join him and the rest members at the pub, like the old times. But an unpleasant surprise gave him all the negative vibes he had gathered for a long time. It was R/N who was suspiciously walking towards the bank. Roger knew something was wrong. He carefully checked the road before crossing it.

You were ready to leave, said bye to your colleagues and at the entrance door, the man you used to date for a short period of time stood at your sight.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" You asked trying to remain calm.

"What do you mean what am I doing here?" He let out an evil smile. "I'm here to pay my fucking bills." He was ironic. He didn't mean it literally.

"We're over, R/N. Deal with it." You had to remain quiet and calm. You work there. Gazes started to turn to you two, making you feel embarrassed. You attempted to walk away but his hand stopped you. He was holding a newspaper photo; probably from The Sun, it was Roger and you in it. Oh shit, here we go again you thought. The press smelled gossip.

"You ran to your rock star husband? Wasn't I enough?" He shouted pointing out the photo. It was you and Roger five years ago, exiting a club in the city, but the title caught your attention: Roger Taylor and y/n y/f/n spotted together after divorce!

"Stop shouting, I work here!" You warned him to stay quiet but he wouldn't. He was risking your job permanent position.

"You don't need to work when your rich husband can give you a luxurious life!" He mocked you and now he pointed to Roger, ready to read the article out loud. "Queen's drummer Roger Taylor was recently reported sharing a not-only-steamy kiss with his ex-wife but a steamy night at his place in West London" Clients and colleagues turned around and saw you standing there fully ashamed and embarrassed. Of course, they knew who you were married to. You really wanted to die. You couldn't handle the situation. "You want me to continue?" He asked with a smile on his face.

"Fuck off." You whispered close to his face and he seemed to enjoy it.

"I think I'm the one who should have said this." He raised his brow. This man is a pure toxic thing. "You take cocks like they're dinner or something, is that your talent?" His voice was louder than expected and all you could do was slap him. That sound was probably heard to the restroom inside. He was pushing the limits and your boss came out of his office, staring at you shocked.

"Mrs Taylor I think you should discuss your personal issues somewhere more private, don't you think?" His voice was strict and you thought that being fired is the most possible scenario.

"Yes, of course, have a nice evening." You tried to walk fastly out of the bank but a gentle hand stopped you. You looked who it was and it was Roger.

"She's not Mrs Taylor. Not yet." Roger defended your place, with R/N, your boss, your colleagues and the clients standing there with their mouths wide open. "Boss, how on earth do you let your employees be disrespected like that?" Roger came closer to him but you tried to stop him. "That asshole right there disrespected your employee and you did nothing!"

"Roger, please stop, I'll lose my job, fucking stop!" You tried to pull him back but he wouldn't do it. "Stop!" You yelled and then he stopped and looked at you.

"I'm trying to defend you." He whispered at your face, he noticed how upset you looked.

"Please. Everyone's looking at us. Let's get out of here." Your eyes begged him to leave as soon as possible.

"And what about this asshole?" Roger pointed out R/N.

"He can't do anything, let's go, please." You wrapped your hands around his arms, not letting go. You walked out of the bank and the man followed you. Oh, shit.

You were walking towards your cars, but R/N wouldn't leave like that, without provoking Roger. He would lose temper in any second.

"According to the musician's neighbours, the previous night was like some Queen concert. Really loud." He was reading out loud the article and Roger looked at him with his one and only death stare.

"Roger please, let's go, don't give him the satisfaction, he's trying to make you lose temper! Don't hit him!" You stopped him. Now people from the bank and pedestrians would whether at Roger and you or R/N.

"What would y/n 's y/f/n current partner say about today's hot issue? Can't wait to see more! This couple is so promising. Whether married or not, they never fail to excite us!" He laughed after reading the article. "They paid me thousands for this article. What do you think?" He asked.

"What?" You asked shocked.

"I'm a journalist, you knew that. But I'm also a jealous and a possessive mate, I don't like my partners to fuck around." He came closer to you. He was threatening. Roger would kill him at any second.

"But you hit me. You weren't violent, you despised that." You answered.

"I surely despise violence. But violence brings violence. You betrayed my trust." He yelled.

"That wasn't a reason to hit her!" Roger yelled back.

Paps noticed the drama and clicks were already heard. You were about to be on headlines tomorrow morning.

"But you fucked her! Aren't your groupies enough?" R/N shouted.

"Shut the fuck up! They're taking photos of us and they'll have us on headlines tomorrow, I don't want that!" You pushed him but he wasn't playing.

He was about to push you back but Roger protected you, standing in front of you and getting on hands with R/N.

Three policemen noticed the tense and ran through your place. "What's going on here?" One of them asked.

"He's a random man saying weird things, he won't let us leave!" Roger lied.

"He fucks my wife!" R/n lied back.

"What the hell, you're not my husband!" Your life was such a drama right now, you wanted to go home and hide under your pillows.

"Enough sir, we'll have to keep you at the police station today. You caused enough trouble today. Let the celebrity man with his wife go to the court." The policeman was aware of yours and Roger's status. Roger's fame probably saved your asses for now; Not including your boss firing you the next day, though.

"Um, are you alright?" You asked while hugging Roger.

"Yes. You?" He pulled away to check on you.

"Kinda..." you were feeling upset. You just had to play it cool.

"Listen, the boys are waiting for us at the pub we met, mind joining us?" He whispered at your ear, not wanting the paps to hear you.

"I think I'll need a drink to calm down." You nodded.

"Alright, get on your car and follow me, we'll have to get rid of everyone. They'll follow us." He kissed your lips and that was the second the clicks were heard the most.

Roger smiled at the cameras, acting as if nothing happened and finally drove off.

#roger taylor #john deacon #brian may #queen #roger taylor x female reader #roger taylor x oc #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x you #roger taylor x y/n #freddie mercury #queen band #queen fic

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adoregoldenharry · 5 years ago

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ALL FOR LOVE h.s.

A/N: This is officially the first chapter of this story and I am actually really excited about it yay. Let me know what you think. Enjoy! This is Harry Styles x OC High School AU

Chapter 1

I walked down to the area where we always sat at for lunch with our group. I saw Mack leaning on his elbow throwing some peanuts in his mouth. “Woods,” I shouted keeping my strides quick. I sat down by him putting my hand out in hopes he understood my silent plea for some peanuts. He poured some into my hand and I thanked him. “How was your summer, Rio?”

I sighed setting my bag down beside me. Trying to remember all of the amazing things that I had experienced with my family over the span of a couple of months. Where to begin? “It was the most relaxing summer of my life,” I said winking at him. He chuckled and we got deeper into the conversation talking amongst ourselves until more of our friends arrived. “Can you fucking believe we only have one class together this year? It's fucking stupid.” I looked over my shoulder after hearing the loud mouth that belonged to one of my best friends. She was walking beside another.

“Katia,” I waved at her. She squealed and ran towards Mack and I. I giggled at her little antics and pulled her down into a hug. “You were supposed to text us when you got here,” Katia pouted. Also motioning to our friend Ana beside her. I shrugged my shoulders, “I’m here now aren't I.” She shoved me slightly dropping her bag. I hugged Ana, missing how comforting it felt to be in her arms. “Where’s Lana?”

Ana groaned while Katia laughed at my question. “We saw her in passing and oh my god she was being swallowed by some sophomore.” I scrunched my nose and laughed. “Mack where’s the Calvary, you know the ones that were born to annoy us.” Mack glared at Katia and sat up next to me offering them the bag of peanuts to which Anna accepted. “They’re coming, got caught up in some trouble with coach.”

“Already?” I asked him very amused. He nodded while rolling his eyes. We talked for a couple more minutes before we were interrupted by loud mouth teenage boys. “Oh look what we have here. Ladies.”

They were the havoc of the school. Good or bad? You really had the choice to decided. Most of them were trouble. Mack belonged to this group of guys yet he was much more down to earth and mellow. He was the perfect person to hang around with while listening to vinyl and dragging a bit. There were four other guys. They were Luce, Cam, Jag, and Harry. All annoying but also all good looking. All five of them were on the varsity football team as well. Mack was the quarterback. Cam and Jag were receivers, Luce was a lineman, while Harry was a center. I only knew this because my group of gremlins always force me to go to games and occasionally practices to ogle at the idiots on the field.

“Dear lord is that, Rio Rossi. Wow your name is fun to say.” I waved at the guys with a small smile. Catching eyes with Harry for more than a second. I looked away clearing my throat. He’d always been a tease to me, just like Luce was right now. No matter what the situation was he was being cheeky and he knew it. “Is it true about you and Matthews? Heard that you spent two weeks at his family’s time share over summer.”

I scoffed. “I was in French Polynesia for months you idiot.” Harry laughed out loud while Luce squinted at me. I stuck my tongue out at him giggling at his huffing. The bell rang which caught everyone’s attention. I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder. “Alright what ya got?” Jag asked pointing towards us. We all shared our next classes dividing off to walk to our classes together. “Oh lucky you, get to walk with little old me,” Harry bumped my shoulder with his own.

“I think it’s more like lucky you get to have English with me. I always get an A and I seem to remember you struggling in Peterson’s class last year.” I teased him poking his cheek. I was feeling playful today. Mostly because I missed my friends and I was looking forward to senior year. “Oh yeah,” he nodded his head up and down.

“Yeah.” I walked in front of him entering the class.

I walked to the back end hearing a rather annoying voice echo throughout the classroom. “Oh mama, have a good summer Ri?” I turned my head to see Allen talking to me. An arrogant asshole that doesn't understand what the word ‘no’ means. I sat down rather quickly ignoring his question. He got up to what I assumed was to walk over to where I was. I thought fast looking at the empty seat next to me. “Harry come,” I patted the desk next to me whispering to him. He looked at me like I was insane. Im guessing that the look on my face is what gave him that impression.

“What?” People kept stopping Allen as he tried to make his way across to us. I patted the desk again. “Just sit here, please.” I begged him. He didn't ask anymore questions and sat down as soon as Allen was right I front of me. I let out a sigh of relief looking over my shoulder to see the other seats around us had been taken as well. “You know you can't resist me forever,” Allen lowered his head to me.”

“I think she can actually,” Harry imposed. Allen looked at him and practically sneered. Harry grinned at him flattening his backpack on his desk. I stifled a laugh and watched Allen walk away. “What a douche.” I agreed with Harry’s opinion and threw my phone into my bag. “I know right, he's just an athlete and he thinks he's all that,” I smirk.

“Aren’t you on the volleyball team,” Harry fires after I've obviously struck a nerve in his ego. I turned to the front now as the teacher walked in. Already going off about the syllabus and what not.

It was now about three in the afternoon and god was the sun blaring.

I flattened out my mini plaid pencil skirt as I walked to the bleachers. Walking past guys who gave me curious and childish looks. The hormones in this place spread faster than the rumors. I sighed and kept walking past people and finally spotting where my friends were sitting. “Rio,” Katia waved me over.

I walked up to the top where they sat. I threw my bag down, sitting and crossing my legs. “Remind me why the fuck we come here every Tuesday after school, I have a Chalamet movie marathon waiting for me.” It was the day before Halloween. They had given us the Friday and Monday off after. The holiday fell on a Sunday. Probably because the teachers didn’t want to have to deal with the hungover teenagers the next day.

A ruckus from the football field sounded. The team walking on it to start their practice. “That’s why,” Lana bit her lip. I rolled my eyes leaning back on the bench behind me. Anastasia laughed and shoved my shoulder. “Come on Rio, lighten up.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through social media with the most pointless posts that people from my school share. “Yeah. When the hell did you become so eccentric,” Anastasia asked practically shoving a juul in my face. I took it from her hands, inhaling the sweet smell of watermelon.

“You guys are so lame sometimes.” I got up and grabbed my bag. “Where are you going,” I handed Ana back her juul. “Chalamet.” I smirked and walked down the bleachers. I waved them off beginning to walk in the direction of the parking lot.

Looking down at my phone, I heard a voice shout to me. “Hey Brazil.”

I stopped in my tracks and turned my head to the side. It was him. Cocky little son of a bitch Harry Styles. He was the center for our school’s football team. I won't lie he looked good doing it. “Not my name. Can I help you,” I crossed my arms. He smirked and walked up to the fenced that wrapped around the field and kept us separated. “Oh yeah I'm sure you could,” he teased. I scoffed and started walking away. “Also stop inhaling that shit,” he said trying to get my attention back. Not exactly working.

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smolsk · 4 years ago

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Solace

I wrote this for Obey Me mctober’s Day 27 (Last Night in The Devildom) on my twitter for my Mc, Maya. The grammar and/or spelling isn’t perfect, so please bear with me on this one :3

[Word Count: 4982]

----------

A week.

A week is all that is left in the Devildom student exchange program that Lord Diavolo had created nearly a year ago; Nearly a year of learning almost everything from the three realms, of trying to memorize every stairway, hall, and dead-end in RAD to not get lost in its massive corridors, of spending every second with the seven demon brothers she had grown so fond of.

It all ends in a week, and Maya felt lost.

On Monday she left her room to join the brothers downstairs for breakfast, barely having the energy to even get out of bed.

“Hey, Maya!” Mammon greeted her as they walk past each other in the hallway. “How’s my favorite human doing? Well- not my favorite favorite- I mean-” He cleared his throat. “How are you doing?”

Maya raised a brow. “I’m doing good. You?”

“Honestly, not that good.” The white-haired demon shrugged and looped an arm around her shoulders. “You only have a week left before you go back home, and I’m seriously gonna miss ya. Everyone will.”

“I’ll miss you too you know. Who’s gonna try to steal my wallet every morning when I’m back home now?” She smirked. “I saw you putting my wallet in your pocket, Mammon.”

“Aw come on, I almost had it!” Mammon exclaimed, handing it back.

They laughed for the rest of the walk downstairs.

Tuesday rolled in and Maya headed over to Leviathan’s room, holding up two bottles of cold orange juice and a bag of chips, yawning a bit every now and then. She needs to get some sleep soon.

She knocked gently at the door when she arrived. “Hey Levi, it’s me.”

When she heard a grunt of approval from the other side of the door, she let herself in.

“Oi normie, you’re late,” Levi told her, pausing the game he was playing on his DDD to look up at her. “Our anime marathon isn’t going to watch itself you know. Unless you’re too busy for a yucky otaku like me…” he grumbled the last part.

“Sorry about that.” Maya scooted over and sat beside him, placing the bottles and chips on the floor next to the pile of snacks Levi first brought. “And no, Lev, I’ll always have time for you and our weekly marathons.” She ruffled his purple hair.

“O- oi! Cut it out!” Levi swatted her hand away. “And besides, this is gonna be our last one.” His shoulders visibly slumped.

Maya gave him a gentle smile. “Let’s just make the most of it then.”

They played the last few episodes of their anime in each other’s company, loudly singing the opening songs until their throats were sore. The orange juice bottles lay on the floor; condensed, forgotten.

She sat on the couch with Satan in the common room on Wednesday night, both with a book in hand. It was quiet, as all the others in the house of lamentation are asleep (all except for Lucifer, who’s pulling another all-nighter for the third night in a row in his room), nevertheless, they both didn’t mind the comfortable silence that surrounded them.

“Still can’t sleep?” The blonde asked her, putting the book he was reading down on his lap.

“Yeah.” Maya sighed. “I have a lot on my mind, that’s all.” The bags under her eyes are starting to get visible by the faint glow of the fireplace.

“If you want, I can let you borrow some of my books when you get back home.” Satan suggested, “To keep you company in case this occurs again.”

“Yes, if that’s alright with you, that is.”

“Everything’s alright if it’s you, Maya.” He smiled at her, closing his book. “Come on, it’s time for bed.”

“You’re not even my mom!” Maya laughed softly.

“But I am older than you.” The blonde laughed back.

The fire danced in their eyes, crackling softly as the wood burned in its brick walls.

When Asmodeus saw Maya at RAD on Thursday afternoon, he let out a loud, dramatic shriek.

“Oh, honey!” He exclaimed, rushing over to her. “You look so pale!” He cupped her cheeks as he scanned her features, horrified.

“What do you mean?” Maya asked him, voice muffled from her cheeks being squished by the avatar of lust. “I’m okay, Asmo. Don’t worry.”

Asmo didn’t take any of it, as he grabbed her hand and dragged her into one of the empty classrooms.

“Sweetheart, I don’t want to impose, but is something bothering you? You looked like you haven’t had any sleep in days.” He asked her, hands gently resting on her shoulders.

The pink-haired demon considered the silence that followed it as a yes, and removed his hands from her shoulders to cup her cheeks.

“Do you want me to do something? Anything? I can call Lucifer and the others-”

Maya cut him off.

“No, please don’t tell them. I’m fine, Asmo.”

Asmo sighed, tucking away a stray strand of hair behind her ear with his finger. “Okay, I won’t force you to tell me anything. But if I see your condition worsen even a tiny bit, I will tell Lucifer about it, okay? Wouldn’t want you to look awful on your last days here, right?” He tried to lighten the mood.

“Right.” Maya smiled at him. “Want to grab a bite before we head home?”

“Of course, darling!” He beamed, “I still need to update my devilgram story!”

She laughed. “Well, what are we waiting for? let’s go!” It was now her turn to grab his hand and lead her out of the classroom.

Asmo didn’t point out that her laugh was forced that day.

Beelzebub found her in the kitchen on Friday, fixing herself a cup of coffee.

“Maya.” He called out, walking over to her side at the kitchen counter.

She turned around when she heard his voice. “Oh hey, Beel! Good morning.” She greeted. “Fancy a cup of coffee with me? There’s also some leftover pasta in the fridge from last night’s dinner If you want.”

Beel eyed the obvious exhaustion prominent across her face. The bags under her eyes are noticeable now; dark, angry. Her eyes were glossed over and puffy; Beel would’ve guessed it was from recent crying.

“I think you really shouldn’t drink any coffee right now.” He told her, taking away her mug and downing the hot beverage down his throat. The drink burned his throat a bit, but he didn’t care.

“Hey!” Maya weakly protested, pouting that her coffee got taken away. “Why not?!” she questioned him.

“You look exhausted, Maya.” Beel pointed out. “Is there something bothering you recently? Having trouble with your tasks?”

Maya shook her head. “I just have a lot on my mind Beel, I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“If you say so.” Beel nodded, moving toward the fridge. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really,” She told him. “I just ate.”

The demon hummed, opening the fridge and leaned down, practically inhaling whatever food that’s in there.

Maya leaned on the kitchen counter, picking on her nails as she listened to Beel’s rapid consumption of the fridge’s contents.

“Do you miss them?”

Maya looked back at his patch of orange hair that’s peeking out from behind the fridge door.

“Who?”

“Your family.”

Maya stayed silent for a moment. Beel stopped eating and turned to look at her.

“..Maya?”

Maya jumped when he suddenly called her name. “oh! Uh-” She cleared her throat. “I do, actually.”

Beel stood up and closed the fridge. There were bread crumbs on his cheeks.

“I just don’t think that they feel the same way for me.”

Saturday rolled in and Maya was being dragged away by the youngest brother.

“Belphegor, what are you doing?” Maya asked him, wrist sore from being tugged on too much.

He remained silent, his boots clicking on the steps as they ascended further into the stairway that led to the attic.

“Belph, I’m not in the mood to argue with you right now.” She told him. Her hand was going numb by the tightness of the demon’s grip.

“I’m not looking for a fight, Maya.” He retorted, opening the door to the attic and dragging her inside.

“Then what do you want?!” She tugged her hand free of his grasp. The blood slowly rushed back into her hand, her fists clenching.

“Beel’s concerned about you,” Belphie stated.

Maya went quiet.

Of course, Belphegor knew. It couldn’t be helped though, the twins are psychic.

The Avatar of Sloth decided to press further. “Maya, when was the last time you slept?”

She averted her eyes, choosing to look down on the cool wood flooring of his attic.

“I don’t know.”

He sighed, motioning for her to lay down on the bed. She hesitated, yet she eventually gave in.

She lay on the soft mattress of Belphie’s bed, the smell of fresh linen reaching her nose. She let out a breath.

Belphie then laid down beside her, sighing in content when his body landed on the silky sheets.

“I don’t get you,” Maya started, rolling over to her side to face him. “One day you’re breathing down my neck, looking for every chance to try and annoy me into snapping back, and the next you’re worried about me, dragging me into the attic, your attic, and insisting that I need to rest.”

��Because,” Belphie paused, thinking about what he wants to say next. “Because believe it or not you matter to me. No, to us. We care about you."

She hummed, rolling over once again so her back faces him. He scoots closer, choosing to place his arm over her waist; a sign of content, a sign of acceptance that they’re finally on the same page.

“Is there a reason why you can’t sleep?” Belphie asked. “If I may ask, does it have anything to do about you leaving on Monday?”

He could feel her stiffen beside him, relaxing a bit when he started to stroke her hair. The bleached part of her hair was almost gone now; she had cut it a month or two back when it started to become too long. She sighed.

“I don’t want to go home.”

“Then stay,” He offered. “Stay here with me and Beel.”

“I can’t,” Maya whispered.

“Then let’s just sleep.” Belphie closed his eyes. “You can do that for me, right?”

“I’ll try.”

Everything seemed fine on Sunday.

Lucifer offered to walk with her to the Demon Lord’s castle that day; They were heading over there to deal with her remaining paperwork so she could go back home without any issues.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, “You seem tense.”

Maya let out a shaky breath.

“I feel nervous, Luci.”

They walked through one of the streets in the Devildom. Maya could recognize a face or two from the bustling crowd in the stores; Demons she had acquainted with at RAD once. The lights from the streetlamps glowed above them, like little stars that twinkled in the night sky back in the human world. Back home.

The Avatar of Pride extended his hand, hovering ever so slightly above hers. “I could hold your hand if that would make you feel better.”

It did. A smile crept across Maya’s face when she felt his fingers laced with her own. Maya can feel the callouses on his palms; rough, yet so soft at the same time.

When they finally arrived in front of the castle grounds, the other exchange students were with Barbatos right outside the door waiting for them.

“Maya!” Luke called out in joy, moving away from his spot beside Simeon to run towards her.

“Go on,” Lucifer ushered her, hands finally pulling away. Maya missed the warmth of his hands against her cold ones.

The two met and engulfed each other in a tight hug, with Maya picking the little angel up to spin him around.

“Hello, Luke!” She greeted, as Luke giggled in her embrace. He smelled like freshly baked cookies and butter.

“Aren’t you excited?” The angel gawked at her. “We’re finally going home!”

Maya didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth.

She placed him down, and they headed over to the others, with Lucifer following right behind.

“How’s my favorite magic man?” Maya grinned at Solomon, raising a hand to give him a high-five.

“Nice to see you too, Maya.” He chuckled.

“Hello, Maya.” Simeon moved over and placed his hand on her head.

“Hello to you too, Simeon.”

“It seems that everyone is already here,” Barbatos hummed, pushing the doors leading to inside the demon lord’s castle.

“Come,” The demon butler gestured them all to come in. “Lord Diavolo is waiting.”

It was now Maya’s turn to be in the Lord Diavolo’s presence and her body involuntarily shook. She didn’t even know why she was shaking; She’s on good terms with the demon prince, even formed a close friendship along the way, so what was she even nervous about? The angels and Solomon saw her nervous stature and gave her a comforting look. She nodded at them in a silent thanks, before heading inside Diavolo’s office.

The moment she stepped inside, she was immediately engulfed in a big bear hug.

“Hello, Lord Diavolo.” Maya relaxed in his arms, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She has this strange feeling of safety despite the fact that she’s being hugged by the demon lord himself.

Lord Diavolo let out a booming laugh, “You look different,” He held up his large hand to hold her cheek. He frowned. “And pale. Have you been sleeping well?”

She shook her head. “It’s fine, my lord. I can just get back the sleep I lost once I go back home.”

“How many times do I need to tell you that you can call me Dia just fine?” Lord- no, Diavolo held her hand and guided her to his desk. Maya noticed Lucifer standing in a corner; calm, composed. He nodded at her in greeting.

“Okay, but it’s your fault if Lucifer punishes me later for calling you so informally.”

Diavolo chuckled and let her sit down on the seat across from him, and sat back in his chair as well.

“First things first,” He started, reaching for his drawer to grab something. “Do you want a lollipop?”

Maya raised her brow, a smile crept on her face in disbelief. She huffed a laugh.

“I’m kidding!” Diavolo laughed, putting it back. “That one’s saved for Luke.” He opened another drawer, finally fishing out her papers and grabbing a fountain pen that was sitting on his desk.

“Tell me, how was your stay here in the Devildom?” He asked as he flipped through the pages, wrote something down, then flipped once more.

“It’s alright,” Maya answered. She could hear the faint scribbling of his pen against the paper. Diavolo hummed, contemplating. “Any troubles with the students?”

She shrugged, fidgeting in her seat. She could feel a headache coming in soon. “The constant ruckus of them brawling with the brothers in an attempt to eat me alive, I am used to.” She explained. “Them not eating me and befriending me instead though… That’s new.”

Diavolo sighs, pausing whatever he writes in her papers. “I apologize for the trouble that must’ve caused you.”

“It’s okay, Dia.” She assured him.

The demon prince leaned back, stretching his back and fixing his posture. “I think we’re almost done here. Is there anything you want to suggest if ever there’s a chance for the exchange student program to start again next year?” He questioned.

“Other than sending my deepest condolences to the next human exchange student because they’re about to babysit the brothers for a whole year, no.”

That sent both her and the demon lord in a fit of laughter. Maya can hear Lucifer chuckle from his corner.

“Thank you, Maya.” Diavolo smiled. “Thank you for making this exchange program possible. Because of you, the program was a success. You can join the others outside now.”

Maya stood up from her seat and bowed at the Demon Lord. “Thank you as well.”

“For what?”

“For choosing me.”

Diavolo smiled. “My pleasure.”

Maya started to head over to the door when she stopped in her tracks.

Something was wrong.

She blinked. Once, twice. Everything seemed so blurry all of a sudden. The two demons behind her stared at her in confusion. “Maya?” Lucifer called her. “Are you okay?”

Maya looked back at them, squinting to try and refocus her eyes. Her head was pounding like someone dropped a bag of bricks on it. “Yeah, I'm just-” She tried to assure him, a hand raising to give him a thumbs up. “I’m just tired, that’s all.” Her hand was shaking violently.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” It was Diavolo’s turn to ask her, rising from his seat in alarm, concerned.

“I’m-”

And then everything she ever felt that week suddenly came down at her, coming together to form the worst migraine she ever experienced. The room blurred more, with splotches of black mixed in her obscured vision. She felt dizzy. She felt sick. The last thing she saw before the darkness consumed her was a blurry Diavolo, running over to catch her from falling.

After all, the human body could only endure so much.

When Maya regained consciousness, she found herself wrapped up in a soft blanket. She sat up, shrugging the blanket off her upper half, despite her head violently protesting. She squinted, eye-ing her surroundings in an attempt to figure out where she is. The moonlight illuminated the room she was in, making it easy for her to look around.

There are large paintings hung up on the walls of people Maya couldn’t recognize, her vision still slightly blurry. She looked down; the bed she woke up in was massive, like she could roll over it for hours and won’t even fall off. Like it’s fit for a king.

For a king.

Maya immediately realized who this bed belonged to. She tensed, eyes frantically searching the room for him.

And then their eyes met; dark brown eyes swimming, drowning in his golden orbs, like two suns shining down on the Earth. Warm, loving, relieved.

Diavolo sat on a chair beside the bed, his bed, hand reaching over to hold hers tight. A look of relief was evident on his face as he let out a breath he’s been holding.

He called for Barbatos to go get the others, her hand still in his as if she would disappear if he dared to let go.

“I’m glad you’re alright.” He smiled.

Maya just stared at him.

“What happened?”

Diavolo frowned, “You suddenly collapsed. I had Barbatos prepare my bed and I carried you all the way here. I also had him inform the brothers as well. You’ve been asleep ever since.”

She furrowed her brows, “How long was I out?”

“Twenty hours, give or take.”

The moment Barbatos announced that Maya was alright, everyone immediately scrambled over to the demon lord’s chambers, door opening so violently it would probably come off of its hinges.

“Maya!” Mammon cried, rushing over to where she laid and hugged her tight, his wet tears dampening her shirt. Asmodeus followed suit, bawling loudly next to his white-haired brother. His tears stained his face, but he didn’t seem to mind at all.

Leviathan and Satan rushed in next, roughly shoving each other when they both entered the door at the same time in an attempt to free themselves from getting stuck.

The twins went in after them; Beelzebub was shaking violently, big fat tears rolling down his face. His hand grasped Belphegor’s tightly. His twin visibly winced at his grip.

Lucifer entered last, sighing in disbelief at his brothers’ behavior, but nevertheless relieved that Maya is finally awake. Barbatos is beside him, face stoic as ever. His eyes met hers, a silent message shared between them.

‘I’m glad you’re alright.’

Maya said nothing.

“Sorry about the mess,” The oldest brother sighed, closing the door behind him. “The others are going to follow shortly; Simeon and Solomon are still trying to comfort Luke.”

“What were you thinking?!” Levi exclaimed, “We were so worried about you, you normie!”

“You scared us, Maya!” Mammon sniffled beside her, “Please don’t ever do that again, ya hear me?”

Maya smiled.

And then she laughed.

And then the tears started falling.

The brothers rushed over and sat on the corner of the Demon Prince’s bed in alarm.

“Oh no, honey!” Asmo wailed as Maya tried so hard to wipe her tears. She couldn’t help it, it won’t stop flowing out.

“I’m sorry,” She choked, “I’m so sorry.”

Every time a tear strayed down her flushed cheeks, a part of her goes with it.

They all sat in silence, giving her a chance to break down her walls and finally let it all out. Diavolo squeezed her hand gently, quietly telling her that it’s okay to talk about it.

“I’m just so tired,” Maya told them, hiccuping every now and then as her body trembled in Mammon and Asmo’s arms. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t even get out of my own damn bed. Heck, I couldn’t even barely process anything. There are so many things running in my head right now. So many things, and it’s driving me insane. It’s making me feel afraid. I don’t want to go back home, I don’t want to be alone again. I know I can’t stay, but the place I live in back home can’t even be called a home. No light, no warmth, no one to go back home to. But here… I feel like I belong, like I have a family that cared about me and I… I love you guys so much that I’m afraid to lose it all.”

When she was finished, nobody uttered a word. Maya tensed, scared.

“I’m sorry,” She sucked in a breath. Her throat was sore from all the crying. “I shouldn’t have-”

She was suddenly engulfed by all of the brothers in what seemed like the best hug she ever had in her entire life; They weren’t like the hugs they would give her every time they go their separate ways in RAD’s hallways, they weren’t like the hugs they would give her whenever they would laugh when someone cracks a joke.

No, this hug was special.

It made her feel loved for the first time.

“Maya!” They all cooed, “We love you too!”

Maya burst into tears.

By the time they all broke their hug after what seemed like hours, the door opened once more as Barbatos let the angels and Solomon in.

Luke was sobbing in Simeon’s arms, making little hand gestures at Maya in an attempt to reach her.

“Barbatos told us what happened,” Simeon moved towards her and gave her a look of understanding. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that.”

Maya weakly nodded, “It’s okay, Simeon. It’s not your fault.”

“Maya!” Luke sniffled, finally calming down when Simeon placed him on the bed next to her. “Thank God you’re alright now!”

She smiled at him, running her fingers through his soft blond hair. “I’m sorry for making you worry, Luke. Will you accept my apology?”

“Apology accepted!” The little angel cried, hugging her tight.

It was time for all of them to go back home. They all exchanged one final hug with Maya. Lucifer insisted her to stay in Diavolo’s room that night, the oldest brother convinced that she needed to rest before going back home.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t go home with you all tonight.” Maya told them, “I hope you all have a safe trip back home.” She ran her fingers through Luke’s hair one last time.

“No worries,” Simeon hummed, “It’s okay to rest every once in a while.”

“I’ll promise to write to you every day!” Luke declared, eyes watering a bit. “You better read them.”

“Oh, Luke.” Maya softened, kissing the angel’s forehead. “I will cherish them all.”

Luke beamed.

“Well I guess this is goodbye,” She nodded at Solomon.

“This isn’t goodbye, Maya,” The sorcerer assured her, “It’s more like a “See you later” thing, you know? We’ll see each other again - I promise.” He winked.

“Thank you for listening to me.”

“No, thank you,” They told her. “Thank you for trusting us.”

After they were escorted back outside by Barbatos, It was now the brothers’ turn to say goodbye.

“I’m seriously going to miss you guys.” Maya smiled at them.

“You better!” Mammon was tearing up again beside her.

Maya sighed, lifting her hand to wipe away his tear. “It’ll be fine, Mammon. I’m sure I can still see you sooner or later.”

A thought formed in her head, “Which reminds me…” Her hand dove under the sheets and fished out her wallet. “Here, you can have it.” She placed it on the demon’s hands.

“What?”

“You can have it,” Maya repeated, a smile forming on her face. “Besides, I can’t exactly use Grimm back home, right?”

Mammon sniffled, then immediately threw his hands around her. He was crying now.

“Oi, normie,” Levi called her, “Don’t you dare forget about us.”

“Oh Levi,” Maya motioned him to come closer so he too can join their hug. “How could I forget you?”

The avatar of envy averted his eyes, blushing immensely, before finally joining them.

Satan stepped forward and ruffled her hair. “Do you still want the books I’ll lend you?”

Maya can’t stop smiling. “Always.”

The blonde hummed, “I’m gonna miss you, Maya.” He then moved away.

Asmo practically threw himself over Maya, landing against his two older brothers.

“Hey! Watch it!” Mammon growled from under him.

“Asmo-”

“Maya!” He bawled, peppering Maya’s face with kisses. “Take care of yourself more okay? Remember to drink enough water and eat!”

Maya laughed, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “I promise, Asmo.”

The three demons immediately pulled away from their hug when they saw Beel approaching at a rapid pace. They didn’t want to get crushed by the Avatar of Gluttony’s huge stature.

“Hey there big guy,” Maya whispered, chuckling a bit when he trapped her in a bone-crushing hug.

“If you can, talk to your family for me?” He muttered, his purple eyes glossed over.

Maya closed her eyes. She sighed, “I’ll try, Beel.”

Belphie slid in between them, “So, can we all three sleep together now?”

Maya giggled, gently patting the youngest brother’s soft hair. “Soon, Belph. Soon.”

When they both finally pulled away, Lucifer approached her.

“If anything goes wrong,” He cupped her cheek with his gloved hand. “Just remember that you’ll always have a home with me. With us.”

She softened in his touch. Those were the words she always wanted to hear.

“Thank you,” She breathed, “I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime.” The oldest brother gave her one of his rare smiles, stepping back.

“I shall escort you seven to the door now,” Barbatos announced, reminding the brothers that it is time to go.

“See you later, Maya!” Mammon grinned, walking towards the door with the others.

“I’ll leave her to you, my Lord.” Lucifer nodded towards Diavolo, who was beside Barbatos.

“Don’t worry,” Diavolo assured them, “She’s in good hands.”

“Good night, Barb!” Maya called out to the demon butler as he accompanied the brothers outside. Barbatos smiled at her, before closing the door.

Diavolo was the only one that stayed behind.

“Move over,” He blurted out.

“What?”

“Move over. I want to cuddle you.”

“Tell me something about yourself.”

“Like what?”

“What did you like to do back home?”

Maya hummed, thinking hard. “I liked listening to theater.”

“Really?” Diavolo’s eyes shone in astonishment beside her, arms holding her close. “Can you tell me more?”

She giggled, amused at his reactions. “I had a dog while growing up. From what I can recall, I think we named him Kev. He was tiny; like a little white cloud zooming around in my family’s kitchen. Yet he had these big blue eyes; two sapphires, my mother would call them. But five-year old-Maya thought otherwise. They told me I thought of them as planets.” She paused, “I wish I had more memories of him to tell you. He passed away when I was eight.”

“I’m sure he was a good dog,” Diavolo assured her, a hand reaching up to play with her hair.

“He was one of the best,” Maya smiled at the memory.

“How long are you going to stay here?” She asked him.

“Until you fall asleep,” Diavolo answered. He was resting his chin on her head now.

“It’s okay if you need to go,” Maya sighed, “I know you’re busy running the Devildom. You’ve done so much for me already. You probably think of me as a burden right now.”

“No, you’re not.” He told her, “I won’t hate you. I won’t think of you as a burden. I know you think that’s what you deserve but it’s not. I want to stay with you.”

“Stay with me?” Maya repeated.

“As long as I get to hold your hand,” The demon prince chuckled, sheepish.

“Okay.”

Maya’s heart was caught in her throat when Diavolo’s hand slipped into hers, intertwining their fingers together.

It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t wrong. It was Diavolo.

They stayed like that for a while, relaxing in the comfortable silence. Diavolo suddenly broke the stillness when he breathed out a laugh.

Maya looked up at him, “What’s on your mind?” She questioned.

He smiled, “You.”

At that moment Maya realized that he was close. So close.

Diavolo seemed to notice it too. He leaned in, ever so carefully. He stopped when his lips were barely touching hers.

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered.

One look in their eyes and nothing more is said. They could tell they both wanted the same thing; the look they both had is what gave it away.

And then their lips met.

Their kiss was not at all the same as those romance movies Maya watched with the brothers. It wasn’t anything like how they described it in Satan’s novels. It didn’t feel like those rough kisses she had heard in Asmo’s stories.

This one was different. This one was soft.

It felt like laying in bed after a long day. It felt like rain in summer. It felt like the first bite into warm bread. It felt like living.

Yeah, Maya found her place. That place was wherever Diavolo was.

It was Monday when Maya woke up back in her apartment.

She was cold, she was alone. But she was loved.

She smiled.

Oh, so loved.

6 notes · View notes

serararku · 4 years ago

Text

Duet: Under the Storm’s Chorus

<Theme>

Buscarron’s Alehouse was remarkably busy for a Tuesday. The sound of plates clacking together, laughter, idle conversation, and footfalls created an almost deafening white noise that filled the building up to the brim. The two alehouse wenches scurried from corner to corner, refilling drinks and swapping out dirty plates with fresh food as quickly but as carefully as they could manage. Wall to wall the alehouse was stuffed with patrons, overflowing out to the outside pavilion; every chair at every table was occupied, except for the lone Miqo’te resting after a long day’s work in the back-corner of the establishment.

R’zevi had spent all morning and the better half of the afternoon patrolling up and down the South Shroud, fending off wild animals and roaming bandits alike from preying on Lalafellin merchant caravans. The pay was decent, but hardly worth all that effort, and now that he was sore from the neck down all that was left to do today was stare at the bottom of his tankard before turning in for the night. Yet unbeknownst to R’zevi, the alehouse wenches were giving him more than the standard attention issued to the other patrons once word got around that he was a surprisingly generous tipper; by the time he realized his table was gradually covered in untouched tankards of ale, it was too late to stop them. After all, he wouldn’t tell these women off for going the extra mile, and the last thing he wanted was trouble from the Roegadyn bouncer wandering around the alehouse.

"Excuse me…" A strangely familiar voice whispered beneath the discordant noise of the alehouse. He looked up to see a woman weaving in and out of view while she made her way to the bar, dressed in a black dress normally seen during a party or celebration. R'zevi swore he knew her from somewhere, and the bandages on her forearm was giving him the worst case of déjà vu in recent memory. The Miqo'te woman walked a little awkwardly in her high heels while she squeezed between two drunken patrons to get her drink; it wasn't until she turned around to search for a place to sit did he recognize her.

“S’era! Over here!” R’zevi called out over the commotion and waved to get her attention; she gave him a quizzical look at first, clearly not knowing who he was or how he knew her name- but no sooner did he recognize her did she recognize him, and a bright smile flashed over her face before she began making her way to his table.

“Good evening!” She sighed, brushing off her backside with her good hand before settling in the chair beside him. “You’re one of Lord Isenhart’s Ashen Wolves, right?”

“Yes, I am.” He paused only long enough to push some of the cups away to give her some space. “My name is R’zevi. How are you doing?” His gaze flashed to her outfit, but he successfully resisted the urge to glance down at her bare thighs through the slit in her dress. “What’s the uhh… occasion?”

She looked down at her getup while her cheeks flushed a vibrant red. “Oh… I was supposed to go on a date with someone, but um… they never showed up. I waited for them in Quarrymill for maybe an hour or so? Then I gave up and came here to get a stiff drink.”

“A date?” R’zevi gave her a puzzled look. “I thought… you were training to rescue someone? Your Nunh, right?”

“Oh I still plan on it, yes.” S’era paused to take a quick sip of her mug. “This was supposed to be practice. Nothing serious, just… something to help me get an edge on being his favored wife once he’s returned.”

It still didn’t make sense to him. “Practice? Do the women in your tribe take the Nunh out on dates often?”

S’era gave him a blank stare for a long moment. “No, the other kind of practice. The stuff that usually happens after the date.”

“Oh.” Now it was R’zevi’s turn to blush. “Right… that makes a lot more sense.”

“My sisters are pleasing the false Nunh of my tribe. If I’m to keep up with their experience, I need experience of my own.” S’era glanced over her shoulder at one of the bar wenches walking past the table before continuing. “Training with Lord Isenhart will only get me so far… if I don’t practice on pleasing a Nunh, then… I’ll be at a sore disadvantage once I finally rescue him.”

“You know…” R’zevi set his mug down to ruminate a bit, deciding to choose his words carefully. “You seem to be sacrificing a lot for the sake of your tribe. And, I know this doesn’t hold much water coming from a Tia who isn’t trying to become a Nunh, but, maybe you should reconsider your priorities for your own sake.”

S’era gave him a gentle smile- something he wasn’t expecting. “I know what it looks like… some naive foolish girl chasing a man she hardly knows. But I have to do this. My tribe is… everything to me, and… I want to do my best to make sure it remains strong."

“As long as you’re happy.” R’zevi didn’t want to press the matter further; this woman was clearly set in her ways and determined to see this through. Instead of trying to argue, he decided to change the subject. “What are your plans for the rest of the night?”

She pursed her lips and fell silent for a moment before answering with, “Probably get tipsy, and watch the sunset before I return to my apartment to go to sleep.” A defeated shrug raised her shoulders. “Not nearly as exciting as I was hoping, but it is what it is.” No sooner did she mention watching the sunset did thunder roll across the sky above. S’era leaned all the way in her chair to peek out of the open door, and her ears flattened against her head at the sight of the large black clouds choking out the warm but fading sunlight. “A-ahh… or I can just sit here and wait for this storm to pass…”

R’zevi raised a brow and asked, “Not a fan of storms, huh?” Another roll of thunder caused the hairs on the back of her neck to bristle, and her tail grew bushy.

“Mmmn… a bad childhood experience with lightning…” She nervously fidgetted. “We don’t get many storms out in Thanalan near the Sagolii Desert… usually the worst is a heavy shower or two once or twice a year. But sometimes my tribe would travel all the way up to the outskirts of the Black Shroud, where lightning likes to strike. Gods, I can’t imagine why…” R’zevi opened his mouth to explain the nature of a certain primal the local Sylph have been known to summon, but refrained from interrupting her story. “A-anyway, I was climbing a tree in search of bird eggs, and a really big bolt struck the tree nearby. It was so… so loud… and it shattered the tree into blazing pieces. I fell maybe three stories, struck my head against a branch, and did a front flip into a bush. If it weren’t for my mother sending out a search party for me, I… I would have probably burned to death in that forest fire.” She let out a sharp sigh before chugging the rest of her tankard down. “I just freeze up when I hear thunder now… at least in Thanalan I had caves I could scurry down into…”

R’zevi ruminated on his thoughts again as he watched her become twitchy. Seeing her so jumpy at even the slightest movements around her was a tragedy indeed, especially over a little rain and the occasional thunder. “Hmm…” He hummed lightly, getting her attention. “Come with me, I want to show you something.” S’era gave him a quizzical look while he rose to his feet and headed to the door, but she reluctantly followed.

Outside it was pouring. The raging thunderheads above made quick work of any remaining clear sky, and most of the outside patrons had either retreated back inside or left for other shelters. S’era slowly opened the door and saw R’zevi standing out there between abandoned tables, already soaked from head to toe. “Come on out and join me.” He called, gesturing for her.

“Are you crazy?!” S’era called back, wearily glancing up at the sky as if the lightning was hiding just above the roof. “Come back inside! You’ll get sick out there!”

“It’s just a little water.” He raised his face to the rain and closed his eyes, basking in the bounty of the storm. “I want to show you that you don’t have to be terrified any longer. You won’t be struck by lightning out here.”

“You don’t know that…!” She shrunk away from the rain like it was acid. “Please come back inside! I don’t want to see you die!”

R’zevi opened his eyes and smiled warmly at her, despite standing in a growing puddle with soggy and soaked clothes. “Lightning only hits the tallest point in the forest, or anything wearing a lot of metal.” He touched his chest before gesturing to hers. “We’re both wearing leather and linen. We’re completely safe, I assure you. Come join me… it feels amazing.”

“I’m wearing silk, actually…” S’era didn’t like this idea one bit. “Gods, you really are crazy…” Much to R’zevi’s shock, she took off her heels before scampering out from under the roof. The woman squeaked when the rain splashed against her head and shoulders, causing her eyeliner and lipstick to run down her face; it was only after she was soaked did R’zevi realize he probably just persuaded her into ruining that dress. He would have to make a mental note to repay her for that. “Alright…” She mumbled, standing a few inches away from him. “Now what?!”

“Just listen.” He gently took her by the hands and held them together. “To the storm’s chorus. To the applause of rain surrounding us. To the harmless bark of thunder.”

“Harmless…? Hardly.” S’era glanced up at the sky again, but flinching every time raindrops struck her eyes dissuaded her from continuing that for much longer. Instead she looked down as she felt the cold mud squishing between her toes, and against her better judgment, she also braced herself for the rolling thunder overhead.

Booooooom…

R’zevi heard her squeak and nearly leap into him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist as she buried her face in his chest. Slowly he patted the top of her head before gently whispering, “It’s alright… it’s just thunder. It’s not going to hurt you.” He hesitantly ran a hand through her soaked hair. “You’re safe.”

He could feel her heavy breathing. Her heart pounded against his stomach, and her vice grip around his waist remained steadfast; she didn’t dare look up, fearing the flash of lightning would be the last thing she saw before joining her ancestors. Thunder bellowed again- louder this time- but she didn’t flinch as hard as she did before. “I’m safe…” She repeated, taking slow and steady breaths. “I’m safe… I’m safe… I’m safe…”

“I can hardly believe what I’m seeing.” R’zevi cooed, grinning madly. “A woman who traveled the four corners of Eorzea and shoved her hand into a fireplace for him is terrified of a little noise?”

“Mmmn… quiet you…!” She pulled her face away from his chest to pout at him. “This isn’t so bad… with you being much taller, I can at least survive the first strike, huh?”

“All you need is some time.” R’zevi pulled a few strands of hair away from her face. “Exposure is the best way to overcome your phobias. Just take a little bit at a time, just enough for you to handle… and eventually you won’t give these rainstorms a second tho-”

BOOOOM!

Forked lightning streaked across the sky and lit up Buscarron’s Druthers. Her grip around his body suddenly tightened, and S’era almost leapt right out of her skin. R’zevi wrapped his arms around her and looked around, somewhat relieved no one was around to witness two strange Miqo’te hugging in the downpour. “Shhh… it’s alright. It can’t reach you down here…”

"Alehouse is taller… trees are taller… R'zevi is taller…" S'era mumbled to herself, squinting from the rain as she looked up into the sky. "It can't reach me… I'm safe… I'm- huh?" Almost instantly the rain completely stopped, as if someone had turned off a giant faucet high above.

"I knew it wouldn't last long when it started so suddenly and angrily." He smiled, reaching up to wipe his wet brow. "... I still figured it would last longer than it did."

"Thank you anyway." S'era beamed up at him awkwardly before she hesitantly let him go. "It really means a lot… and… you didn't have to do this."

"Defeating childhood trauma can't happen overnight." R'zevi gave her another warm grin. "A good memory in a storm to fight a bad one. That's one for one for now, S'era."

She chuckled nervously as she ran her hand through her soaked hair. “You can call me Era… if you like…”

“Era it is.” R’zevi blushed a vibrant red once he realized her ruined silk dress was now clinging to and highlighting her figure, and his gaze snapped back to her eyes to avoid ogling at the outline of her smallclothes keeping everything in place. Quickly he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you need an escort back to your apartment complex? I doubt you’d run into any trouble, but I really don’t mind accompanying you…”

A sly smirk spread across her face before she said, “Hasty, are we? I’d like to know you more before I take you back to my apartment.”

“O-oh! No, no no no, I didn’t-! That was not what I was implying!” R’zevi sputtered, his face as bright and red as a tomato. S’era let him ramble on for a few more seconds before she couldn’t take it anymore; she was gripped by a giggle-fit that only got more uncontrollable every time she looked at his face, but he was determined to explain himself. “Era-! I uhh…! I’m sorry if-!”

Once her laughter was reigned in, she quickly placed a finger on his lips. “I was just messing with you, Zevi. I can call you Zevi, yes?”

“Of course you can.” His voice was heavy with relief, which only forced her to stifle another fit of laughter. She wiggled her index finger at him to gesture him closer, saying nothing. R’zevi half-expected her to mock him right to his face, but when he bent over to meet her at eye-level, she gently wrapped her arms over his shoulders and embraced him in the most uncomfortably wet hug he’s ever had.

“You’re really cute when you’re flustered.” She softly whispered in his ear, before pressing her lips together and planting a wet kiss on his cheek. "Until next time, okay?"

Without thinking R'zevi reached around her waist just as she began to release him and pull away, pressing a hand against the small of her back, an ilm or two above her tail. He drew her back into his arms until their soaked bodies were firmly smooshed together again. As S'era gazed invitingly into his eyes, the fear of rejection fled into the night, and he did the only thing that felt natural. They both closed their eyes when their lips met. With their hearts pounding against each other's chests the two Miqo'te stood in silence, lip-locked and dazed. Eventually S'era tilted her head and parted her lips, while her leg lifted off the ground to give him something warm to hold on to. It wasn't until they were at the zenith of their deep kiss did they snap out of their lustful trance.

"You two'll catch yer death in the cold, pluckin' and cluckin' like that." An elderly Roegadyn groundskeeper grumbled, shambling by with a mop and broom in his grasp. “Damn kids, no restraint… back in my day you would get walloped and your girl snatched right out from under ya if you mmmn hrgmm mergmmm…” He was still rambling to himself when he turned around the corner and vanished.

S’era and R’zevi were left standing there awkwardly, the mood killed and the magic gone. “Um- Era, you’re um…” He gestured to her dress, which was now turned slightly to the side and riding up her thighs.

“Mmmn… you should look down…” She quietly retorted, motioning to the bulge in his pants. They both adjusted themselves, too uncomfortable and embarrassed to look each other in the eyes. "So…" She started again, now that she was wearing her dress correctly. "You should take me on a date soon…"

"I will!" He did a poor job concealing the excitement in his voice, especially when he tried to play it off by clearing his throat immediately after. "Where would you like to go?" She gave him a wide grin as she slowly walked back toward the alehouse, shrugging halfheartedly at him; despite being genuinely invested in the answer to the question, R'zevi couldn't shake the notion that where the date started didn't actually matter- but where it ended.

"Surprise me." S'era finally spoke, winking slyly at him. She ducked back through the doors and vanished, leaving him out in the night… cold, wet, and antsy.

---

Mentions: @rzevi-tia-ffxiv

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firebrands · 5 years ago

Text

acta non verba

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, T, college AU, 2.5k words

fill for stony bingo prompt: gladiator

also onao3

There are few things in academia that Tony actively dislikes, and being called to his lab advisor’s office after class is definitely one of them.

Tony fidgets as he stands in front of his professor’s large oak table.

“You can sit,” Dr. Pym says, motioning to the couch across his table. Tony doesn’t move, hoping that by standing up, they can keep this discussion short.

“After the explosion last week—” his professor starts, and Tony immediately opens his mouth to defend himself. Unfortunately, Pym has spent a sufficient amount of time with Tony, and raises a finger to silence him before Tony can make a sound. “—we believe that the best way you can give back to the school is to serve your mandatory hours tutoring,” he finishes.

A moment passes.

“I would rather die,” Tony says emphatically.

“Spare me the theatrics, Tony,” Pym says, sighing. “Just two hours, twice a week. We have some engineering, math, and physics students who’ll do this as well, so you’ll only have one tutee.”

“From where?” Tony grinds out. “Can’t I just… make a program to teach math…?” he asks hopefully.

“While that would be fantastically helpful, I don’t want you spending more time on something that can be solved by just showing up,” Pym says primly. He pushes a piece of paper across his desk. “We’re having the orientation tomorrow morning.”

Tony wants to throw a tantrum, because morning? Tutoring? Tutoring in the morning? But he also knows that battles with Pym rarely ever end in his favor, so he doesn’t.

Instead, he finds satisfaction in slamming Pym’s door as he leaves.

Tony, after two years in university, has come to realize that a lot of it is about weighing costs. This is what he tells himself as he takes two steps at a time to get to the assigned room Pym had given him. It’ll be even more annoying if I don’t do this, Tony reassures himself, as he pulls open the door.

“Nice of you to join us,” says Pym coolly. He motions to an empty chair, and Tony sags into it, breathless from his mad dash from his dorm room to the classroom. Tony doesn’t have time to survey the rest, instead focuses on blinking away the spots in his vision. Too early to be this tired , he thinks.

Pym talks about the importance the school gives on providing support for all students, or something, Tony isn’t really paying attention, even if his condition has stabilized.

“Since you’re all from different colleges, we’ve partnered you up.” A table flashes on screen with their names. “Let’s go around the room introducing ourselves.”

Tony rolls his eyes and plays videogames on his phone as people introduce themselves. Eventually, he’s called to stand. “Tony,” he says, then sits back down.

Eventually, people stand to introduce themselves; again, Tony isn’t really paying attention, until someone hovers beside him awkwardly.

“Hi,” says the hoverer.

Tony sighs, and looks up, meaning to say “hi,” in the least friendly way possible just because it’s 9AM and no one should ever be friendly in the morning.

He meant to say that.

Now he’s just staring at the beautiful, blonde, buff guy standing beside him. His shirt is a size too small, and Tony wants to write a check to whoever told him that it was the right fit. Good lord, Tony thinks. And then the rational part of his brain, small as it is, finally catches up with him.

“Hey,” Tony says, doing his best to sound suave.

“I’m Steve,” he says, offering a hand. Tony shakes it. A good grip. A good hand. Oh, god. His thoughts on Steve’s hand stutter to a halt when Steve tells him what he’s taking.

“An art student?” Tony scoffs.

Said art student raises an eyebrow in response.

“Why are you even taking a math class?”

“It’s part of the curriculum?” Steve’s brows knit together and that’s when Tony realizes: hey, he’s even cuter when he’s annoyed.

“Okay well I’m only ever free Tuesday and Thursday evening,” Tony says.

Steve bites his lip and looks irritated. “Fine. I can move stuff around. You better be fucking great at math,” he huffs.

“Oh darling, I’m fucking great at a lot more than math,” Tony smirks.

Steve, god bless him, blushes.

Steve’s late for their first session. They’d chosen the study hall for their lessons; it was situated right at the midway point between their two colleges, and it was usually only filled up by quiet freshmen (the library, on the other hand, was filled with over caffeinated seniors, which didn’t sound very productive to be around).

Tony’s scribbling calculations about the battery he’d been trying to figure out when Steve comes rushing in. “Sorry I’m late, but I got you coffee to make it up to you,” Steve says, and Tony hides a smile by taking a sip of coffee.

Steve’s wearing a dark blue henley that brings out the color in his eyes and Tony thinks that he should probably inform Dr. Pym that he is no longer qualified to tutor as he’s going to lose his damn mind.

When Steve starts solving the problems on the worksheet Tony prepared, Tony sends Rhodey a message: Oh no. hes stupid cute.

Rhodey immediately responds: ur so dumb istg

Steve touches Tony’s arm to get his attention. “Okay, I don’t understand how you got from this,” he motions to his calculations, “to this,” he finishes, pointing at the equation Tony had written out.

Tony stares at the problem equation, then casts a glance at Steve’s hand on his arm. He wants Steve’s hand everywhere, he thinks, with a hint of mania.

Steve follows Tony’s gaze and snatches his hand away. Tony tries not to weep at the loss, and instead writes out step by step how he got to the solution.

After an hour, Tony stands up to get another cup of coffee, and he’s so distracted by the weight of Steve’s hand on his arm that now he can’t remember where they were sitting. Tony peers around and spots Steve resting his face on his palm, seemingly lost in thought.

Tony stares, memorizing the slant of his nose, the soft curl of his lips.

And then he walks straight into the glass door.

Thankfully, the coffee is safe. Tony’s reputation, not so much: everyone had turned to look, and Steve covers up a laugh with his hand.

“Don’t laugh, do your worksheet,” Tony hisses, sitting back down beside Steve.

Steve continues to chuckle as he does his calculations.

Now it’s Tony’s turn to cover his mouth with his hand, horrified by how fond his smile is.

“Earth to Tony!”

Tony looks up from his laptop, where he was preparing a new worksheet for Steve. “What?”

Rhodey frowns. “I was asking what you wanted to get for lunch.”

“Whatever you’re getting, honeybear,” Tony responds absently, still tweaking equations as Rhodey huffs and walks away.

Tony’s reviewing the worksheet when Rhodey comes back with their meals and gently pushes down the monitor of Tony’s laptop to get his attention.

“Okay! Okay already!” Tony screeches, snatching his laptop away from Rhodey’s reach and saving the file before folding it shut. “Jeez,” he says.

“Didn’t think you’d have it this bad,” Rhodey smirks, digging into his mashed potatoes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony sniffs, removing the plates of food from his tray and arranging them on the table. “It’s—it’s not that big of a deal,” he says. “Totally harmless, he’ll be out of my hair in a few months.”

“You guys are a walking thinkpiece about the need to bridge the gap between STEM and humanities,” Rhodey says, rolling his eyes.

Tony spends more and more time with Steve, eventually meeting his friends (and vice versa). It’s nice, mostly because having more friends means more people forcing him out of the lab and forcing him to live a life, which—it’s nice.

None of these things matter, of course, at 3 in the afternoon on a Saturday, where Tony is sitting on the floor of Rhodey’s dorm room with his head in his hands.

Thor pats Tony’s head consolingly. “You could try and talk to him?”

“He doesn’t like me that way, okay?” Tony’s voice is small, muffled by his position.

Rhodey groans. “Everyone can see it,” he says.

“That he doesn’t like me?” Tony asks despairingly.

“No, that he does like you,” Thor says, rubbing Tony’s back. “Like, everyone. Both sides.”

Tony curls even deeper into himself. “Yeah, but you’re all idiots,” he mewls.

The October air is crisp with the onset of autumn, and Steve lets out an exasperated puff of breath as he pulls up the blanket draped over his shoulder. Sam raises an eyebrow in response.

Behind them, Bucky slams the door to their apartment shut with a triumphant woop, and begins hustling Steve and Sam down the street: “Let’s go! ”

Steve’s toes are cold in the night air, and he has never hated Halloween more in his life. Yes, even more than that one time his mom and Bucky’s mom had plotted against him and dressed the two of them up as Woody and Buzz, forcing them to go around the neighborhood much to ten year old Steve’s chagrin.

“I hate costumes so much ,” Steve whines, and it’s likely the fifth time he’s said it this evening alone, but it bears repeating. Sam and Bucky roll their eyes in tandem.

Thor’s house is noisy and cramped and Steve bites down hard on any more complaints, instead making a beeline for the kitchen. Sam and Bucky follow after him, carrying a bottle of tequila and vodka each.

Of course, the kitchen isn’t any better—in fact, it’s worse. Still, Steve needs a drink, or fifty, to make this night somewhat bearable. The things he did for his friends, really.

Thor is in the kitchen, dressed as a pirate (wide brimmed hat and eyepatch included). He’s talking to a guy dressed up as a gladiator, wearing a gold chestplate on top of red robes, and as they approach, Steve realizes who it is.

“Tony!” Bucky grins, draping an arm around the shorter man and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Tony smiles up at him and the disentangles himself to give Sam a quick hug. “Elvis and… hot professor?” Tony asks, turning from Bucky to Sam, respectively.

Sam is clearly taken aback, but before he can correct Tony, Bucky says, “and obviously you went above and beyond with the costume again.”

Tony preens, and Steve has to wrench his eyes away from the way muscles in Tony’s arms flex as he wipes nonexistent dust off his chest plate. “What can I say? Not all of us can come in wearing a blanket and look as good as him,” he says as he nods at Steve, who's wearing a toga and a crown made of fake golden laurel leaves.

“Ugh,” Steve says, eloquent as ever.

Tony takes this as an opportunity to keep teasing.

“Oh boys,” Tony says as he’s approaching Steve, “did you oil him up?” He traces a finger down Steve’s bicep.

Steve flinches away.

Sam laughs. “That’s just his sweat,” he says.

Now it’s Tony’s turn to laugh and Steve fights down a blush as he begins looking around for something to drink.

So the party’s pretty fun, and it was a blessing in disguise that Steve was barely wearing anything. It’s so crowded in the house, and everyone is sweating.

Steve bends down to pull out a beer from one of the coolers stationed strategically around the house and when he straightens back up, Tony’s standing right in front of him. Steve, momentarily disoriented by how stupidly hot Tony is, hands him his bottle of beer.

Tony, the unflappable flirt, winks at Steve.

Steve’s however many drinks in, so it’s not his fault that he’s flustered. It’s awful, how flustered he is.

Tony laughs, and blows him a kiss as he’s walking away.

Steve turns to the cooler and briefly considers just dunking his head into the ice water.

Natasha passes Steve the joint, angling her head away from him as she blows out a cloud of smoke.

She juts her chin forward, motioning at the general area where Tony is currently talking to Bucky. Tony looks regal, which is crazy considering he’s wearing sandals, to match the rest of his costume. Still, Steve lets his eyes wander over the expanse of exposed flesh. Tony’s legs, Tony’s arms—Steve swallows as he checks out Tony’s ass.

“You two should take a picture. It’s cute,” she says, jolting Steve out of his thoughts. Natasha smirks, fully aware of what Steve was doing.

Steve does not deign to respond, and scowls at her as he takes a hit.

“Why are you so huffy?” Natasha asks, rolling her eyes.

“It’s just like,” Steve says, passing her the joint, “you know! He’s just fucking with me.”

Natasha’s face crumples with disbelief. “You are so dumb.”

Steve is leaning back on the couch, watching the strobe lights make patterns on the ceiling. He’s having fun, even if he’s just seated with his legs sprawled out in front of him. This is what a good time is like, for Steve: a little tipsy, a little stoned, and very comfortable. He’s not really into parties, much less costume parties, but Sam and Bucky had forced him to come. But they all shared in the knowledge that Steve only agreed because he knew Tony would probably be at Thor’s party, too.

After a while, Steve gets bored of the lights and he toys idly with the label of his beer bottle, and startles out of his concentration when Tony flops down beside him.

“Hey,” he says. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Steve smiles slowly and nods at him.

Tony leans against Steve’s bare arm and Steve has never felt so happy to be in costume in his life, he thinks serenely. He hazards resting his hand on Tony’s leg, reassuring himself that if Tony said anything, Steve would just laugh it off and say he was drunk and high (which is sort of true).

Thankfully, Tony doesn’t say anything. Instead, he spreads his legs a bit wider, pressing his thigh against Steve’s.

Steve lets out a shaky breath.

Tony turns to look up at him, his chin resting on Steve’s shoulder. Their eyes meet, and they stare at each other for a moment; Steve can feel Tony’s shallow breaths, can smell the alcohol on him, along with a hint of tobacco. Where would Tony have a pocket to keep cigarettes? Steve thinks, as he continues to chart the plains and valleys of Tony’s face, from the thick lines of his eyebrows to the soft swell of his lips. Steve bites his lip, and he sees that Tony’s eyes flick down at the movement.

Tony looks up at him again, and he offers Steve a small, apologetic smile.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispers.

Steve smiles and leans forward, finally locking their lips together.

#stony #superhusbands #stevetony #steve rogers #tony stark #stony fanfiction #stony fic #reposting because there are so many new followers!! hello.#q #things i write

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somuchbetterthanthat · 5 years ago

Text

me: i’m going to sleep. also me: but first let me write words about my FeelingsTM on Martin Blackwood. (ft jon sims)

The voice at the other end of the phone is new; it throws Martin off a moment.

“Oh, uh, hello -” he says, feeling absurdely self-conscious. “This is, um - Mrs Blackwood’s son, Martin? Are Betty and Floretta not here today?”

“We’re a bit short of staff,” says the youthful voice on the phone. She talks very fast. “But they said you’d call, of course! I’m Lisa. How can I help you, Mr Blackwood?”

“Hi Lisa,” Martin says and then rolls his eyes at himself, gripping the phone tighter. “I’m just - I’m just wondering how my mother’s been doing this week?”

Lisa is efficient; she gives less details than Betty does, but she sounds less bothered to talk than Floretta, who always finishes with a sigh, like the whole world rest on her shoulders and she’s got no time to indulge Martin and his pesky requests about his mum. Perhaps she truly doesn’t; It’s a small home, after all, and they’re treating his mum right, he knows that, but it’s not like they’ve got a lot of funding. Plus, Floretta’s got two kids and her husband was laid off a year ago so he understands that his phone calls are bothersome.

When Lisa’s done, Martin thanks her and then, he braces himself, and takes a deep breath: “D’you think I could talk to her for a bit?” he asks.

“Oh,” says Lisa. “Oh I’m sorry she’s, um - she... fell asleep, after lunch.”

“Right,” says Martin. “Of course, sure, yeah.”

Lisa is a very bad liar. Nothing like Betty. Betty’s so good at coming up with excuses for his mum that it had taken Martin two months after she had been admitted and he’d started working at the Institute to realize that Betty was lying at all. He’d called almost every day then, feeling awful about not being here for his mother anymore, no matter the fact she’d insisted on it more and more as he grew older. Two entire months, until Betty had said, one afternoon “Ah, can’t do kiddo, she’s playing bridge with the others.” and he’d realized she was just being kind to him by not saying the truth. His mum hated bridge, and cards games in general. He was pretty sure it was because his dad had liked it.

Now Martin calls every Tuesday, at 1.30pm and tries to pay a visit the first Sunday of every month - as well as on birthdays. She’d agreed to see him, the first few years, on his birthday. She doesn’t anymore, but a little bit of hope never hurts. Every two weeks, he’s taken to dutifully write her a letter instead. Those are never returned, so maybe she reads them at least, even if she never answers.

He hangs up on Lisa after thanking her again, and pretends he doesn’t hear the pity in her voice. Then, he puts his head between his arms, and he breathes very hard and sternly tells himself he can’t cry at work, even if on Tuesdays afternoons, he’s always alone in the office he shares with Gary (who’s got a class at university), Helena (who goes to write at the library) and Celine (who’s got the day off). It’s silly, getting hang up on stuff like that; he’s 25 for god’s sake, not 13. He should be used to his mum’s silence, now. Still. Still, he wishes - if she could just talk to him, just a bit - when was the last time he even heard her voice?

He’s busy feeling deeply sorry for himself when the office’s door abruptly opens; he startles hard and scrambles up to sit up straighter, sending a few files flying off his desk as he does, and meets the extremely unimpressed (beautiful) eyes of Jonathan Sims, who’s scowling at him.

“Um, hi?” says Martin, a bit lost as to what the hell Jon is doing here.

“Do you have absolutely no respect for the profession or your colleagues?” Jon asks.

Martin gapes. “...What?”

Jon waves some paper in the air; Martin blinks. “M. K. Blackwood,” Jon says slowly, like he’s stupid. “Is that not you?”

“Er, right, yes? I mean - yes, of course that’s me, we - we literally talked yesterday you haven’t forgotten my name did you?” (Contrary to what people think, Martin does have some kind of pride, and a sense of shame; the idea that Jon - who is as handsome as he is awful - may not even remember his name is kind of a blow to his non-existent self-esteem)

“No,” Jon says in a clipped voice. “I didn’t. Do you know why, Martin?”

“...Because we’re colleagues?” Martin tries out.

“Because I pay attention to details,” Jon retorts. “Contrary to you, apparently! That paper is - it’s awful is what it is. The ideas aren’t bad per say, but not only is your conclusion absolutely wrong, I can’t even work to disagree with you because half of your sources are missing.”

“Why - why did you even read my paper?” Martin asks, bewildered.

Jon’s scowl somehow manages to look even more disdainful than before. “You literally rambled about it yesterday.” he says. “When we were talking.”

“Wait. You were actually listening?”

“I - Of course I was listening Martin -”

“I mean, no - no offense or anything, but you did just - got up in the middle of the discussion and just. Left.” Martin says slowly. “Without a word.”

For the first time since he barged into his office, Jon looks unsettled for a second; Martin is pretty sure he’s not even dreaming the way Jon’s cheeks turn slightly pink.

“Right,” he says. “Right that... probably... wasn’t very polite of me.”

“Yeah that really wasn’t.”

“Well, I apologize about that,” Jon says stiffly. “But obviously I had to check - anyway, the point is, your paper is a disaster. And not just this one! I went to check other things you’ve written and good lord what do you have against citing any bloody sources -”

Martin is back to gaping, as Jon continues to prattle on everything that’s wrong with his work; who - who even does that? Martin wasn’t aware researchers actually read papers. Well, not their other colleagues’ papers. Well - not Martin’s papers. To each their own, and all that; Martin had read a lot of them, when he’d first started working here, but it was only so he could exercize himself to write in that fancy university language, and learn the structures and all; English was the class he’d tried to miss the less at school, because he liked words, but that didn’t mean it was easy to pretend he knew how to write about ghosts academically.

Apparently, according to Jon, he’s still managed to do it wrong for years, too.

“Sorry?” he hazards at last once Jon’s verve dies down.

Jon looks aghast. “Sorry? That’s all you have to say?”

“I, I mean what - what do you want me to say?” Martin asks a bit helplessly. “It’s not like - Nobody ever told me I was doing it wrong.” he finishes a bit lamely.

“How?”

“I don’t know! Maybe, maybe they just - didn’t care,” Martin shrugs; his neck is starting to warm up. Jon frowns.

“Well I care,” he says, darting his (absurdely gorgeous, it’s really terrible) eyes on Martin with such piercing intensity that Martin feels a little chill running up his spine. “The Institute is already not taken seriously enough in the academic field, and it’s bound to be treated as even more of a joke if our researchers don’t even bother trying to write anything properly. I don’t know how nobody has ever told you this before, but next time for god’s sake, just write down your sources as you go.”

“...Right,” says Martin. “Right. I’ll - I’ll do that. Yep.”

“Good.” Jon nods curtly.

There’s a beat of silence; they keep staring at each other. “Um,” Martin says after a moment. “Is there, uh - anything else? I can help you with?”

Jon opens his mouth; closes it; then opens it again and says: “You’re wrong about the spiders. They’re nasty things and they certainly don’t deserve any mercy when they find their way in a kitchen.”

And then he turns around and leaves as abruptly as he arrived, and Martin just blinks at the still open door, utterly baffled. His cheeks are flushed, and his heart is beating just a tad too fast in his chest.

“Nope,” he tells himself. “Nope, you’re not doing that. You’ve got to build self-esteem, remember?”

(I care, said Jonathan Sims.)

(Martin’s stomach does a weird little thing. He bites down a smile, and goes back to work, trying very hard to keep frowning at himself.)

#the magnus archives #tma stories #now i am going to bed

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blueboxesandtrafficcones · 5 years ago

Text

The Nuptial Necessity - Chapter 14

A 12xRose Human AU

Despite an unglamorous job description, Rose loves the work she does with The Thistle Foundation, a charity founded by her best friend’s great-uncle. It doesn’t hurt that her boss, her friend’s father, is easy on the eyes. With a great job, wonderful friends and a loving family, life couldn’t be better – except for having someone to share it with.

All of that is threatened, though, when the great-uncle dies – and sets a strange condition for his nephew to inherit, jeopardizing the Foundation and Rose’s future, sparking a chain of events that might just get her everything she dreamed of and more.

Chapters will be posted on Saturdays and Tuesdays. Many thanks to my beta, @stupidsatsuma

Rated: Explicit, for eventual smut

@doctorroseprompts

AO3 | Masterlist

—

Friday - the wedding, pt. 2 / 2

Breathing deeply, Rose let out a sigh of contentment. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, the luncheon had been wonderful, and now she was on the dancefloor, swaying in Malcolm’s arms. Her head nestled against his shoulder, body flush to his as they moved, was her idea of heaven.

It was why the Gala was her favorite night of the year, more than her birthday or Christmas, New Year’s, or any other bank holiday. The opportunity to be so close to him, to breathe in his scent, to have him hold her closer – they always danced together for several slow songs. The first was often spent whispering about how the event was going, the second was for sharing any juicy gossip, and the rest… She liked to think the rest were just because he wanted to hold her as much as she wanted to be in his arms. It was silly, bordering on deluded, but- she was in love.

And he wouldn’t hold her like this if he didn’t want to.

“You look beautiful,” Malcolm murmured out of the blue, grip tightening on her slightly as the song changed. Other couples joined the floor, but Rose paid them no attention, trusting him to keep them from crashing into others.

“Thank you.” Opening her eyes she glanced up at him, gaze tracing along the line of his jaw. It was only mid-afternoon but his five o’clock shadow was already strong, and it wasn’t just the champagne that wondered what that would feel like against her bare skin. “You look handsome yourself. I expected your tux, but this is actually better.”

He was dressed in a morning suit, including a waistcoat, looking very dapper and dashing. The accent colors even matched the light shade of blue and cream she’d chosen for their colors.

“A tux?” Malcolm sniffed, affecting a haughty tone. “During the day? What am I, a savage?”

Rose laughed, and his mock-disgusted expression melted into a grin.

“No, this was more appropriate. Besides, I’ll be wearing the tux next weekend, for the Gala. And if I do say so myself, I look particularly debonair in it, and I didn’t want to take the chance of upstaging the bride.”

“Oh, I get it,” she beamed up at him. “I’ll be much more dressed up for that as well.”

“As you should – you’re a proper Lady now, Viscountess.” His thumb began a gentle back and forth motion along her spine, and even though the thick material of her dress separated him from her skin, it was intoxicating.

“Noted,” was all she could manage, breathless, and his crystal blue eyes darkened a bit in response; they even flickered down to her mouth, and for one wild moment she thought (hoped, prayed) he was about to kiss her again. When he had, at the officiant’s direction, her knees had gone weak and she would’ve sunk to the ground if he hadn’t been holding her up. It had been dream-like, and all she wanted was for him to do it again, longer this time, deeper, and most importantly, because he wanted to. She was equal parts pleased and disappointed that no one had yet clinked their glasses to make them kiss; while she would like the excuse, the idea hurt too much, of him doing it only because it was expected.

“Rose?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I tempt you to another slice of cake and glass of bubbly?”

She waited a beat before opening her eyes, hoping the disappointment wouldn’t slow. “Yeah, course.”

Malcolm led her to their seats; at some point between her visit that morning and the ceremony someone had decided to space out the tables along the wall so they wouldn’t have to go all the way around behind people, and Rose didn’t care whose idea it was- she was just grateful.

“Thank you, my Lord,” she teased him as they settled into their seats, grinning at him. “Too kind.”

Their glasses had been refilled while on the dance floor, but Malcolm gestured to their server to bring them cake before lifting his flute, Rose copying him half a second behind.

“I propose a toast,” her new husband said, sending a thrill through her. “To you. For being the wonderful, selfless human being you are. Your kind heart and generous spirit constantly amaze me. And… if I may, for a moment, be selfish, I am very much looking forward to spending more time with you for the foreseeable future.”

Rose smiled, cheeks turning pink. “Thank you. And to you, for… for being a good man, kind, trustworthy… I agreed to this because you are you. I wouldn’t have done this for… anyone else, basically.” She pretended to think about it for a moment. “Maybe Chris Hemsworth. Or that bloke that plays that detective on that show I like. But no one else.” Her smile faded, and she added softly, with a bit too much emotion in her voice, “Just you.”

She met his eye, and slowly, his expression changed, grew more thoughtful and curious and just a touch hopeful.

“Rose-”

He knew, rationally, that she didn’t mean it the way it sounded. It had been an emotionally charged day, the free-flowing champagne only complicating matters. But his treacherous heart refused to hear it, trying to beat its way out his chest and across the small space to hers, to be forever entwined as they had promised to do in their vows. He wanted that, a life with her for real, so terribly, and all of this was just a tease, an offer that would never pan out.

And then she looked at him that way, all doe eyes and earnest expression, like he was the only one in the world, the only person she could see, that they were alone in a roomful of people, and he dared to dream.

It occurred to him, then, with a bitter irony, a sucker punch to the gut, that this wedding was the final death knell for any potential relationship. That now, as her husband as well as her boss, the difference in their power balance was too great. He could never be certain that, were he to actually be brave enough to ask for what he wanted, and by some miracle she agreed to more, that it was because it was what she wanted, and not because she was trying to please him- her entire life depended on him now, he was responsible for everything in her daily life, and he could never be sure.

This realization took his breath away, a visceral, physical ache in his chest. And, judging by the concern spreading over her face it was visible on his, and he glanced around desperately in an attempt to distract her.

“Brigadier!”

His old friend was standing at the edge of the dance floor talking to Clara and Danny, and by the pale expression on the young man’s face, giving him quite the talking-to, which Malcolm appreciated. Glancing up Alistair nodded, and a moment later, made his way towards him while Clara and Danny escaped to the dance floor.

“Hello, Malcolm,” Alistair rumbled, stopping on the other side of the table from them. “And Mrs. Tucker, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’ve heard a fair bit about you, over the years.”

Ah, shit, Malcolm thought, belatedly remembering that he had, in fact, mentioned Rose to him once or twice over the years. Or during every bloody conversation. “Rose, this is Brigadier General Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart. We go way back. Brigadier, this is Rose Tyler.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Brigadier,” Rose said warmly. “I believe I’ve taken a few of your calls over the years. Malcolm hasn’t told me all that much about you, but what he has says quite a bit.”

“Is that so?” Alistair narrowed his eyes at Rose, as though sizing her up. “And what, precisely, does that say- does he say?”

Malcolm held his breath, but Rose hardly blinked at the challenge.

“That you are one of the best men he’s ever known, and one of the few he would trust with Clara’s life, no questions asked. That the world could do with more men like you.” Then she grinned. “His actual words were ‘he’s an old friend, and would sometimes watch Clara for me when Wallace couldn’t’.”

Malcolm’s ears went red, but Rose and the Brigadier both burst into laughter, so he was willing to suffer a bit of embarrassment in favor of two of the most important people in his life bonding.

“Did he ever tell you how we met?” the Brig asked, still chuckling, as he came around to sit in the chair on Rose’s other side.

She shook her head, shooting Malcolm an appraising look. “No, he didn’t, an omission I hope you’re about to rectify, Sir.”

“Most certainly. And, please, call me Alistair. Now, it was-”

“You know, I don’t think I ever got the story of why you’re here,” Malcolm cut in. He didn’t have serious expectations of being able to keep Rose from hearing the story, but he was inclined to keep them from getting too chummy. The Brig knew too many of his secrets for their friendship to be comfortable for him. Even a ten-minute delay seemed a wise move.

Both shot him knowing looks tinged with exasperation, saying they knew what he was doing. “Very well,” the Brig said, “if you must know right this moment. Clara called and asked me to come- begged, really. She was surprised to learn I’d never received an invitation, and that was the first I was hearing of this- you, remarrying.”

Fuck. “I tried to get in touch, but was told you were very busy in Geneva,” Malcolm said stiffly. “I don’t think your assistant liked me very much- Dorothy? Doria?”

“Doris?”

“That’s it.”

The Brig smirked. “You’re right, she doesn’t. She’s my wife.”

Rose snorted, and Malcolm gave her a wounded look. “Don’t laugh, how was I supposed to know?”

“You’ve met her at least a dozen times.”

“Still.”

“All right, all right,” Rose interrupted, smirking. “You’ve gotten your answer. I was about to get a story- a wedding present, if you will. You wouldn’t deny a bride her wedding present, would you?”

Malcolm could deny her nothing on an average day; certainly not now that she had made such a sacrifice. “Go ahead.”

“So-”

“Maybe I should tell it.”

The Brigadier rolled his eyes. “If you insist. But I will correct any falsities.”

Taking a long sip of his champagne and bite of cake, Malcolm nodded. “So, it’s our first weekend in London- divorce finalized on Tuesday, packed up the car on Wednesday, and now it’s Saturday. Having effectively never been to the city, I decide to take Clara to some of the historical tourist sites, as one does. We sign up for a tour. Not twenty minutes into it do I realize that somewhere between the ticket gate and Traitor’s Gate- roughly 100 meters, mind you- this girl has vanished. Gone. I about lost my fucking mind. So I alert the security guard, they start a search party, you’d think someone had said ‘hey, where’d the crown jewels go?’ it was that level of seriousness, which I did appreciate.” Pausing for another sip, he appreciated how intently both were listening to the story, relishing in their anticipation.

“Everyone’s searching for her, calling her name, everything. And don’t I hear behind me, ‘Dad, there’s a girl missing with the same name as me, isn’t that weird? Can we help look for her?”

Rose burst into laughter, so loud half the guests turned to look, including Clara, who got one glance at the three of them and marched over, Danny trailing behind as her ears turned red.

“Oh please, please, please tell me you didn’t tell her,” Clara begged, glaring at him. “Please.”

“This explains so much,” Rose gasped, holding her napkin to her mouth in a failed bid to repress her laughter. “Remember? You did exactly the same thing in Edinburgh, I even called Malcolm, and he said, I quote, ‘She’ll turn up. Don’t bother calling for her, she’ll think it’s a coincidence’. Now I know why!”

“It was the first time she did that, but not the last,” he confirmed, grinned at Rose’s good humor.

“Oh, I love it. Doesn’t explain you two meeting, though?”

The Brigadier beat him to the punch. “I joined the army at eighteen. When this occurred I was stationed at the Tower working security when this five year old comes wandering down stairs I’m fairly certain haven’t been used in five hundred years, absolutely off limits even to us. Well, I very slightly outranked my fellow guard, and decided to take her back up myself. My daughter’s a few years older, and done the same thing once or twice, so I understood the panic. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“Wow.” Rose turned back to Malcolm, flashing him a grin. “That is a great story. Much better than being uni roommates.”

“Hey, I like our story,” Clara protested, giving an exaggerated pout. “It’s good too.”

“Of course it is.” Rose leaned back in her chair, examining the Brig with a considering eye. “I bet you’ve got lots of stories about these two back in the day.”

To Malcolm’s dismay but not surprise, a coy grin grew over the soldier’s face. “Why yes, indeed I do.”

“Alistair, I believe this is going to be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

#bbatcfic #ficandchips #Doctor Who #doctorroseprompts #Human!12xRose #Human!Twelfth Doctor #Rose Tyler #human!au #AU #The Nuptial Necessity

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tarralin · 6 years ago

Text

Whirlwind

SFW ((Word count: 3496))

A/N: This is almost a month late but here we go! A few of us were greatly inspired by this glorious creation by the amazing @pastel-hideout (thank you for doing the Lord's work👏👏) when fangirling led to brainstorming which led to this smut-off challenge issued by @darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts and @xathia-89 with a few others of us joining in. Part 2 will be hosted over on @spicytarralin at a later time

Sir by @darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts

Yes, Professor by @jennacat84

A Towel is Optional by @xathia-89

~☆~

She should have been home hours ago yet here she was burning the midnight oil on a Tuesday after both of her teammates packed up their desks with no prior notice, leaving her to thread together the monthly financial reports alone. Truthfully, it really could have waited until tomorrow-- or even Thursday-- but working so close to the wire always filled her with dread and stole her sleep anyway.

A few too many power surges during video game marathons as a kid had drilled home a habit of frequent saves and a need to hoard duplicate reports like a dragon collecting its treasure. Habits she was eternally grateful for in times like this as they enabled her transform the seemingly mountain-sized workload into a manageable molehill.

Aaaaannnnnddddd I'm done!

A perk to being the only soul in the office was no one around to witness the unladylike victory dance as she pranced barefoot to the printer or her horrible rendition of a Broadway musical number with the innocent corporate report portfolio as her prop. Until lively clapping sounded immediately behind her, startling her to the point of knocking her off balance from the grand battement she was performing and sending her promptly to the floor.

A chuckle rumbled from the white-haired culprit as he extended a hand to help her up. “I was unaware we had a little mouse scurrying about during the nights and giving free entertainment.”

Her ears burned from being caught as a cold sweat ran down her back at the embarrassment. She accepted his hand to right herself and inspect the portfolio's contents before correcting him. “Only tonight. I'm not in the habit of pushing things off to the last minute… and I thought I was alone.”

“You were until a few moments ago,” another chuckle as his gaze latched onto the reports in her grasp. “I was just informed two of my lead accountants left the company without warning this afternoon and abandoned their work. I just came to take care of it myself but it looks like I was beaten to the draw. It's reassuring to know there are reliable individuals here who will rise when others fall. Let me take those off your hands.”

He reached for the folder only to be denied when she pulled it back out of reach. “I'm also not in the habit of releasing sensitive documents to just anyone who claims to be a boss. Especially when I, personally, have never seen his face. I apologize for any offense but I'll drop them off at the office myself, thanks.”

The casual smirk faded as surprise flashed through in his golden eyes before his grin returned, outstretched hand sweeping the room in an open gesture for her to lead the way.

Emboldened by his quick acceptance, she trotted away toward the elevators--

“Ahem…”

--until his voice stopped her and she watched the man bending to retrieve her heels from the floor. “Don't you need these?”

I'm going to have potato chips for ears before the night over if I keep this up. She managed to avoid eye contact as she slipped back into the death traps of fashion but caught sight of a growing grin as he waited patiently.

“I've never actually been to the executive floor before.” The typical droning elevator music had been cut at the end of business hours, plunging the ride to the top floor in the eerie silence she hated and felt a need to fill the void. “So this is a bit of an adventure.”

“Nothing too grand, I assure you. Just a few conference rooms and the private offices of the department heads.”

She shrugged at that. “Still a first and-- whoa!”

The entire floor appeared encased in sparkling crystal in the moonlight. Frosted and etched glass separated each room and office instead of plaster and drywall, giving an illusion to privacy. Dimmed lights along the wall base lit the floor path to the center hub where a circular receptionist desk sat like the heart of communication it probably was to the handful of walkways.

And he said ‘nothing too grand’.

“I have a strict open door policy.”

“ ‘Open door’? There are no doors at all to open.” Her eyes scanned the area for where the portfolio was supposed to go until they landed on a silver box to her left similar to a post office mail drop. As she approached it, an engraved plate denoted it as the ‘after hours’ report drop.

“Feel better?” The gentleman questioned with a raised eyebrow and the same smirk from earlier after her bundle landed inside the box with a distinctive thunk.

“Yes, I can now sleep soundly without it looming over my head.” She answered firmly, turning back down the short hall. She only made it a few steps before the jingle of keys sounded throughout the floor. She turned just in time to witness the man unlocking the box as if he had a thousand times, tucking the portfolio under his arm like a morning newspaper.

Yup, my ears are definitely burning to crisps.

She tried to evade him but the elevator just wouldn't move fast enough and he stepped onto the platform right as the doors closed behind him. She didn't dare say a word, thinking back to earlier and worried about how long he had watched her gather the reports together. She was so sure she had been alone until he appeared out of nowhere like a ghost.

I'll probably be fired in the morning.

The landing bell signaled the end of the line and they both exited into the parking garage, waving to the security guard before he caught her attention by holding up the folder. “I assume you'll be available for questioning should I require any clarifications?”

“Actually, after that performance, I planned to live under a rock for the rest of my life.”

“Depriving the world of such a delight? And people call me a tease.”

She shook her head with an eye roll, fighting against the fresh wave of embarrassment that threatened to singe her ears and cheeks again. She never had trouble remaining professional at work before, why was it so hard now and especially in front of this man? She needed to wrap things up and be on her way before she made a fool of herself any more than she already had.

She turned to him once reaching her car. “It was an honor and a pleasure meeting you, but now I have a suitable rock to hunt down and so I bid you goodnight.” There. That was mostly professional, right?

“The honor was all mine,” he extended his hand casually for a parting shake. She hesitated when she caught a glimpse of mischief sparkling in those golden eyes but shook off the feeling and accepted his hand firmly. Of course, it was a trap. Instead of releasing her after the appropriate time, he turned her hand in his and brought her knuckles to his lips. “As was the pleasure.”

That promptly turned her brains to mush incapable of words. With only a nod, she retrieved her hand and loaded in her car to finally make her way home.

~~~

Instead of being fired the next morning, Mitsuhide Akechi himself walked the finance floor until finding her desk to hand her a crate loaded with binders of financial reports for the last two years.

“I have some concerns but can't locate exactly what's wrong. I've already distributed your usual work to others as this will be your priority for the next week. You'll report directly to me only and the conference room at the end of the hall is yours for the time being as well.” Like a whirlwind, he was gone again, seemingly oblivious to the excited chatter following the shocked silence he rendered across the floor with his mere presence.

Even with such vague instructions, it didn't take long for her to find his ‘concerns’. The reports before her spelled out a textbook case of money laundering. However, the culprits were good at covering the tracks and distinguishing the pseudo-businesses from the legitimates would be the most time-consuming. But not impossible. All she had to do was find the patterns within the numbers…

It didn't take the whole week. By lunchtime on day three, she had her final report ready with her findings. Even with the evidence in hand, it was hard for her to believe that she had been working alongside the culprits for so long. No wonder they up and left all of a sudden, they must have known their thievery had been found out.

But why didn't Akechi seem surprised?

After presenting the information, he only smirked up at her as usual. “You even tracked down the ‘business’ owners. Impressive.”

When you say it like that… “Y-you already knew?”

A sigh as he righted the report in front of him into place. “I've known of those two's illegal activities since before they began.”

“Then why didn't you stop them?”

“ ‘Never interrupt your enemy when they're making a mistake’, plus it was quite entertaining to watch their poor attempts for a little while.”

“ ‘Entertaining’?! Who on Earth would just sit back and watch while people steal from their company? And what was the point of having me investigate it if you already knew?”

“Because, my little mouse, if you brought me the correct names it meant you played no part in the scheme.”

Ice flashed through her veins. “What's that supposed to mean?”

He stood at that, circling his desk to loom over her. The gaze he leveled her way froze her feet in place and, for a moment, she really did feel like a mouse caught in a predator's trap. “You didn't really think there was no backup plan, did you?”

Only sheer will kept her from trembling as realization struck. Just a few weeks ago, her identity protection plan had notified her of suspicious activity but assured her they had it taken care of. “They… they tried to pin it on me.”

“Indeed, luckily it appears you made some smart choices. And of course, I happen to be a little more than the average businessman.”

And here I called Dad paranoid for buying me that protection...

“Also,” his voice switching back to business mode as he paced back to his chair drew her from her panic. “Your thorough investigation shows you capable of filling one of the empty lead positions.”

“You're promoting me?”

He blinked up in genuine surprise. “You have an objection?”

“No!” She recovered. “It's just… a lot to take in and definitely not the direction I thought things would take.”

“Oh?” He grinned with genuine interest. “What direction was that?”

"A few days ago I thought I was fired!"

A chuckle while he sipped at a coffee mug. "I'll email you a briefing on your new duties and you can visit HR once you've moved into your new office."

"Thank you!" She turned excitedly on her heels to begin her new journey.

~~~

Akechi became a familiar face on the finance floor after her promotion, claiming an interest in overseeing her transition and supplemental training himself. Though it seemed he had more of an interest in seeing how far he could push her past her limits. For weeks, each visit rendered her with a heightened pulse as his words always held a double meaning that never failed to pull very not safe for work images to mind. He never touched. Nor pushed further if she showed the teeniest hint of resistance, switching back to complete professionalism that only flustered her more most days.

That changed one day when she needed paper for the floor printer.

The supply closet located to the left of the elevator and stairwell was so small it was nearly impossible for two people to fit into the space packed with Xerox packages and janitorial supplies.

Nearly.

“Little Mouse.”

She jumped at the shattered silence until recognition of his baritone registered. “Mr. Akechi, can you please stop doing that?”

“But you make it oh so tempting, I can't help myself.”

“And you said you were more than an average businessman.”

His familiar chuckle pranced across her ears, sending delicious shivers down her spine. “Up to now, I have been. Took pride in my self-control. Imagine my surprise when I witnessed a carefree spirit dancing on my financial floor and suddenly taken by an overpowering urge to join her.”

She blinked up at him silently while he stepped so close she could feel the heat wafting off him though, as usual, he never touched. His words sounded more and more like a confession, an impossible confession. She was just an accountant-- No, wait… Her throat finally opened up for her to ask the question suddenly screaming for an answer. “Did you really promote me for my capabilities, or only to get close to me then?”

The question was out but she looked away, unable to witness the answer with her own eyes. Slender fingers whispered across her jaw, coaxing her to look back up to him. Those same fingers traced her bottom lip once she did, the liquid heat of his eyes taking her breath from her.

“I was already infatuated before walking you to your car, I will admit. Then I pulled your employee records. Spotless with nothing but positive words from your previous superiors. That, alone, wouldn't be very impressive to me but were you aware you have a letter of recommendation from Tokugawa? Those are not easily achieved. Honestly, I have no idea how those other two ever thought they would manage to frame you for their misdeeds. Which is why I gave you the chance to prove yourself first but had the termination papers ready to sign should you have failed that little test, feelings present or not.”

“But I passed.”

“I knew you would-- hoped even. You are talented and earned that position yourself, have no doubt in that.”

“Alright…” Now, how the hell am I supposed to address the other thing?

As if he read her thoughts, he brought the tip of his finger back across her lips to softly silence her. “I know this is not the typically ideal setting for such a conversation but I couldn't hold back any longer when your snark offered the perfect opportunity, Little Mouse. However, you need not worry about rushing me any reciprocation. Take your time to think about it and I will deal with my own troubles in the meantime. Should you choose to explore further, you need only call me by my first name.”

Her heart raced again. He really had thought of everything, even a clear route to refusal… One she didn't need. She didn't need any more time.

He had just turned to leave when her hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him in place.

“Mitsuhi-”

His lips were on hers before she finished the name, demanding entrance that she gave willingly. Her fingers tangled in his blazer lapels in a feeble attempt to hold onto the world around her while blindsided by such feverish desire as he all but devoured her, his tongue coaxing hers to dance with him.

It wasn't until the prep counter edge hit the back of her thighs that she realized her skirt hiked up past her stocking bands as he settled her effortlessly atop its surface, the cold of it a stark reminder to their location.

“Wait,” she gasped once gathering the resolve to break the trance.

His palms dropped from her hair to the counter instantly at her plea while his forehead rested on hers, patiently waiting for her next words.

She smoothed the wrinkles in his jacket her fingers had created as her breath returned. “Not yet, not here.”

“Too soon.” He nodded in agreement as his own eyes cleared of desire's fog. “I'm sorry, it has been quite some time since I've lost rein of my emotions and it looks like I still have a ways to go before I can properly control myself around you.”

She couldn't help the soft giggles bubbling at the confusion clear in his brow. “Usually, I'm the one who has to control herself.”

“No, I don't believe that.”

She ignored his usual teasing while hopping off the counter to right herself again. His fingers brushed lightly through her hair to fix wry tufts while hers continued to focus on his blazer lapels and shirt collar. Only when she finished did she look up into his eyes while claiming his hands in hers. “I am interested but I've also rushed into things a lot in the past and they always ended horribly for everyone. I'm only just now starting to feel confident in my position and think it best-- given my track record-- to go slow.”

His head rested leisurely back to hers and she wondered how he could stand the heat emitting from her flushed face? She barely could. His smirk returned to its rightful place as his thumb ghosted over her bottom lip. Whatever he was about to say, was lost to the door handle clicking.

Mitsuhide had two paper boxes on the counter in the next instant and another occupying his hands before the door cracked open to reveal one of her subordinates. “Everything okay?”

“Oh, what perfect timing!” Mitsuhide grinned to the intruder. “We were just thinking we would need the trolley, but not with an extra set of hands.” The box in his hands shifted so suddenly the poor man at the door nearly fell backward as he tried to catch it, just for Mitsuhide to load another box on top. “You got those, I'll take these, and you can handle that last one, right Little Mouse?”

Proving he truly was a whirlwind incarnate, Mitsuhide was out the door without another glance behind him.

~~~

The premiere performance of Madama Butterfly sold out almost immediately and yet what was it he waved in front of her face one autumn Thursday morning? He even arranged her the day off to prepare for the evening. No dress? He arranged that, too; curating a selection to choose from, as well as a hair and makeup appointment if she desired it.

The show itself was as beautiful as it was heart-wrenching, even with Mitsuhide distracting her a sizable portion of the time by monopolizing her hand with soft caresses and softer kisses over every inch of skin. Afterward, he insisted on showing her the best view in the city which happened to be the rooftop of the office building.

“I didn't know all this was even up here.” She didn't even try to hide the awe in her voice as she took in her surroundings. If she didn't know any better, it would be easy to believe they were in Central Park with the colorful flower beds lining sections of expansive lawn covering a majority of the roof. A covered patio near the door sat upon a raised dais that overlooked the city with an outdoor kitchen and bar. No additional lighting was needed due to the glow provided by the surrounding city life.

“There are only a select few who do, plus the gardener who values his own secrets enough to keep mine.”

“Do I even want to know what that means?”

“Probably not.” Rumbling laughter as he looped an arm around her waist to guide her to the patio where a sake warmer awaited. If anyone had told her at the beginning of the month she would end up enjoying an exotic brew with the boss on the rooftop lounger, she would have laughed in their face! But here she was gazing over the city skyline in an elegant dress and gorgeous hair, a nearly forgotten sake glass in one hand while Mitsuhide occupied the other as he's had during the opera.

Each deliberate drag of lips across her knuckles sent heat racing through her veins that had nothing to do with the sake. Only when he was satisfied no part of her hand went untouched did he move on to continue the trail across her wrist and forearm. Molten gold irises held her own captive as the knuckles of his other hand softly traced her jaw.

"Have you had enough of the view?"

There was no mistaking the true question being asked. The weeks since their closet confessions saw many dinner and lunch dates. Weekends were designated ‘adventure’ days when they found local activities to do together, even if just strolling the shoreline or boardwalk. Almost every outing ended with at least a soft kiss on the top of her head, more than a few escalating to being pinned to the wall much as she had the counter in the stock closet. But every time he would cut it short with a clear question and an easily accessible way out for her to choose.

This time, she didn't.

~☆~

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen mitsuhide #ikemen mitsuhide #my writing #smut off #smut warfare

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