demirxaslan

[demirxaslan]

Demir lifted his own bottle in response, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, reading the room’s kind of my specialty. Comes with the territory when you’re the guy people hire to show up without asking too many questions but still know exactly when to shut up or step in.” His voice was easy, but there was something behind it—an awareness, maybe even a quiet relief. “And trust me, wrapping up loose ends is half my personality at this point. One week’s perfect.” He leaned back slightly, letting the hum of the bar fill the brief pause. There was a comfort to Cedric’s clarity—not in the sense of everything being neat, but in the way it didn’t need dressing up. No pitch, no theatrics. Just structure. And for someone like Demir, who’d spent years living out of duffel bags and temporary jobs, the idea of being part of something with an actual rhythm, an actual purpose—it didn’t feel like settling. It felt like alignment.

“Honestly? I don’t mind intense.” He shrugged, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I’ve met my fair share of chaos in expensive shoes and borrowed time. I can handle whatever brand of crazy the club’s got, as long as the rules are real and the respect goes both ways.” His tone was calm, but there was a weight to it—like he wasn’t just talking about the fighters or the families, but about himself too. He glanced back toward Cedric, voice a little quieter now, more grounded. “I’ve done a lot of jobs that were about damage control. Temporary fixes, get in, get out. But this…?” His fingers tapped once against the bottle, a small, thoughtful rhythm. “Feels like something I could actually help build. Something that doesn’t fall apart the second you stop watching it.” A breath. Then, with a crooked grin, “So yeah, I’ll take intense. Just don’t expect me to remember everyone’s drama by week two. I’m not a miracle worker.”

Cedric chuckled, raising his beer in acknowledgment. "Never thought about it like that, but you're not wrong. Both need someone who actually listens instead of just going through the motions." The comparison made sense in a weird way—he'd seen plenty of guys try to muscle their way through problems when what the situation really needed was someone who could read the room. "You can start next week. That way you can wrap up whatever loose ends you've got before jumping into this mess."

It felt good to finally have someone who understood what he was really offering here. Most people heard about the club and either got spooked by the illegal part or got too excited about the violence, missing the point entirely. But this guy seemed to get that it was about structure, about giving people a place to settle things without everything spiraling out of control. The way he talked about wanting to build something instead of just fixing broken pieces—that was exactly the mindset the club needed. Too many people came and went without ever really investing in what they were trying to create. "Although you should know, first couple weeks can be intense while you figure out everyone's particular brand of crazy. But once you get the rhythm, it's actually pretty straightforward."

[demirxaslan]

Demir tilted his glass toward Nox, that lazy grin settling into place like it lived there. “Two weeks works,” he said, voice smooth but edged with that familiar undercurrent of amusement. “Gives me just enough time to get everything situated.” He leaned back in his seat, boots crossed at the ankles, casual as ever but sharp underneath it all. “Professional, sure. But let’s not pretend you didn’t pick me for a little flair too.” He shrugged like it couldn’t be helped, like confidence came standard with the engine grease under his nails. “I know the drill—keep the work clean, the noise low, and the exits mapped before anyone knows I’m in the room. But that doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun while we’re doing it.” Demir’s grin curved deeper as he added, “Besides, I figure if I’m gonna stir up a bit of chaos, might as well make it look good doing it.”

"Eager's never been your problem, has it?" Nox replied with a chuckle, raising his glass in acknowledgment. "Professional's more like it." The directness was refreshing—most people danced around these conversations like they were discussing weekend plans instead of something that could land them all behind bars. But here was Demir, cutting straight through the bullshit with that quiet confidence that made him worth working with in the first place. "Good to hear you've been staying busy," he said, taking another sip. The bit about engines being good cover was smart—everyone needed their legitimate front, their reason for being places at odd hours. His own cover had served him well over the years, though he'd learned the hard way that even the best facades needed constant maintenance. "Respect the lane, get the job done," he nodded. "Can't ask for more than that, really." The comment about being more charming than the competition earned a genuine laugh. "Well, when you put it that way, how could I refuse? Timeline's flexible, but I'm thinking two weeks. That work for you?"

[demirxaslan]

Demir’s laugh came low and warm, the kind that slipped out without permission, and it lingered like he didn’t want to rein it back in. "God, I really have done that too many times. Pretending I know which glass is mine while quietly tracking the cutlery hierarchy like it’s an Olympic event.” He leaned his elbow on the table, chin tilted her way, eyes holding just enough mischief to keep it flirty—but the kind that ran deeper than surface charm. “And you’re telling me that behind all that spreadsheet elegance, you were also mapping escape routes and mirror-checking your posture like the rest of us? I feel betrayed. I thought you were one of the polished ones.” His smile softened, just slightly. “Funny, isn’t it? All the ways we twist ourselves into what we think people expect, and half the time they’re just doing the same thing.”

He watched her, the edges of his smirk tugging up with something far too real for a fake date. “And hey, if you’re spoiling me with light childhood trauma and perfectly delivered audit humour, I might have to skip straight to dessert. Emotionally, I mean. Though—” his eyes flicked to the menu, then back to her, “—if you think I’m waiting till date three to hear your dramatic reading of ‘systematic irregularities,’ you clearly underestimate how easily bribed I am by good risotto and better company.” There was a pause. Not heavy, but honest. “You know,” he said, quieter now, “this was supposed to be a casual date. Polite laughs, harmless banter, maybe a story or two that doesn’t leave bruises.” He toyed with the edge of his napkin again, the same idle thumb movement she’d noticed earlier. “But here we are, trading damage and dessert plans like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And I don’t know what that says about us yet, Anais... but I’m not in a rush to define it.” He looked at her then—not just amused, not just curious, but seeing her. “Whatever this is, it’s not pretend. Not for me, anyway.” And then, as if to break the weight of that truth gently, he added with a wink, “Now go on, tell me more about what else would be on your dating profile, even though I already admitted I'll swipe right. Then you can tell me--what you think my profile would be like and if you'd swipe right or not."

"Oh please, the map thing is so real," Anais said, laughing despite everything she was supposed to be focused on. "I've definitely done the furniture-following dance. Pretending I know what fork to use while secretly watching everyone else." She picked up her water glass, using the movement to buy herself time to think. This conversation was getting way too honest for someone who was supposed to be working an angle here. Demir's observation about people looking past the performance hit somewhere she didn't want to examine too closely. Her father had been like that - always trying to see the real person underneath whatever survival strategy they were running. Made her wonder what he would think about her sitting here planning to use this guy's honesty against him. The Solis family had thrown her father away without a second thought, but here was their precious daughter's ex making jokes about being too kind to see clearly. His dating profile suggestion actually made her snort with laughter, which was becoming a serious problem. 

She wasn't supposed to be genuinely enjoying his company this much. This whole thing was meant to be calculated revenge - get close to Demir, learn his weaknesses, figure out how to hurt Izel through him. Instead she was sitting here thinking about how his tired laugh sounded like someone who'd been carrying too much for too long. Like maybe he understood what it felt like to rebuild yourself from nothing. "Trust me, 'Systematic irregularities in municipal spending patterns' would definitely get some swipes," she said, grinning back at him. "Nothing says romance like poorly documented expense reports." The teasing came too naturally, which was dangerous. She was supposed to be mining this for information about Izel, not getting distracted by how he made vulnerability sound like humor instead of weakness. "And spoiling you with light childhood damage? I aim to please," she continued, surprised by how easy this felt. "Though I have to say, saving the deep stuff for date three is probably smart. Can't scare you off before I get to hear those expense reports performed properly." The mention of future dates should have been perfect for her plan - hook him completely, make him fall hard. Except the thought of deceiving someone who was being this honest made her stomach twist in ways that had nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with the fact that she actually liked him.

[demirxaslan]

Demir let out a low whistle as he took in the scene—eggs cracked and drying across the windows, yolk streaked like some messy declaration of war. He didn’t laugh, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, the kind that said he wanted to. Not because it was funny, but because sometimes the absurdity just demanded a reaction. “Honestly? I’ve seen cartel messages with more subtlety,” he said, stepping closer to inspect the damage. “At least taggers leave art. This? This is lazy.” He crouched down near the base of the storefront, grabbing a paper towel someone had dropped, already useless. “Whoever did this wasn’t trying to send a message—they were just trying to piss you off. And clearly, it worked.”

He straightened up, brushing his palms together. “You’ve got a hose, right? Bucket, gloves? I’ll help you clean it. We’ve got, what—fifty-five minutes now? That’s plenty of time.” A pause. Then, with a small smirk: “Besides, if I leave you to it alone, you’ll probably try to fight someone by noon, and I’d rather not have to explain that to anyone.” Demir turned, already moving toward the side of the building like he knew exactly where everything was. “Come on. Childish bullshit’s still bullshit. Doesn’t mean you have to handle it solo.”

CLOSED STARTER FOR @demirxaslan FT. ULYSSES & DEMIR

the man didn't know whether to laugh or cry. who would have done this? who would have egged his shop? "can you believe this shit?" he asked, his head hanging down as he motioned toward the sight in front of the two. he only had an hour before opening and he wasn't sure if he was going to be able to clean all of this up before his first client. "what the hell am i supposed to do? this is some childish bullshit, man."

[demirxaslan]

Demir didn’t move right away when Sasha hugged him. His arms came up slowly—carefully—as if he wasn’t entirely sure she meant it until she was already folded into him. One hand settled lightly on her back, the other hovering for a second before gently finding its place near her shoulder. It was awkward, yeah. A little stiff. But that made it better somehow. Honest. The kind of closeness that wasn’t rehearsed or polished. Just two people trying to figure out how not to flinch from something real. He let out a quiet breath near her temple, something between surprised and grateful. No one ever really hugged him like that. Not without an agenda, not without expectation. For a second, just one second, it made him feel like he wasn’t just orbiting someone else’s life—but actually welcome in it.

When she pulled back and offered her warning, he let out a soft laugh, something low and rough at the edges. “Ice queen, huh?” he echoed, clearly amused. “Yeah, I see that. Terrifying stuff. Especially when you weaponize cereal boxes and parrot insults.” But he wasn’t teasing just to cover up what the moment had meant—at least, not entirely. His gaze lingered on her for a second longer than it probably should have. There was warmth there, something rare and unguarded that didn’t come around often for him. And it took him a moment to find his voice again.

“You know,” he said, quieter now, eyes back on the sidewalk as they walked, “if that’s your version of ice, I’ll take the blizzard every time.” He reached out to gently nudge the squeaky stroller wheel back into line. A small, silly gesture. But it grounded him. Then, almost as an afterthought—but not really—he added, “Thanks for that. The hug. The smirk afterward. All of it.” His voice had softened again, but this time it didn’t feel like something fragile. It felt steady. Like maybe, just maybe, belonging didn’t have to be a performance. Not with someone he was beginning to think of as family.

⸻ Sasha giggled softly, the sound light and almost shy as she glanced at him—his boyish grin, the way he walked like they had nowhere to be. ❛ Like I said, you’ll be welcome, ❜ she replied, her voice laced with warmth as his “crackers and earbuds” line earned an approving smirk. ❛ Though I make no promises about Jack. He’s got trust issues and an ego the size of Russia. ❜ But when the tone shifted—when Demir’s words turned quieter, more honest—her smile didn’t fade, but it froze slightly. Not gone, just caught. She kept pushing the stroller for a few steps, her eyes fixed ahead, mouth parting like she wanted to say something. Nothing came out. And then he spoke again, softer still. She stopped walking.

Her gaze drifted to him slowly, carefully, like the moment might crack if she moved too fast. His words hung between them—this feels like something worth showing up for—and something in her chest ached, but not in a bad way. She looked at him then, really looked, grey-blue eyes searching his like she was reading between heartbeats. Trying to figure out if he meant it. If he saw her. Sasha had never been great with words when it mattered. Not like this. Not when the ground under her suddenly felt real and steady and terrifying all at once. So instead of speaking, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

The hug was a little awkward—one arm still half on the stroller handle, her movements stiff like she wasn’t used to letting herself do this—but it was real. It was her way of saying thank you and I don’t know what this is, but it matters. Her cheek brushed his shoulder for just a second before she pulled back, eyes flicking away, smirk returning like armor being carefully refastened. ❛ Don’t get used to that. ❜ She murmured, a playful spark in her voice again. ❛ I have a reputation to uphold. Ice queen, you know. ❜ But even as she pushed the stroller forward again, the flush in her cheeks and the softness in her smile lingered. Quiet, but undeniable.

[demirxaslan]

Demir let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Alright, alright—you win. My jail stories got nothing on one-handed baby triage and tactical bottle unclogging.” He grinned, and there was something almost boyish in it, like he genuinely enjoyed being one-upped by her. “That’s not combat, that’s black-ops level parenting. I yield.” He walked a little slower now, like he didn’t mind drawing out the walk just to keep talking. When she nudged him and gave Jack Sparrow’s full name, he gave a theatrical sigh. “Of course it’s Jack Sparrow. Honestly, I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.” A pause, then with mock solemnity: “I’ll address him with the respect he deserves. No sudden movements. No pirate slander. Possibly a peace offering of crackers and earbuds.”

But it was the “little sister” bit that pulled his attention back in a quieter direction. He noticed the shift in her smile, the subtle change in the way her shoulders lowered just a touch. And for once, he didn’t fill the silence. Didn’t joke. He just walked beside her, letting the weight of it settle in a way that felt… right. “You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter now, “I’ve spent a lot of my life running in and out of other people’s worlds—long enough to forget what it’s like to actually belong in one. But this—” he nodded at the stroller, the grocery bags, the cracked sidewalk glowing under the streetlight, “—this feels like something worth showing up for.”

⸻ Sasha was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, her face schooled into faux-seriousness as Demir listed his survival credentials. ❛ I mean… ❜ She shrugged one shoulder with exaggerated nonchalance, voice toeing the line between mockery and amusement. ❛ Bar fights and jail time? Cute. But have you ever tried putting a feverish baby to sleep with one hand while unclogging a formula bottle with your teeth? That’s real combat. ❜ She cracked, finally—her laugh low and breathy, eyes flicking to meet his with a glint of something warmer. Her grey-bluish gaze softened as it drifted down to the stroller. Ilya was finally starting to slow down, his furious cereal-box chewing growing lazier, like his jaw was losing the will to argue with gravity. Yelena, still limp and deep in sleep, let out a tiny sigh that made Sasha’s heart pinch.

❛ Fine, you have a deal. ❜ She nudged him lightly with her elbow. ❛ And for the record, the parrot’s full name is Jack Sparrow. You better show him the proper respect or risk a very aggressive rendition of Kalinka at 3 a.m. ❜ But when Demir called her little sister, the humor ebbed just slightly from her smile. Not in a bad way—more like the shift of a tide. The words hit someplace quiet in her, someplace tucked away. It had been years since anyone called her that. She wasn’t used to being the one people wanted to look after. Or the one people just… Wanted around. Her features softened, all her sharp wit folding into something gentler. She glanced at him again, expression unreadable for a beat—and then it settled into something genuine. Something grateful. ❛ In that case… ❜ She said quietly, pushing the stroller forward again as the streetlight blinked amber behind them. ❛ Welcome back to my club then. ❜ The stroller squeaked Sasha—bone-tired but somehow lighter—smirked into the night.

[demirxaslan]

Demir let out a soft scoff, spreading his hands like what can you do? “First of all, again I’d like the record to show that I used the front door this time. No locks picked, no alarms tripped—rehabilitation and respect for residential boundaries. I’m practically a model citizen.” He leaned against the back of the couch, eyes scanning the room before settling back on her. “Second… technically, this isn’t your house. So I’d argue I’m not stomping over your boundaries, I’m just... casually testing the limits of your hospitality.” His grin widened like he was daring her to throw him out. “But hey, I get it. I show up, settle in, say something halfway human, and suddenly everyone’s suspicious I’ve grown a conscience.” His tone stayed light, but something in his expression turned more thoughtful for a beat. “I meant what I said, though. I’m tired of setting fires just to prove I’m still standing in the smoke. Doesn’t mean I won’t still be a pain in the ass—but maybe a slightly more self-aware one.” He tilted his head at her last line, clearly amused. “You say I always do whatever I want like that’s some revelation. Of course I do. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care how it lands with people.” A shrug, casual but edged in sincerity. “I’ve got bad habits, sure. But ignoring you isn’t one of them.”

"A love language," she said, not bothering to hide her disbelief. "That's a new one, even for you." The man could make breaking into someone's house sound like a thoughtful gesture. She had to give him credit for consistency - he never met a boundary he wouldn't cheerfully stomp all over. "And congratulations on the personal growth. Not picking locks is practically rehabilitation." She found his perceptive comment more impactful than she was willing to concede. Most folks were busy playing their parts and missed things, but Demir had always been annoyingly perceptive. Even when he was being completely insufferable, he saw things others didn't. Made him dangerous in ways that went beyond the obvious criminal connections. When he mentioned being tired of setting fires, something shifted in his tone that caught her attention. Maybe he was actually learning something from whatever mess he'd gotten himself into recently, or maybe this was just another layer of strategy. With Demir, sincerity and manipulation often looked identical. "You're asking for a verdict like I have a choice in the matter," she said finally. "You'll do whatever you want regardless of what I think. You always do."

[demirxaslan]

He didn’t say anything for a second after that, just looked at her—really looked, like he was trying to line up the edges of everything she wasn’t saying. Her sarcasm had sharp corners, but there was something familiar in it. Something he’d seen in mirrors and bar windows at 2AM: the version of himself that cracked jokes not because things were funny, but because sincerity left too many open doors. “‘Belonging somewhere’ is a hell of a trick, isn’t it?” he said finally. “You walk into these rooms pretending like you’ve got the same map everyone else is using, hoping no one notices you’re just following the furniture.” His thumb tapped the glass again, more out of habit than nerves this time. “When someone finally does notice—when they look past the performance and still want to stay? It messes you up. Makes you wonder if you’ve been selling yourself short or if they’re just too kind to see clearly.”

He let the silence hang for a second before flashing her that lopsided grin again. “But hey, maybe you should put your audit poetry on a dating profile. I’d swipe right just to read your expense reports out loud in a dramatic voice. Candlelight. Jazz in the background. Real romantic vibes.” His tone stayed playful, but the truth underneath it lingered—how easy it felt sitting here with her. How rare it was to talk to someone without checking if he was giving too much away. Anais was sharp, no doubt about it, and maybe a little dangerous if she wanted to be—but she wasn’t asking him to perform. She was sitting in the mess with him, matching his sarcasm and offering grace in the same breath.

Demir let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t sound so tired around the edges. “Hey now, wait a moment. Light childhood damage? Now you’re just spoiling me,” he said, voice low but threaded with amusement. “We’ll save the deep-seated abandonment wounds for the third date, just to keep things spicy.” Even as he said it—that bit about spending more time with her, getting to know her better, letting her in—it meant more than he was ready to admit. That was the thing with Demir: anytime he let himself feel hopeful about something, it usually ended up slipping through his fingers. Excitement had never been safe territory.

"Emotional flinching," Anais said, her voice coming out softer than she'd planned. "Yeah, that makes sense. When someone starts digging past the surface and you realize everything you've built is basically pretend." She was supposed to be mining this conversation for ammunition against Izel, but instead she found herself relating to his damage. The whole squatter in someone else's world thing hit closer to home than she wanted to deal with. She'd done plenty of that herself - proving she belonged in rooms full of people who'd never had to rebuild after their father fell apart. Demir wasn't giving her some sanitized version where he looked better. He was admitting he'd faked his entire identity just to feel like he mattered somewhere. This was perfect intelligence on the Solis princess, proof that even she could be fooled and abandoned. Except he looked genuinely destroyed talking about it, like the memory of someone actually loving him and him throwing it away still kept him up at night. 

Her father had loved people too, trusted the wrong family, believed they'd protect him when things got messy. The Solis empire had tossed him aside without a second thought, but their precious daughter got an ex who tortured himself over hurting her. "Just done is definitely worse than angry," she continued, picking up her water glass to buy herself time. "Anger means they still care enough to fight. Done means they've already moved on while you're still figuring out what happened." The words came easier than they should have, more honest than strategic. His comment about her office memos caught her off guard. "Trust me, my audit reports are pure poetry," she said, laughing despite everything. "Nothing says romance like 'systematic irregularities in municipal spending patterns suggest deliberate misconduct.' I should probably put that on my dating profile."

She was getting off script here. This was supposed to be about gathering information on Izel, not offering genuine comfort to someone connected to her targets. But watching him tap his thumb against that glass made her think about how he'd been waiting early for their dinner, worried he'd misread grocery store flirting. "Growth with a side of grilled accountability sounds about right for both of us," she said, setting her menu down. "And honestly? The fact that you can admit you panicked instead of blaming her for seeing through you says something about who you are now." She leaned forward slightly, genuinely curious now despite herself. "As for dessert without trauma … where's the fun in that? But maybe we can stick to the lighter childhood damage for tonight. Save the tax history for the second date."

[demirxaslan]

Demir let out a soft laugh, watching her maneuver the stroller like she was commanding a tank battalion with a juice box. “Emergency escape by sunrise? You think I scare that easy?” he shot back, falling into step beside her. “I survived a prison stay and a bar fight where someone actually brought a chair leg as a weapon. I think I can handle one parrot with a vendetta and a toddler militia.” He glanced down at Yelena—dead asleep with that wipe packet gripped like contraband—and Ilya, still gnawing like his life depended on it. It was funny, in a kind of messed-up way, how natural this felt. The grocery bags, the cracked sidewalk, the late-night quiet broken by stroller squeaks and her dry commentary. He hadn’t realized how much weight he usually carried around until he noticed it wasn’t pressing on his chest tonight.

“I’ll take the apple,” he added, his tone softening, “but only if it comes with one of those cookies you’re bribing me with. Seems like the least you can do if I’m getting cussed out by a parrot named Jack.” He hesitated a second, then said it before he could overthink it. “You know, I don’t usually have this instinct.” He nodded toward her, toward the twins. His voice stayed even, but his eyes held something quieter. “Feels like you’re the little sister I never had. The kind who’ll shank someone for looking at her wrong and then ask for nap time.” A pause. Then a smile. “So yeah. I still want to join the club. Council tantrums, parrot slurs, and all.”

⸻ Sasha balanced a bag on her hip and adjusted the stroller with the kind of finesse only a mother of twins develops—part ballet, part battlefield triage. The night air was a small mercy after the artificial glare inside. Yelena had already passed out mid-mumble, one sock gone, clutching a pack of baby wipes like it was a teddy bear. Ilya, still wide-eyed, was gnawing aggressively on the corner of a cereal box like vengeance depended on it. She shot a sidelong glance at Demir as they made their way down the cracked sidewalk. ❛ My couch? ❜ she echoed, feigning offense. ❛ Bold assumption for someone who hasn’t even survived the hazing ritual yet. ❜ A beat. ❛ You think the twins are tough? Wait until Jack—the parrot—starts reciting Russian curses at 2am like it’s slam poetry night. ❜

The grocery bag dug into her forearm as she shifted it. ❛ And let me be perfectly clear—grape juice is a crime against humanity. ❜ Her tone was mock-serious. ❛ You’ll get an apple. And you’ll be grateful. ❜ They hit the corner and paused at the light, the stroller squeaking slightly as Sasha gave it a gentle rock. ❛ I’ll be honest—if you make it through one week of this, you deserve a full bottle of vodka and diplomatic immunity. ❜ A wry smile tugged at her lips. ❛ But for now? You get a cookie and a possible nap… If the council allows it.❜ She leaned in slightly, voice low, conspiratorial. ❛ Yelena once threw a spoon at a man for touching my hair. Ilya cried for an hour because someone said penguins don’t fly. ❜ She paused, deadpan. ❛ Baby council is not to be underestimated. ❜ Then, with a smirk, she stepped off the curb as the light turned, stroller wheels bumping over the street. ❛ So. Still want to join my club? Or should I pencil you in for emergency escape by sunrise? ❜

[demirxaslan]

Demir took a long sip of his beer, letting the weight of Cedric’s words settle in before responding. No filler, no deflection this time—just the quiet understanding that came from someone who’d lived versions of the same truth. “Steady chaos,” he repeated with a half-smile. “That might be the most accurate job description I’ve ever heard.” He leaned back slightly in his seat, fingers drumming idly against the bottle. “Yeah, I think I could handle it. I’ve spent years managing engines that won’t run unless you listen to every weird sound they make—people aren’t much different, are they? Loud, temperamental, need constant attention. But if you treat them right, most just want to know they’re not going to break down alone.”

There was no bravado in his tone. Just a quiet certainty, the kind that came from knowing exactly how it felt to drift too long. “I’m done just floating through jobs to get by. I want something that actually holds together. Something I can be a part of building, not just fixing when it falls apart.” He glanced over at Cedric, brow lifted slightly. “So yeah, weird hours and complicated people? Sounds like home.” He tapped the edge of his bottle against Cedric’s with a faint clink. “Let me know when you want me to start.”

"Yeah, I get that about drifting feeling like freedom until it doesn't," Cedric said, nodding slowly. "And you're right, I don't make offers just to fill dead air." The honesty in those words about surviving versus living struck something deep. He'd been there himself, hadn't he? Going through motions, telling himself it was enough just to keep the lights on and the doors open. But there was a difference between existing and actually building something worthwhile. "What I need is someone who can handle the day-to-day stuff at the club. Bookkeeping, scheduling fights, making sure everyone follows the rules. It's not just about watching people beat each other up. There's mediation, negotiations between families, keeping track of debts and favors. Real business that keeps this city from tearing itself apart."

The beer felt good in his hand, grounding him while he tried to explain something that probably sounded insane to most people. Running an illegal fight club wasn't exactly a conventional career path, but it worked. It mattered. And maybe this guy could see past the surface violence to understand what they were actually doing here. "Pay's decent, hours are weird but consistent. You'd be working with people who've got their own complicated histories, but they respect the structure we've built. Think you could handle that kind of steady chaos?"

[demirxaslan]

His smile softened a little at her next question. Not the teasing kind—it was the kind that came when someone actually listened instead of just waiting for their turn to talk. He rubbed his jaw, eyes narrowing slightly like he was replaying something he didn’t particularly want to remember. “What gave me away?” he repeated, voice quieter now. “Honestly… it was the way I reacted when she started asking real questions. About my past, my people, what I actually wanted.” He exhaled through his nose, hands clasped in front of him now like they needed something to do. “I flinched. That’s what did it. Not physically, just—emotionally. I’d built the whole thing on this idea that if I could look like I belonged, maybe I’d eventually feel like I did. But the second she tried to really know me? I panicked. Kept the doors locked. You can’t build anything real when you’re still acting like a squatter in someone else’s world.” He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “She didn’t leave angry. Just… done. That was somehow worse.”

Demir let out a low laugh, tipping his head as if genuinely impressed. “And please boring city bureaucrat?” he echoed. “Anais, I don’t know what kind of office memos you’re sending, but if they’re half as sharp as your dinner table commentary, I want to subscribe.” Then, catching himself sliding too far down that slope, he tilted his head with a crooked grin. “But hey, if we’re calling this growth, I’ll take it. Even if it comes with a side of grilled accountability.”

He reached for his water, but didn’t drink—just held the glass for a second, thumb tapping against the condensation. Across from him, Anais looked effortlessly composed, but not cold. She was curious, sharp, more honest than she probably meant to be. And he liked it—really liked it—in a way that unsettled him, because he wasn’t performing for once. He wasn’t calculating his next move or tailoring his answers to fit someone else’s version of him. He was just... sitting here. Talking. Laughing. Owning his mess. And somehow, she made that feel like something worth doing. The realization sat low in his chest, a warm pressure he couldn’t quite name. He cleared his throat and flashed her a playful look. “So, risotto and confessions. Think we can make it through dessert without slipping into tax history or childhood trauma? Or should I ask the waiter for something strong enough to pair with both?”

"Oh please, community service?" Anais said, shaking her head. "That's what we're calling shameless flirting now? I should put that on my next budget report - 'Entertainment expenses: supporting local hospitality workers through excessive charm.'" She took a sip of water, trying not to think about how his grin was doing weird things to her focus. "And here I thought you were just naturally friendly. Turns out you're running some kind of one-man customer satisfaction program." The shift in his voice when he talked about his ex caught her off guard. Anais had been expecting more deflection, maybe some carefully edited version where he came out looking better. Instead he was admitting he'd faked belonging somewhere just to feel like he mattered. That hit closer to home than she wanted to deal with right now. She'd done her own version of that dance plenty of times - proving she belonged in rooms full of people who'd never had to scrape for anything, never had to rebuild after watching their father fall apart.

This was supposed to be intelligence gathering. Figure out how he'd hurt Izel, learn his patterns, use that information later. But watching him rub his thumb against that napkin while admitting he'd been dishonest made her think about her own dishonesty. She was sitting here planning to do essentially the same thing he was describing - get close under false pretenses, use someone's feelings as leverage. The irony wasn't exactly subtle. "She caught on eventually," Anais said, studying his face. "That must have been brutal. Having someone figure out you weren't who you said you were." She set her menu down, genuinely curious now despite herself. "What gave you away? Was it something specific or just the whole thing falling apart over time?"

His comment about not making the same mistake twice should have been perfect - proof that he'd learned from whatever damage he'd done to Izel. Instead it made her stomach twist because she was actively planning to lie to him about everything that mattered. Her motives, her interest, her entire reason for being here. "Risotto and emotional baggage sounds perfect," she said, forcing lightness back into her voice. "Though I have to warn you, if we're scaring neighboring tables, my reputation as a boring city bureaucrat is officially shot." She leaned forward slightly. "And honestly? The fact that you're trying not to repeat old mistakes instead of pretending they never happened... that's not baggage, that's growth."

[demirxaslan]

Demir let out a low, amused chuckle as he closed the door behind her. “Noted,” he said, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’ll try to survive the night with all my limbs intact. And for the record, you don’t exactly scream ‘helpless’.” He slid into the driver’s seat and glanced over at her, smirking. “Just your place? Damn, and here I thought we were doing the full midnight city tour. Guess I’ll cancel the scenic route and the overpriced coffee detour.” The engine purred to life as he pulled out smoothly from the curb, one hand steady on the wheel. “Favourite musician, huh?” He considered it for a second, then shot her a sideways look. “Depends on the mood. Late nights and rainy drives? Give me Hozier or Khruangbin. But if I’m working under the hood, it’s gotta be old-school rock—Zeppelin, maybe a little Hendrix.” Then, with a slight grin: “Just don’t say you’re one of those ‘only listens to true crime podcasts’ people. I scare easy.”

jade was small but she liked to think that she could take care of herself despite her size. "that's probably best. you know, for your sake." and she really was too tired to have to fight off a random man tonight. still, she liked to think that her job made her good at reading people and he didn't seem like a creep. then again, apparently neither did ted bundy.

she eyed the door once he opened it and she took a deep breath, "parallel parking, huh? you won't have to worry about that at my place and i assume that's the only place we're going." she added as she climbed into the passenger seat. jade was curious about his taste in music. "i'll be the judge of that. who's your favorite musician?"

[demirxaslan]

Demir slid into the seat next to Nox, the corner of his mouth tugging up into that familiar half-grin. “If I was any more on time, you’d accuse me of being eager,” he said, tipping his head in acknowledgment of the whiskey and taking the untouched glass with a casual, practiced ease. “And we can’t have that ruining my reputation.” He took a sip, letting the burn settle before adding, “Been keeping busy enough—pulling hours behind the wheel, keeping my head down. Engines are a good excuse to stay quiet, even if they’re not the thing paying the bills.” His fingers drummed once on the glass before stilling. “But I’ve been thinking about what you said. And yeah—I’m in.” He didn’t dress it up or circle around it. Just a quiet, measured admission.

“You don’t need to sell me on the chaos. I’ve worked in it. Lived in it. And I know how to keep my line straight even when everything else is burning.” He glanced toward the room, then back at Nox, expression steady. “So if they want a reliable getaway driver, they’ve got one. I don’t spook easy, and I don’t miss turns. All I ask is simple—respect the lane I’m in, and I’ll get you there.” A small smirk curved on his lips again. “Besides, I figured I might as well say yes before you start offering the job to someone less charming.” Demir knew the job wasn't just driving the woman out of the place but metaphorically, this worked to ensure no one listening in would understand their conversation.

closed starter @demirxaslan

"Right on time," Nox said as Demir approached, raising his whiskey in a mock toast. "Good to see you again, mate." He'd already claimed a spot at the corner of the bar, positioned where they could talk without too many ears nearby. The bartender was busy with the evening crowd, which suited him perfectly. He took a sip of his drink. It had been a couple weeks since their last conversation, and honestly, he'd been wondering if the man would even show up tonight. People got cold feet about these things, especially when the stakes were high. "Been keeping busy, I hope?" Nox asked, settling back against the bar rail. The place was buzzing with the usual mix of locals and tourists, perfect cover for their discussion. He signaled the bartender for another round, then focused back on Demir. "Have you given any more thought to my offer? Working with them, I mean. They could use someone reliable right about now."

[demirxaslan]

Demir’s grin widened at her laugh—real, unfiltered, the kind that bounced between shelves and made the overhead lights seem a little less harsh. “No free rides for ghosts, got it. Brutal but fair. You run a tight supernatural operation,” he quipped, stepping around a rogue cart with the practiced ease of someone who’d navigated far dicier terrain. Her next comment made him chuckle under his breath. “Emotional betrayal and revoked chocolate privileges? Harsh terms, but I accept.” Then she leaned in with that teasing hush and he raised a brow, matching her tone like they were trading secrets in a spy novel aisle. “Surviving teething screams? I’ve been in motorcycle crashes less intense.” He followed her lead as she pushed the stroller, his voice a shade lower now. “As for surrendering personal space… depends. Do juice boxes come in grape?” He smirked, then glanced at the twins. “I’ll take my chances with the baby council. But just so we’re clear—if I earn that hour of silence, I’m using it to nap somewhere dangerous. Like your couch. Or worse, a wedding with passive-aggressive floral arrangements.”

⸻ His ghost comment cracked a real laugh out of Sasha—the kind that escaped before she could smother it, echoing briefly between shelves of bulk cereal and indifferent fluorescents. ❛ That’s fair. Rent or revenge. Ghosts don’t get free rides anymore. ❜ She gave him a quick wink, casual but sharp. When he brought up weddings, she tilted her head, eyeing him with mock intrigue. ❛ Oh really? So you’re familiar with weaponized toasts and passive-aggressive floral arrangements? ❜

She looked at him. Not just at him—into him. Like she was trying to x-ray past the good intentions, figure out if this was just karma-point collecting in a new disguise. When he adjusted the strap that was slipping off, she didn’t stop him. Her lips curled at the corners, her dimples softening the sharp edge of her exhaustion.

❛ Thanks for the warning. ❜ She said, eyes narrowing just slightly in a grin. ❛ I’ll mentally prepare for tomorrow’s emotional betrayal. Maybe even cancel your VIP liquor chocolate privileges. ❜ She nudged the cart forward with her hip, checking the twins—one was dozing with his tiny sock half-off, the other babbling at a bag of frozen peas like it owed her money. Then she added, tone low but playful, ❛ So… you want to enjoy my club, huh? ❜

She raised a brow at him, leaning in just enough to drop her voice to a conspiratorial hush. ❛ It’s extremely exclusive. Membership requirements include surviving teething screams and a complete surrender of your personal space. ❜ She stepped past him with the stroller and glanced over her shoulder. ❛ But hey, the liquor chocolates are elite. And if you're really lucky, you might even get a juice box and one solid hour of uninterrupted silence. If the babies approve.❜ Even bone-tired, Sasha still moved like a storm bottled in a teacup—small, sharp, and full of unexpected power.

[demirxaslan]

“Slightly concerning?” he echoed. “Anais, if charming the waitstaff gets us our food faster and fewer passive-aggressive bread baskets, I’d say it’s a community service. You’re welcome.” He sipped his water like he hadn’t just outed himself as a flirt in public spaces. Demir tilted his head at her with a grin that barely disguised how amused he was getting by the second. Her laugh had disarmed him a little more than he liked to admit, and even though he was trying to keep it light, Anais had a way of zeroing in on things he didn’t expect anyone to notice. When she leaned in and asked about his ex—again—it didn’t feel like a trap this time. Just curiosity. Earnest, if slightly edged.

“She didn’t see through it at first,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “I was good at selling the idea that I was steady, that I belonged in her world. Truth is, I didn’t. I was just trying to get close enough to feel like I mattered.” He rubbed his thumb against the edge of the napkin, some idle nervous gesture he hadn’t realized he still did. “Eventually she caught on. Figured out I was using her world like a shortcut. And by then… it was already too late.” He shook his head, exhaling through his nose like he was trying to clear it all out. “She wasn’t perfect, you know. But she was honest. And I wasn’t.” His mouth curved again, a bit crooked. “Trying not to make that mistake twice.” And then, with a wink and a pivot, “So risotto and deep emotional baggage. Pretty strong first date, yeah? We might actually scare the table next to us.”

"Oh, so you're trying to charm waitstaff into forgetting they're working?" Anais said, laughing as she picked up her water glass. "That's either really smooth or slightly concerning, depending on how you look at it." She was supposed to be digging for information about Izel, not getting amused by his flirting techniques. "And here I thought grocery store trauma was your biggest character flaw. Now I find out you're also traumatized by life stories on first dates." The banter felt natural, which was becoming a serious problem. Demir wasn't some corrupt official she could take down with clean paperwork - he was sitting here making self-deprecating jokes about being too much while somehow managing to be exactly the right amount of honest. Her father had been like that too, back before the Solis family destroyed him. Direct about his mistakes, never trying to pretty them up or make himself look better than he was. The parallel should have made her more focused on revenge, not less. This whole thing was supposed to be simple reconnaissance - get close to Izel's ex, learn his weaknesses, figure out how to hurt the woman who'd thrown her father away like garbage.

Instead she was thinking about how Demir's voice dropped when he talked about not wanting to be stabbed with a fork, like he was genuinely worried she might bolt if he said the wrong thing. Made her want to tell him he was being ridiculous, that she wasn't going anywhere, which was definitely not part of any strategic plan. "Risotto sounds perfect," she continued, setting her menu down. "And since you're so worried about being too much, I should probably warn you - I'm not exactly the falling-for-guys type either. Work keeps me busy, and I've got trust issues that could fill a small library." True enough, though she left out the part about spending her nights building cases against crime families. "But you're right about one thing - this does feel like we're both breaking habits tonight." She leaned forward slightly, studying his face. "So tell me, this ex who was so good at reading people ... did she see through your whole protective routine, or did you manage to keep that noble sacrifice thing hidden until it was too late?"

[demirxaslan]

FIN.

"That's rough about prison, mate. Takes real strength to rebuild after something like that." He meant it too—plenty of blokes came out bitter and broken, but Demir seemed to have turned it into something useful. The bit about his friend still being around caught his attention though. "Your mate sounds like good people. Rare to find someone who'll stick their neck out like that." Prison explained everything really. The careful responses, the wariness behind his eyes. Nox had worked with enough ex-cons to recognize the signs—they moved through the world differently, always calculating exits and reading people for threats. Can't blame them for that. The system had a habit of chewing people up and spitting them out harder than before. At least Demir seemed to have landed on his feet here.

"Building something without fights and regrets. That's the dream, isn't it?" Christ knows he'd been running from his own messes long enough. Leaving Elisa without a word probably counted as another regret to add to the pile. But admitting that to himself felt like opening a door he wasn't ready to walk through yet. "Devil's Junction does seem to collect strays," he agreed with a slight grin. "Lucky for both of us, I suppose. And yeah, I'd be up for proper drink sometime. This place needs more people who actually know how to hold a decent conversation." He pushed back from the table and stood, fishing a few bills from his pocket to cover the drinks. "Right then, I'll leave you to finish that terrible coffee in peace," he said with a nod toward Demir's cup, already heading toward the door.

COMPLETED

[demirxaslan]

He didn’t say anything at first—just watched her wrangle the bags and the stroller with the kind of practiced motion that told him she’d done this far too many times without help. He wasn’t going to insult her by offering again. She had a system, and he respected that. But he didn’t look away, either. Her joke about charity pulled a quiet laugh out of him, the low kind that slipped past his guard without warning. “If a ghost shows up, I’m charging it rent. I don’t do hauntings without compensation.” He gave her a look—half amused, half impressed—as she described the Christmas spirit with more accuracy than any holiday movie ever managed. “So liquor-filled chocolates and emotional warfare. Got it. Honestly sounds like half the weddings I’ve been to.”

Then, a beat later, softer—still playful, but not careless. “You don’t need to thank me, Sasha. Not for this.” His eyes dropped briefly to the twins before returning to hers. “Karma points are for people trying to even a score. I’m just trying not to be an asshole today.” He adjusted the strap on one of the bags she hadn’t noticed had slipped, casual in a way that didn’t ask for permission. “Besides,” he added, with a mock-sincere raise of his brows, “I hear your club has excellent liquor chocolates. Who could resist that?”

⸻ “You don’t owe me,” he said after a beat. Sasha met his gaze briefly—just long enough for something unspoken to settle between them—before turning her attention back to the task at hand. Her fingers moved quickly, shoving items into the grocery bags with the quiet efficiency of someone used to getting side-eyed in checkout lines. She could feel the annoyance radiating off the people behind her, hear the muttered comments, but she ignored them. She’d long since stopped wasting energy on strangers’ judgment.

The bag’s plastic handles stretched as she looped it onto the stroller, the rustle snapping her briefly from her thoughts—just in time to hear Demir’s comment about the nice list. Her lips tugged into a tired smirk, a dry edge clinging to her voice. ❛ Careful. That’s dangerously close to charity. Might summon a ghost of Christmas past or something.❜ She leaned slightly over the stroller, brushing Ilya’s little socked foot down—he was busy waving both feet like he was signaling planes in for landing—while Yelena blinked up at the store’s fluorescent lights, alert and silent, like she was judging the world already.

❛ Now you’ll know what the true Christmas spirit feels like.❜ She added, with a glint of faux solemnity. ❛ Which, for the record, is mostly powered by passive-aggressive family dinners and liquor-filled chocolates. But hey, welcome to the club.❜ It was a joke—mostly. But it was also the closest she got to letting someone in. She straightened, exhaled. Her tone softened, just a touch. ❛ Thanks, though. Really. Even if you’re just trying to pad your karma points.❜ And for a flicker of a moment, the corners of her mouth curved into something real.