#I can barely handle following new people on here who put insufferable takes on my dash 15 days in a row so I have to unfollow them

[undead-potatoes]

I must not join a fandom server. Fandom servers are the joy killers.

[softboywriting]

Meet The Parents | Billy Russo

Summary: You introduce Billy to your parents and it doesn’t go as well as you hope. [Billy Russo x F!Reader] [Assistant!Reader Trope] [Alternate Timeline - Castle family not mentioned/never happened] [Fluff] [Problematic Parents/Divorced] [Parents Fighting] [Language] [Flirting] [Flashback/Nightmare]

 Word Count: 3.8k 

 A/N: This is a follow up to my first fic Little Moments but can be read separately as a stand alone story. I may be doing several in a series with these two.

---

The office is quiet, and has been for the whole day. Billy has been out at a client meeting since you got in. Anvil is becoming quite popular in the private military market, having taken on three new contracts in the last two weeks. You're proud of Billy, he works hard to win over his clients and offer top of the line service. As the primary contact for all contracts and placements, you've gotten busy too. More business means more expenses, and more employees to keep track of. You don't mind, it keeps you active and engaged. There is nothing more you hate than just sitting around staring at the wall or watching cat videos for the billionth time.

"Hey sweetheart."

You glance up from your work and see Billy closing the office door behind him. He's dressed up, black and grey patterned silk shirt, expensive black suit, the tailored jacket over his arm. He looks positively delicious if you do say so. Those shirts are the best thing you ever convinced him to wear.

"Hey yourself. How'd the meeting go?"

"Shitty." He sneers and tosses his jacket on his office chair. He begins unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt to roll them up to his elbows. "The guy brought his daughter."

"Okay? What does she have to do with anything?"

Billy raises his eyebrows in an 'are you shitting me' expression. "His daughter is a model. Not naturally talented mind you, paid for by her daddy. Clearly he thought havin' her there would sway me into acceptin' the number he offered for the contract you wrote up. Like he's doing me a favor."

You stand and walk around the desk, eyes going up and down his chest. "You didn't do anything did you?"

"What kinda man do you think I am?" Billy walks you back against your desk, pinning you in with his hands on the top behind you. He drops his head to yours and stares at you with those dark endless eyes. "You think I'd fuck around?"

"I know you won't, you're too gone for me." You run your hands up his back and he arches against you. "Did she try?"

"She tried. Even sat on my lap."

"In front of her dad?"

"Mmmhmm." Billy drops his face to your neck and mouths at your skin. "I don't mind a little show and tell but even I got boundaries. Parental peepshows are off limits."

You laugh softly and he brings one hand against your lower back up to pull you against him. "Take it easy. You know the rules. No relationship stuff while I'm on the clock."

He groans, pulling his head back to look at you. "I need to touch you though. I don't want her lingering on me."

"I know." You step out of his hold and he lets his hand drag across your back as you escape his grasp. "Just another hour okay? I've gotta wrap a few things up."

Billy pulls his tie loose and unbuttons the top of his shirt. "Why did I ever make these rules?" He sinks down in his chair and spreads his legs, lolling his head against the back. He really is such a tempting little tease. How could you resist a man like that? Truth be told it's hard.

You take a seat behind your desk and focus your eyes on the invoices on screen. "You made them because you want Anvil to remain professional and not a playground."

"Bullshit."

"Your bullshit."

Billy bites his lip and gives you that look. The one that says he isn't to be messed with, that he's gonna get what he wants no matter what. And oh it's so tempting to get up and go sit on his lap in that chair. It's always been a fantasy of yours. One you haven't gotten to full fill due to his rules. He's really only cockblocking himself.

"C'mere."

"No, Billy."

"C'mon, be bad. Break my rules."

"No! You're such a jerk!" You laugh and he chuckles playfully. "We have dinner with my parents after this anyway. I'm not breaking your rules and getting all messy before we go see my parents. You hear? Parents."

"Always such a good girl."

"You like it."

"Damn right I do." He pushes up out of his chair and crosses the office to cradle your head and press a chaste kiss to your temple. "I'm gonna go home and get ready. Anything you want me to lay out for you? I think you've got a few things at the apartment."  

"The blue dress. I picked it up from the cleaners last week with a few suits. It should be in your closet."

"The one I bought you a while back for the client dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Isn't that a little revealing for a parents dinner?"

You raise your eyebrows and he narrows his eyes.

"You're a monster." He presses his lips to your ear. "If you keep teasing me I'll have to put you in your place."

"I guess I'm a glutton for punishment."

"Oh sweetheart, you have no idea what you're askin' for." Billy kisses your cheek and steps away. "Playin' with fire will get you burned."

You smile innocently. "See you later."

"You're terrible." He goes to the door and stops, looking back once more. "But I love you."

"Love you too Billy."

"Ugh," he groans, slapping a hand over his chest. "Say it again."

"Love you?" You giggle and he acts even more dramatic, pretending to swoon against the door. "What are you doing?"

"Being you."

"Wh- you son of a bitch! Get out!" You throw your squishy stress ball at him and he cackles as he runs from the office. What a child.

_____________________

"Oh, this is your boyfriend?" Your mother asks in actual surprise. As if you weren't meant to have a man that looks like Billy Russo. Truth be told you had never dated anyone half as attractive, not to you anyways. "He's so...well dressed."

Billy takes your mom's hand and kisses it politely. "We're all well dressed here ma'am. You look lovely too."

"Thank you." She flushes and giggles.

Billy gives a warm smile and tugs you closer. His hand on your back is radiating heat, its comforting. He knows you're tense. This dinner will be a strain on your nerves and he had been warned how difficult your parents can be.

"Your father should be here soon. I told him not to be late." Mom says huffily, eyeing the doors to the restaurant. You've met up with her outside and you're currently waiting for your dad to arrive. Your parents have been split for ten years and it's been hard, but not as hard as it would have been if they had divorced when you were still a young child. Well, you like to think that anyways. They waited, held on to their shit until you were graduated and old enough to understand that some people don't remain in love.

Billy leans in and presses his lips to your ear. "Are your parents going to fight? This place is very nice, I don't want to cause a scene."

"It'll be fine. They can hold it together for a few hours. I hope. Just don't mention their personal lives. It's a sore spot for mom. Dad isn't single anymore."

"Gotcha."

"Sorry I'm late." You turn and see your dad walking towards you. "Some asshole parked his Rolls Royce just on the line and I hardly squeezed into the only spot open beside it."

Mom scoffs and rolls her eyes. She bites her tongue but you know what she would say. Some comments about his truck being too damn big and a gas guzzler.

Dad puts his hand out for Billy. "You must be the lucky guy!"

Billy takes it and smiles a beautiful, toothy, shit eating grin. "Billy Russo, the asshole who parked his Rolls Royce a bit close to the line."

The way Dad's face turns pale and then red with embarrassment makes the whole evening worthwhile up until then. "That's yours?"

"One hundred percent. Bought and paid for."

"That's a beautiful piece of machinery. Expensive."

Billy leans his head on yours. "I only go for the best."

"Well you know I-"

"Oh shut up already, let's go inside." Mom says and grabs your dad's arm. "Always babbling on about shit when we've got things to do."

"Y'know what-" the conversation fades as your parents head into the restaurant. You're glad. It is bound to be petty anyways. Always was with them. Bickering children they should be called.

"Relax." Billy says in your ear, hand traveling up and down your side. "I can win over your parents for one night."

"You could charm anyone into anything and I've seen as much. You're a silver tongued sn-"

Billy catches your jaw in a light hold and presses a kiss to your lips. Your hand slides up into his hair and he grins into the kiss. "Easy now. We've not even gotten seated yet."

"Your fault."

"Usually is."

____________________

You stare at yourself in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. Dinner wasn't going so great and you had barely made it through an appetizer and drinks.

Your parents couldn't stop arguing, Billy was trying his best to charm them but apparently they're uncharmable, and you were left to play referee for your parents against each other or them against you and Billy.

It is a whole mess and you want to just leave, just walk out say fuck everything and go to Billy's apartment and go to bed. You haven't even had a chance to tease Billy like you were planning, hell, you've barely gotten a word in that wasn't defending him or fielding your parents insults they continuously hurdled over the table at one another.

The door rattles on your left and you clear your throat. "Occupied!" You shout and it stops.

It's a single use bathroom, not a multi-stall type set up. So the person outside would just have to wait until you were done having your crisis. Maybe not so fair to them but you'll be damned if you won't let yourself have a moment.

The handle turns and you back into the sink as the door opens. To your surprise it is Billy, not some worker with a key. "What the-"

"Your parents are insufferable. How the hell did you grow up with them? I mean I was in a group home and a few of the adults weren't great but holy shit they weren't my parents."

"I'm sorry."

Billy closes the door and shakes his head, taking your hands in his. "Don't be sorry for their actions. Never apologize for anyone but yourself."

"I knew this would happen. I just thought that maybe...I don't know...maybe they'd be different. Maybe they'd be proud of me, of you, so they would get along for two fucking hours."

"Sweetheart, you're nearly thirty, you're still seeking your parents approval?"

You laugh joylessly and bite the inside of your cheek. "You don't understand. You can't understand."

Billy brings your forehead to his lips and he rubs your back. He's always so affectionate with you, careful to hold and to love you like a man who never received it himself so he wants to make sure those he loves receives it tenfold.

"I understand seeking approval, but there is nothing you need approval for. You're an adult with a good job, a place to stay, an outstanding boyfriend with his own company. I'd say you're doin' alright honey."

You let out an actual little laugh, and he does too, bumping his nose against yours. "You're so full of yourself."

"You like that?" He bumps again, eyes on yours. "I said it to get you to giggle."

"You know it's a little true."

His lips meet yours in a warm tender kiss. "Confidence is sexy."

"It is."

"I could tell your parents there's a work emergency." He slides his hands over your ass and pulls you flush against him. "A real pain in the ass employee is causin' trouble."

You smile into his lips and he smiles back. "Oh yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

He chuckles softly and cradles your head to his chest. "You can't choose how your family acts. Remember that. It's up to you to decide how you act, and if you want to deal with them."

"I know."

"Do you?" He runs a hand over your hair, tangling his fingers in the strands briefly.. "I know it's different for you, I can distance myself easier since I didn't grow up with proper parents. Maybe I'm cold, or indifferent but-"

"Stop." You dig your fingers into his side and he falls quiet. "Don't compare your childhood to mine. It's not fair. I don't want you to begin resenting me because-"

Billy gives you a look that is all warning and it silences you instantly. "I would never resent you for having parents and growing up like a normal kid should. I ended up in a shit situation and that is no one's fault but my own mother's. She is the only person I will ever resent." He softens, leaning in and kissing your nose. "Do you wanna ditch or go try to make something of this dinner?"

You swallow harshly and look at the door. Ditching would be easy, but the repercussions would be insufferable. Your mom would never stop calling about it, your dad would hold it over your head forever. It would be more of a disaster to leave than it would be to stay. No matter how valid the reason.

"We'll stay. I can try and redirect the conversation."

"That's my girl." He pats your cheek. "Proud of you."

"T-thanks."

Billy takes your hand and interlocks your fingers with his. "I'll take care of it. I can get them to shut up."

"If you can get a word in."

"I have my ways. Don't worry."

You cut him a look as you exit the bathroom and head for the table. "What are you-"

"Don't worry." He presses against your ear and guides you down to sit at the table.

Your parents are still bickering.

"Hey!" Billy says firmly with his hands on the table, not a yell, but enough to get his point across and the attention of your parents but not many others.

"Yes?" Mom asks surprisingly quietly.

Billy smiles and it's all venom, beautiful venom. You know this look, these eyes, that deadly grin. He isn't fucking around and the way he can express that so physically subtly astounds you. "The arguing is going to stop. The petty comments are going to stop. We're going to sit here and have conversations like adults, or you can leave and your daughter and I will have a nice dinner."

"Wh-" Dad starts but doesn't get any further.

"I am not goin' to repeat myself." Billy stands up straight and raises his eyebrows, daring your parents to say another word. The tension is thick, you can hardly breathe. Never did you think you'd have to witness Billy being like this with your parents of all people.

You grab a roll from the basket at the center of the table and pick at it. "How's work been, Dad?"

Dad clears his throat. "Good, busy. People always need an electrician for something. I did a school the other day, new classroom."

Billy sits beside you and lays his hand on your leg, thumb stroking your skin gently. He leans in and whispers "I told you don't worry." He turns his attention back to your parents. "So you're an electrician? Contractor?"

"Yeah, I work for Mundun Electric. Union job, pays well."

"And you?" Billy looks to your mom.

"I'm a medical receptionist. Clarke Center Hospital."

Billy smiles. "That's incredible. You're both hardworking people it seems, I see where she gets her work ethic. She's incredible, the best I've hired for Anvil."

You chew your lip and look down, flushed. "You're just being nice."

"I'm serious." He holds your hand up and kisses your knuckles. "I admire your dedication and the hard work you've put into making Anvil a success. Without you, I don't know where I'd be. Probably buried in paperwork."

"So you work for Billy? That's how you met?" Mom asks and you nod.

Dad raises his eyebrows.

"Dad, don't start."

Billy cuts a glare at your dad. "Don't start what?"

"Nothing." Dad says nonchalantly, eyes going to somewhere else in the room. "I just think inter-workplace relationships are never a good idea."

You squeeze Billy's hand and he just smiles oh so sweetly. "Dad, it's fine. Billy and I are both professionals. If things don't work out we'll make it work for the sake of the company."

"He'll fire you and you'll be looking for a job yet again." Mom pipes up, rolling her eyes. "See, things like this are why you can't hold a career."

"Mom!"

"Alright." Billy says firmly. "We're done here. Ma'am, sir, with all due respect you can both go fuck yourselves."

"Excuse me!?" Dad bellows and your mom looks flustered at the use of language. "You have no right-!"

"Actually I do." Billy stands and guides you to stand with him. "I'm going to love and care about your daughter the way she should be. You two are self absorbed monsters who should have never had a child, let alone forced the one you had to live through a loveless marriage. The fact that you cannot manage to sit here and have dinner with her and myself, which mind you has left quite a first impression, is sad and disappointing."

You grab his hand and you're shaking. You don't even know what to say. It's like Billy is telling them everything you've wanted to for your whole life.

"C'mon sweetheart." He puts his arm around you and guides you out of the restaurant. You know there are people staring but it's fine. It's over now.

"I'm s-"

"Uh uh." Billy puts his finger to your lips. "No apologies. Here." He shrugs his suit jacket off and puts it around your shoulders.

"Thanks."

"You wanna get out of here before your parents come out. Go get some burgers or something?"

You can't help the little smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. "Pete's Diner?"

"Anywhere you like." He takes your hand and walks you toward the parking area. "Fuck this fancy bullshit anyway. I never understood the food they serve."

"Me neither. A hamburger and fries with a big ole pickle is good enough for me."

Billy opens the passenger door for you. "You're a girl after my heart y'know that?"

"I think I already have it."

He leans in and kisses your forehead. "That's for damn sure."

_____________________

Midnight you wake up crying. A nightmare, a reoccurring one as it would be. Though it is more of a twisted memory than a nightmare in actuality.

You are always around seven or eight years old, it's nighttime, you've been in bed for an hour and still not asleep. Downstairs your parents are awake, their disembodied voices float through the old floors. Their voices grow louder, shouting, screaming at each other. A glass shatters and you crawl under the bed. Footsteps come closer in the hall, heavy and slow.

The dream shifts. You're not a child but an adult. Under the bed is smaller now, the footsteps grow louder. The door opens and you scream when your foot is grabbed and you wake up crying.

"What's wrong?" Billy asks, sitting up in bed abruptly and turning on the light, hand instinctively going for the nightstand where you know a weapon is stored.

You had stayed the night, both of you decided it was best to stay together while you decompress from your tragic meet the parents dinner. Didn't matter in the end though. The nightmare still came.

"Just a bad dream. I'm going to get some water." You push back the blankets and plant your feet on the cold floor. It's a nice shock to the system, reminding you this is reality.

Billy's arm snakes around your waist. "Care to share with the class?"

"It's nothing. Just a nonsense dream about old crap."

"Your parents?"

"Yeah. Um, just a dream." You yawn and pat his hand on top of your stomach. "I need water."

"Grab me a bottle?"

"Sure."

You end up in the kitchen, looking out at the New York skyline. His place is so beautiful. It's luxurious, and you can't get used to it. You lean on the island and sip a bottle of cold water from the fridge. You don't think you belong here.

Then the dream comes creeping back in. Rationally you know that dream is never going to become a reality. Not with Billy around.

"Hey."

You look back to see Billy walking in with his sleep pants low on his hips. He scrubs a hand over his face before meeting you at the island.

"Sorry, I just got caught up in the view."

"It s'okay." His arms wrap around you and he presses his face to your neck. "I love you." He whispers softly into your skin.

"Are you alright?"

"Mmm."

You thread a hand into his hair and scratch at his scalp. It elicits a hum that's nearly a purr against your back. "Do you ever feel like you don't deserve this? Like everyday you can't comprehend that you're loved."

"I didn't think I could fall in love before I met you, yeah. I'm familiar."

"Oh."

"Wasn't expecting that?" He chuckles, flexing his fingers against your tummy.

You shake your head and he kisses along your jaw. "Billy, stop," you giggle as his short beard tickles your skin.

"No way." He starts walking you back away from the island counter and toward the bedroom. "I've got a disease and if I don't kiss you all the time I'll definitely succumb to it."

The two of you tumble onto the bed and he straddles your hips, mouthing at your neck and chest relentlessly.

"It's three in the morning. We need to go back to sleep."

Billy hums and settles on top of you, nose in your hair. "Sleep is for the weak."

"Then I'm weak." You trail a hand up his back, fingers flitting over his shoulder blade. His skin is so soft, so warm. "Thank you by the way."

"For what?"

"Being here when I had a nightmare."

"Of course." Billy pets your hair, stroking it down against the pillow. "I've suffered my share of them alone. I'm glad you were here so you weren't."

"Me too."

"Go to sleep." He kisses your cheek and rolls off to the side. His arm curls around you and pulls you close. "Love you."

"Love you too."

_____________________

*****Note: none of my works should be posted anywhere outside of my linked accounts. I do not give permission to repost with or without credit to my accounts. Please notify me of any reposted works.*****

Header image by delicate-venus

Thank you so much for reading, please reblog to support content creators. -A

[windblooms]

childe scenario – being taken care of

he’s used to taking care of his own wounds, but having your hands on him instead is a welcome change.

gender neutral reader.  mentions of blood (injuries).  nsfw implications.  1889 words. 

with his unmatched agility, keen attention to detail, and combat technique prowess, childe considered himself to be a warrior. 

you, on the other hand, thought of him as a fool playing hero – reckless, pretty much.

sure, seeing him slash with his hydro dangers was hot.  witnessing his deft rotation to a bow, firing arrows at a speed that your eyes could hardly match, was equally, if not more drool-worthy,

but childe, in his acute taste for strong opponents, is incredibly dumb when it comes to taking care of himself.  

this is when you come in.  when he’s taken combat a bit too seriously with marks on his face, clothes torn to shreds, and breath more uneven than the fatui agenda, you’re there to snap him back to the senses he has left.

not like he has that many, you murmur inwardly, dragging him back to his room by the arm.  he’s reassuring you that he’s fine, that he’s endured worse in terms of injuries, and he’s had practice in bandaging himself up –

you’ll have none of it.  watching childe throw himself into combat is like watching a lit match being chucked into a bucket of gasoline.

hazardous.  potentially lethal.  preferably avoidable.

“sit,” you command, plopping him on the chair behind his desk while rummaging through the drawers with your other hand.  his body melts into the chair and he sighs, contentedly, before suddenly remembering that he’s supposed to be putting up a fight.

“i can handle this myself, you know – ”  he reaches towards your hand with his own, grasping for the gauze bundle you found, only to have it swatted away.

“the last time you bandaged yourself, you were bleeding through your shirt and onto the chair.  no way in hell am i trusting you with this.”

“we’re not in hell, we’re in my office.  you’ve got more important things to do, yeah?”

you scowl, already moving towards him to unbutton his shredded coat.  despite his words, he lets you, and you toss it across the desk. 

his chest would be smooth if not for the ridges of muscle that trail down his stomach.  you’ve seen him like this too many times to be fazed, however that doesn’t stop you from appreciating the intimacy of the moment while it lasts.  “i’m paid to look after you.  so, no, nothing better to do.”

after inspecting the lacerations across his chest and the disturbed flesh on his arms, you go fetch a stool to sit at the same height as him.  standing up isn’t practical when he would be beneath you, and kneeling on the ground is definitely not an option.

once you’re back and situated, you take care in measuring appropriate amounts of herbal medication for his wounds (courtesy of grinding qingxin and violetgrass together). 

he watches you work, head propped on his fist while you have his other arm flat on the armrest, and you begin to feel your face burn.  does he have to stare at you like that?  admittedly, you suppose there’s nothing better to look at while he’s waiting, so you just grumble quietly to yourself.

you’ve measured out the quantities, so you get to work applying the paste to his arms fist.  you dare not apply it with your bare hands since it’s unsanitary medical practice, and instead with the back of a chilled spoon.

at least you have an excuse to look at his arms.  muscular, with wrists thicker than your own, and fingers definitely longer than yours.  of course the youngest harbinger also has a great bod – it’s not like he already has a pretty face and a voice that could melt even the tsaritsa’s frigid heart.

you convince yourself that you should get paid more for this, to deal with his careless attitude and impressive visuals.  

“tell me if it gets to tight,” you warn, unwrapping a strip of gauze from the bundle before he lifts up his arm, and you proceed to secure the paste under the fabric.

childe winces slightly, although he’s quick to conceal his discomfort.  you know that even he bleeds, and doesn’t have to keep his tough-guy act in the privacy of his own office. 

your hands repeatedly touch his skin to tighten the gauze, before proceeding to roll on each new strip.  his skin is unbearably warm – although it’s natural with the blood rush – and he inhales sharply as you wrap the final strip over his arm.

“sorry,” you mumble, before pushing the armrest so that childe’s body is fully facing yours.  “you might have to stand up for this one, since your chest is, uh, bleeding a lot.”

it’s his turn to scoff, but he nonetheless complies with an oh well smile.  you help him steady himself, and he grins in thanks.

“this one shouldn’t hurt as much,” you affirm after inspecting his chest for the second time.  the gash is shallower than the one on his arm, although it runs from one side of his chest towards the opposite collar bone. 

you pause for a second too long, and childe takes the opportunity to interject.  you can hear the grin in his voice when he does.  “you gonna check me out even longer, doc?” he inquires, and you’re not dense enough to miss the implications of his words, “it’s cute that you think i don’t notice – ”

“this is purely professional, and you know that.” you interrupt him vehemently, pressing your lips together.  “i can’t treat you properly if i don’t know what i’m dealing with.  you just happened to get injured here,” you jab at his chest, before turning towards the paste.

“i guess you’re right.  but you like what you see, right?  that’s good news for me.”

“you’re built.  if someone as active as you weren’t, then i’d be surprised.”

“so you admit it!”  childe exclaims, as if he’s won something out of you.  you remain steadfast in your reasoning, not willing to give him any more ground.  

“i’m just stating what i see.  you’re built.”  not a second longer your hand is on his chest, somewhat forcefully in your embarrassment, and you apply the paste.  you hate that he’s taller than you; it feels daunting to be in a position literally beneath him in an immature discussion like this. 

“aha,” he nods his head, although he’s not convinced in the slightest.  he might be slightly tired from his last battle, but doesn’t let it deter him from making fun of his subordinate.  "you should be careful where you touch in a closed office like this.”

he takes a hold of your hand with the gauze, and snakes his arm behind the small of your back.  you stiffen immediately, taken off-guard by his boldness, and fight the urge to screech at his bare skin against you and his face so close to your own.

“this isn’t appropriate – ” you gag, hands flying to his shoulders, not quite pushing away.  and out of no-where –

you whine despite yourself, flustered at his change in behavior.  “childe, don’t make this a bigger deal.  you didn’t even want me to take care of you – ”

“you’re right, i didn’t,” he agrees, and his voice stops you from continuing.  he winks at you from behind his bangs, and you gulp.  “but i can indulge someone who cares about me, yeah?”

is this a trick question?  you can’t tell where he’s coming from, since your relationship has always been professional up to this point, and you don't think you’ve made it obvious that you found him physically attractive before.  he’s got to be messing with you, you’re sure of it, and stutter out a response. 

“a-again, i’m paid to take care of you,” (although, you can see on his face that he’s not buying it, and the bastard intertwines his fingers with yours,) “there are lots of other people you could do this with if you're feeling . . . peckish.”

“peckish, huh?”  he murmurs lowly, and removes his arm from your back.  but he still holds tight onto your fingers, gauze having been discarded onto the table.  you step back tentatively, firm in your assertions. 

“i don’t think you’d put up with me if you didn’t care,” he reasons aloud.  even though this is the first time you’ve physically dragged him into his office to tend to his wounds, you had remarked in the past that he was being too careless with himself.  you press your lips together, thinking, before slowly squeezing his fingers back. 

“i do care about you,” you begin, and he blinks curiously, intently studying your face.  “but i also can’t lose my job.  superior-subordinate interactions like this aren’t exactly good either.  you do realize that, right?”  

he’s playing you like a fiddle, you’re certain of it, and are trying to play your cards as carefully as possible.  he’s never shown interest in you in quite this way before.  always teasing, insufferably frustrating in his ways, but never invested in you.

you’re not even sure how to tell if he’s being sincere.  your peers have always told you that childe is difficult to read, that, especially since he’s practically your boss, you should consider his words as lip service.  sure, he’s physically attractive, and you’ve already made peace with yourself in thinking so.

you never imagined to be in a scenario like this with him, and after analyzing your face for mere seconds, it seems as if childe is following your thought process.

he lets go of your fingers, and you flex them cautiously.  you’re both quiet as you gradually go back to bandaging him up, and you notice that, despite your tense discussion, his body seems oddly relaxed against your light touch.

you don’t touch him any more than you need to, almost afraid of being burned by any other remarks he can come up with.  you probably won’t offer to do this again for him due to the pure awkwardness of the situation; if he pulled this stunt to dissuade you from approaching him in the future, it was a very cunning and manipulative way to do so –

suddenly, childe scowls.  you pause, looking up at him, and are surprised once he pats your head.  your mouth opens, trying to produce sounds, and you feel like a fish –

“don’t think too much,” he reassures you, voice reassuring.  “i’ll wait with whatever you decide, doc.”

if anything, his words leave you even more conflicted, and you’re dumbfound enough that you don’t finish securing the gauze.  childe grins in your stupor and secures the bandage himself, leaving you to think of what words to say next.

he heads to his closet by the door, retrieving a new coat before sliding it over his head and chest.  you reflexively run over to go help him, although stop half way.  it’s difficult for you to think of something witty to respond with like usual, although you suppose that simplicity could settle for now.

“thanks,” you settle for as he opens the door, “i might get back to you on this.”

mind?  a mess.  body?  feels like jelly.  childe?  undecided for now.

[dadsbongos]

late night for a sinner

Movie/Game/Show: The Devil All The Time Dynamic: Arvin Russell/Reader Warnings: religious overtones cuz it’s this movie, described and enacted violence (against teagardin), preston teagardin (and all his sexual assault-y/manipulative bs) Notes: uhm people got married at like 20 in the 50s and i assume arvin is about 20 so no i will not apologize for making you his wife, my country-accent writing is bad(?) idk Summary: Arvin’s a protective man, especially when it comes to those he loves. ~~~

“Somethin’ ‘bout that preacher don’t feel right,” (Y/n) murmured to her husband as they stood outside the doors of the church, “Gives me a shiver right up my spine.”

Arvin nodded along to her words, watching as his grandmother and sister shook hands with Preston Teagardin - fancy name for a guy like him. A guy who gave women chills. He reached into his dress pants pocket and plucked out a cigarette before placing it between his lips, “Watch yourself around him, darlin’.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for Lenora, too,” (Y/n) crossed over the creaky boards of the church's stoop as people began exiting, her hands coming out for the man’s tie, “Did you loosen this durin' the sermon?”

“Too tight,” he let the woman adjust his tie, “You know how I feel ‘bout comin’ to these things.”

“I know, I know - hey, I don’t like comin’ either, but it means a lot to Ms. Emma and Lenora,” pulling back from the tie, (Y/n) placed her hands on Arvin’s shoulders, “‘Sides, someone’s gotta watch for that blasted preacher, and I think we’re the only ones who will.”

Removing the cigarette from between his lips, Arvin leaned over to kiss his wife’s forehead, pulling away to ask, “You take my light outta my pocket when you pressed my pants this morning?”

“Maybe I did,” she shrugged, grinning, “Maybe even I think you shouldn’t be smokin’ outside a church.”

“Maybe,” Arvin nodded, “Maybe.”

Emma and Lenora finally came out of the church and started towards the family’s truck, the two women got into the back with Arvin and (Y/n) getting into the front to finally head home. Lenora leaned forward as her brother started the truck, “You shoulda been in there for the goodbyes.”

“Oh?” turning her head and leaving her cheek pressed to the headrest, (Y/n) quirked a brow at the teenager, “What happened?”

“Reverend Teagardin said he’s interested in meeting you,” Lenora beamed at her sister-in-law.

“Just her?” Arvin pulled out of the church parking lot, “Seatbelt, Lenora.”

“I got it, I got it,” the girl waved off before returning to her previous conversation, “But yeah, just (Y/n). He was talkin’ about putting together a church choir. Thinks (Y/n) would have a pretty voice.”

“She’s got a pretty voice but she ain’t singin’ for no church choir,” Arvin’s brows furrowed, white-knuckling the steering wheel at the mere idea of that damned preacher trying to get close to his wife, “Not in that man’s church choir.”

“Let the girl speak for herself,” Emma cut in, “Thought I raised you better than that.”

Pursing his lips, Arvin turned to (Y/n) for a split second before returning his stare to the road, “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay, baby,” she looked back to her sister-in-law, “You singin’ in the choir, Lenora?”

“I’d love to try.”

Clenching her jaw, (Y/n) thought over her choices. Leave Lenora to sing in that choir - leave her sweet, naive little sister-in-law in that preacher’s hands for far longer than was typical or wanted… Or, suck it up and sing for the bastard.

“I’ll sing with ya, sweetheart.”

Arvin sighed quietly, glad none of the women in the car heard him over the rumbling of the truck’s old engine. To distract himself, and by proxy the women in the car, he suddenly changed the topic, “This damn old truck. Gonna hafta fix it up or take it in.”

“You’re gonna take it in?” (Y/n) tilted her head.

“Thing’s old; I’ll do as much as I can, darlin', but sometimes there’s only so much I can do. You know that.”

“I’ll need to go with you,” the truck jumbled with the rocky bumps of their home’s pull-in, “Pick up a few things for dinner.”

Lenora felt her heart warm and lips quirk into a smile at her brother and sister-in-law. They weren’t so into the church as her and Grandma, in fact - Lenora’s certain they only played along to please her and Grandma, but watching them was nice. Nothing to play along to, just a simple, pure expression of adoration between the couple. Arvin was never a man known for something as soft and tender as love but (Y/n), since the two were in grade school, was easily able to pull it out of him.

From high school sweethearts into married lovers. It was overjoying to know someone else was looking after Arvin.

“I’ll check up on Mr. Earskell and be right out.”

“No, no, (Y/n),” Emma shook her head, taking the woman’s hand as she was assisted out of the truck, “I’ll handle things. You and Arvin go on and stay out here.”

She didn’t bother fighting against the older woman, she was the matriarch of the family - she was just the rule maker. It was only fair.

“You don’t hafta keep callin’ em Miss and Mister,” Arvin came out and around to the hood of the truck, “They’re part a’ your family now.”

“Feels improper,” (Y/n) rebuffed, standing beside her husband, “I’m just thankful they’re lettin’ me stay here.”

“And why wouldn’t they?” he knew why she felt that way - her own family was insufferable and he could barely stand being around them for a dinner - he couldn’t imagine having to live with them.

“Let’s not open that can of worms today, huh, love?” (Y/n) placed her hands on her hips as she watched her husband look over the truck’s interior and drag over his tools and oil.

“Don’t joke ‘bout that, love,” despite his words, Arvin was smiling slightly, “Poor fishermen work hard to get those worm cans.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” she sarcastically relented, peeking over the man’s shoulder, “Wish I knew anything to help you.”

“I could teach you a thing or two.”

“Maybe not now, baby.”

Which, of course, was code for ‘I’d rather not. Ever.’ but politely.

There was silence between the married couple as Arvin worked until he sighed and planted his hands on each side of the open hood, head hanging low as he murmured, “You’re really goin’ to that choir?”

“We both know I gotta be there for Lenora.”

“I appreciate that, but I’ll still be worried to hell ‘bout you,” he turned to face his wife, restraining himself cupping her cheeks and smearing grime over her, “Both a' you,” then he finally admitted as to why he was so apprehensive, “I’ve been watchin’ him.”

“You what…?!” she whisper-screamed, coming in closer to her husband, “Arvin Eugene Russell, you been what?”

“Watchin’ him,” Arvin almost regrets the admission at the sight of his wife’s shock, “He’s a no-good-sonofabitch, (Y/n). Messin’ around with a young girl behind his wife’s back. She’s good to him, (Y/n), she cooks him dinner and she does her best to keep him happy. He’s no good to her. He’s no good, at all.”

(Y/n)’s brows furrow, “Cheatin’ on his wife?”

“A girl from Lenora’s class. He’s worse than a cheater,” he turned back to the hood of the truck and quickly said, “We’re takin’ it in.”

“Why haven’t you said anything yet?”

“Nobody will ever believe me, (Y/n), you know that. Everybody here loves that damn radio bullshitter.”

Nodding quietly, (Y/n) fisted a hand in her skirt before turning towards the home’s door, “I’ll tell Lenora we’re goin’.”

The topic is ultimately dropped as they leave into town. As they take the truck in for the shop and as they pick out items for dinner that night and even on the walk home. Reverend Preston Teagardin didn’t come up again, neither did his affairs or his disgustingly, sickeningly low age preference for said affairs.

They weren’t the only people in town on watch of their new preacher in town, they were just another young couple walking home.

Even as dinner passed and time for rest came - as they pressed into bed and huddled together in the cold night. Teagardin was temporarily forgotten, pushed to the backs of their minds as they slipped into slumber.

And when Arvin darts up from bed after another nightmare over finding his father’s body that fateful night, (Y/n)’s thoughts are solely on her husband. Bringing him back into the present, where he’s not in the woods finding his father knelt down in front of their makeshift church but instead in bed with his loving wife. With his sister down the hall. His grandmother at the end of the corridor and his great-uncle's own room across from theirs. He’s in a home that isn’t going anywhere - he’s with people who won’t leave him, not any time soon anyway.

It’s not until the next day, after Lenora’s first day back at school for the week had finished and her daily visit to Hellen Hatton-Laferty was over, that Teagardin even peeked back into the couple’s brains.

“If that sonofabitch touches you or Lenora, tell me,” Arvin whispered to his wife, hands holding hers tightly before she went into the church for choir practice, “I’ll make sure ain't got no hands to touch you, or Lenora, or any other unlucky woman.”

“I’ll come right to you, honey,” (Y/n) was quick to confirm for her husband, “Promise.”

“Good,” he cups his wife’s cheeks and pulls her into a tender forehead kiss before going to his sister and giving her a tight hug, “Be the loudest one there, got it?”

Lenora chuckled quietly, patting her brother’s shoulder, “You know I can’t do that.”

“You can.”

Shaking her head, (Y/n) goes up the stairs and pulls one of the double doors open, “You just shouldn’t, ain’t that right, Arvin?”

A teasing shrug and he’s walking off towards the car while Lenora follows her sister-in-law up and into the church.

Teagardin is sitting in one of the pews with his back turned towards the two women.

There’s nobody else in the church despite having been told this was the meeting time. It’s silent. Preston still hasn’t turned to the two.

Lenora is fidgeting beside (Y/n) the longer the man stays quiet. The younger girl nervously bunching the skirt of her dress in her fists. Her brows drawn tight in confusion and lips pressed into a thin line.

(Y/n) steps forward, ignoring the nerves urging her to run and encouraging her knees to buckle underneath the weight of her body, “We’re here, preacher.”

His head lifted, a smile coming over his lips, an unnatural smile - one she’d imagined on the devil when he tricked another soul into his claws. Preston comes to a full stand and approaches the women, “I didn’t expect both of you to come.”

“I wanted to support Lenora.”

“How wonderful.”

~~

“Preacher’s dirty.”

“What?”

(Y/n) sighed, sitting up in bed and looking down at her husband and whispering into the night air, “Teagardin. He’s just as dirty as you said.”

Immediately, Arvin was also sat up, no longer tired and now entirely focused on his wife, “What happened?”

“Tried touchin’ Lenora ‘til I stopped him. Grabbed me. I got us out of there and now Lenora’s tryin' to figure out how to tell Ms. Emma.”

Arvin stood out of bed and pulled on a pair of pants over his boxers, slipping on a shirt and his hat before heading to the bedroom door and slipping out of the room. (Y/n) followed after, eyes wide and brain springing into panic as she watched him tug on his shoes. Hurriedly, the woman put her shoes on as well while Arvin snuck out of the home, her continuing to follow after him.

Once they were in the car, (Y/n) turned to Arvin as he pulled out of the driveway, “What the hell are you doin’? It’s late, you can settle this tomorrow, can't ya?”

“No. It don’t matter if he’s with his wife or at the church, I’m puttin’ that bastard in his place. I hope that woman leaves his ass,” he shook his head, “Rotten fuckin’ bastard.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

The man was silent as he drove towards where he knew the Teagardin residence was. Every few minutes he would take off his cap and run a hand through his matted hair - if he could force himself to do so, he could almost pretend this was a nice drive with his wife. A simple late-night cruise through town with the love of his life, but then he would remember exactly why they were on a late-night cruise. A peek at (Y/n) would remind him, she must be frightened to all hell - it must’ve been awful to be in that church. Be near that rotten man.

And Arvin’s rage was freshly re-lit.

“Is this the right time?” she remembered each time her husband had repeated the phrase from his father, it was usually enough to sway him from acting out at that moment.

“Best time there is. He’s asleep - won’t be expectin’ us.”

(Y/n) settled into her passenger side seat, turning her head to stare out the window, “How’re you gonna get him out?”

Arvin was silent once again, fingers tight against the steering wheel as they pulled up to the bend at the end of the preacher’s street. He got out of the car and stormed towards the Teagardin home with (Y/n) trailing after.

It wasn’t long until Preston came stumbling out of his home with Arvin banging on the front door. Cynthia was out soon after her husband, clinging to the door frame.

“Late night for a sinner, kids,” Preston rubbed at his eyes, “Can this wait ‘til the mornin’?”

“You try touchin’ Lenora?” Arvin was blunt, he didn’t like sugar coating and he didn’t like the people who did it. Turning, he gestured to (Y/n), “Tried touchin’ my (Y/n)?”

Immediately, Preston’s eyes widened, “Now, now, I- I didn’t do nothin’ to those two.”

“Callin’ my wife a liar?”

Cynthia looked between her husband and the younger couple on her lawn, “What’s this about, Preston?”

“You just go inside now, Cynthia!” the preacher called back to his wife, “These two are full of delusions!”

“Arvin, let’s just head home now - you can take care of this tomorrow…”

Shaking his head, Arvin only approached the older man further, “My wife ain’t no liar. And those hands ain’t free of sin.”

“Go inside, Cynthia!” Preston shouted at his wife once again before turning back to the other man, “You won’t say nothing. I will have your lives ruined. Who will the town trust? Me, or two scruffy children who married straight outta high school?” he gives a forced chuckle, shaking his head and pointing at (Y/n) with a shaky hand, “Your wife… she- she… your wife is delusional. She’s crazy.”

Arvin Russell had been fighting nearly his entire life - he learned from his father and he continued on far after his father passed. Preston Teagardin had never been an athletic boy nor had he been confrontational by any means, preferring to hide in the shadows and smile his way out of trouble.

It wasn’t a mystery as to how Arvin managed to land Preston on the hard ground, chest pressing into the dirt and hands tightly wound behind his back in Arvin’s hold.

He didn’t know what he was looking for in the man. He didn’t know what he wanted from the preacher. He couldn’t kill the bastard - he still had a sister and wife to look after when his grandmother and uncle could no longer. Was it admission? Was it a promise to not even look at the women of Knockemstiff? It wasn’t an apology, he knew that - because there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be giving out forgiveness.

“You take back what you said,” Arvin grunted out, pushing his body harshly into Preston’s back and hoping it’d hurt as much as when boys did it to him on the playground, “You take back what you said about my wife, you hear me?”

“She’s crazy!”

Arvin took a hand into the preacher's hair and smushed his face deep into the dirt, “If I- “ when Teagardin’s whining got too loud, Arvin let his head up before roughly smashing it back into the ground, “Fuckin’ listen when I talk. You listenin’?” he waited for a nod of confirmation before continuing, “If I even hear your name in the same sentence as my wife’s or my sister’s, I’ll bash your fuckin’ brains in, hear me?”

“Arvin!” (Y/n) finally screamed out to her husband, hands landing on one of his arms and pulling, “Arvin, you let him go!”

“He deserves this, (Y/n)!”

“I know, but dammit Arvin, you’re gonna get the sheriff on you, let’s go home!”

Giving one last thunk of Preston’s skull into the ground, Arvin stood and kicked the man’s ribs before nodding at Cynthia with a brief ‘goodnight ma’am’ and returning to the car.

“That was a dumb thing you just did, Arvin Russell,” (Y/n) scolded, rather lightly, as her husband drove.

“I don’t regret a damn thing about it, (Y/n) Russell.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” she reached over and snatched his cap before fixing it over her own head, “I’m proud my husband cares so much.”

“Least I could do for the woman of my dreams.”

[brokenangelwings22]

Here's probably my only entry for IHweek. I've finally returned to writing. This is an excerpt from chapter 2 of my story Come Back Down to Earth. You can read the first chapter either on AO3 or FanFiction

Confession (IHweek 7/4) Please enjoy!

Chapter 2: Crawled In and Never Left

Give me the chance to tonight

I'll prove to you what's in my eyes

(It’s My Turn To Fly - The Urge - Titan AE soundtrack 2000)

Ichigo considered himself a reasonable man, but his patience was growing thin with his roommate.

“C’mon, man! You had a solid chance with Hime last night!” Renji pleaded with him. “Why are you so obtuse?”

“That’s an awfully big word for you.” Ichigo rolled his eyes at his friend. “Ever think of taking your own advice with Rukia?”

Renji let out a long suffering sigh. “You’re both hopeless, and therefore perfect for each other.”

“I’m perfectly happy with how things are with Hime. I don’t want to chance it.”

Renji pulled out a box of pretzel sticks from the cupboard. He fixed a concerned look on his face, and the seriousness unnerved Ichigo.

“Look. I’m not gonna force you. Even if I think you’re absolutely nuts not to. I will, however, point out that you’re an idiot for not telling her how you feel.” Renji pulled out a piece of pretzel and pointed it at Ichigo to emphasize his thought. “You’re gonna lose her one day if you continue to be ridiculous.”

Ichigo narrowed his eyes as his scowl persisted. “You think I am not aware of that?”

Renji placed the stick between his teeth and grinned toothily. “Yup!”

A sleepy noise came from behind the two men just as Ichigo opened his mouth to snap at his friend.

“Mm morning guys,” Orihime yawned as she stepped into the kitchen. “Any coffee? It’s too early.”

“Sorry Hime. Were we too loud?” Ichigo asked, his previous scowl morphing to something more kind.

“No,” she murmured. Her voice was still thick with sleep. She stumbled a little, bumping into Ichigo. “Oh hi wall. You smell nice.” Orihime leaned into his chest and snuggled him.

There was a strangled sound from Renji as he watched the young woman wrap her arms loosely around Ichigo’s waist. Instinctively, Ichigo wrapped his arms around her to steady her.

“Renji,” Ichigo said softly as to not disturb Orihime. “Please brew some coffee for her.”

“Jeez if I had known that Hime could instantly dissolve your sour mood with an embrace, I’d handcuff you both together.” Renji grumbled and shook his head, walking over to the coffeemaker on the counter.

Ichigo hummed a distracted acknowledgement as he idly stroked Orihime’s long auburn hair. She snuggled into his broad chest further. “Thanks. I’ll move her back to her room.” He was already moving towards the living room as he heard Renji’s snarky reply.

“Oh take your time. I’m merely here to serve.”

~*~*~*~

Ichigo sighed heavily as he stepped out from Orihime’s room and shut the door behind him quietly. He turned to walk down the short hallway, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw his two friends standing a few feet away with evil grins on their faces. Squaring his shoulders and fixing a glare at Renji and Rukia, he taunted “Don’t you both have something better to do? Like, absolutely anything?”

Rukia’s grin sharpened further. “Nah, we’re more interested in heckling you.”

Ichigo grumbled, raking his fingers through his unruly hair. “Yeah yeah. You’re both insufferable.”

He flicked Rukia’s forehead and smacked Renji’s upper back swiftly as he moved to leave.

Rukia’s retort was loud as she declared, “And YOU are the annoying brother I never asked for and yet somehow got!”

Renji’s muttering was barely noticeable under the small woman’s rage. “C’mon, Rukia. Let’s leave him be.”

Ichigo rolled his eyes, stepping around the ornery woman and made his way to the kitchen. Of course, Renji was right. It annoyed him to no end that he hadn’t spoken with Orihime about how he felt towards her. Hell, if he were being honest, he knew that he was in love with her at first sight.

She’d stumbled into his dad’s clinic, buckling under the weight of her brother’s prone body. This girl, only 12 at the time, carried her six foot and change older brother from the scene of the car accident all the way there. She was battered and bruised from the wreckage too. It broke him to his very soul when he had to tell her that his father was unable to save Orihime’s brother. The ambulance Isshin had called to rush him to the trauma ward of the hospital had simply not gotten there in enough time.

He did his best to console Orihime, who collapsed in a heap on the clinic floor. Her clothes were soiled with dirt and caked in her brother’s blood.

Yuzu had entered the room, and with a kind and understanding voice, ushered the broken girl to the bathroom to wash up. Orihime stayed at his house for several days, mostly walking around with mechanical movements, much like a zombie or a robot, just going through the motions of a semblance of normalcy. At night she’d cry herself to sleep. Ichigo stayed by her side when she was awake, and would help her to bed when she could barely stay up right.

Slowly, but surely, Orihime processed the loss of her brother. Ichigo stuck to her like glue, promising her and to himself that he would always be there to protect her. Orihime professed her gratitude to him soon after she moved back to her apartment, telling him that she was eternally grateful for everything he had done. As time went on, they became inseparable. They went to the same middle school and then high school, which introduced them to new friends that they quickly established into a tight-knit group.

Orihime had grown up beautifully. Her smile, warm and bright, had the ability to render him speechless and lightheaded. He felt invincible and vulnerable all at once. Far too many times, their friends would catch him when he was slack-jawed and mindless, teasing him mercilessly when Orihime wasn’t looking.

He began calling her ‘Hime’ their senior year. He hadn’t meant to, but it just slipped out. She had been followed by a group of boys who often flocked around her, taken by her beauty and her curvaceous body. One of them had ventured to put a hand on her shoulder without permission and Ichigo had snapped. Any restraint he had frayed instantly and before he understood what was happening, he had slammed the cretin against the wall and threatened him.

“You don’t touch women without consent, especially Hime.” He growled at the other guy, clenching the offending limb.

Orihime had called his name softly, telling Ichigo to let the man go, and he had simultaneously dropped him and her request. Ichigo made it a point to be by her side every chance he had. To protect her, love her from a distance if need be. It was enough, at that time.

But once Ichigo, Orihime and their friends entered university, the strain to keep a tight seal over his feelings became increasingly more difficult. His best friend flourished in academics and her social life expanded to include other people outside of their small group. With that also came obstacles, and Ichigo had to fend off more than a few of Orihime’s admirers.

Ichigo gripped the handle of the carafe of coffee angrily at the memory. The steam and scent of the hot brew brought him back to the present. He sighed after loosening his grip and poured two cups, adding cream and sugar to Orihime’s.

Soft footfalls behind him reached his ears, along with a quiet yawn. A grin spread on his lips as Orihime came into view.

Orihime blinked away the remnants of sleep from her eyes, smiling brightly at Ichigo when he offered her the cup he’d gotten for her.

Taking a big sip, she sighed happily. “Thanks, Ichigo. You always know how to make my coffee just how I like it.”

Ichigo smiled gently at her, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Well, after knowing you for ten years, I’d like to think I know you well enough to get your preferences right.”

Orihime giggled and gazed up at him from behind the mug pressed to her lips. “You do, and I’m grateful for that. Lord knows why Rukia insists on adding extra sugar and Tatsuki puts in too little cream. You are a hero among men, good sir.”

Ichigo’s smile widened at Orihime’s playfulness. “I try my best, m’lady.”

“Where are Rukia and Renji?” Orihime asked as she looked around the kitchen.

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Hopefully somewhere off annoying someone else more deserving.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

Orihime snorted bemusedly, shaking her head in disbelief as he tried to sound convincingly bored and grumpy. She raised her hand to place it on his right cheek in a fond manner.

“What am I going to do with you?” Her question came out more flirtatious than she intended.

Ichigo’s eyes widened at her sweet gesture and instantly leaned into her touch, closing his eyes and revelling in it. He had never realized how touch starved he truly was until Orihime would step into his personal space with her warm smile and kind gaze. It was as if that one thing, a fleeting brush of her fingers, or a soothing embrace had the ability to heal his wounded heart or eradicate any scar left on his soul.

Losing his mother at such a young age had made him a hardened and angry child. He blamed himself for her death, believing that if he had done something, spent more time with her, taken care of her and his sisters more, that she may very well have recovered from cancer. But his father had explained to him many times that the disease was caught too late, and the malignancy had metastasized from her cervix to her uterus and ovaries very quickly. Ichigo was still struggling with the loss of his mother two years later, when Orihime stumbled into their clinic with her brother.

He’d figured that no matter how miserable and heart wrenching it was, he had found purpose in consoling Orihime. It gave him unbelievable strength to bond with her over the loss. Helping her ultimately helped him as well in the end. The desire to be with her only grew. It had crawled in and never left. He’d become greedy for it, overthrown by his desperation to be close to the light that was Orihime.

She continued to lightly graze his cheekbone with soft brushes against him, her warm fingers causing pleasant tingles on his skin.

Orihime cupped the side of his face as she watched in awe how he was drawn to her touch, feeling the soft smile that pulled at his lips. When he raised his hand to place it over hers, she felt herself being pulled by an invisible force, almost magnetic. He had always been like that, and she adored being the one that he let in entirely. She stroked his cheek and began to pull her palm away until he held fast to her. His eyes fluttered open, and the look he had in them made the breath catch in her throat.

“Ichi-“ she murmured breathlessly.

The raw emotion that flashed in his dark amber gaze made her spine tingle, her heart stutter and her cheeks warm. He had the ability to render her tongue-tied with the flicker of something deep and foreign to her. Ichigo pulled her into his arms, finally allowing her hand to move, and she found herself slipping it to the back of his neck and burying her fingers into his soft hair. He wrapped his arms about her, pulling her to his lean, muscular body and sighed happily as Orihime sifted her fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp comfortingly.

Orihime pressed her ear over his heart, as he towered over her five foot one frame. The thumping, strong sound of it beating quieted her mind immediately. He slid his hands up and down her back, and she felt herself melt into it.

“I… I just need this, Hime.” Ichigo’s whisper filtered into her ear as he pressed his lips to her temple, sending a shiver through her body. Though quiet, she heard the fervency in his tone. She nodded against him, continuing her movements through his hair. She felt him shudder in their embrace and the breathless ‘thank you’ that he uttered.

“Were you thinking about something?” Orihime whispered back, her eyebrows drawing inwards as the possibility fluttered through her mind.

Ichigo nodded, letting out a stuttering sigh. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’m better now.”

She hummed thoughtfully at his response, resigning herself to his simple answer. She wouldn’t push him further.

Finally Ichigo pulled back from her to look her in the eyes. His gaze was still intense, as it flickered with what she could only identify as resolve and something far much more akin to what she assumed she wore as an expression often in his presence. It made her heart skip a beat and her mind to race at the possibilities.

“Hime,” he murmured. The way he said her name was like an urgent plea. It caused her stomach to swoop down like she was on an out of control rollercoaster. She waited on baited breath as he gathered his thoughts.

Ichigo’s mind was restless. His need to put into words how he felt about her, loved her, desired her rushed through and permeated the recesses of his brain. He should’ve been used to the intensity of it by now, but he most certainly wasn’t. The way she watched him gave him strength to form the words, stilling the overbearing thoughts warring to leave his mouth.

“I want to kiss you,” he whispered. His simple response was anything but, knowing deep down that this could make or break their friendship. The smile she gave him nearly shut down his brain entirely.

“What took you so long?” Orihime breathed before Ichigo’s mouth was on hers, his lips holding nothing back as kissed her with all the desperation and hunger of a man starved. The radiating joy splashed over the burning desire thundering through his veins.

Orihime parted her lips as she let out a sound that would’ve embarrassed her outside of this situation. Instead, she felt exhilarated to an immeasurable degree. Her body quaked at the reverence and pure heat he poured into it. It was as if the dam of years of keeping everything bottled up in fear of losing each other burst and flooded them all at once.

She clenched her fingers in his hair as he delved his tongue into her mouth. Orihime felt her body fight between melting and being drawn taught, like a string on a bow. Ichigo’s hands slid down to her hips, flexing and gripping at her flannel pajama pants and flesh. She angled her head when he held her firmly, seeking out his tongue with her own.

Ichigo was quickly lost in the taste of her skin, the sounds she made and the feel of her. His nerve endings felt like they had caught fire. It was a sensory overload in everything Orihime. If he didn’t think he was greedy before, he certainly was now.

~~~(TBC)~~~

I certainly hope you all liked this! I should have the chapter finished bit up fairly soon. Thanks so much for reading!

Also— I’m uncertain why this isn’t showing up in the tags, so I’ll try it again.

[wefoundloveunderthelight]

Love or Duty by GleefullyCaptainSwan - Chapter 5/8

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly @xsajx @deckerstarblanche

Chapter 5: A Dangerous Game

Emma spent the next few days locked away in her chambers, only leaving the room for supper. Anytime she came in contact with Killian, she would bow, keeping her eyes away from his, and retreating back to the safety of solace as soon as she was able.

It wasn’t that Emma had never kissed a man before, though she had never seen one naked, that much was certain. Seeing him strip down in front of her, exposing himself to her without remorse, had caused sensations she had never experienced before. She knew she never should have followed him into the water that night. She was never one to back down from a challenge and once he had pressed forward, she had no choice but to follow suit.

She knew that was ridiculous, she always had a choice. Yet with Killian, she wanted to rise to meet him where he was. He pushed her in a way that no other man had done before. She wanted to prove herself to him, to prove that she was more than just a Princess being offered to a man as a trophy to collect. Emma was capable of so much more; she was born to lead.

No one ever saw her that way, not her parents, she was sure that Liam saw her as a woman fulfilling her role, but Killian, he didn’t seem to back away from her strengths. He wasn’t afraid of her desires, her need to be more than she was thought to be. He understood her.

It was that understanding that should have sent her back to the castle instead of into the lake with him, baring her soul, her body, giving into the desire she couldn’t seem to contain for the man. She couldn’t wait to return home to be as far away as she could be from Killian Jones.

There was a knock on her door, and she jumped from the bed as Ruby entered the room. “Liam has returned. You will be expected at supper.” Emma groaned. “What has happened? You haven’t stepped out of this room for days. You won’t tell me why, or what is going on.”

“I’m fine, I just want to go home. I miss my parents.” She said, only half telling the truth as she spoke. That was better than fully lying to the girl, right?

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the reason that Prince Killian has been moping around the castle? Did something happen between the two of you?”

“What are you insinuating?” She asked with her mouth wide open.

“Just that the two of you seem to be not getting along. I know he has been most disagreeable toward you recently. Perhaps he has not enjoyed needing to watch over his brother’s betrothed.”

Emma frowned, oh he was enjoying it quite well, if she were being honest, but since she was not, she instead shrugged. “How am I to know what is wrong with that insolent child, I’m not his keeper. Let us ready for dinner, I do not care to discuss such unpleasantries.”

“Of course, Ma’am.” Ruby conceded and set about braiding Emma’s hair and helping to stuff her into her gown for the evening. When she approached the dining hall that evening, she paused, gathering herself before she entered the room, a smile plastered onto her face.

“Good evening, Emma. I apologize for being absent as long as I was.” Emma bowed her head to Liam and smiled.

“What news of Locksley?”

“Much of the town was destroyed. We brought many people back with us to take shelter until repairs can be made. I am afraid I am only home to replenish supplies before I must return to assist with rebuilding the town.”

“Do you need assistance, I may not look strong, but I can pound a hammer better than any man.” She laughed.

“I would not see you put in any danger. Father plans to send you home in the morning, Killian will see to it that you and your maid arrive home safely. I shall come to Misthaven as soon as the village is safe again.”

Emma frowned, wishing he would allow her to help, the people of Locksley had been friends of her father’s. They were good people. But of course, she was only seen as a trophy that needed to be protected. She tried not to take offense, Liam was simply thinking of her safety, but she wished she could be seen as useful in ways that did not require her to be put on display or locked in a tower.

Across the room, Killian seemed to pace the wall, watching the two of them as they talked near the table. Emma could feel his eyes glaring into her. She purposely cast her eyes on his brother, not allowing his steely gaze to distract her from the man speaking to her.

“I do hope my brother was a good host in my absence. Mother says his mood has been quite gloomy.”

She laughed loudly, ensuring that the entire room could hear her, knowing that it brought a frown to the skulking Prince keeping eye on their conversation. She reached out and touched Liam’s arm, “Well your brother is a bit of a child, isn’t he? He’s probably still angry that I was able to tame his wild mare.”

His eyes widened in shock. “You rode Jolly?”

“Of course, I did. She was most agreeable, a fine horse indeed.”

He shook his head in amazement. “Incredible. No one has ever ridden her save for Killian himself. That does indeed solve the mystery of his malady. He can be insufferable when he is angry.” He said with a whisper and a laugh.

Emma laughed loudly again, keeping her hand firmly on his forearm, her fingers caressing his skin as she trained her eyes on his. “Indeed.” She agreed and turned toward his brother, watching as he stormed across the room toward the large banquet table.

Liam leaned his face toward her ear. “Do not worry, his bark is worse than his bite.”

Emma flushed, visions of her escapade in the water, feeling his mouth against her neck, his teeth grazing her earlobe. She suddenly felt faint and reached out to steady herself against Liam’s sturdy arm. “I’m sure it is.” She replied in a raspy voice.

“Let us find our seats, I am sure it is almost time for supper.” He said with a smile, ushering her toward the large seat near the table.

~*~

Killian felt the anger rising in his throat the longer he watched Emma parading around the room on his brother’s arm. He didn’t know why he was behaving so irrationally; this woman was marrying his brother. She was never his and one night, one error in judgement on her part would never change that. Liam would be King, Emma would be his Queen, and together they would save Misthaven and Jonesboro. Liam would be the savior once again, and Killian would be the pitiful idiot who sat pining for his brother’s wife.

Emma laughed again from across the room and Killian found himself stomping toward the buffet of fruits on the other side of the room. He could not stand there and watch this charade in front of him.

“Does your town always supply this much fruit for a single evening?” Killian turned to his right as Emma’s handmaiden appeared beside him. Ruby was her name if he remembered correctly.

“We have been blessed with an abundance of a bountiful garden.” He laughed. “Father loves to show that off whenever he is able.” He added with a sarcastic groan.

The woman laughed. “I never had a chance to thank you for valiantly fighting on the road here. I am most certain you saved our dear Emma’s life.”

Killian glanced over as Emma and her brother continued talking at the table. “She seemed capable of handling her own. All I did was deliver her to the carriage.”

“Emma is an accomplished fighter, though she has not been allowed to use her skills in public. It’s not proper for a lady of her stature to be seen sparring with men.”

He narrowed his eyes, “But she does…spar?”

“Oh yes, she’s been known to meet the knights in the garden at night to practice her skills. Emma has never wanted to be left needing to rely on others to protect her. It’s important to her that she can protect her people and herself.”

“I’m sure her father just loves that.”

Ruby snorted loudly once the words left his mouth and Killian took advantage of the attention it brought with the crowd turning in their direction. His hand found its way to her back, guiding her toward the table as he glanced in Emma’s direction, her cheeks reddening, her eyes locked on the scene in front of her. Killian’s smirk grew on one side of his face. Perhaps his conversation could be both pleasing and advantageous for him.

“King David loves his daughter, don’t misunderstand me, but I do wish that he would consider her as the worthy and rightful heir to the throne.”

“You think she should be Queen? Doesn’t she have a brother?”

“Yes, Henry is still young, he could no more take over the kingdom than he could find hair to shave on his face.”

“A woman at the head of the throne, it’s unheard of.”

“It’s only unheard of because men refuse to see women as more than objects to be seen yet silent. I can assure you that Emma would be a most noble and courageous Queen to Misthaven.” She paused, horror filling her eyes. “But I fear I have spoken my mind too loudly tonight, courage brought on by too much ale, I fear. Please do not misunderstand my words as anything more than wishful thinking for my dear Princess. We are most grateful to Jonesboro and Prince Liam for the chance to save both of our kingdoms.”

“Do not fear, Lady Lucas,” he said in a whisper against her ear, “I think you will learn that I find many qualities of women worthy of more than just the place that society has put them.”

She giggled and he caught the glare of angry green eyes darting in his direction. Before he could dwell on his victory he felt a sucker punch to the face when Emma leaned over and pressed a kiss to Liam’s cheek, her hand resting on his chest.

The rest of dinner he brooded as Ruby talked softly beside him, he hummed an answer in the negative or the affirmative but did not spend much time listening to what he was responding to. Instead, he was consumed with anger at the game Emma was playing with him. She had no interest in his brother, he was sure of that. She was playing the part because it was what was required of her.

Even before Ruby had told him, he knew that Emma felt she was the rightful heir to her home. He knew that Emma was capable of being more than a trophy for his brother to parade around Jonesboro. There were other ways to win the fight against Regina and her army that did not involve compromising who Emma was. Yet here she was playing the bride to be with a man she had no interest in marrying.

It was preposterous to think, but he knew that there was more to his anger than Emma not standing up for what she wanted for herself. His anger was because she rejected him. It was irrational to think that she could do anything but reject him but having her walk away from him when it was just the two of them, leaving him there in the forest, tortured him nightly.

He could no longer close his eyes at night without seeing her naked body pressed against his in the moonlight. Thrice since that evening he had taken himself in hand, guiding himself to release while he remembered the feel of her breast in his hand, her legs wrapped around his waist, her throbbing center pressing against his stomach. He could do nothing to keep himself from that need, the desire to hold her, an insatiable need to have her.

He had tried at first to distract himself with a maiden from town, but one kiss from the bar wench sent him reeling with anger back to the solitude of his own bed and hand.

But now, lying in his bed, the anger of seeing her with his brother fully tearing him apart from the inside had him unable to sleep and unable to finish the task of satisfying himself. Frustrated with this turn of events he got up from his bed, pacing the room as he mumbled to himself.

He didn’t realize his intent until he had dressed in clothing and headed down the halls toward her room. He knew he shouldn’t be seen near her room; it would be a scandal if anyone were to find them together, alone in a room this late at night, but he needed to see her. He didn’t even know what he intended to ask of her, but he needed to hear the answer anyway, needed to hear it from her own mouth if she was as haunted as he by their night at the lake.

He knew it was not wise, he should go back to his room, but instead he found himself nearing her bed chamber, his back pressed against the wall as the guards made their rounds. He approached her door, pausing for a moment, one last chance to back out, to stop this ridiculous pursuit and retreat to his own room.

~*~

“Are you sure you are alright? You appear unsettled, quite unlike yourself.”

Emma shrugged as she felt Ruby unlace her corset, exhaling once she was able to breathe again. “I’m tired. At least we will be returning home tomorrow.” She sighed.

“Killian will be traveling with us; he was telling me tonight that he plans to join his brother once he has returned us home safely.”

Emma frowned, unsure how she was supposed to spend the trip sitting across from the man who was haunting her dreams. She was pleased with herself when Killian stormed out of the dining hall that evening, seemingly tired of the game he was playing with her by flirting with Ruby. However, knowing that her attention toward his brother had caused him such jealousy also caused something else to stir deep inside of her: desire.

Had he really wanted her so badly that he was brooding over the attention that she was providing to the man she was to marry. He knew that she had no choice but to marry Liam, she had no time for childish needs and wants. She had a duty to her family, her kingdom, her home.

“Emma?” Emma’s snapped her attention back to Ruby. “Did you hear me? I asked if you were alright if I went down to the doctor to gather supplies for our trip home. I want to ensure we have enough ointment for your wound since it is still healing.”

“Um yeah sure, that’s fine, I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Alright, I’m certain you will feel better in the morning.” She smiled and hugged the girl.

“Thanks Ruby, goodnight.”

The girl gathered her clothes scattered through the room and placed them at the trunk near the armoire. They would pack in the morning and return to her home. Ruby closed the door behind her, and Emma sank into her bed, pulling the heavy blankets up her body and tucking them under her chin. She wanted to disappear into the expanse of the bed, forget everything that had happened here and everything that was yet to come.

The creak across the room alerted her that she was not alone in the room. “Ruby? Did you come back already?” She called out into the silence and a shadow emerged from across the room causing her to sit up quickly. “Who’s there?”

The shadow got closer until it came into the light, the cause of all her strife tonight stood in the moonlight, staring at her.

“What are you doing in my room?” She exclaimed, jumping out of her bed, and rushing toward him. “Do you know what would happen if anyone found you in here, with me, like this!” She said anxiously, looking down at her nightgown.

“That night dress is quite scandalous, however I’ve seen you in less, love.”

Anger took over her emotions. “Stop that.” She said at an angry whisper. “Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you, to talk to you, about the other night.”

“I said everything I needed to say. That was a one-time thing. It can never happen again. I’m marrying your brother.”

“Why are you marrying him?” He asked and Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“You know why, it is our duty to protect our kingdom’s. Our union will bring our people together to…”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” He exclaimed, stepping toward her. “You do not wish to marry my brother. You have no other duty but to yourself.”

She laughed. “It’s not that easy and you know it.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” Her heart stilled as he reached for her. “I’m haunted by the memories of your kiss; you plague my every thought and dream.” He took another step toward her, his hand brushing against her shoulder.

“You need to find a way to forget, I’m marrying your brother.”

“But you do not want my brother, do you? For all your theatrics this evening, it is not he who causes your heart to stir, your legs to quiver…” His hand was in her hair and Emma needed him to leave. She could scarcely hear his voice from the sound of her heart pounding in her ears. “Or the desire that pools between them.” She gulped.

“We can’t do this; we must put our people first.” A mischievous smile grew on his lips. “Our Kingdom demands that we do what is necessary to survive.” He bent his head to her neck, sucking at the skin below her ear and she held back the moan that threatened to escape her lips. “You’re being selfish, putting your needs above others.” She groaned and he lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“I’d much rather put your needs first, love.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She admonished him as he stared at her as if she were his last meal.

“I want you.”

She laughed. “You only want me because you’ve had every other woman in your kingdom. I’m a conquest to you, nothing more.”

His mouth pressed against her jaw and Emma could feel the warmth between her legs, the moisture pooling in her center as he continued his way down her jaw. She had never been with a man before, never knew that it could bring about such pleasure in the way that he was giving simply from kissing her.

“This is something more than a conquest, I feel it, I know you do too.”

Her heart was pounding out of her chest. “We can’t…” She protested once more as his mouth met hers and she could resist him no longer. She fell into his arms, allowing him to lift her off her feet, carrying her to the bed as he lay her on top of the pool of blankets, his mouth never leaving hers, his fingers tangled in her hair.

She tilted her hips upward, needing to feel something, anything, some type of friction between them. He groaned against her mouth, the sound of which set her body on fire, her lips bruising his as she fought to stop the burning between her legs. She needed whatever he could give her, wanted it so badly that she could see nothing else but him, the feel of his mouth, the touch of his hand, the cold steel of the hook on his arm that was pressing against her back. “Killian.” She moaned, frustration from needing something she couldn’t describe.

She felt a hardness against her center, happy for the friction it provided to her dripping center, as she rubbed her hips against him, eliciting more sounds from his throat that sent shivers down her spine. His hand was under her chemise, his fingers dancing across her breast, his thumb brushing against her hardening nipple. “Oh…” She sighed before she was alerted to the sound of the door, the heavy wood creaking against the floor.

Killian rolled to his side, sliding onto the floor beside the bed before Ruby was able to fully enter the room. “Back so soon.” Emma said, sitting up and yawning. “I barely made it to the bed.”

“Yes, I gathered everything we need for the trip. Get some sleep.”

“Can you get me water?” She asked suddenly. “I’m parched.”

“Um, sure, one second.” She retreated from the room and Emma tilted over the side of the bed, looking underneath to see Killian lying there.

“Go before she returns.” Emma jumped out of the bed, rushing toward the door.

He was on his feet, rushing ahead of her before he turned back to face her, dragging her into his arms and placing his lips against hers. “There is not a moment that I won’t think of you tonight.”

She smiled against his lips, “Good.” She stated before pushing him out the door and slamming it shut behind him. Ruby returned from the small room to her right and stared at Emma.

“Are you quite alright? Why are you out of bed?”

“I needed to stretch.” She said with a yawn, returning quickly to bed and pulling the covers over her head.

“Don’t you want your water?”

She pulled the blanket down, reaching for the glass. “Of course.” She drank the entire contents that were held in the glass and then fell back against the bed, closing her eyes and pulling the covers back over her. “Good night Ruby.”

“Good Night, My Lady.” She said with apprehension.

Emma’s heart was pounding, her mind was racing, her body was still on fire in all the places he had touched her. He wanted her. Killian Jones wanted her. She knew it was wrong, she should not entertain these thoughts, such wanton desire for a man she could not be with was irresponsible. In the end, she would have to marry his brother.

But as she closed her eyes, soft blue eyes swirling around her, his touch haunting her dreams, he was all she wanted, all she desired. And something told her that he would stop at nothing to have her. A thought which both excited and terrified her to no end. Emma Nolan had a duty to her people, a responsibility to unite two kingdoms to keep them from the brink of war.

But more than anything, she could not ignore the feelings that were threatening to grow for Killian Jones.

She knew if she continued to play this reckless game it would lead her to two paths. And she would eventually have to choose.

She could only have one.

Love or Duty.

[maddiethebull]

Mammon (Obey Me!) - Prompt #26 - “Hold me, call me darling, kiss my cheeks, do whatever.”

This fic was requested by @maywish27 Thank you for making a request <3

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Most of us know the feeling, the gut wrenching, heart dropping feeling of getting your heart broken. If it happens enough, it seems to just deter you from falling in love. You may date, but you keep your distance, you make sure not to let yourself get too close because the thought of feeling that way again is just too terrifying. You had dealt with this feeling for a long time, never seeking to change it because after a while you just began avoiding dating and romance altogether. That was, until it was thrown right in your face without hopes of you escaping, love and affection and- and, well, Mammon.

It began normally, at first, you guys were simple acquaintances and he’d occasionally try to rope you into his money making schemes, but before you knew it, you were looking forward to hearing his ridiculous plans about making money, and that turned into wanting to see him smile, turning into making him smile whenever you could, turning into lingering looks at his lips or in his eyes. It went fast; but just like a tree getting bigger, you barely noticed it happening, and at the same time, it was completely inevitable. You had fallen in love. Maybe it was the way he smiled so gently as he said your name that night you two talked in the garden, maybe it was just the look in his eyes whenever he laughed; you weren’t sure why or how, but you were pulled into a deep ravine that you couldn’t get out of now. It terrified you. It was the best and worst feeling you’d ever experienced. 

Although, unbeknownst to you, you weren’t the sole victim of cupid’s arrows, Mammon had fallen head over heels faster than he could comprehend. Now the two of you were in a game of cat and mouse, him chasing, looking for an opportunity to talk to you and you running like the wind to huddle yourself back up in a place where he couldn’t get to you. It was childish and stupid, but feelings have a way of making people do such things. 

Where did this end up? Well, so far, nothing has changed in the story. Mammon was currently on his way to a modeling gig while wracking his brain for answers. ‘Did I do something wrong?’ ‘Am I not good enough?’ ‘I miss their smile…’ The Devildom didn’t have much of a sun, but still, he felt a strange burning feeling as if there was bright light shining right into his eyes. He checked his D.D.D. for the billionth time that day, only a couple texts from the brothers; Beel asked for some food, Satan asked for some spellbook, and Lucifer scolded him for not locking the door on his way out. ‘Hmph, can that guy ever say anything good about me?’ Mammon stopped in his tracks, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He put his D.D.D. back into his pocket and leaned on a brick wall to take a breath. There wasn’t a single message from you. Looking up at the dim sky, he put his hands to his face, ran them through his stark white hair and let his arms drop beside him. He let his legs fold and sat with his back against the wall, ‘just for a minute’ he thought ‘I’ll just stay here for a minute.’ He could feel the tears forming in his eyes, but he did nothing to stop them, it was pointless because he didn’t care if he cried about it, he didn’t care if anyone saw him crying about it. You barely spoke to him, you only saw each other at meals, you stopped hanging around with him after R.A.D., you just up and vanished. It broke his heart and it all felt so unfixable. He sighed a heavy sigh, stood up, and went back on his way to the studio. 

You were in your room, staring at your own D.D.D., foolishly hoping for a text from Mammon. You didn’t know how to handle these feelings, but after a while of keeping your distance from him, it felt worse to be away from him than to be scared of loving him. You didn’t know how to fix this. You tried smiling at him more, you tried saying good morning and goodnight again, but maybe you’d ruined what you two had. He only smiled back and repeated the good mornings and goodnights, nothing more. Perhaps he didn’t want to talk to you? ‘No, that’s not right’ you thought as you remembered his pining for your attention, the way he looked when you said you couldn’t hang out. Maybe you really had ruined it. 

Your D.D.D. buzzed and you hurriedly picked it up checking if it was Mammon and... it wasn’t. It was only Lucifer reminding you about your study session together. Disgruntled and confused, you sighed and pried your frame from the bed before making your way to his study. 

*FLASH* 

The camera focused on the demon’s face. His golden eyes reflected the light in the studio. 

“Perfect, bro!” said a faceless cameraman that Mammon had never met before. 

He forced a smile, “Great.” 

He continued to model for a product he would never use as he wore a pink suit that he found rather garish with his hair done up with sticky hair products that he found uncomfortable. Even with everything going on, the only thought on his mind was you. How you’d laugh with him about all of that and it would show up on a magazine you’d buy just to remember the jokes between the two of you. An almost inconceivable wince crossed his handsome features as *flash* more pictures were taken.

At break time he rushed to his phone and checked if there were any new messages. There weren’t. He bit his lip, contemplating what to do. He eventually opened the messages between you and him and began typing and deleting and typing and deleting. He couldn’t figure out what to say to you or if you’d even want him to say anything. He never managed to write a full sentence before he was called back onto the set. At the end of the shoot, he took the suit off and fixed his hair, he walked out of the vibrantly colored studio feeling like a paintbrush filling in everything with grey. 

Mammon made his way to the busy streets and it seemed like every face he took the time to look at looked like yours, that demon’s eye color, the long eyelashes on the other, the hair color on the demon selling food, the smile on another selling flowers. He was insufferably in love and it was showing. 

You knocked on the door, being let in by Lucifer. 

With a frown and dejected tone you greeted him, “Hey.” 

“Hello, MC, is something the matter?” he asked, immediately noticing that something was obviously wrong. 

You groaned and flopped your books onto the table, 

“Of course there is! You’re just not the one I wanted to notice.”

His red eyes rolled as he retorted, “Who was supposed to notice?”

You sat down and put your head in your hands, murmuring, “Mammon.”

At this point Lucifer’s eyes were going to roll out of his head, “Ugh, what did he do this time?”

You grunted and replied, “Nothing… I did the something this time.” You frowned and fretted, “What's wrong with me?”

He sat down next to you, speaking in sincerity, “MC, from my perspective, there is nothing wrong with you.”

Without a reply from you, he spoke again, “just tell him what the matter is.”

Picking your head up from the table, you gave Lucifer the look of a sad puppy and then flopped your head right back down. He then tapped the top of your head, alerting you that you came here to study and you were going to do it. Reluctantly, you followed along as he scaled through a book you simply couldn’t focus on, I mean, how could you?

*GASP* 

“Oh my gosh! It’s you! Hey look it’s Mammon! From the magazines!!!” 

He was turning a corner as he slowly made his way back home and was confronted by a group of squealing fans, to be quite honest it gave him a boost. He beamed a smile and replied to the group doting over him, 

“That’s me, right before your eyes! THE great Mammon!”

Just as he said that, remembrance of you rushed its way through his thoughts, he knew you’d make fun of him for saying that. He knew that it would make you laugh… In fact, he had only seriously called himself that once, the first time, any time after that was just him giving in to a desire to see that great big smile form on your face and hear the laugh that escaped from it.  

After some autographs and photos, the squealing fans had left and Mammon was faced with a choice, should he go home or not? A look at his phone with no message from you made up his mind; he didn’t want to go home if it meant he couldn’t hear that laugh, gosh, did he have enough of this feeling. He decidedly took out his D.D.D. and sent a text to you that he’d been waiting to send for a long time. He made his way through the tall buildings and the business people filling a bustling city and landed on a calm beach as the faint sun in the devildom tucked itself away. He could feel that distance, he knew the reality but somehow he chose not to believe it. He chose to look at you as if it were the day you’d met, as if he was always going to look at you and light up like a billion stars in the night sky. So, he walked and walked and walked; he walked until his legs gave out on that beach beside the city. He sat down, looking out to the lights beyond the lake, it was so quiet, he only had his thoughts to keep him company as chilly air brushed past him and him alone. He flopped down, letting the sand run through his hair, run through his hands. A faint golden light bounced off his features. It seemed to hold an air of sadness, much like a painting that could never be completed. In feeble attempts to clear his mind, you’d appear in his mind’s eye, when he closed his eyes he could see you, when he took deep breaths, he heard the sound of your voice. 

“UGH!” You slammed the book closed, FINALLY you were done studying. Lucifer picked his own books up to put away right before he paused,

“MC, I-” his hand tensed around the book he held and he cleared his throat. 

“Hm?”

“Nothing, I was just going to say that- that I’m sure Mammon would understand how you feel if you just talk to him. I’m not one for discussing emotional matters, you know that, but it does not mean I am emotionless; I know more than you might think about the subject, such as I know that this situation won’t be resolved unless someone says something.”

You looked thoughtfully at the books in your own hands, 

“I’m just scared. Scared it won’t turn out like I want it to and scared that both of us might get hurt.”

Lucifer made his way to his desk, “If he hurts you then I’ll torture him.”

“Lucifer!”

He chuckled, “What? I was only kidding, sort of.” He sighed, “MC, if you don’t do anything then you’ll never know what would’ve happened. To put it lightly, I’ve had experiences where I’ve been a coward and I still hold regret for it. It is rather hard to tell someone how you feel, but it is my belief that a lot of the time, it’s worth the risk of getting hurt.”

Just then your D.D.D. buzzed, it was Mammon asking if you two could talk. You stood up from your chair, “Thank you for the advice, Lucifer,” you said as you decidedly made your way out of the room to go and find Mammon.

You left Lucifer sitting alone in his office chair, wishing that perhaps he could have been more confident in the moment, but nonetheless glad that you once again had that beautiful smile on your face.

Meanwhile at the lakeside, 

“Hah. What am I doing here?” he asked himself as he splayed out on the sand, staring into a sky that had gone dark while he waited for a reply from you. How could you still be everywhere when you were gone? Why did he have to feel like this? He didn’t have any answers, maybe he didn’t want them; it would be too complicated, too painful. He let out a disgruntled sigh and stood up while brushing the sand from his clothes. 

“Just five more minutes,” he whispered in desperate hope that you would show up. He stretched his gaze up to the sky once more, “five more minutes.”

“Mammon?” 

He whipped his head around to find you walking his way. He was dead silent, staring with wide eyes as you approached, a worried expression on your face. 

Once you got close enough, you asked, 

“You said you needed to talk to me?”

It felt uncomfortable being here, having this tangible hesitation hanging in the brisk air. It felt uncomfortable to see that look on his face, seeing every emotion he felt in that moment; you so badly wanted to yell out, saying ‘I’m sorry!’ saying, ‘I wish I weren’t so scared!’ but those vulnerable words were left as thoughts as timid words took over. 

“What was it you wanted to say?”

He bit his lip, formulating a response, “Honestly? Anything. I just wanted- I needed to talk to you and hear your voice.”

After a moment’s pause, you asked him, 

“Mammon, are you okay?”

His face contorted into a cheap half smile as an empty laugh rolled off his lips with a response, 

“No.” 

“No?” you asked.

He didn’t accord any response and the two of you stood, stuck in your own thoughts and feelings.

You got closer, 

“Mammon, I- I’m sorry… I don’t want you to not be okay.” You crossed your arms to fight the chill that the gentle wind held. Mammon looked at you, 

“Are you cold?” 

You sighed, “I’m fine… I-”

“Here,” he said, cutting you off as he removed his coat to give to you. You took it from him as he seemed to refuse looking into your eyes. 

Closer, again, you spoke,

“Please, just tell why you said you’re not okay.”

With the moonlight giving his figure a soft glow, he looked down. His brow furrowed and he was running his hands through his hair. He stumbled through a couple half sentences without looking at you until out came a sigh mixed with a laugh as if to say ‘fuck it.’ He looked at you. Pure emotion made a home in his eyes as he stared into your own and spoke in a soft voice,

“I’m in love with you.” 

It was in a matter of fact tone said with no hesitation, said with nothing else but a breeze that threatened to steal his quiet words away,

“And I- I just have to tell you that. At least once, I need you to hear it.”

There was a long pause, he wasn’t looking for an answer, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to hear one. You opened your mouth but you froze, you didn’t know how to reply, it made you so nervous that any words you tried to form just wouldn’t. The only noise was the gentle collision of calm waves against the rocks. 

“Mammon, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to do.”

“Hold me,” with a delicate upturn of his lips, as if he was telling himself he knew this would happen all along, he said “call me names, kiss my cheeks, do whatever, do something, do anything.” Desperation wracked his words, as heavy teardrops fell from his eyes like boulders from a cliff, blurring the image of you while a skin deep smile failed to cover how hurt he was truly feeling. 

“I don’t want to be ‘just friends’ anymore, I can’t.”

You couldn’t get any more words out of your mouth before your throat was seized by choking sobs. Hearing him say that, it flipped a switch inside you. You took his face in your hands and pushed your lips against his, the teardrops tasting salty as you said what you wanted to say, what you needed to say, without using any words. Screaming ‘I love you’ with every silent moment passing, with every tear that rolled down your face. You flew your white flag to the war inside yourself and chose to lose yourself into the kiss as he cupped his hands around your cheeks and pulled you closer and closer under the night sky. 

And so, that’s how it ended up. A childish impulse driven away by a different, brighter, childish impulse and a nighttime breeze skipping across the sand. 

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

Oof there's a long story behind this one, took some inspiration from real life and also a little bit of inspiration from an episode of the office. Bonus points for anyone who knows what episode lmao. 

Hope you enjoyed reading! It's written a little differently than my other stories but i like the way it came out :)

[mcchipisfried]

DEArtfest Day 14 - Enemies to Lovers

Calling out @octopunkmedia​ for today’s prompt!!

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I’m kidding I did write something but this was my basic reaction to reading the prompt. Also I will be making a drawing AND writing something for two other prompts so look forward to that...

(one might be an actual piece and not just a comic...)

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Gavin sat at his desk, his coffee cup empty because he refused to be in the same room with an android for longer than two seconds. His day started as well as any other day did for Gavin Reed, with him waking up feeling like shit, drinking one cup of coffee at home, then another once he came into work, barely being able to stay awake while also having his new android partner quietly looming over his shoulder, tablet in hand, every so often glancing at him with what only could be described as a very displeased frown.

“Hey fuck face, could you fuck off to the next recycling bin and do your job there instead of leaning over me like some kind of fucking bodyguard?” Gavin said, turning to look at the android behind him, and watched as his frown seemed to deepen, probably in more displeasure towards Gavin’s words.

“Detective Reed, I believe for our partnership to function properly we must become at least comfortable with each other being in the same room. As for my presence, I was simply reviewing my scanners and noticed that your vitals are, simply put, terrible and it is my belief that you should go home before-” 

“Oh so the fucking android is worried about my health now? Pretty ironic considering what you were made for. Why don’t you just fuck off and mind your own fucking business. Go one, wait somewhere else like the good little android you are and wait for someone to give you your next orders.” Gavin said, interrupting the android. Turning back around and facing his computer, ignoring the dirty looks he got from Tina and Chris as the RK900 promptly turned to walk towards the break room.

The RK900 sat at one of the tables in the break room and continued to look through the previous scans he had done of the Detective. They showed he was low on energy, yet had an accelerated heartbeat, most likely due to his over consumption of caffeine. He pushed his scans aside and instead focused on the tablet in front of him as he continued to silently work. If the Detective wouldn't cooperate with him in the future then he saw their partnership only ending with one of them physically hurting the other.

Before long, he looked up as Officer Chen came into the break room, asking if she could sit next to him. He nodded and focused on her presence as it was obvious she had come to talk to him.

“I’m sorry about Gavin. I know he can be pretty harsh but he’s not so bad once you get to know him a little, and even then he’s still kind of an ass-”

“I am sorry to interrupt you Officer Chen, but I am not interested in your apologies on behalf of the Detective.” Nines said. Looking back down at his tablet, he continued.

“He is an insufferable man child who insists on holding my designed purpose over my head as if my deviancy means nothing. I understand his prejudice stems from his own insecurities and interactions with Connor but it is still infuriating to be treated like this.” The RK900′s LED swirled, from yellow to a deep red. He felt the officer reach over to put her hand on his shoulder, smiling at him in understanding. He realized how rude he sounded and nodded at her, his LED returning to its yellow color.

“I won’t be returning his threats in any way but I will not let him continue to berate me as if i was still a slave to my programming. The only positive about this situation is the fact that this partnership will end once Lieutenant Anderson and Connor return. I might not have a purpose, I’m still trying to figure that out for myself, but I do know that I don’t want to hurt anyone ever again. I want to protect androids and humans, including Detective Reed.” He looked at the officer next to him, a silent understanding between them. 

“Well,” Officer Chen stood from the table and started to turn to walk out of the break room. “I just hope Gavin doesn’t try to do anything stupid. He’s all bark, hardly any bite. Just...don’t kill him, alright? He’s an asshole but he’s the only asshole I can stand in this place.” she said to the RK900 before making her way out of the break room.

“I’ll try not too.” The android said going back to look at his tablet before looking up once more to see Detective Reed stopping in his tracks as he saw the RK900 sitting in the break room.

“Fuck this shit.” The detective said, before turning back to return to his desk.

“These are going to be some very long months” the android thought as he looked back down at his tablet, finally alone to work in peace.

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“Nines, I’m gonna need you to fuck off right now before I decide to switch you out for Connor.” Gavin said, obviously joking as he continued to chew on his last slice of pizza. He had managed to eat a whole box of some of the best fucking pizza in all of Detroit because fuck it if he gets fat, not like he’s really interested in getting laid any time soon. In fact he could go the rest of his life without getting laid so long as it kept Nines pestering him like a mother hen, with a concerned look on his face. He liked having Nines pay attention to him. He didn’t know why, but he assumed it was because it had become a lot easier to get under his skin since their partnership began. By not taking care of himself he got to see some very interesting expressions from Nines besides his usual cocky smirk and neutral face.

“Detective, I know you seem to find yourself quite charming in many ways but I highly doubt Connor would want to spend more than two minutes as your partner, no matter how nice he is.” Nines said, clearly amused by Gavin's assumption that he’d ever be able to actually get rid of Nines. He had become quite attached to the Detective over the past few months as partners, even if he still found him to be irritating, especially in the way he handled his personal health, he would never be able to picture himself being partnered up with anyone other than Gavin.

“I can already see that you’re desperately trying to be like the Lieutenant by gaining some weight, although he has lost a lot of his previous weight and is in fact quite healthy. Might even say a bit attractive, in a roguish kind of way if that's something people are into.” Nines smirked as he saw Gavin scowl at this and slam the pizza box that was on the table shut.

“Excuse me? Tin Can I would NEVER let myself go to the point of even looking remotely like Hank? And attractive?? Something must be wrong with your fucking eyes if you think Hank fucking Anderson is attractive in any way, shape, or form because I am ten times more attractive than he is!” Gavin sputtered out, clearly set off by Nines’ comment.

“Tell me Detective, does the possibility of me finding anyone attractive bother you?” Nines asked, clearly enjoying the reactions he was getting out of Gavin now that he had distracted him enough to take the slice of pizza and throw it into the trash.

Gavin hardly took notice, now riled up by Nines’ question.

“Listen here Tin Can, I don’t know what the fuck you’re insinuating but the only reason I even care is because I am obviously more attractive than Hank fucking Anderson so don’t go thinking you can get away with saying dumb shit like that. I refuse to be partnered up with an android with clearly faulty eyesight.”

Gavin and Nines continued to argue, jumping from topic to topic, not noticing the two officers who looked on from the other side of the break room, whispering among themselves and wondering if Detective Reed and Nines were actually friends or not. Their continued eavesdropping into the Detective and Nines’ conversation did nothing to answer their questions.

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Gavin opened his eyes as he felt the sunlight that filtered in from his window beginning to warm his face. He groaned and closed his eyes, feeling the side of his bed for a body but only found cold sheets. That’s when he noticed the smell of coffee and a much lighter smell that mingled beautifully with the smell of coffee. Eggs. His stomach growled and urged him to follow the heavenly smells that were obviously coming from the kitchen.

Once he made his way out of the bedroom he found Nines, at the stove making breakfast. Making him breakfast. His heart squeezed inside his chest at the image before him. He smiled lazily and made his way over, hugging Nines from behind and looking over his shoulder to see exactly what he was making.

“Good morning, Gavin.”

“Morning Tin Can, whatcha making?” Gavin asked, as he began to smell something sweet emanating from the kitchen table.

“I thought since we made that Red Ice bust a couple days ago, that it would be nice to treat ourselves this morning. I made you breakfast that I had hoped I’d be able to bring you to bed and later I was hoping you’d join me in going to the library. They have just started accepting androids for library cards and I’d like to get one for myself.” Nines said, before turning around and kissing Gavin on the cheek.

“Holy shit what did I do to deserve you? And you can totally serve me breakfast in bed, just let me go back so I can lay down. Also I love you, but I refuse to leave my bed today until after 3 PM.” Gavin said, as he sauntered back to the bedroom to wait for his breakfast. In bed.

Nines chuckled and went back to cooking, drastically reducing the amount of sugar in Gavin’s coffee and making sure to bring some fruit for Gavin to eat. They were definitely treating themselves today but he was still going to force Gavin to have a balanced breakfast even if it killed him.

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That’s it! Probably one of my my longer ones but I really enjoyed writing this one.

[bookandcranny]

If You can Change Your Tune

The interloper arrives in a rented moving van, the same sort as all the ones before.

“Are you sure about this?” her friend asks as they pull up to the house. “I know you’ve always had a thing for fixer-uppers but this place might be beyond saving.”

Even as she unlocks the front door the wind whistles a note of warning through its rickety frame. The floorboards beneath their feet crackle and moan at the intrusion.

“All it needs is a little love,” the interloper retorts. Her name is Ann. I remember her from the showing, a woman of insufferably good cheer walking room to room with the equally annoying realtor of the week, a dopey smile hanging from her lips.

I didn’t think much of it at the time. People like her come around from time to time with aspirations in their heads of moving into the rural countryside to rehabilitate my thickets into sprawling gardens or write the next great American novel from within my historic walls. Seeing the reality of the place in person was usually enough to convince them to chase their fantasies elsewhere. However, it appears this particular happy-go-lucky thorn in my side needs a bit more work to dislodge.

“Are you sure you’re not in over your head?” the other one asks. I try to guess at their relationship. Friend? Sister? A lover? I’m sick to death of couples.

“It’s a little late for me to back out now,” Ann laughs, twirling the keys around her finger. “Don’t worry, Nick’s bringing his crew over tomorrow to start on the repairs. She’s a project but the foundation’s sound. Next time you see this place she’ll be a real beauty.”

“’She’?”

“Yeah, you know, like how people call cars or boats a she.” She climbs the stairs and runs her hand along the dusty banister. I think of splinters— with luck maybe she’ll get tetanus- but nothing comes of it.

The house is my body. Two stories, twelve rooms not including the attic, an old-fashioned spiral staircase, and me, the greatest antique of all, left to rot. Once upon a time a family used to live here: a mother and father, a veritable litter of hyperactive young children, uncles and aunts and cousins who would stay with them some summers and during Christmastime, and the wizened pale face of a grandfather who watched over them from above the mantle. It was all very precious, very southern hospitality, very postcard perfect. All very gone. Not even their ghosts remained; just me, and all the better for it.

Chesterfield is the name of the county as well as the nearest town, though from what I understand that’s using the term lightly. Most folks local to the area know better than to disturb me, but sometimes they get bold. Bored teenagers mostly, or suited vultures looking to see if there’s any profit to be squeezed from the property. In its heyday, the house was probably a sight to behold, but I wouldn’t know much about that. Memories of my life, if ever I truly lived, are slippery like oil on the water’s surface, impossible to grasp.

Though without eyes or ears or a mind to make use of them, I can “see” through my many windows— if eyes are the windows to the soul, maybe windows are can be eyes to the spirits— and “hear” any sounds that tremble through my frame. I’m grateful for these senses; they help me keep things in order. If someone starts to get a little too cozy with my corridors, and providing the spiders don’t scare them off first, I just slam a few doors, flicker a few lights, and they go running.

The interloper and her extra finish moving in the last of the boxes. She squeezes her arm and gives her a peck on the cheek.

“I’ll send you pics once I’ve got my room set up,” she says.

“Bold of you to think you’ll survive that long. This place is definitely haunted. Do you get cell service out here? I want to call a coroner and tell them to save your spot.”

“I don’t remember making this big a deal when you moved into your first place.”

“It had bed bugs, but it didn’t have ghosts.”

Ann makes a face. “I’ll take my chances with the ghosts.” She puts an arm around her shoulders. “Kim. You’re acting like I’m dropping off the map. You’re the one leaving the country.”

“For two weeks!” Her expression grows tense. “I feel bad leaving you like this. I should’ve been there for you, there was just so much going on.”

“It wouldn’t have changed my mind.”

She sighs dramatically. “No, nothing can, can it? I fear for whoever you end up tricking into marrying you.”

Ann slaps her playfully on the arm. “Do not start on that. Speaking of which, don’t you have a honeymoon to be on? Go on, get.”

Kim puts her hands up in mock surrender and backs out the front door. I raise one of the loose planks on the porch and she trips, just barely evading a tumble down the front steps.

“See? Cursed!”

“Go!” But she’s laughing as she adds, “Thank you for the help. It means a lot, even if Sophie is gonna kill me for keeping you this long.”

“I’ve got time to talk her down.”

The U-haul rumbles away down the dirt road until it’s a muddled blur in my perception and then, finally, gone. I’m alone with the enemy now. More importantly, she is alone with me.

I slam the door. It’s the easiest most classic trick in the book. Ann jumps and looks around. I know what she’s thinking. Just the wind? Or could it be…?

But no, one small act like that won’t be enough to convince her. With a shrug, she returns to the task of moving in. She shuffles around a few boxes in the foyer and starts moving them one by one up to the second floor. All things considered she hasn’t much to move in, but I’m not fooled. Where one intruder appears, more will follow, and bring all their junk and their noise and their petty living problems with them.

All my original furniture was auctioned off in an estate sale. It took place right here on the lawn, and I watched through my windows as they divvied up my family’s belongings, breaking them down into numbers and measures of worth for the masses. For the most part though I didn’t miss it. The absence of clutter made the space feel bigger, and I got used to the emptiness.

The interloper sets up in the master bedroom and unpacks some supplies to give the room a cursory cleaning. The agency normally sent someone over to prepare the place for new residence, but since the last few rounds of movers had come and gone, they hadn’t bothered. If Ann minds, she doesn’t show it, and I have to admit it’s nice to have someone sweep away the dirt and detritus.

After cleaning to her satisfaction, she starts opening boxes with foreign labels and assembling her furniture from strange little kits, turning sheets of instructions over in her hands as she nibbles on a hangnail. The result is a set of cheap-looking geometric furniture that makes her curse as she accidentally attaches the table leg to the chair and the chair leg to the bedframe. Something about watching her work transfixes me. Probably her comical ineptitude.

After she fixes all the furniture she dresses her new bed and starts cluttering her shelves with all kinds of bizarre toys and knickknacks. Among her affects is a paperback book titled “the art of moving in and moving on”. I scoff.

“This is a temporary arrangement. Very temporary, you got it?” I tell her, though I know she can’t hear me. I know this, but it still annoys me. It feels like she’s ignoring me.

The interloper smiles to herself and takes out a black rectangle that she holds up like a camera, though the shape is far too small and thin. She lowers it, considering, and then from yet another box digs out a string of Christmas lights and hangs them up above the bed.

“It’s June,” I say, dumbfounded.

I look at the string of lights and put pressure on one of the bulbs until it bursts. She jumps, but the moment passes. She spends the bulk of the evening fussing with her camera-thing until she falls asleep.

Fine. If she wants to play hardball, I’ll play hardball.

 --

 In the morning, the interloper’s camera-thing plays a tune to rouse her. Her waking is both a curse and a blessing, for while I was glad to be free of her active meddling, even as she slept I was never able to completely ignore her presence. I feel her like an itch, like a stubborn pimple forming beneath my skin, and I’m glad to sense her rising if only because it means I can get back to business sooner rather than later.

The water heater and other facilities are still in good condition from the last unfortunate newcomers I drove from my doorstep, which frees her to take a long shower, singing obnoxiously all the while. This, however, is a perfect opportunity for me. When the heat from the shower fogs the chipped bathroom mirror, I brandish my loathing like a pen and write her a message. Granted, precision isn’t my forte, so the words come out a little smeared and crooked, but still the intent is clear as can be.

LEAVE

Ann squints at the streaked mirror. “Love?”

“Are you really that stupid?”

She looks around but, seeing no one, shrugs it off again and starts to brush her teeth. When she ducks her head to spit, I quickly try again.

MINE

“Mina? Who’s Mina?”

I groan. Okay, perhaps a more symbolic approach. I will the mirror to shatter, but just then a loud knocking sounds and Ann runs off in a frenzy before she can see the long crack forming down the center.

“Door’s open!” She calls from the landing as she hurries to finish dressing with one hand and wrangle her hair into a towel with the other.

I try to hold it shut, but despite my efforts, the door is forced open and a parade of half a dozen handymen file into the entryway. As they start setting up, a burly towheaded man breaks from the pack and goes to meet Ann as she’s bounding down the stairs.

“Careful, careful. Don’t put your foot through anything before I’ve even had the chance to bill you.”

“Nick,” Ann says fondly. “If these stairs could handle me, Kim, and the fifty-pound mattress we lugged up there yesterday, I think they’re stable.”

“You gals didn’t have to do all that. I could’ve—“

“It’s fine,” she insists. “You’re helping me out enough as it is.”

“Yeah, well, we’re even for that whole thing at Kim’s wedding now.”

“More than even,” she agreed. “I know this was last minute. Dinner’s on me tonight. I’ll order enough pizza for the entire crew.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You haven’t seen how much Seth can eat.”

Their easy banter disgusts me. Living people are all the same; wandering around with blind optimism or bemoaning every bad turn, blissfully unaware of how little it truly mattered. One wrong step with those tools of theirs and any one of them could be joining me among the shiftless dead. I don’t have any desire for that kind of company so I decide to wait until they’re done with their renovations before I risk trying to scare anyone again.

As it is they hardly need my help. Ann, it turns out, is more than just clueless, she’s a klutz. If that isn’t enough she insists on “helping” right up until she almost shoots herself in the foot with a nail gun. Nick warns her not to try it again but I don’t feel any anger from him. The crew are all familiar with one another and with her. They chat and toss around jokes between tasks; someone puts on music.

The feeling isn’t quite a tangible one, but then neither am I. It’s an energy I struggle to describe, something like wading in a river and being aware of a splash rippling from upstream. Compared to the sharp tang of fear I’m accustomed to, all this amicability is nauseatingly sweet.

Ann beams, and the high arches of her cheeks dimple and flush darkly, round as apples.

“What exactly do you have to be so happy about?” I hiss in her ear.

As much as I hate to admit it though, I can understand why someone like her moved so easily among the crowd. Even when she was getting underfoot, she’s a difficult person to condemn for it. How could anyone begrudge her excitement when it was so abundant? Or her love when it was so freely given?

Growing impatient with it all, I knock a toolbox off the top of a stepladder and send its contents scattering in all directions. It lands hard and the sounds of work, the music and the laughter, all come to an abrupt stop.

“What was that?” someone asks. A worker crouches down underneath the arch of the ladder to collect some of the scattered screws and I, with great satisfaction, tip the thing over on top of him. The damage is little, but it’s enough to get the entire crew good and spooked.

“I didn’t touch it,” the injured handyman insists as he nurses his bruises with an icepack. “It just collapsed.”

“Maybe this place is haunted,” another jokes, but her smile doesn’t quite cover her nervousness.

“Kim said the same thing,” Ann muses to herself. Nick looks at her and she startles, as if she hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud.

“I was wondering how you were able to afford this place, even with the damage.”

“Oh don’t start with all that black cat broken mirror stuff. You see bad omens in everything.”

“And you don’t see red flags until they’re waving right in the face. Not even then,” he accuses. Her guilty expression says there’s some truth to his words. “Tell me honestly, is this house haunted?”

“That’s silly. Of course not.”

“Then how do you explain what just happened?” I demand with frustration.

“Then how do you explain what just happened?” asks the injured worker.

“Thank you!”

Ann hums thoughtfully and looks up at my aged walls, my decrepit ceilings. “The realtor warned me there were rumors about this place. This house has survived fire, flood, and an attempted demolition; somehow nothing was ever able to destroy it, and every person who’s lived here had reported seeing strange things. Objects moving on their own, strange sounds at night.”

Nick leans forward in his seat. “And what did you say when they told you all that?”

“I told her it sounded perfect.”

He puts his head in his hands. “Ann. Mary-Ann Thorne. Tell me you did not buy an actual haunted house. When Kim told me you just up and bought a house on a whim I thought that was crazy enough but this…”

“I didn’t buy a haunted house,” she says. She stood up straight and spread her hands with a dramatic flourish. “I bought a survivor. Houses are like people. They have personalities, they have their own little quirks, their likes and dislikes. Old houses most of all. I could tell as soon as I walked into this place that… well that she had something special. I can’t explain it, I just felt so drawn to her.”

She places her hand on the wall and holds it there. If I were alive I think I would shiver.

“She’s been through a lot, but with some TLC she’s gonna sing, I can feel it.”

“That’s crazy,” Nick says, but she isn’t listening. Not to him. It’s almost as if… almost…

“Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t respond. Of course she doesn’t. I berate myself for even daring to expect something so deluded. However, her little speech seems to encourage the crew, or else they’ve just calmed down enough to put aside their reservations and get back to work.

Watching them I feel… strange. Even when my house had been lived in before I had never really felt so cared for. It’s all ridiculous of course, a blind act of charity sprung from some silly woman’s misguided and misdirected affection. While the workers patch holes and replace crumbling pieces, the interloper sweeps and scrubs, eager to do her part.

Evening falls, and Ann prepares to head into town to pick up dinner.

“The guy on the phone said they don’t deliver to this address for some reason,” she says. “Weird.”

“Why don’t I go,” offers Nick. “I’ve got the truck. There’s more room.”

“Okay,” she reluctantly agrees. “But I’m still buying, clear?”

“Crystal.” There’s a faint air of nervousness wafting from him, I think. I suspect he’s been hoping for an opportunity to get away from me for a while.

The rest of the crew seem mostly recovered from their brief brush with the supernatural. I intend to fix that.

I start by flickering the lights, another classic. Someone gets up stammering about checking the fuse box in the basement, but as he and Nick each go for the doors I slam them both at once, creating a nice echoing effect that rings all through the house.

“Try writing that off as the wind.”

“I got a better idea,” another someone offers up. “How about we all go into town for dinner? It’ll be nice to get out of— it’ll be nice to get out, let the dust settle here.”

“Come on, Ann,” Nick gestures. “We can swing by the bar after. It’ll be fun.”

She hesitates, a strange look on her face, and takes a step back. “You all go ahead. I’m not that hungry.”

“Ann.” He speaks more sternly now, looking something like an older brother with a neat wrinkle of worry taking up residence on his brow. “Come on.”

“I’m fine here, and you’re being silly. If you don’t believe me, bring me back something after you eat and you’ll see that I’m perfectly safe here alone.”

“But you’re not alone,” I whisper, for nobody’s benefit but my own. “What would you say, if you knew. If you really knew.”

“Besides, I’ve already spent the night here once. If something were going to happen, why didn’t it?” She pulls a smirk, puts her hands on her hips. “Maybe it’s just you guys my house doesn’t like.”

Nick huffs an almost-laugh and relents, not entirely satisfied but not looking to argue the point any longer. He tells her to call him right away if anything changes and then he leaves. The workers file out after him, the last of them gingerly shutting the door behind him, so as not to anger me.

“Why didn’t you go with them?” I ask her. My voice, such that it is, takes on a plaintive edge. Pitiful. I correct myself, refocus my aims. “You’ve had plenty of chances to run, and it’s only going to get worse from here on out. You know that, right? You’ve got to know this isn’t just some twenty-four-hour fever. You can’t get rid of me. It’s my house.”

She starts up the stairs. I follow. I have no other choice.

“Are you really this dense? How can you ignore the signs? How can you believe there’s anything here worth salvaging?"

She walks into the bathroom and stares into the cracked mirror.

“What are you doing now?” I complain. “Looking for answers? I couldn’t give them to you if I had them. Or are you just admiring your pretty reflection?” I stroke the mirror’s surface. “Must be nice, to be young and lively. If you leave now, you could have years and years of perfect ignorance, uninterrupted by those pesky reminders of death. You could have a life, and you’re wasting it.”

She touches her fingertips to the cool glass with a mystic look in her dark eyes.

“Mina?” she whispers.

“My name isn’t Mina.”

Or maybe it is. Might as well be, for all I know. I think I must’ve had a name once. Surely there was a word, a simple sound, some collection of syllables that meant I see you. Surely there had been someone to speak it and make it real in their mouth. But how should I know? And if such a person did exist, what does it matter now? I’m not a person anymore, I’m a thing that happened, a thing that’s happening still. I’m a box built to hold my history, filled up to the rafters with hurt and resentment. That’s as close as I get to living. If I could move independent of my dour walls like her, I think, I wouldn’t be wasting my time moldering in the darkness.

Ann shakes her head. “Silly. I’m being silly,” she tells herself. Looking up at the dim light fixed above her she adds, “I should probably check on that fuse box after all.”

She goes back down and opens the door to the basement. She flicks the switch on the wall a few times but that bulb's been long neglected. Even those who swear up and down they don’t fear the fables or superstition became suddenly shy when it comes to probing the deepest depths of this old house. Ann turns, presumably to seek out a flashlight, when her heel catches on one of the repairmen’s screws that had rolled loose. It’s not even my fault this time, technically.

Like some kind of morbid slapstick, her foot shoots out from under her and she stumbles backwards towards the open basement door. It’s a long drop that awaits her, followed by a fast end if she’s lucky. And I know well enough by now that she isn’t.

Without thinking, I push her. Instead of that foresworn drop down the basement stairs, Ann finds herself tripping backwards into the wall instead. She rights herself, takes in a sharp breath, and then releases it with a sigh. She’s dazed but unharmed. I find myself mirroring her relief.

She smiles. “Thank you,” she says.

Then she closes the door and walks away.

That has never happened to me before. Normally, to manifest, to have any direct impact on the physical world, I have to summon up a great deal of anger. That isn’t too hard for me; I’ve been angry a long time. But in that moment, I hadn’t been angry. I think I’d been afraid. For her safety? No, of course not. More likely I’d been worried she would leave behind a ghost and I’d be stuck with her invading my personal space for eternity. Still, I’d never… never done anything like that before. I’d never helped somebody. I suppose I’d assumed it couldn’t be done, even if I wanted to. Ghosts, spirits, malevolent spectral entities or whatever you like to call it, that’s not what we're for. That wasn’t what I did, until I did it.

I become aware of singing coming from the kitchen. The fool is never not singing or humming or whistling something. I know music; it’s not as if I’m totally uncultured. While I have no lungs nor lips to make sound, sometimes on a stormy night the wind whistles through my walls, each creak and moan playing for me the orchestra of slow degradation I’ve come to know well.

This is not that. This is… I don’t know what to do with this. I don’t know the words. Is it too late, I wonder. I can’t. I’m not ready. Oh but if you can give me time, stranger, I think I want to learn your song too.

[merakiaes]

Meeting The Shelbys - Finn Shelby

Pairing: Finn Shelby x reader

Requested:  Yes.

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: I probably didn’t make her as shy as you wanted, but I hope it’s alright anyways. Let me know what you think!

Wordcount: 1694

Summary: First time meeting Finn’s family.

“What if they don’t like me.” You whined as Finn dragged you along down the grimy, muddy street, his hand holding onto yours tightly as if to keep you from running away.

He only raised an eyebrow at you, not really seeing what all the fuss was about. Not that you’d expect him to, in the first place. He wasn’t the outsider who was currently on his way to meet his significant other’s gangster family.

“I love you, so why wouldn’t they?” He questioned, as if it was that simple, to which you just scoffed.

“Because I’m a fucking snob, Finn.”

He slowed down his pace, halting in his pulling on your arm and coming to walk by your side instead. “Snob or no snob.” He mused, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “You already talk, fight, drink and fuck like a Shelby whenever you’re with me, so it’s not going to be hard for you to win them over.”

Your eyes widened at his words, looking around in panic to see if someone had heard him, a blush rising to your cheeks and hand coming out to slap his chest out of instinct. “Finn!” You scolded, to which he only laughed.

“What? It’s true, innit?” He raised a careful hand to your head, brushing away some of your curls to inspect one of the many lovebites he’d left on your throat the night before, that you had so desperately tried to cover with concealer to make a good impression on his family.

He smirked. “Leave me absolutely knackered every fucking night, you do. Don’t know where you get all that energy from.”

You could only glare, but still, you couldn’t deny the feeling of your heart picking up speed in your chest. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll think I’m just some common whore.”

“You are for me, though, aren’t you?” He raised an eyebrow simply, smirk only widening.

You scoffed, turning to face back forward as the blush quickly spread from your cheeks to your neck and ears. “Do you want me to hit you?”

He shrugged from your side, clearly having fun with flustering you. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You snapped, keeping your gaze forward and doing your best attempt at hiding the obvious affect he had on you by rubbing your arm with his thumb.

“How could I ever forget when you remind me every day?” He chuckled, to which you only gave yet another scoff.

“I hate you.” You muttered.

He poked your side sneakily, shaking his head. “No, you love me.”

A sigh left your lips. “Unfortunately.”

“And I love you, which is why I know they will, too.” He leaned in and pecked your cheek, before yet again pulling you forward hastily as his aunt’s home came into view. “Now come on, we’re here.”

As he walked inside without knocking, you could feel your heart beating harder and harder in your chest the further into the house you got, jumping when the door slammed shut behind you.

You might have been very daring and unafraid in Finn’s presence, but that was just because he had been a shy, flustered mess when you’d first met him, the only person you’d ever met who was shyer than yourself, which gave you the opportunity to finally dominate something. This something being him and your relationship, that is.

But with other people, you were different. Especially strangers. When you, on the rare occasion, met someone under the same circumstances as you had with Finn, them being shyer than you, you were able to show some more confidence and forwardness.

But when it came to rough, intimidating people who just radiated confidence and power wherever they walked, you would crawl back into your shell and stay in the shadows to your best ability to avoid making a fool of yourself.

Today, however, you couldn’t do that, as you were the sole reason for this family dinner, Finn having insisted that you finally meet his family, as he had yours.

Your dad was a very wealthy, respected man, and had always been on good terms with the Peaky Blinders, offering his help in form of protection, security and finance whenever he was needed. This probably should have made you at ease with the whole situation at hand, but you were absolutely shitting yourself.

The second the unfamiliar voices reached your ears you stopped in your tracks, forcing Finn to stop as well as he was still holding onto your hand.

He gave you a questionable glance, and you instantly brought your free hand to rub your arm, cowering back slightly. “Maybe this wasn’t a very good idea.”

“What are you talking about? Come on.”

He tried to tug on your arm, but you just shook your head. “I don’t think I can do this.”

A loud laugh came from the room next to you, and you involuntarily flinched, causing Finn to grow even more confused.

“I don’t get what the big deal is. Your father’s helped us for years.” He was confused.

“Yeah, but that’s him.” You answered in a slightly whiny tone. “He’s strong. He can handle himself.”

Finn raised an eyebrow at this, turning around fully and grabbing your upper arms softly, looking down at you. “You don’t seriously think any of my family would try to hurt you, do you?”

“No, of course not.” You quickly shook your head. “But I just… I don’t want them to dislike me.”

“They won’t.” He reassured you, opening his mouth to speak again. However, before he could get another word out, a loud voice yelled out from the other room.

“Finny boy, is that you?!”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek lightly as Finn gave you a comforting look, taking you by the waist and beginning to steer you to what you guessed was the dining room. And this time you didn’t stop him, hesitantly following his steps as you walked toward the source of the loud voices, his whole family appearing into sight only seconds later.

You were spotted almost immediately as you entered the room, a man with slicked back, blonde hair instantly rising to his feet from the table where all of the Shelbys were already seated, obviously drunk off his head, holding out his arms in a dramatic gesture.

“Ah!” He yelled. “There’s the lass! And she’s a looker, too. Good job, Finny!”

Your eyes widened slightly at his loud voice and behavior, which one of the other men at the table instantly caught. “Oh, sit down, would you, John? You’re scaring her away before she’s even made it through the doorway.”

He then turned to you, blue eyes inspecting you closely, but not in a way that left you uncomfortable. “Please.” He motioned to the two empty chairs at the end of the table. “Have a seat.”

Forcing a nervous smile, you nodded softly, thanking him quietly and instantly scolding yourself in your head for how pathetic you sounded.

Finn pulled out your chair for you to sit down, beside a woman whom you could only guess was their aunt Polly, before sitting himself down beside you, his hand instantly finding yours under the table as he could practically feel the anxiety radiating form your body.

Introductions were made, putting names to all of the new faces, and soon, you were all eating and chatting. Obviously, however, most of the chatting came from John and Arthur, the two not having stopped teasing their baby brother since you sat down.

You didn’t say much, really only speaking when spoken to, but as minutes passed, and with some help from Finn’s thumb tracing your knuckles, you started feeling more at ease, seeing that they were actually just as much of a family as yours, and taking note of the way they obviously tried to keep family and business apart.

Ada was for most part who actually tried to spark up conversations with you, asking about your interests and life.

Polly and Tommy joined in some of the times, pitching in to ask about your father and his business once or twice, while Arthur and John, who were both drunk even though it was barely six in the afternoon, seemed to stay out of the small talk, cutting right to the case and asking about your sex life, much to Polly’s dismay.

Their teasing had left you a flustered mess within the half hour, and Finn was beyond annoyed, snapping at his older brothers to cut it out every time they would start to tease you again.

As they tried for what seemed to be the hundredth time, Tommy finally set his foot down, metaphorically speaking. “Alright, you two.” He addressed his brothers, letting the chicken bone in his hand drop down to the plate. “That’s enough for now.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Arthur only waved him off, before turning to look at Finn at her side, the boy fuming by now. “Picked a quiet one, ay, Finn?”

Before Finn got the chance to answer however, you heard your own voice cut through the air, before the words had even processed in your head.

“Well, it’s not easy to get a word in edgewise when you never stop talking, now, is it?”

While Finn’s lips instantly pulled into a smug smirk, the boy leaning backwards slightly, putting an arm around the backrest of your chair, the others had gone completely silent, which made you realize what you had just said.

Your face flushed red at the realization, opening your mouth to start apologizing. But before you could, everyone started laughing, save Arthur who was still looking flabbergasted.

“I like you.” Polly chuckled, offering the girl a smirk much like the one who was currently etched onto her boyfriend’s face.

John reached over and gave Finn a brotherly shove, still laughing loudly. “Ye, little brother. You did good. You did good.”

And from that moment on, you didn’t fear the Peaky Blinders any longer, instantly relaxing when they confirmed their fondness of you and welcomed you into their family. Just like Finn had said they would.

[tysonrunningfox]

Toothless: Return to the Black Pony of Second Chances: Part 7

This is fast but also I am practicing. 

Ao3

I didn’t expect Astrid to actually come find me the next time she has to go into town. 

Honestly, I expected her to pretend that we never ran into each other in the barn.  And she basically did, barring the fact that she now critiques how I pet Toothless at least once a day. 

I picked his feet.  He didn’t like it at all, and I wish I’d spent longer practicing with Stormfly.  I’d risk going into Stormfly’s stall when Astrid isn’t there, except I already feel endangered by the fact I’m aware of her summer school status.  I guess Fishlegs is still alive, but also, he’s been on chicken coop duty for the last three mornings, so I don’t want to trade. 

Anyway, I didn’t expect an invitation to town when Astrid found me after morning chores. 

She looks the best and the scariest that any teenage girl has ever looked with mud smudged under her jaw and in her hair.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen her clean, or not since church lunches a decade ago, because by the time I’m up she’s already halfway through her pre-morning set of chores.  Seeing her clean would be like seeing Heather without dark makeup and chipped nail polish.  Maybe mud and cow poop is just the Wyoming version. 

I don’t expect Heather to text and I don’t know how to feel about that.  I don’t really want her to when Astrid might get nosy again. 

“Ok, can I trust you to drop the stack of orders in the back at the post office?”  She looks up abruptly, opening the truck door and climbing halfway out before I can even attempt to answer.  There are muddy handprints on the back of her thighs and hay sticking out of her back pocket and I look away at the stack of envelopes in the backseat.  

“Do I look like I’m six?”  

“You act like it,” she counts a stack of money in the envelope she pulled the list out of, frowning a tight frown that would make me feel bad for her if she weren’t always on my ass.  “Meet me in Gobber’s store when you’re done.”  

“You trust me to cross the street all by myself, it’s an honor, Master Hofferson—”

“And don’t talk to anyone in there,” she cuts across me without looking, “we need them to like us in case we need any favors.”  

“I’m glad you reminded me because I was going to ask each and every individual about their cows.”  

She shakes her head and walks off without saying anything else and I hate that more than anything.  I’m pretty sure only one person has ever been done with me before and that was my mom when she drove me to the airport because she couldn’t handle me anymore, but that took a hard-fought decade.  Astrid’s past that point in less than three weeks, her steps smooth and unaffected as she opens the door to Gobber’s store, picking up a basket inside.  

I do what she says and go to the post office, dropping the stack of bills and packages on the counter and waiting for the man behind it to check each one for proper postage.  

“Stoick’s boy, right?”  He asks, checking an address like it’s his job and not someone else’s problem.  

“Uh, yeah.”  

“Heard you were back for the summer,” he looks up and grins slightly, “you don’t happen to remember me, do you?  I babysat you once, you were barely knee high.”  

“I…sorry, I don’t,” I look back at Gobber’s store, hoping Astrid is coming out after efficiently getting everything we need and giving me an excuse to exit this conversation.  

I miss anonymity.  Already.  I miss notoriety being a choice even more.  Here everyone stares because I’m Stoick’s son and because they all remember the accident and because I’m new in town and that practically makes me a bigger tourist attraction than the world’s biggest cow turd or whatever passes for interesting around here.  I could drop my pants on the side of the road and if anyone was around to see it they’d just pass it off on the city ruining me, when really it’s an almost insufferable lack of self control only made worse by the fact Astrid sees me as a responsibility to keep busy and out of trouble.  And the fact is that when everything is boring, trouble is obvious.  

“Bucket,” he taps the side of his head and it clangs like skulls don’t, “old army nickname, you might remember that at least.”  

“Oh yeah,” I lie, because the only thing worse than people acting like my leg doesn’t make me different is acting like I should feel the same, “I bet I got a kick out of that.”  

“All the kids do,” he finally drops the packages in a bin behind the counter, “I’ll let your father know if he gets anything else in, maybe I’ll see you again when you come to pick it up.”  

“Yeah, sure.  Maybe.”  I feel like I’m supposed to say goodbye because it doesn’t matter what I do, it all feels rude in some way.  Like I’m in a minefield of backcountry etiquette laser triggers and tripping one means one of those bored, withering looks from Astrid.  And probably an assignment to clean the next most disgusting poop to what she already made me clean.  

“See you around!”  Bucket does wave and I sort of raise my hand as I’m opening the door and stumbling out into the wind-blown parking lot.  

There’s an honest to god tumbleweed against the tire of the truck and I sigh, opening the door to Gobber’s store and flinching at the loud bell that jingles and announces me.  Astrid and two guys I don’t recognize all look over and she’s the first to look away.  One of the guys is younger and behind the counter, leaning on his elbows like he needs to see Astrid’s list.  The other is older and the first person I’ve seen wearing anything but filthy jeans since I crossed the state border.  It’s just slacks and a button up shirt and tie, but it stands out as much as the fact that he’s the kind of attractive that only appears in proximity to girls as hot as Astrid.  

That’s how it always was with Heather, at least, the zone ten feet around her in all directions instantaneously populated with GQ rejects and aspiring young actors or influencers or whatever other title inspires a guy to wake up and do a thousand crunches.  

Astrid glares at me as I approach and I almost want to warn them both, like yes, she’s unreasonably pretty, but at what cost?  Don’t they realize they’d have to deal with her personality too?  And that she snoops and bosses and if you’re ever randomly, instantaneously better than her at something she seethes about it for literal weeks.  

“I mean, normally, shipping on that would be an extra twenty bucks to get it here by Friday, but I think I can take that off as a discount,” the kid behind the counter types something into the geriatric computer and it whirs ominously, “for you, especially.”  

The man in the tie looks irritated.  

“Thanks Gustav,” Astrid flips through her list, apparently clueless and not even looking at me as I walk up to stand next to her, “did you get the mail sent?”  

“Yep, Bucket clanged his head for me and everything.”  

“Mr. Haddock’s son, right?”  The man who is even more clearly not a boy when he opens his mouth and literally talks in a British accent like this all isn’t already ridiculous holds his hand out and I shake it, trying not to wince at that unnecessarily bruising grip.  “I heard you were coming back to town.  I’m Eret.”  

“Back to town?  It doesn’t quite sound like you’re from town.”  

“He’s with the bank,” Astrid says flatly, setting her list on the counter and looking back at me, “and you actually saw Bucket put the envelopes in the bin?  He didn’t just leave them on the counter?”

“I think I know how to mail things.”  It feels oddly like being chastised by my dad in front of people, and more than that, people who apparently don’t like me just for standing reasonably close to Astrid and talking to her.  

“You’re lucky to have Astrid watching out,” Eret, the mysteriously well-dressed British banker man who is honestly reading like a glitch in the Wyoming matrix, says like he wants nothing more than for Astrid to break that unusually bland even for her expression.  “I don’t know how anything would get done without her around.”  

“It wouldn’t,” the guy behind the counter, Gustav, apparently, agrees, giving me a similar glare.  “She practically keeps inventory around here.”  

I feel vaguely like taking off my once white sock and waving it like a flag of surrender.  

“That’s because you don’t,” Astrid rolls her eyes and she’s either mean to everyone or literally so clueless I shouldn’t be mad for her telling everyone that Heather is my girlfriend because maybe she actually thinks that.  

It’s a little weird to see, honestly, because I’ve seen Heather surrounded by hopeful guys dozens if not hundreds of times and she always knows.  She always looks at them differently and ends up with something from the experience, like a date or a free meal or tickets to something impossible.  But Astrid is just standing there, her usual angry, uptight self, like she doesn’t realize what’s going on at all.  

It might be halfway endearing, like all that hard-working self-sacrifice is actually the result of nothing going to her head, if it weren’t for the fact that it’s practically impossible.  She has to know, she has to have some sort of opinion about it.  

Either that or she’s literally incapable of any opinion but annoyance and unattainable expectations.  

“So, ah…” Eret pauses and looks at me like he’s just remembering I’m unfortunately still here.  I know that face too, the one where he’s trying to tell if I’m just incomprehensibly lucky or if I’m following Astrid around like a lost little duckling.  

The answer is neither, and I almost want to tell them that.  I am merely a referee and witness who will probably be on their side at the trial.  

“Hiccup.”  

“Hiccup, right, how long will you be around?”  

“Hopefully just the summer.”  I try to sound bored.  I succeed.  Astrid digs into her pocket for the stack of bills my dad gave her and counts them carefully.  

“That’s what I said, now I’ve been here a year,” he says like he’s claiming some sort of badge over me and I take a step away from Astrid, like proximity is enough to re-state the disinterest my expression obviously isn’t yelling loud enough.  

“I’ve been here fifteen,” Gustav says smugly, counting Astrid’s stack of twenties, “and you’re a little short.  Sorry.”  

“Here,” she reaches over the counter and pulls a pack of socks out of one of the paper bags, “how’s that?”  

“I can just delete the socks from the inventory, you know, it’s not like anyone counts it around here.”  Gustav looks worried, for a second, glaring at Eret about something other than standing too close to probably the only girl who’s going to come in here today.  

“Like I’m going to let you get away with that,” Astrid scoffs, and I don’t think I’ve heard her closer to joking.  It’s not close, by any means, but it’s better.  Less wooden and bossy and proper and it makes me uncomfortable how much it shocks me.  

“True,” Gustav sighs, “five dollars and twenty-five cents is your change.”  

“Thank you,” Astrid puts it right back into the envelope from my dad instead of pocketing it, like five dollars or a pack of socks matter in the long run and I don’t know the last time I’ve felt more out of place, which is really saying something.  “I’m sure I’ll be back like…tomorrow, with how much we run out of things.”  

“I’m not working again until Thursday, if you could like…wait,” Gustav smiles.  I feel for the kid, because at fifteen I sort of was him, thinking Heather would turn around and look if I was there reliably enough.  

And I don’t know Astrid, not in any of the ways that matter, but I also know that giant, attractive, misplaced, well-dressed Brits almost always take precedence over kids willing to steal socks or gum or banana rum shooters from the corner store.  

“Right,” Astrid picks up one of the bags and practically drops it into my arms before I’m ready and picks up the other two herself, “we have to get back, the last couple of cows should be calving any minute and I left Ruffnut all alone with them.”  

“Sounds serious,” Eret moves like he’s going to open the door for her,  but she kicks it open before he can, rolling her eyes when I barely slip through before it closes.  

She buckles the jug of orange juice into the backseat so that it doesn’t fall on the bumpy road and I’m surprised that I know that, that something weird and pastoral and every day is sticking into my mind.  The same way that I know the name of three or four different brushes that all look almost the same and I know how to check Toothless’s gums for how hydrated he is.  

Maybe this is how someone comes here for the summer and ends up staying longer.  

Astrid is buckling her seatbelt when Eret comes back out of the store and practically jogs to her side of the car.  She frowns before rolling down the window, and maybe there’s something to the absolutely, untouchably frigid act because he sticks that package of socks through.  

“Here.”  

“What are you doing?”  

“They were seven dollars, just take them, it’s the least I can do.”  He says it like there’s some veiled importance, like in his year of study he’s learned that packages of calf-length women’s athletic socks are important to Wyoming mating rituals.  Astrid crosses her arms.  

“I’m not a charity case.”  She turns the key in the ignition and jams the truck into reverse like she’s actually going to peel out of the parking lot and take his arm with her.  And as much as I’m inherently uncomfortable in this situation, I’m more uncomfortable being an accomplice to a crazy person literally running someone’s anachronistic, dress shoe clad foot over, so I hold out my hand.  

“I know where her dresser is.”  

He frowns.  He tosses them to me anyway and I actually manage to catch them.  He lingers for a second longer while she refuses to look at him and then pats the side of the truck before walking away.  

“That took longer than it was supposed to,” she rolls up her window as soon as she’s back on the road, turning the radio up a few clicks like attacking me with some ridiculous song about stomping in a corn field is going to keep me from asking questions.  

“That’s what happens when you stop to flirt for fifteen minutes.”  

“What?”  She looks at me, half confused and half her normal accusatory.  

“Come on, even you aren’t that clueless,” I toss the package of socks into the backseat with everything else, “Mr. Statutory and ‘I’ll embezzle for you especially’ Gustav.”  

“Embezzle?”  She frowns, turning too fast onto a dirt road and spewing dust up behind us.  It’s the same sort of confidence she has with Stormfly, like she’s not actually doing anything dangerous because she’s done exactly this so many times that the boundaries are more like brick walls to her.  I don’t think I’ve done anything that repetitively ever and no wonder she’s insane.  “Gustav’s just a kid, and the only kid who would let Gobber hire him instead of making more money on a ranch somewhere.”  

“Because he wants to talk to you, obviously,” I don’t know why I’m doing this, it feels more like advice than an argument, so I turn it back around, “just like the attractive British guy who, of course, would only brave the tiny square of this state that’s directly next to you.”  

“Eret works for the bank.”  

“Yeah, and you have so much banking business to take care of, right, that’s why he’s buying you socks, to win responsibility for your assets.”  

She grits her teeth, signaling again even though there’s no one around and turning left onto another dirt road I don’t think I’ve been on.  

“You really shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.”  

“Yeah, and I really appreciate you telling everyone I have a girlfriend that I don’t.”  

“You’re still on that?”  She scoffs, “I said I was sorry.”  

“And it felt so authentic, really.  I’ll be the bigger person and not tell everyone that you’re practically sharing expenses with Mr. Statutory—”

“Stop calling him that, he’s like twenty-three or something,” she glares at him, “you sound crazy.  He’s just someone I know because he works at the bank that has all of the loans for land around here.”  

“Because teenagers know so many bankers.”  

“Why do you care so much?”  She turns again, past the first fence line I recognize as Haddock property.  “Don’t you have anything better to do than worry about who I talk to in town?”  

“Not really.  There’s literally nothing else to do, I don’t get why no one else understands that.”  

“There’s plenty to do, did you forget that you’re the only one who can touch a dangerous horse that’s taking up food and resources?  That’s something to fix, right there, something no one else can even bother you about.”  

“Right, because I know so much about training horses.”  

“You could ask,” she scoffs, “I’m sure someone taught you to do that at some point.”  

I almost blurt out that I’ve never really needed to but that’s a bad idea when there are no witnesses and she’s already mad at me.  

“Who would I ask?”  

“I’ll help you.”  It’s less of an offer and more of an order, “I have an old saddle you can use.”  

“Ok, fine.”  I shrug and look out the window at those two warped trees by my dad’s dingy, wind-blown house.  

“Don’t tell anyone I talked to Eret,” her voice is a little softer, a little more unsure, “Ruffnut’s all about him, I don’t want to deal with that today.”  

00000

I grew up hearing about how beautiful baby animals are. 

And yes, the cow that I helped um…retrieve from the rear of a groaning cow is cute after the cow licked all of the…stuff off of it, but it didn’t seem beautiful, necessarily.  Useful, maybe.  Important. 

More important than handing out flyers outside of a meat-packing plant or avoiding chicken nuggets, but not beautiful. 

Functional. 

Gratifying, especially when Astrid left me alone with it for a second to check the other cow.  Like she might trust me.  Like proving that I can in fact give stacks of letters to a person actually did start to establish some base layer of trust. 

Of course, that all proved false the next morning after mucking stalls when she announced it was time to start training Toothless.

“Do you know if he’s green-broke?”  She asks, hanging the pitchfork back on the wall and wiping her palms on her jeans, seemingly unaware of the hay in her hair. 

“He’s…black.”  I say, pointing through his stall bars. 

“No, is he—green-broke means that he’s comfortable with a saddle.”  She clarifies, already a bit annoyed with me, and honestly it’s more familiar than her being halfway trusting, so I’ll take it. 

I shrug, “I wouldn’t know.” 

She takes a frustrated, determined step towards his stall and Toothless’s nostrils flare, whites of his eyes showing as he tosses his head. 

It seems like Astrid can’t think when she’s standing still. 

I get it, in a way that I think it might be the only glimmer of a thing that we have in common, and she shoves her hands into muddy pockets, looking at me like she hates that she’s depending on me for the concept of a landline. 

A landline she probably doesn’t believe in because what wire survives the wind howling outside. 

“Why are you helping me?”  I ask, the question that’s been on my mind boiling over like the milk Ruffnut didn’t buckle in yesterday when she volunteered to fall on the flirting with Gustav sword. 

It catches Astrid off guard and she sputters for a second before taking a step back from Toothless’s stall, and shrugging. 

“You’ve been…surprisingly non-whiny.”  She shrugs, gesturing pointedly at my arms, sunburned and peeling slightly where they peek out from under the sleeves of my torn H&M flannel that’s rolled halfway up my forearms.  “All things considered.” 

“All things?” 

“For a city kid, you’re surprisingly useful.”  It’s more backhand than compliment, but I don’t hate it, necessarily. 

It’s honest. 

There’s no commentary about potential or effort or how I’m wasting either. 

“Useful.”  I echo the word that’s never been applied to me before. 

“You can’t tell if a horse is green-broke or not but…that’s not your fault.”  She pulls the insult like it’s heavy for her and she expects me to help her heft it and maybe the frosty, general inaccessible thing has its charm, because right now it’s like she’s gesturing to a hay rope that I might even be allowed to access if I weren’t so scrawny. 

“It’s the city’s fault, I know.  Can’t fight the corruption of places being open past 8pm with biceps like these.”  I flex. 

She blinks at me, exhausted, and I don’t know why I suddenly realize that she always has been.  She’s all dark circles and scowl, all slightly too skinny angles in her cheeks, like I always felt when my mom insisted on a stricter than usual vegan kick with no more cooking lessons than she’d had previously. 

“Come on, you can learn on Stormfly.”  She waves me after her, purposeful again, boots clunking heavy on the barn floor as she takes Stormfly’s halter off of its hook.  “We’ll deal with Toothless when you know some of what you’re doing.” 

She says the name with the same tone that her eyes had when she acknowledged my arms and my jeans and my general unacceptability.  Like she accepts it, despite initial reservations. 

Acceptance.  Yet another word I don’t know I’ve had directly applied. 

It’s heavy, like the saddle she promptly plops into my arms.  Which I drop. 

She doesn’t laugh and it feels like an assignment. 

[brightmoonprincess]

Scorpia/Adora Coffeeshop AU for @blackbyakko for the @sherawintergiftexchange! 

it’s very cheesy and rushed, but hope you like it!

paring: Scorpia/Adora rating: G length: 2.1k words

- - -

For my best friend Entrapta! Good luck on ur robot! (^ ᴗ ^)/

Since her first day working at the cafe, Scorpia has always written kind and encouraging messages onto every single customer’s cup. Sure, her coworkers complain about not being to find the name quickly enough when it’s time to call it out. And sure, sometimes the queue of customers get irritated by the longer wait...

But it’s fun! And it keeps people happy! It’s part of the reason why Scorpia loves her job. It makes the coffee shop feel more like family, rather than business.

For some quirky reason, Entrapta insists on her espresso being served in the smallest sample-sized paper cup that’s available. It’s made it difficult for Scorpia to write out her message on it. Her hands aren’t exactly danity, and neither is her penmanship. 

(These meaty claws were meant for sweet sweet loving, not for writing tiny tiny letters.) 

 The bulky, fluffy letters cover almost the entire surface area of the cup. The emoji at the end barely makes the cut, but she manages to squeeze it in.

“Another mini espresso, coming right up!” Scorpia says, setting the cup down at the end of the line of pending orders. “Hey, uh, Entrapta… Do you think you should slow down a bit?”

It’s the tenth coffee in a row that her eccentric pig-tailed friend has bought, and Scorpia is starting to worry about her caffeine intake… Can baristas start cutting people off? Or is that only a thing for bartenders?

“What? And waste my precious time unconscious when I could be working? Never!” Entrapta proclaims when the notion of “slowing down” is suggested to her. She’s practically vibrating.

Scorpia sighs. 

After Entrapta goes to wait for her drink, Scorpia takes the next customer’s order-- but she notices that her trusty marker is almost out of ink. Man, this things really go quick-- this is the third one this month!

“Mermista! Do you know where we keep the markers?” Scorpia calls out to the other side of the bar.

Her less enthusiastic coworker groans in response. “You do know that we’re getting paid minimum wage, right?”

Just as Scorpia is about to remind her about the importance of kindness and customer service. Mermista holds up her hands and says, “Hold up, forget I asked. I’m clocking out in two minutes.”

“Already? I thought you were working until closing with me!”

“Oh, right. You don’t know yet,” Mermista realizes. “We have a new girl. She started yesterday, and she’s taking over the rest of this shift.”

Scorpia’s eyes light up. A new coworker! This could be a new friendship opportunity! Not that Mermista isn’t great, but sometimes she can be a bummer when working. The Etheria Coffee Co family could stand to gain another member who has the same passion for the art of barista-ing that Scorpia has!

Right on cue, another person comes in from the back room. She greets them joyfully, “Hi!”

Immediately, Scorpia’s excitement turns into huge disappointment. 

Really? Really??? 

Of all the eligible working young women in this town, they just had to pick the most irritating person to ever exist, with the most obnoxious personality and the most ridiculous forehead-enlarging hair poof.

They make eye contact, Scorpia’s sharp glare battling against Adora’s wide-eyed surprise, and the two buff baristas say in union--

“Oh.”

/ / / / /

“Two non-fat peppermint mochas, a sixteen-ounce americano, a salted caramel latte, and a orange-mango-agave smoothie are on the bar!”

It’s been a week, and Adora is absolutely insufferable.

She somehow manages to make six drinks simultaneously, putting together even the most complex drink orders as if she’s made them all a million times before. It’s like she’s some kind of latte-making superhuman!

Of course, she’s great at the job. Why wouldn’t she be great at everything she does?!?! Grrr.

She even convinced Entrapta to drink decaf coffee for a while instead, telling her that it’s a missed opportunity to experiment with placebo effects of caffeine. Why didn’t Scorpia think of that?!

But the worst part?? Despite the fact that Scorpia has been working at the shop for two months, Adora keeps asking her if she needs help with something. It’s like she’s always looking for a reason to swoop in and play the hero, like someone needs her to save the day from coffee shop mayhem. It’s infuriating! 

And no, it has absolutely nothing to do with the Catra situation, thank you very much. Scorpia is irritated by all of this for completely unrelated reasons! Adora is a terrible coworker! That is the one and only explanation. 

“Phew! I’m glad the place is finally starting to slow down! How’s it going over there, Scorpia?” Adora asks.

When Scorpia doesn’t reply, Adora looks over at her, and she becomes concerned at the completely crushed cup in Scorpia’s clenched fist. “Er… Scorpia? Do you want to take a break? I can handle it from here. 

Oh here we go again. Scorpia doesn’t need Adora acting like she’s better than her all of the time! She is the furthest thing from a damsel in distress. And after the past week of having to tolerate all of this, Scorpia can’t take it anymore! 

“Alright, alright! We GET it, Adora! You can handle it! You can handle everything! Well, I, for one, don’t need your help!” Scorpia snaps, too loudly.

“What? I’m just trying to be nice!”

 “... W-o-w.” Mermista’s draws out her monotone reaction as she pokes her head in from the back room. “So can both of you, like, stop being weird and help me lift some of these boxes?”

Adora and Scorpia glare at each other, but-- now that it’s incredibly awkward and uncomfortable-- they silently agree to move on. For now. 

They follow Mermista to the back storage closet, where she directs them to a tall stack of boxes to carry out. They’re small but surprisingly hefty. Nevertheless, Scorpia lifts one onto her shoulder with ease. 

Adora picks up two.

So, naturally, Scorpia picks up three more.

Yes, in fact, this just became a weight-lifting competition. 

They keep at it for a bit, stubbornly matching the number of boxes that the other person is carrying until they’re huffing and wobbling around. But there’s no way Scorpia is backing out now! This is easy-peasy. The sweat on her forehead means absolutely nothing, except that maybe the air conditioner stopped working.

“Can you hold the door open for us?” Adora asks Mermista, her voice strained.

“Nope,” Mermista answers, swiftly closing the door.

“Uh,” Adora says.

“Um,” Scorpia echoes.

They give each other confused side-glances.

“Neither of you are leaving this closet until you learn how to at least pretend to like each other,” Mermista says calmly from the other side, followed by the sound of the door being locked. “I do not get paid enough to listen to you argue all the time.”

Adora sets down her boxes-- (phew, game over! Scorpia wins)-- and goes to jiggle the doorknob. “Mermista, this isn’t funny! Open the door!”

No response. 

She lets out a groan and turns to Scorpia. “What was that all about, anyways?”

The totally-innocently-and-not-petty-at-all barista shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You blew up at me for no reason!”

“I had a reason! Many reasons.”

“Like what?”

“Like... I just… I don’t need you coming here and beat me at this, too!”

Adora pauses for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Scorpia mutters. “It’s not the first time I’ve had to compete with you...”

So Adora asks the big question, “Is this... about Catra?”

“No!!! I mean, sort of! But not really! I just… ugh...” Scorpia sinks to the ground, cupping the sides of her face with her hands. “I’m over all of that-- really!’

Well, guess it’s out there now. If she dies in this cafe storage room, it might as well be with an honest heart. 

Although things didn’t work out between her and Catra, she really is over it! 

What she’s not over is how jealous Adora made her feel. Even if Catra and Adora are only friends, it didn’t feel great to be compared to someone... even if she herself was the one doing the comparison.

Scorpia tries to explain, “It’s more like... I don’t like being reminded that you’re better than me, ok? I know that it’s not a competition, but for some reason, I still feel like I’m always competing with you!”

Adora stays silent, unsure of what to say. 

“You’re really amazing,” Scorpia admits. Her cheeks redden. “I know you are, but you don’t have to rub it in…”

After a few moments of sitting in the awkward silence, Adora crouches down with her. “If we’re being honest… I think you’re more amazing than I could ever be.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah, I do!” Adora insists. “I know we haven’t gotten along after the drama with Catra happened, but... I think you’re a good person! You’re strong, you’re loyal, and you genuinely care about people… You do kind things because you want to, not because anyone expects you to! I don’t even know if I can say the same for me...“

“Oh, uh…” Scorpia wasn’t expecting this. If she hadn’t been blushing already, she definitely was now. After all, Adora’s an honest person. She wouldn’t have said all of that if she didn’t mean it.

“It’s never been a competition,” Adora assures her.

Scorpia lets out a slow, shaky laugh. “... Ok, I might have been letting the past get to me. I shouldn’t take it out on you. I’ll get over it, I promise!”

Adora smiles at her. “Sooo does this mean that we’re friends now? Or at least friendly coworkers?”

“At least friendly coworkers,” Scorpia agrees with a grin. 

Adora stands up, offering her hand to help Scorpia up as well. “Now let’s get out of here!” 

She helps Scorpia up knocks on the door again.

… Still no response. Uh oh. 

“Uh… Mermista?” Adora calls out.

Scorpia wonders, “It was almost closing time when we came back here… She wouldn’t leave us in here overnight, would she?”

Oh no… she totally would. Scorpia can’t die in a coffee storage closet! She had so many plans! Who is going to water her plants? Who is going to inherit her motorcycle? Who will take over the duty of writing her signature coffee cup messages???

“I’m going to break the door down,” Adora announces.

“Wait, I don’t know if that’s the best idea--” Scorpia beings to tell her, but Adora is already preparing to throw herself at the door.

With a mighty battle cry, Adora rushes towards the door, shoulder braced for impact-- but just before she hits the wood, the door swings open to the other side. 

“Whoa there!” Scorpia lunges forward to catch Adora before she falls onto the floor. Who’s the hero now, huh?

“Two things,” Mermista says.

 “One, you’re not supposed to use your shoulder; you’re supposed to kick. You would know this already if you read Mer-mystery: The Vanishing Clownfish, like I told you to many many times.

“Two, I am not getting my pay docked because two idiots broke the door.”

/ / / / /

 It’s been a month, and work has been great! Once Scorpia let go of her gay pettiness, she and Adora have been getting along really well. She can’t believe that she used to hate her!

That isn’t to say that Adora doesn’t have her annoying moments-- she does-- but Scorpia feels like she’s learned a lot more about her. Once Adora gets more comfortable, she actually has a very silly, fun side. 

Like she does this really cute thing where she puts weird emphasis on some of the drink orders when she calls them out, like frapPUcciNO-- wait, cute? Uh. Scorpia meant funny. Funny and not adorable at all. 

Oh no. Not again.

Scorpia is finishing up a latte and sorting out her thoughts, when she notices Adora walking in through the front door.

“Oh, hey, Adora! Are you working today?”

“Hey, Scorpia! Ah, about that…” Adora says, “I came here to tell you that I’m quitting.”

“Aw, man… Really?” 

“I got a promotion at my other job,” Adora explains. “They gave me a lot more hours, so I don’t have enough time to work this one, too...”

“I didn’t even know you had another job!” Scorpia gawks. She hopes that Adora hadn’t been overworking herself this entire time. “But... congratulations!”

“Thanks! So... we can still be friends, right?”

“Of course!” Scorpia affirms. 

She’s happy for Adora, but she can also feel her heart sinking. A few weeks ago, she wished that Adora would quit-- but now... it’s heartbreaking. Talk about a one-eighty. She and Adora had the start of a beautiful friendship going on, and it sucks that it might come to an end. 

And now, after realizing how much she’s going to miss all of the time she’s spent with Adora... 

Scorpia also realizes something important.

“... Can I get you some coffee?” she asks Adora. “On the house!”

Adora grins back. “Sure!”

Alright. Here is it. Possibly the most important coffee cup message that she has ever written in her entire life! Gotta make it good!

Her heart is pounding, and she writes out:

For Adora, the best coworker I’ve ever had! (Don’t tell Mermista! )

(Also, want to go on a d       hang ou    maybe if you’re at all interested we could go out sometime? Together?)

<3

[oliver-do-the-twist]

Screw it, I know this short story won't get much attention cause Tumblr hates original content but I want to post it anyway

Mentions of prostitution, minor swearing. around 3800 words

Its a western, but different. Enjoy

The Streets of Midpoint

I believe the town of Midpoint is aptly named. 

It is truly in the middle of nowhere. 

I had gotten stranded here four awful months ago. And I would rather be anywhere than this backwater hick-hole.

I hail from New York, a stark contrast to where I find myself now. The search of furthering my education had forced me to attempt the journey to San Francisco. However, some bandits had other plans for me along the way. 

They left me, horseless, penniless, and without food and water four miles from Midpoint. I was lucky to have found the town before dark. 

I would not, however, call Midpoint a town. There are but three buildings, one store/post office, a small church, and a saloon catering to each of man's deadly sins.

There is nothing but Mexicans and white trash bandits here, just yesterday there was a shootout where one young man lost his life. Once I heard the shooting, I immediately went to my room above the saloon and waited it all out.

I only heard of the young man's misfortune from the bartender. He, in my educated opinion, is the least insufferable person in town. He came from one of the bigger towns, and still held onto some bit of culture that I could hold some kind of enlightening conversation with that didn't involve killing, stolen cattle, poker, or the whore that resided in the room next to mine named Anna.

Luckily for me, the piano classes I took in New York were not for nothing. The kind bartender offered me a job to play his old Baldwin, and in return I got to sleep in the spare room upstairs and get a reduced pay for it. I do not plan to stay here forever, but at least I can bring some real culture to the murders and thieves that live here while I save enough money to take the stagecoach out of here.

The whore is perhaps the most insufferable person in this town. Not because of her occupation, or even the fact of her gender. She is just simply the opposite of me. She is on all day about superstitions, ghosts, and tall tales. I suppose living in a desert of red sand and tumbleweeds one's entire life would do that to a person. Without proper analysis of the world through a rational perspective I can't really blame her for believing in such nonsense. 

Perhaps it is a coping mechanism. Everyone here seems to be on the verge of blowing up either with anger or grief at any moment. I do see it in her at times. It's the wistful look out the window or the small apprehension in her eyes when confronted by certain customers. 

I see that look right now as she turns upstairs with one such man. I noticed he was a weekly guest of hers, always coming on Sundays at around 6:30.  The saloon was mostly empty on Sunday evenings, that must be why he is so punctual. 

Tonight, there wasn't anyone here but me. The bartender had decided to close up early, as he usually does on slow evenings. The saloon had the uncharacteristic aura of serenity as the glasses lay untouched and the card deck at the poker table unshuffled. The only companion I had for the night were the ivory keys at my fingertips as I played my choice in song. 

"Is that a nocturne?" A voice said, startling me from my playing. I had not noticed anyone walk through the squeaky double doors. 

I looked up behind me from my music to see a man in his late twenties. He wore a long dark coat and worn hat. His eyes were clear blue, but clouded with confusion.

Something struck me as odd, no, out of place about him. Even through He wore much the same clothes that every cow hand or bandit that strolled through those doors, there was something about him, maybe the way he held himself, or his walk, that told me he didn't belong in this town. 

"Why yes it is," I said as I stood to greet him.  “I believe you are the first to identify any of the music I've played on that thing that isn't 'Camp Town Races'."

"I have a fondness for Chopin," the man said as he hung his hat on the rack. "I think I've always liked classical music."

That last comment of his struck me as odd, "you think?" 

The man became slightly embarrassed, "well sir, I uh, can't seem to remember much about myself lately."

My eyes widened in curiosity, "ah, you mean amnesia?"

"It must be, I can't seem to recall much of anything."

I leaned back and eyed him, "well, have a drink," I offered as I made my way to the bar, "the barkeep has closed up for the night but that doesn't mean we can't try to jog your memory over a glass or two.”

“That's better than any plan I have,” the man said as he took a stool next to me.

I reached over the bar and rummaged through the bottles of what I considered to be pure acid until I found one of the few bottles of wine. I then poured a glass for each of us.

I told him my name, and how I came to Midpoint. 

“You were on your way to San Francisco?” he asked.

I nodded. 

“That sounds familiar.” He began to rub his head, “I believe I was headed that way as well.”

“Well, maybe we can pool our money and try to get there together, and get away from this awful town.”

The man shook his head and frowned in confusion. “No,” he said quietly, “ I can't leave. I know that. I have to stay here.”

I frowned. Having someone to travel with would have been a lot easier, and this man looks like he could handle a few bandits, unlike myself. “Do you know why you have to stay here?”

The man brought his hand to his mouth and frowned. “No.”

The saloon was quiet for a few moments as the dying sunlight caught the bends and curves in our glasses. I took out my pocket watch and checked the time, 7:07.

Sudden loud footsteps came from the stairs, and it seemed Anna’s customer was finished. Both my companion and I turned around and looked at the abrupt noise. 

The brute looked at me and frowned. He cleared his throat and turned out the door with nothing more than a ugly look and a foul lingering smell.

I scrunched my nose in disgust and turned back to my new friend. “You can see why I want to leave so soon.”

The man chuckled.

“Do you know your name? Or any other name?”

He shook his head again. “I do not. The only thing I can recall is this saloon. I know I have to be here.”

“Well, you're here now,” I said as I took a sip from my glass.

The man looked wistfully into his own glass. 

“You said you liked Chopin. Do you know why?”

“I- I think it has something to do with my childhood. The music you were playing seemed old to me, like from a memory.”

“That sounds promising, would you like me to play more?”

“I wouldn't want to disturb no one. It's nice to just talk to someone who doesn't want to kill me.”

“Well then, let me see,” I said as I leaned my elbow on the bar, “you don't talk like everyone else here, I might even venture a guess you're from somewhere near New York based on your slight accent. But you definitely dress just like the next dusty cattle driver that comes through here. Not to mention that gun you wear.”

“That's another mystery,” he said as he pulled it out and examined it, “I checked it and it's completely empty of bullets.”

“Heh, maybe that's why you have amnesia in the first place.”

He smiled sarcastically, “that could very well be it.”

There was no longer any sunlight outside, only a faint glow on the flat horizon. I finished the last sip of my drink and set the glass down. 

The man turned around at the darkened sky. “I think it's time for me to leave,” he said as he stood up abruptly. He turned around and reached out his hand.

I stood and shook it, his hand was cold from the drink. “oh, are you sure? You don't have to leave so soon...”

“No, no, I have to go. Thank you for the evening.”

“Come back anytime,” I said, still a little confused at his suddenness.

He tipped his hat and turned out the doors, leaving me alone in the dark saloon.

The following week I neither saw or heard of the man with amnesia. I asked a few of the tolerable patrons about him, but no one seemed to know anything. I hoped to see him again, if only to make sure he was doing well, or to find out about the mysteries of his past. But I feared the worst. Anything could happen to a man out here. 

Throughout the week, I had noticed Anna had not been herself. I had barely heard a word out of her mouth, not that I usually tried to initiate any conversation with her. But I noticed every chance she got she retreated into herself. She was unhappy, even more so than usual. Before, she always seemed to be holding onto some kind of hope, and for whatever reason now, that hope had fallen from her fingers.    

Honestly, I didn't want to know about her misfortune, I had enough of my own. I know that's insensitive, but I had to focus on getting out of here with the meager pay I get before I lose my mind to the oppressive heat and the endless desert.

It is now Sunday again, and I just bid ado to the bartender as the clock on the wall struck 6:30. Ever punctual, the selfish brute barged through the double doors and stomped his way upstairs. The thought crossed my mind that he could break into my room and steal my belongings, but I dismissed it. Anyone who saw my room saw I had nothing to steal. 

The only valuables I had were inside my head. Equations, literature, philosophical texts, and most important for the time, pages and pages of music.

I put my memory to good use as I performed my evening show for myself.  During the days, people only wanted the crude drinking songs; the ones with no feeling or soul. Once everyone went home on Sunday evenings, I had the song choice to myself. I kept myself sane by playing compositions from the greats.

I chose Chopin again, maybe out of a small hope the man would come back. 

My hopes were answered as the clock struck seven. Again, I heard no double doors open, but rather the voice of my mysterious friend;

“I think I know why I like Chopin.”

I turned around, and sure enough he was standing there, dark coat and dark hat.

“You're back,” I said with some surprise as I stood up and made my way to the bar. “You left so soon last time.” I began to pour the wine into two glasses and took my same spot as before. “Sit and tell me about Chopin.”

The man sat down on the bar stool across from me and took the glass of wine. “I think I remember my mother used to play his work.” 

“That's a tremendous discovery! How did you find out?”

“It was your playing. It brought me back.”

I smiled, I was glad my music actually helped someone. “Did it bring anything else back?” 

“I’m getting flashes of high buildings, and a few of my mother's words. She, if I can remember correctly, was a deeply God-fearin’ woman.”

“God-fearing eh?” I said with some disapproval. 

The man frowned, the first I saw with real displeasure. “What's wrong with loving God?” he asked.

I put my hands up in surrender, “To each his own I guess, I just don't believe in any of that stuff.”

 “You don't believe in anything beyond this world?”

“It doesn't make any rational sense to me.”

“Well, can you fully disprove its existence?”

I was silent, of course the answer was no, if I knew the answer to everything that would make me God.

“Maybe you should keep an open mind about things you don't know, all I’m sayin’.”

I took another sip of wine. “Do you remember anything else?”

At that moment the brute came thudding down the stairs. He eyed me and adjusted his coat collar before leaving out the double doors.

“What's his business here?” the man asked.

“Y-you didn't guess?”

“I feel like it's on the tip of my tongue.”

“He- was here for the company upstairs if you get my meaning.”

“A workin’ girl…” he said, his hand moved to his breast pocket, and his eyes were on the ceiling. But they held no lust or selfish desire; only a soft ache.

The last of the light of the sun sunk below the horizon. At that moment, the man turned and looked at the changing sky outside. He stood up quickly, “It's time for me to be on my way,” he said.

I frowned, “again?”

He nodded, and I stood to shake his chilly hand, “I’m afraid so, it's been a great evening. Thank you again.”

I barely had time to respond to his thanks before he left through the swinging doors.

I couldn't really tell you what happened the following week. I was too lost in my thoughts for most of it. The days blended together. I played the songs, ate my food, and slept when it got dark, but all my tasks were done with the man's words in my mind. Usually if I came across a spiritual fanatic, I would dismiss them just as soon as I would a fairy tale. The man didn't say anything I hadn't heard before, but those words coming from him for whatever reason stuck with me. I felt like my whole world view was turning over on itself. 

Anna, in the meantime, had changed from hopeless to downright angry with the world. She was almost comparable to a trapped animal at times. Her temper had gotten so bad to the point that the bartender had to threaten to kick her out, as she was driving all the patrons away. She had cooled off a bit at the prospect of having nowhere to sleep at night. But it didn't change her general mood toward people. It just made me want to stay away from her even more.

It's Sunday again and I sit on my bench, playing Chopin. The brute had come through the doors and up the stairs. I can't help every few seconds my eyes flash to the clock on the wall. 6:50, 6:55, 6:57… my fingers continue their rhythm until I hear the seven chimes.

“Have you ever been in love?”

There he is. 

I close the lid to the piano softly and stand to greet him.

“Isn't that a little personal?” I ask, “couldn't you tell me how your week was, or maybe ask about mine? You know, the normal small talk that friends go on about. Or maybe you could tell me why you only show up on Sundays at seven?”

“I’m glad you consider me a friend.”

“Hmm,” I grumbled, “Well come on then, lets sit.”

I fill the glasses and slide one his way as he takes his seat.

“I’m serious,” he said, “Have you ever been in love?”

I sigh, “Maybe, once. I don't really want to get into it. Why do you ask?”

“I think I’m in love. I think I know why I’m here.”

My eyes widened and I leaned forward, “So? What is it?”

The man opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by sudden angry shouts from above us. We both looked to the ceiling, and I realized the voice was Anna’s mixed with the rough brute’s. The voices became louder as they moved to the edge of the stairs, and became clear enough to understand.

“I’m not doing this for you anymore!” Anna yelled, “you can't make me!”

“You bitch! You ain't no woman!” the brute yelled back.

We could see up to Anna’s knees as she stood above him on the stairs, and by the looks of it she was pushing him down one by one. 

“You get out! You never come back!” she said with each push. We watched as she forced him down. Until the only thing we couldn't see of her was her head.

“You shoot my Jake dead! And you expect me to lay on my back for you? You're lucky I don't kill you! Get out! Get out!”

The brute was finally pushed off the stairs and landed on his backside. “He deserved it!” he yelled, “The thief! You're no better than him! Takin’ my money like that! I’ll be back!”

With that, the brute stood up and stomped away without a word. Anna collapsed into a sob on the final stair, her long red hair cascading over her face and back.

I looked over to the man, who's eyes were as wide as saucers. His hand absentmindedly made its way to his chest, he looked down at his fingertips, which to my astonishment, were now covered with blood. 

I exclaimed at his sudden unexplained injury, but he didn't seem to notice. His eyes went back to Anna, and he stood up and made his way silently over to her as if in a trance. 

He crouched down in front of her shaking figure. For the slightest moment he hesitated. But nevertheless he reached out in the most tender way possible and held her shaking hands.

She looked up at the hands that were holding hers. Then, in almost disbelief, she looked at the man's face. Her tearful eyes studied him for a long moment. She brought her hand up to his cheek and just felt his skin as she tried to believe what was crouched in front her. “Jake?” she whispered.

The man leaned into her touch like it was life giving. He looked into her eyes, and cradled his hands around her chin. They leaned in for a kiss, the most tender and passionate and mournful kiss I have witnessed in all my years. 

The man then reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a small fortune of bills wrapped in twine, and a ring. He gave the money to her and she clutched it to her chest. He then reached out for her trembling hand and slid the ring on her finger.

She looked at it with tears in her eyes. But she then focused on the growing red stain on his chest, and a panic began to reach her. Her hand reached out and gingerly touched the red, but the man held her hand against his chest, and with ever patience and serenity, shook his head no.

He wrapped her in a hug, and it was the most at ease I've ever seen her be. Her head found the utmost comfort in the crook of his neck, for a moment I thought maybe they had fallen asleep in each other's embrace. 

The glasses around me began to light up in the dying daylight, and only then did the man look up behind him out the window.

“I have to go…” he breathed.

Anna’s grip tightened around him. He leaned into her and whispered something into her ear. She looked up at him, sorrowful understanding now crossed her features. 

They stood up together, and leaned in for one last kiss. She said something to him as well, but only he could hear it.

He turned and looked at the sunset again, there was barely a sliver left on the horizon, and it was retreating quickly. He looked back at her with yearning in his eyes. But she nodded, “I know,” she said softly, “go, I’ll see you again.”

He took a deep breath and brought her hands up and kissed them before turning away. He held her hands for as long as he could as he walked to the doors, but eventually they fell from each other's grip.

He paused right in front of the swinging doors, his hand resting on the top of one. He looked to the dying light again.

Anna suddenly rushed over to him and hugged him from behind, “don't worry,” she whispered, “I’ll be right behind you.”

The man took a deep breath, and Anna let him go. 

He stepped through the doors just as the last of the sun sunk below the horizon. 

Anna stood there watching the street outside for a long time, and I sat frozen on my bar stool watching her. 

When the last glow from the day turned to darkness, Anna turned around and rushed upstairs. A few moments later, she came down with a small trunk stuffed with her few belongings. She pulled a few of the bills from the money she had been given, and stuffed the rest in her bag before heading toward the doors.

“Wait!” I called, “Where are you going?”

She stopped in the same place the man had in front of the double doors. “The coach to San Francisco,” she said, “Like we were going to a long time ago.”

With that, she left. I watched her walk down the street to where I knew the stage was parked, waiting for a good paying traveler.

I was alone in the saloon once again, trying to make sense of what just happened. I reached out and felt the man's glass. It was just as warm as the rest of my surroundings. There was no rational way to explain his cold hands.

I think that's what stuck with me the most that night. I could explain away almost everything except for his frigid hands. I laid on my uncomfortable bed, but no sleep would come. My mind raced until the early morning hours.

It has been a month or so since my strange encounter with the man and Anna, and I am happy to say I am writing this as I sit in a stagecoach on my way to San Francisco. I had finally saved enough money with my meager pay as a pianist to be on my way to real civilization. 

But as I look back at the shrinking town I cannot help but feel a certain sense of spiritual tie to the pathetic little place. What I witnessed here has changed me forever.

Maybe, I think, the town of Midpoint is more aptly named than I first believed.  

[donaldresslerfanfic]

House Hunting.

Rating: M

Warnings: Strong Language, Sexual Content.

Word Count: 4301

Donald Ressler X OC Maggie Waters.

Chapter: Sixty-Seven.

Chapter Index

Story on Wattpad

Ressler.

I've  always thought that the phrase "happy wife, happy life" was nothing but nonsense. I didn't undestrand how the wellbeing of someone else could affect yours so much, we were all responsible for our own happiness in the end.

It wasn't until I met, dated and eventually married Maggie that I understood the truth within that sentence. She could instantly twist the general energy of her surroundings depending if she was happy or sad.

I confirmed this statement when she got pregnant, even though some other things were happening to me, I was still very happy and as thrilled as her, when she neared down to the labor and she was insufferable, I felt that way too, and everything around me felt bad, felt negative.

So, now that we'd brought our baby home, she was just... I don't know how to describe her. I was also excited to have her, a baby really did change everything, but Maggie, she was in a trance of sorts.

She had Alma on her arms everyday, all day, she wouldn't put her down. If she had to go to the bathroom eventually she'd  left her in the crib and didn't  pick her up afterwards, but if Alma so much as sighed in discomfort she'd  pick her up and carry her. I also got to carry her a lot and I understood why she liked to have  her so much, she was like this little ball of I don't  know what and once she touched you it was electrifying, I loved having her on my chest... I just loved the baby in general.

Maggie also had a constant smile on her face when she looked down at Alma, I'd taken a lot of pictures of them both because I couldn't think of another two people who were more perfect  than them.

Mags had also recovered spectacularly which only made me admire her more. Between her and my mom staying at the house for a week after Alma was born it was a surprisingly easy transition from two to three people. Ethan had assured me I had no idea how bad it was going to get. Looking now at Mags cuddling Alma on her chest, her cheek pressed against the top of her head as she quietly patted her back, I didn't know how things could go bad.

I smiled down at them and sat next to her on the couch, I'd  just returned from leaving my mom at the airport for her to catch a quick fly back home. I had my laptop on my hand and placed it on my lap whilst sitting next to her.

I gave her a quick look, she was looking at me with a little twist of her eyebrow as she smirked a little.

"What are you doing?" She asked. I opened a few tabs and showed them to her "Oh my God" she whispered as she looked at the computer "your mom just left and your daughter has been born for barely a week, and you already want to move us out of the house"

"Precisely because she's tiny and doesn't make much of a fuss I want to move us out, when she gets bigger is going to be more difficult."

I motioned at the screen and selected a few houses.

"I want one with just one floor, the stairs are getting annoying" I selected a few things and filtered the results "does it have to be in that neighborhood?"

"It's the best neighborhood there is, I've researched it"

"Researched it" she repeated mocking me a little "the houses are expensive there"

"Don't look at the prices" I dismissed and selected a few, we spent maybe one hour looking at all the houses, the space, the bedrooms, I knew we would need to go and actually see some, but we had a pretty good idea of what we wanted.

We'd swapped items and I was now holding Alma as Mags was searching the houses. I don't know if it was a good or a bad thing to search houses with an architect, she threw around some phrases like the insulation is horrible, the floor is not good for heavy transit, the electric wiring sucks, I don't know how she knew those things just from looking at pictures but I didn't dare to question her or doubt her.

"I think this one is a really good one, it's big and the distribution is very good, it has some space for my office, the baby room, you can have an office right here, the master bedroom is abnormally big, walk-in closet sounds amazing, specially for you"

"For me?" I interrupted "you have more clothes than I do."

"Yeah but your suits take more space, and you have more shoes than I"

"No I don't"

"Yeah, you do, I've counted" she assured me with a little smile. Alma began to stir in my arms and I had to stand up to rock her, something I'd learned very quickly, to keep the baby calm you have to rock her all the time.  "And it doesn't have a big back garden, that's good because I can't be bothered to keep a back garden"

"Where's she gonna play?" She gave me a look at then at Alma.

"Inside" she replied, I tsked my tongue.

"She's not going to play inside, she has to have some things outside, I've already looked for a swing set, and a tree house"

I saw Maggie chuckle, then hold her stomach as she frowned.

"Stop, I can't laugh still" she left the computer on the couch and leaned back "listen I appreciate you being so excited but you're getting too far ahead with everything. She's not going on a swing set for at least two more years"

"Don't tell me what to do" I mocked her, she always threw that card around when I asked her not to do something, something meaningless like to not buy me things.

She gave me a little smile and leaned in to kiss my lips quietly.

"Okay, we'll look for one with the big garden, but you're going to maintain it" she pointed at me threateningly.

"I already keep the garden here"

"Well, you're used to it then" I followed her to the kitchen, leaving Alma in a little crib we had downstairs. Mags and I spent a lot of time in the kitchen/living room, so we had one little crib down here, it was a simple one and it didn't take much space, we only put her in the crib in her room when we were heading to bed.

"Playing outside boosts the inmune system and increases confidence."

"Yeah, I get it, I used to play outside too" my mom had left us quite a bit of already cooked food, I silently thanked her for that. "You just went from 0 to a 100 so fast. Are you seriously going to get her a tree house?"

"Why not?" I shrugged, Maggie let out a little smile and placed the food in the oven, then leaned in to me, I hugged her by the shoulders and kissed her forehead.

"I wouldn't have asked for anyone better than you to have kids with" she said muffled in my chest, I smiled and kissed her forehead again.

"Right back at you love"

We stood there, hugging eachother for a little while, out of all the things I'd read, one that was very important, at least for me, was the part about support and contention of the mom, Mags was still my everything and even though I'd added another person under my care, taking care of Maggie was taking care of the both of them.

We spent the rest of the night and the following day looking for houses, I was still a little grateful to the task force and to Reddington for giving me the spare time to take care of my new family, but I was getting a little restless. There had been times where I didn't have to work, but I had been stalled for 3 months now. I'd noticed that I'd fallen into another routine that didn't quite accomodate to my work, and that worried me a little. I also began to worry a bit too much about Maggie and I eventually going back to work, I didn't wanted anyone I didn't completely trust near my daughter, and the list of people I trusted was very very short, I knew we'd have to get her a babysitter as soon as Maggie could go back to work, I hated the idea already.

In the meantime between Mags and I being out of work, she still reviewed some things from the hotel and the casino, the construction was nearing down the it's completion and she was still on top of everything, it would be pretty unlike her not to be.

At the end of the first week we started to have family around, Maggie had her sister around and the kids were so amazed at the baby.

Within the end of the second week, I was taking Maggie to see a a few of  the we'd picked, I'd made sure that they were all in a very nice neighborhood I'd seen, it was a little far away from my work and Mag's, but the place was so amazingly secured I was willing to take the risk, it was fenced, it had security, cameras,  just about everything, on the way there we saw what you'd expect to see in a high-class neighborhood, people running, kids in bikes, people with their dogs.

"Aw" I heard Maggie say as she looked back. "Look at that doggy" I felt her eyes look at me from the passenger side. "Did you look?"

"I didn't, I hated dogs"

"You don't" she said, I gave her a quick look and a smile.

"I do cupcake, especially that one your sister has, the rat with legs, hate that one"

"It's a Pomeranian-"

"Hideous" I interrupted.

"Her name is Dutchess"

"They're a nightmare"

"And when she has babies, Madison said she'll give us one"

"Absolutely not" I said parking the car in the cul de sac.

I got off the car and was finally able to see the disbelief look Maggie was giving me presumably this whole time. I felt the keys in my pocket to make sure I wasn't forgetting anything, then met Maggie on the other side of the car were she was taking Alma out with her baby carrier, we had one that had a handle on top and it moved around to carry her in the basinet or to adjust  it to the back of the car.

"This is a thing" she declared as I took the carrier from her and she closed the door. It had been a while since she'd given birth but I didn't wanted her to do any sort of heavy lifting just yet.

I held her by the hand and pulled her to the front of the house.

"We'll talk about that later, for now" I motioned at the house with my hand, the one that was holding hers. "What do you think?"

We stood there for maybe a full minute whilst Maggie looked at the house.

"It's really nice, I don't like the houses that have the peaked roofs, and this one has a modern look to it, also, the big window panes are amazing, lots of natural light throughout the day, kind of a pain in the ass during winter because the glass is very-"

I knew that she was going to be like this, it was kind of her job to review the structure of the building and to look at every single thing in a house or a building, at the same time I wished she wasn't so critical about everything because it made this house hunting travesty that, a travesty.

"I get it" it said after she finished "but do you like it?"

"Oh yeah, I love it" she said with a nod. "Let's see the inside"

Inside the house, it was the reaction and behavior I was expecting of a person who is going to check out a new house.

She walked around looking at the house, the space, the rooms, the floor, the walls, then almost died when she checked the in suite bedroom and bathroom. Partially because it was a good and big bathroom, and partially because the bathtub had a curtain and I thought it would be funny to scare her.

In a millisecond it took me to pull the curtain open and stomp behind her she let out a little scream and buckled her arms to her side, as soon as she realized it was me when I hugged her from behind she began to laugh nervously, I kissed her cheek and joined her in her laugh, though she didn't have time enough time to calm down because Alma began to cry from behind us, I'd left her carrier in the naked bed of the room. Maggie quickly dashed past me and took her in her arms.

"I'm sorry I woke you up" she said as she cradled her on her chest and shushed her "daddy scared me" she said with another little chuckle.

We made our way out of the bedroom and checked the garage, it fitted both our cars perfectly.

"So, what's the verdict on this one?" I said locking the door behind me and looking at Mags, she was still holding Alma and by the looks of her she needed to be fed because she was doing that thing babies do when they have their pacifier, like a little muffled mumble to indicate that even though they had the pacifier they were about to start bawling.

"I like it a lot, the distribution is great, the spaces aren't too big or too small and the room that has the glass panel looking to the back garden? I'm in love with that one" she said over her shoulder. I opened the door and left the carrier in the seat on the back, Maggie sat down in the other side. "I'm going to feed her on the way there"

I closed the door and got in the driver seat. The other house was 5 more blocks inside the neighborhood. I liked this one because if something happened, like we get attacked or robbed, it's a major trek back to the entrance and the perps could be easily intercepted in between, the place also had a little guard post and healthcare post near this house, and those always came in handy. Needless to say, because of all this advantages this house was more expensive than the last one.

"So, about the dog" she resumed "she needs to have a dog"

"By the law, kids only need to have health, education, free life, protection, and live in an environment that enables all these rights" I looked at her in the rearview mirror "I didn't read 'dog' in the children's rights panflet"

"But pets are important to children, they stimulate their sense of social interaction and responsibility"

"So does school"

"Don" she whined, I looked at her again through the mirror and saw her pouting at me, I chuckled and turned left in the street where the house was "I want a puppy"

"You have a human puppy right there" I parked in the driveway and stopped the car. I looked back at her and Alma, she was craddling to her chest as she fed her, Maggie looked at me and pouted again. "That doesn't work anymore"

Maggie looked down at Alma again and made sure she was sleeping before she pulled her away from her chest and into the carrier again. I got off the car and made the same procedure again of taking the baby out of the car.

"Oh this is the McKenzie house" she said from the other side of the car. I walked around it as I activated the alarm.

"The McKenzie house?"

"Yeah, I did some work on it" when I got next to her I felt her hand slip into mine, together we walked up the stairs and opened the door. "I already know I like this house, the best part? The bathroom upstairs has a big walk-in shower and it has an hidro-massage system in the shower wall for your back"

We walked inside and it was my turn to be surprised, even though it wasn't furnished, the house was great, and I hoped Maggie would end up liking it because I could see myself living here. Everything was modern, the kitchen appliances were "slick" as Maggie would call them, it even had an incinerator in the corner of the kitchen island, it was a nice touch. The house had in-floor heating which I liked because Maggie tended to get sick a lot in the winter.

We'd split up because Maggie wanted to check out the house and Alma wasn't feeling the carrier anymore, so I had to ditch that and hold her.

I walked inside of one of the bedrooms to look at it, it had a decent size and the walls were painted pink, which made me decide that it was going to be Alma's room when we moved here.

"What do you think?" Alma was now awake, but I knew that it wouldn't last long, I was still holding her to my chest, I looked down at smiled, she was the cutest thing I'd ever seen "this could be your room. For your room in general I was thinking, you know-" I motioned at the space "the bed, and a doll house here, your mom says she's going the build you a tent, like a tipi tent, but also I want a whole wall painted with washable paint, so you can draw on it with markers. That's going to be a problem because you in your little kid mind are going to think that if painting in one wall is fine you're going to want to paint in all the others that are not fine but-"

"What are you doing?" Maggie called from behind me, I turned around, watched her little frown.

"You've so rudely interrupted my explanation to her about the room"

"Okay, I'm sorry" she said with a stiffled laugh.

"What's up?" I walked to her, Maggie took all the time in the world to look at Alma, smile at her, then leaned in to kiss her little cheek a few times.

"How about we get to the painful part where you tell me how much the house costs, because it's pretty obvious we can't afford it and I don't even know why where here"

I gave Maggie a little smirk.

"I don't know if 'we' can afford it, but you can"

She blinked at me once, then frowned and looked at me in disbelief.

"Am I..." She stressed the word "rich? And I didn't know?"

"Well, you are, and you do know. Your tax reports in the last years, specifically the one were you worked with Reddington..."

"I know what I did with my tax reports" she interrupted me. She continued to frown at me, then crossed her arms at her chest. "And you're okay with me buying this house with money I laundered when I worked with Reddington?"

"There's a lot of things I'm not okay with, but we already live in a house Reddington bought for you, so, why not upgrade?"

Maggie had always been very expressive with her hands and her facial expressions, I loved her when with just a little frown and a little shake of her hand she explained her whole though process.

"You-" she pointed at me "first thing, we are going to buy the house because" she gave me a fast shake of her head "I'm not going to say no if you agree but-" she pointed at me again "you're going back home, and get on a suit and go back to do your thing because your whole-" she motioned at me and my attire "polo shirt and leather jacket persona-"

I chuckled and interrupted her with a fast kiss on her lips.

"It's not you and one of us has to be the one with the principles" she continued.

I reflected a little on that phrase because she was right, and she was already the one with the direct affiliation with Reddington.

"I objectively reviewed your tax reports and your earnings and I don't see a possible in on you, and no possible conection with Reddington. You've done the laundering so meticulously and patiently that it would be stupid to doubt where the funds came from if not from your day job. I wouldn't have aimed this high if I hadn't calculated this play and it's outcomes"

Maggie gave me a little look, one that told me that she wanted to tell me something, make a comment or a witty remark, but then another one of her facial expressions told me she didn't really wanted to get in a fight with me, and she was willing to let it go.

"And I haven't compromised my principles, I'm not the one going to jail if something happens" I joked, she gave me another look to tell me that it wasn't funny, but snuck her hand on her back pocket to retrieve her phone.

"Okay, I can call my accountant and have him call the realtor and all that" she gave me a little look to make sure that I wasn't going to be backing out on the house, I just gave her a nod and  watched as she typed a quick message to someone.

When she finished, we headed out of the bedroom and out of the house, I heard her type on her phone answering to texts and things while I secured Alma in her seat and in the back of the car. Once I sat in the driver's seat and a secured my seatbelt Maggie spoke again.

"I meant what I said" I looked at her as I turned the car on and turned it on gear.

"About me going back to work?"

"About you being the one with the principles" I began to drive slowly through the neighborhood towards the exit "I don't want you to think that you're compromised forever because of the whole fixer situation, you're still good"

One of my hands slipped from the steering wheel and landed on her thigh, Maggie's hand quickly found mine.

"I only care about what you think about me, and you accepting my mistakes and what's to come. In return I accept you as you are and the deals you've made and who you've made them with" I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't see in terms of black and white anymore, like what is right and what's wrong. I mean you have the money from Reddington but so do many other people, and they live comfortable lives and no one is squeaky clean anymore... Reddington got the president of the United States to pardon Keen, so... Why should I even bother"

"Because it's who you are" she replied quickly "you're an agent, and you bring people to Justice"

I smiled to myself and parked the car almost at the entrance, I pulled on the hand break and looked at her.

"Okay, you completely glossed over the fact that I killed the National Security Advisor and I will gloss over the fact that we're going to buy a house with money that you laundered from jobs you did to the fourth most wanted criminal in America, we're even, and we can't commit any more crimes, deal?"

She chuckled at me and shook her head in disbelief.

"Okay, deal" she unbuckle her seatbelt to lean over me and kiss me, but stopped a few inches short "but wait, can we put this in effect next week? Because I still need to deal with your ex"

[the-borhap-boys]

Bruises Fade: Chapter 8

Note: this is really short because my brain doesnt like me but at least its something.i will be posting a longer chapter next week. 

Word count: 1825

Warning: mentions of sex, language

Queen II had just been released and Millie couldn’t have been prouder of her boys. She was looking for a new job but she wouldn’t tell them that until she had it set. She and Roger still barely talked or always fought tooth and nail. Neither of them would talk about the kiss. They were both far too stubborn and would rather suffer in silence. Millie wanted to apologize but she was sure she couldn’t stand seeing his insufferable smug face when she did. So she continued the silence.

Millie tugged the tight dress down her thighs trying to cover as much skin as she possibly could. Her curls were pulled back in a high updo but a few sweaty tendrils had already slipped out during her struggle in pulling the emerald green sequined dress on and they were framing her face. The heels on her feet were already pinching her gold painted toes and she dreaded every bit of this night but she had no way of escaping. The gold necklace fastened against her collarbone seemed to be choking her with every second she stood, staring at herself in the mirror and she wanted to rip all of the gaudy clothes off.

Freddie had made her promise him she would come to the party he was throwing for the release of Queen II and she couldn’t back out without coming up with some extremely elaborate lie. He had picked out the dress, shoes and jewelry and she couldn’t believe she had even put them on. She didn’t feel at all like herself. Her curves were so accentuated in the skin tight dress and she had grown nearly three inches in the black heels. Freddie had gushed about she would be the talk of the party and she was absolutely dreading it.

A knock sounded on the door to her flat and she stumbled over her heels to open it.  Brian stood stick straight in the door way, holding a bouquet of flowers when she wrenched the door open. His eyes flicked from her feet to her head quickly, his smile growing.  

“Hello Love, you look beautiful,” his warm voice greeted her, tugging a smile onto her own lips as she tottered backwards.

“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” she giggled, stepping aside so he could step inside the small flat.

He stepped into the kitchen and turned around to look at her. “I brought these for you,” he waved the bouquet around gently. “Do you have a vase,”

She glanced around frantically trying to remember if she even owned a vase.

“Umm, I don’t think I do but we can put them in a…” she fumbled through her cabinets looking for something to put the bright flowers in. He chuckled softly at her frantic movements and rested against the counter. “A pitcher,” she stumbled back from a cupboard triumphantly holding a white pitcher.

His hands grasped her waist quickly, the flowers crushed between her hip and his fingers as he stopped her from falling over. A gasp slipped past her lips as she glanced over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were wide and he couldn’t look away from the way her teeth clenched down on her lower lip. Her hand fluttered down to rest against his as they held eye contact for a long few seconds.

“Sorry, these heels are the worst.” She mumbled pulling away from him. “Freddie says I look killer in them but I think they are just killing me,”

He chuckled softly at her lame joke, plopping the flowers in the pitcher and grabbing the handle from her. He placed it gently on the counter before grasping her small hand in his. His fingers were rough and calloused against her soft hands and she nearly yanked away from him.

“Guess I’ll just have to help you keep your balance,”

She giggled softly and leant into him trying to gain some sort of comfort as they made their way out of the flat.

 As the car pulled up outside the hotel Millie shrunk into her seat, tugging her dress down her thighs once again. Music pulsed from the open door and she could already see people bouncing around inside. Brian found a spot and quickly walked to her side to open the door. As she climbed from the car, he placed his hand on the small of her back, his fingers splaying across the bare skin, sending goosebumps along her neck and arms.

“We don’t have stay long if you don’t want to,” he murmured, bending down so his lips were beside her ear.

She glanced up at him quickly with a grateful smile.

“No, it’s your release party. You need to party it up. Act like Freddie for a day,”

He chuckled softly as they stepped through the threshold. People began flocking to the couple almost instantly, congratulating them for the release. Brian thanked each and every person, smiling kindly at everyone and Millie couldn’t help but marvel at his charm and poise as they waded through the crowd.

“My darlings,” Freddie spotted them through all the people and bounded over to them. He wrapped Millie into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before holding her at an arm’s length and looking her up and down. “You look ravishing,”

“I feel like a stuffed sausage,”

He ignored her comment, grabbing her hand and dragging her through the crowd. “There’s so many people you must meet,”

She hesitated, glancing back at Brian. He nodded at her encouragingly before slipping back into the crowd. As Freddie dragged her around, introducing her to anyone he could get his hands on she continuously scanned around her looking for an escape, looking for Roger or Deacy. Someone who could pull her from Freddie’s too tight grasp. He gushed over her to each guest, explaining how she was simply the best assistant and any true band needed someone like her.

She couldn’t help but blush at all the compliments but she was also ready for a way out. The few glasses of champagne Freddie had forced into her hand weren’t agreeing with her stomach and she needed to be away from the sweaty crowd.

Finally she spotted John from across the room and she waved desperately. When he spotted her his face lit up and he shoved through the crowd to get to her.

“Fred, can I borrow our Millie for just a bit? I need her help with something,”

Freddie relented unhappily, making Millie promise she would take some shots with him later. She knew she wouldn’t but hopefully by then he would be too shitfaced to realize if it was her or any other brunette in the room.

“You looked like you needed some help.” John chuckled as he led her over to a secluded corner.

She rested against the wall, allowing her head to fall back as he dragged a chair over.

“Freddie’s always telling me how I need to meet more people. He says I need to make connections if I am to be a proper assistant,”

He let out a humorless laugh as he glanced around the room.

“I don’t even know why I’m here,”

“Maybe because it’s your band that’s celebrating?”

He turned to look at her with a smirk. “Well aren’t you just a genius,”

“Ah fuck you,” she giggled softly, punching him in the shoulder.

The two friends stood in comfortable silence, observing the party around them. Millie’s head rested against the wall, her eyes drifting back and forth lazily as she watched couples grinding on each other through the hazy fog. John’s eyes were stuck on one blonde, following each of her movements as she flitted about the room. Finally Millie noticed the girl who was distracting her friend and she giggled to herself.

“Go talk to her Deacy,” she pushed his arm encouragingly.

“No, I couldn’t. look at her,”

“I am looking at her dumbass. She’s gorgeous and I’m sure she’s looking for some fit young band member to flirt with. Go. Go. Talk to her.”

He smiled to himself, working up the courage to talk to the girl. Finally, he left Millie’s side and she bounced up and down on her toes in excitement. When she saw the girl nod her head at him and they began to wander towards the bar Millie allowed herself a small fist bump before scanning the room again.

She couldn’t see Freddie or Brian anywhere and she was really ready to go home. Her head was pounding and the room seemed to sway around her. Her stomach swirled sickeningly and she clenched her hands over the sequins on her abdomen as she braced herself against the chair John had vacated. The beat of the music pulsated around her forcing her eyes closed, trying to find some sort of relief. She began to stumble towards the bathroom looking for any sort of relief from the stuffy loud room.

She caught herself against the door catching her breath before her clammy fingers scrambled over the doorknob, finally wrenching open the door.

She stumbled back in shock. Roger was on his knees, the girl in front of him had her head thrown back in pleasure as she panted and moaned. Her dress was pushed up to her knees and Rogers face was pushed in between her legs as he hummed and growled softly. The girls fingers were clenched in his hair and his hands were squeezing her thighs tightly leaving red marks for Millie to focus on.

Millie gasped softly and couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her. Roger whipped his head around to look at her and a small smirk blossomed across his face.

“Evening Mils,”

The girl yanked down her dress in a huff and stormed past Millie muttering obscenities. Millie stared at Roger, who was still on his knees, his chin slick. Her brain and her stomach swirled in unison. She stumbled forward as he leaped to his feet, attempting to hold her steady. Suddenly the entirety of her stomach was on his shoes and she was still retching.

“Millie, sweetie, are you ok?” he was frantic as she continued dry heaving.

She shook her head slowly, unable to form a single word. He wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her steady and leading her to the toilet.

This was her Roger. The kind gentle roger she has been missing for weeks. This wasnt the roger who had quickies In the bathroom with random girls but the Roger who kissed her softly and held her. She had lost him ages ago but she wanted him back desperately. She wanted him so bad but she knew he wasn’t hers to have.

“Thank you,” she whispered raspily, her fingers clenching the linen of his shirt.

His fingers ghosted over her clammy cheeks gently.

“its ok lovie. I’m here.”

 Taglist is always open

Taglist: @itsametaphorbriansblog @shutup-sorry @acidrainlutt @b-r-o-s-k-i @kellypenac @irishhiggins @heda-mikaelson @letmedanceamongthestars

[hanalwayssolo]

In The Line of Duty

A/N: Timely for Iggy’s name day! So. Slightly departing from the usual structure in which I write my stories, so this may seem a bit... weird? Fragmented? So I kind of not recommend reading this via Tumblr mobile bc that app murders the formatting lmao

Tagging them pals! @blindedstarlight @valkyrieofardyn @bleucommelhiver @gowithme @noboomoon @emmydots @lazarustrashpit @raspberryandechinacea @hanatsuki89 @mp938368 @boo-dangy @animakupo

(Links in AO3) Alternate Universes in Which You and I Belong Together: Noctis | Gladio | Prompto | Ignis | Nyx | Cor | Ravus | Ardyn

Ignis breezes through the freeway, his Aston Martin almost flying through the rainy night. He is never one to drive like a madman, but this is a desperate time that certainly calls for this very desperate measure. He spares a glance at the rearview mirror. A shabby white Mitsubishi and a gaudy yellow Volvo still remain in close pursuit. Looks like the flock of paparazzi back from Maagho’s really is a persistent lot. In the passenger seat, you sit in an unsettling silence.

Fuck these bastards, he mutters under his breath.

Speed limits be damned. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel. Ignis revs the engine and zips past the steady traffic.

“Let’s get you back to your flat, alright?” he offers kindly.

You say nothing.

Suddenly, Ignis finds himself missing your chatty, teasing antics. That silly smile of yours. By this time, you should have been pleading him to let you go someplace else—anywhere but your place—while annoying him to death with your usual smartass quips. You never do.

Months before, Ignis had been perfectly convinced you were the most insufferable human he has ever come across. Funny how he now thinks otherwise. Even funnier that he now cares. Because it’s not his business to care. His job was never to look nor to listen.

But at this point, you have made him break every single rule in his book.

The first thing Ignis notices when he meets you is your eyes.

Something about your strong and striking gaze makes him wonder why someone like him is even employed at your service. One look from you, he is pretty certain you are completely capable on your own in terms of sending anyone who dares cross your path—may it be troublesome paparazzi, or overzealous fans and haters alike—to run with their tails between their legs. Your composure and confidence says just as much. Seems to him that you’re the type of person who does not need anyone’s protection, let alone a bodyguard.

Which is a sentiment you made very clear that morning in the luxurious luster of Hotel St. Regis’s lobby.

“I’m afraid Aranea here has wasted your time—” you tell Ignis as you set your cup of coffee back on the table, sharply turning your attention to the silver-haired woman who is sitting across from you— “but like I said, I can take care of myself just fine—”

“Really?” Aranea scoffs, casting you a challenging glare. “And by taking care of yourself, do you mean going around punching paparazzi square in the face and breaking their camera as you please?”

You shrug. “Well, that fella fucking deserved it—”

“Whether they deserved it or not isn’t the fucking point, you idiot. Do you have any idea how Cor had to shell out his own money to keep that incident from going out to the press?” Aranea sighs in resignation. “Look, this is more than just taking care of yourself. This is about—”

“—my career, my image, and my reputation, blah blah blah. Yes, you don’t need to do all of Cor’s spiel—I get it.”

Aranea raises an eyebrow. “Do you really? ‘Cause if you really did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and Ignis wouldn’t be the fourth replacement in the span of six fucking months.”

You fall silent. Though Ignis is compelled to say something, he knows very well not to provide his thoughts, unsolicited or otherwise. That’s never in his job description. He had been trained to keep his mouth shut, and he is going to do just that. Besides, what would he know? Such is the world of glitz and glamour that is show business, and Ignis has never been tasked with handling celebrity clientele before. If anything, among his peers, it was either Gladio or Nyx who gets paired with the high profile A-listers. Clarus’s directive for him came as a strange surprise, the initial briefing of his task even stranger. All throughout his fifteen years of service in the Lucian Security Bureau, people frequently assigned to Ignis were government big shots, business moguls, and upper echelons of society who have been targets of terror and violence.

However, in your case… Ignis could see that you fit in neither the former nor the latter. At least for now, that’s what he thinks.

You spread your elbows over the table, eyeing Aranea with a wicked smile all over your face. “You know what would be better, Ari?”

“Don’t call me that—”

“You could pass as both my handler and bodyguard, don’t you think?

Aranea looks at Ignis, then back at you. “Does that come with a raise?”

You lean back against your seat. “Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.” Aranea exhales a derisive laugh. “Then I suppose we leave Ignis to do that job for all our sakes. Anyway, we better get going—” from her satchel, she pulls out a sleek-looking tablet— “you have to be ready for your four p.m. table read and a seven p.m. interview Dino of Meteor Publishing.” To Ignis, she says, “I assume you’ve already been briefed by your superior about all your responsibilities?”

Ignis sits up straighter and nods. “Yes.”

“Good. It’s pretty simple actually, but the past bodyguards can’t seem to do it.” Aranea smiles, clapping Ignis by the shoulder as she narrows her eyes on you. “Just don’t let this moron out of your sight, and we’ll all be fine.”

The first thing you notice about Ignis is his eyes.

Never mind the scar that cruised the left side of his face, that tiny slash over his right eyebrow, or even the one on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even need to look at you directly for you to marvel at how fiercely green his eyes are, like the colour of a bright summer’s day. However, back in the lobby with Aranea, there is no warmth in his silences nor in his clinical concentration; there is only a crippling coldness. One look at him and you could already surmise that he’s had his fair share of danger in his profession. Though he is lean and lithe unlike your past bodyguards who all seem to be built out of heavier materials, you cannot shake the feeling that Ignis might have killed a man with his bare hands.

Still, you don’t really need someone like Ignis. You never needed someone like him. A bodyguard should have been the least of your concerns. Besides, you have enough people monitoring your every move that getting a fucking bodyguard is as insane as it’s going to get. Cor often reminds you that this is all for your safety, and that as your manager, he only wants to keep you safe. Aranea chastises you that you’re overreacting, and that you’re still free as a bird. Except you’re as free as any bird locked in a cage that they might as well just lock you up in prison.

And in the first few hours that Ignis has started following you around, the fact that he hardly spares you a moment for a decent conversation—except for his courteously clipped responses like “Let me know if you need anything else,” or “I’ll be right outside your door”—prison seems like a more amiable place to be.

By his second week, Ignis finally understands how unpredictable you can be.

Okay, maybe he does not understand it quite fully. He has to admit, though: he admires the elaborate effort you put into your juvenile pranks. It comes in the strangest of ways and in the oddest of days: from your attempts to lock him up inside your trailer, down to that crafty disguise to sneak out of the film set, all of which he had seen you fail miserably time and again. Out of all your many crimes, petty they may be, hopping in the backseat of someone else’s car to escape him from an after party still takes the cake. He had to forcefully “borrow” a stranger’s motorcycle just to chase you down, which he managed to do in less than an hour. Not an impressive feat for someone his calibre, but at least he got you home in one piece—and without Cor or Aranea even knowing.

What fuels your sheer determination to drive him off his wits, Ignis does not know. The only thing he knows for sure is that you’re one bloody piece of work.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya, Specs,” Gladio reminds Ignis one sordid afternoon back in the Lucian Security Bureau HQ. In the saintly cleanliness that is his cubicle, he finds Gladio lounging on his seat together with Nyx, as if they had been expecting his unlikely visit. The air-conditioned hustle remains the same, the glass panels and all the white walls still as stark bright as Ignis remembers it to be. He really has been away for far too long that he finds himself missing that familiar scent of ink and paper, and even the faces of these two troublemakers.

“So how’s your new post treatin’ you?” Nyx breezily asks. His tone is not of concern, but a knowing amusement that Ignis can easily recognize. “The look on your face says you’re either in need of a stiff drink or to get laid.”

“Or could be both,” Gladio adds.

Actively ignoring the smug looks on his friends’ faces, Ignis does not answer them, but instead, he asks: “Aren’t the both of you supposed to be somewhere else?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” Gladio snaps back. He picks up Ignis’s tin of mints on his table and pops one on his mouth.

Nyx loops an arm around Ignis. “Y’know, celebrities can be a pain, so if you’re here to request Clarus for a reassignment, we promise not to judge.”

Ignis looks at Nyx for a brief moment. A reassignment. How come he never thought of that? Sure, you can be annoying and a menace to his daily routine, but Ignis suddenly finds it strange that he has never considered the prospect of requesting for a change in client. Maybe he has his brand of patience to thank for, or his unworldly forbearance in the years that he has spent in this profession.

But then—as if by seeing Nyx and Gladio after such a long time of being away—he realizes that maybe, you’re not that bad. Even in your reckless and determined attempts of making his life a living hell, you also make an effort to make conversation. Not that it’s anything special. He has been wired to being strictly on someone’s beck and call that most of his past clients do not even bother to look at him in the eye. Most of them see him as a weapon, a blade to be wielded against their enemies. Small wonder Ignis himself often forgets that he is a living and breathing person. He can barely remember having a life outside this job. He can barely remember the last time someone apart from Gladio and Nyx asking him anything about his hobbies or other interests or even about his family.

But you do. You try. Even on the first few days when Ignis didn’t know how to respond. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to. He fears that you might have interpreted that as indifference, and he regrets to have responded to you as such. He thought you would have given up by now, seeing how he had acted so callously, but you have the persistence of a honey badger that you use on him to get him to talk, or to even to smile a little.

Nyx looks at Ignis, this time with a genuine hint of concern. Ignis has not realized that he had been quiet for some time.

But he has realized that you have grown so much on him, which is such an disturbing thought to entertain.

“I think a reassignment is highly unnecessary,” Ignis says finally—almost to himself and not to Nyx and Gladio—as he takes his leave. 

By his second week, you finally understand how Ignis can be so predictable.

There’s the matter of his morning routine. He follows it too religiously that you start to notice the little things. He wakes up as early as six a.m.—on the dot, not even a minute late—to work out at the back of your trailer. Three sets of push ups, squats, crunches, all in that order. Seven-thirty a.m., he wraps up, takes a shower, grabs a nice cup of coffee with some of the film crew. He likes his coffee strong and black, no sugar. How you know all of this like the same way you know all of your lines is beyond you.

But maybe he’s not too predictable. Not entirely.

You still have not seen him smile, despite the significant progress in the conversation department. And by significant, you mean that his answers have finally upgraded from one-word responses to lengthy sentences. Considering all the stupid shit you pulled on him, it’s almost a wonder that he even indulges you from time to time by answering any of your random questions.

Though in the process, you have learned a handful of tidbits about his life. For one, you find out that he happens to be an excellent cook. Once, he has shared with you how he wanted to build a restaurant of his own, and that it is only a matter of time before he could pursue that dream. Hearing him confide something that personal throws you off guard, but somehow, you feel quite relieved. You also learn that he has never seen any of your films, nor is he even aware of your awards and accolades—which, frankly, is the most gratifying thing you have ever heard in your life. You have also learned that he has not forgiven you for making him chase you all throughout the city. Which is fair. If that had happened with any of your previous bodyguards, they would not even bother sparing you another word even if you are the last person on this planet, and they would most certainly quit their job the next day.

But Ignis is different. A good kind of different.

Nevertheless, what you now find unfair is that you have never seen him smile. Unfair because he has seen yours a countless times at this point—fake ones on set included. He even gets a bonus because he has also seen you laugh at the most ridiculous things. Ignis, however, seems to be programmed with a limited range of emotions. You have not seen his face look anything but blank or bored, too surly or too serious.

It is only when you suddenly fall sick in the middle of filming that you find a new expression on his face.

Right after the director screams “Cut!” you wobble outside the set, past the cameramen, past the make up artists, past Aranea who’s probably busy handling your next schedule. When Ignis hurries by your side, you could barely focus your eyes. Your mouth tastes like acid. The world is spinning out of control.

Ignis presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up. I’m calling a doctor—”

“No, don’t.” You weakly wave a hand. “I’ll be fine by morning. Don’t tell Aranea. I just need to sleep, that’s all.”

Ignis walks you back to your trailer, looping your arm around his neck, and his around your waist. Your cheek momentarily rests against his chest, and you can feel his warm breath fanning over your head. You try your best not to retch on his shirt. Perhaps it’s the fever talking, but all you could think about is how this shirt looks perfect on him and you do not want to ruin it with your vomit.

Which is why out of your delirious haze, you say out of the blue: “Have I ever told you that you look so good in black?”

Ignis tilts his head. He hesitates for a moment, and then says, “I’m afraid not.”

“Well, now you know. I like your black dress shirt. You look so dapper in it.” And there goes your filter straight out the window.

“Thank you. It’s… nothing special.” He sounds unsure. Or is that embarrassment? Either way, you’re too sick to even look at his face to see his reaction.

Ignis guides you straight to your bed. You toss yourself so gracelessly against the mattress, and you gather the sheets to bundle up for warmth. A wave of nausea threatens to lurch out of your mouth. As far as you’re concerned, the inside of your trailer should not be this freezing cold.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” Ignis says, and as he prepares to drift to the kitchen, you grab for his hand.

“Please stay for a minute. Tell me a story.” You sound like a five-year-old.

He sits on the edge of the bed. “What kind of story?” His voice is gentler than usual. It is jarring, to say the least.

You pull yourself up, your arm brushing against his. “Like, is it possible that you’re a gremlin? ‘Cause how come it’s so hard to—” you thumb the corners of his mouth to make him smile— “see you do this?”

You can feel his face tremble a little in your touch. He looks at you strangely. You know he’s about to say something, but you are ill-prepared to what happens next.

Ignis starts to laugh.

You can’t believe this is what you have been missing for the last couple of days. What you have been missing your entire life. You have only known him for two weeks, but now, it’s like looking at a completely different person. He’s all lit up, his laughter radiating like the sun, bright and warm and blinding. His eyes disappear behind his smile lines, and his mouth curves to exhibit his perfect teeth and that illegally gorgeous smile. Your heart is pounding and you are certain that this is not your fever doing the talking anymore.

“I can assure you, I’m not a gremlin,” he says, wiping his eye with his hand.

“Good to know,” you say, sinking back to your pillows. “But I swear—I will make you laugh like that again when I get better,” you say confidently. And as you drift to deep sleep, the sound of his laughter is the last thing you hear.

The third month arrives and Ignis sees you a little differently.

Different in a way that your smile is now a bullet to his heart. Your laughter, a drug. Your kiss, a secret he would forever keep. Not only have you grown on him, but you have made a home inside his body. His mind, your temple. You have seduced his empty heart, and now it is beating only for you.

But if there’s anything Ignis knows by now, it’s that good things always come to an end. They always do. And he knows better. He knows you aren’t for him, and he isn’t for you.

The third month sweeps you off your feet as Aranea enters your trailer with a new man in tow. At first, you think he is one of the new actors with the way he carries himself with an air of confidence, but you immediately recognize the logo on his jacket.

The first thing that leaves your mouth is: “Where’s Ignis?”

Aranea’s mouth twists. She hesitates, then says, “Ignis quit. Told me he found a new job. Nyx here would be his replacement.”

Your heart plummets. The expression on your face might have been so fucking obvious because Aranea casts you a worried glance, and so does this Nyx. He looks slightly uncomfortable with the way you skate your narrowed eyes at him, as if he has no right to be in your breathing space. As if he has no right at all to ever replace Ignis.

“I can see that you’re upset with this change,” Nyx begins to say, quickly regaining his charming composure, “but by 'quit,' it means he has left to pursue a different career path. Doesn’t mean he left you—I mean, for another client, that is.”

A simmering silence. Aranea and Nyx are watching you with growing alarm. You don’t know why, but something in you breaks.

You force yourself to smile, but it’s not very convincing. Some actor you are. And in the most modulated voice you could muster, you say, “Good for him then.” To Nyx, you say, “Do send him my regards when you see him around.”

As soon as Ignis pulls over your apartment building, you climb out of his car, weaving past another throng of paparazzi. Someone yells “Congrats on another blockbuster! Is this your new boyfriend?” and a couple of other things that only grates your ears. Ignis is quick to follow, and he shields you with his body as he leads you inside the lobby. Probably his force of habit, but it only unearths a memory of a good time that has already hollowed you out.

When the two of you reach the front door of your apartment, he finally breaks the silence. “I’m assuming you have Nyx trapped in some dark alley?”

“No, not really,” you say flatly. “He actually let me go on my own. Cooler than my previous bodyguard, if you ask me.”

“How convenient.”

“So, sous chef to the illustrious Weskham Armaugh, huh.”

“Indeed.”

“Now, care to explain to me why you really left without even saying a word? Especially to me?” There is a tremor that breaks your voice, and his smile slowly creases to a frown. “Is that it? Was that your grand plan? Make me fall in love with you and then just go up and leave—”

“I beg your pardon?” Ignis looks mystified, as if you have said something completely ludicrous. He stares at you for a long, scalding moment. “What did you just say?”

You scoff. “Are you kidding me right now? I said…”

The realization dawns on you in a slow unravel. Before you can even formulate an explanation, Ignis steals your breath away with a kiss. You have done this before in the confines of your trailer, but this time is different. This time, the feeling is no longer secret.

“You have absolutely no idea how I’ve wanted to do that this time around,” he says with a smile. And when he tells you I love you, he does not mean I love you regardless of or I love you despite, but rather I love you just because I do.