#Rather as simply politely inspired

[retro-stars]

ON TODAY'S EPISODE OF: I Have Too Much Free Time, Free-Will, And A Pair Of Hands

(Og/Pre-edit versions below the cut)

[vividxpages]

｡° ✮୨ৎ "lay it all on me"୨ৎ✮° ｡

pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!Reader

words: 2100

summary: With the Queen and your betrothed Jacaerys’ delayed arrival, you are left in charge of the day’s council meeting. When one of the lords starts to speak of a possible bedding ceremony for your upcoming wedding, your thoughts begin to spiral badly…

warnings: the lords in Rhaenyra’s council being perverts and dicks, talks of misogynistic traditions and predatory behavior of men, sexism and misogyny, panic attacks, Jacaerys being a protective betrothed, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, crying, hopeful ending

a/n: I cooked this up so quickly, but I was very inspired yesterday - thank you so much to the anon who sparked a conversation about bedding ceremonies in my asks and with it, my inspiration for this idea! <3 this is for you :*

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

When the messenger arrived at the council room and announced the delayed arrival of the Queen and her son, you had been optimistic for a moment.

Jacaerys and you, a team ever since your shared childhood and since recently betrothed with the blessings of his mother and family, had led council meetings like this together before and you were no stranger to the strategies and logistics of the war and Rhaenyra’s efforts in it. You just had not done it by yourself before.

You nodded in thanks to the messenger and turned back to the assembly of Rhaenyra’s lords around the table with a polite smile. It was only a matter of time until her and Jace would make their return from the dragon’s caves and until then, you’d do your best to begin today’s conversation.

“Well then, my lords.” You nodded to yourself and took a deep breath, looking into the round with openness. “I believe we’ll continue where we’ve left off yesterday? Is there any news yet of Daemon’s stay at Harrenhal? We could-“

“There is another matter of importance we thought we could discuss with you, my princess.” One of the lords interrupted you, a cool smile on his face as you leaned back in your seat. You cocked an eyebrow at him to continue despite your sentence being left unfinished. “Since the wedding with the prince Jacaerys will occur in the upcoming months, it would be wise to discuss the bedding ceremony sooner rather than later.”

Something in you went very, very still.

You blinked at him before you looked into the other men’s faces. They seemed to be in agreement of this rapid topic change. “The…bedding ceremony?”

“Yes, it is of grand importance to ensure the consummation of marriage between two newly-weds.” He explained to you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of his old mouth. “It’s an old tradition and the lords and I believe it is best to follow it with the young and lovely union of the prince and you.”

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat, your hands suddenly clammy with unsureness. “I have not talked to Jace about such a thing. The Queen hasn’t spoken to me about it either. That’s…-What if me and Jacaerys are against it?”

A few of them chuckled as if you had made a good jest.

“My princess, is it not really a matter of choice, if you understand.” One of them explained to you before he suddenly turned away from you and addressed the others: “The wedding will be held here at Dragonstone as we know and I thought of a crowd of perhaps a dozen, mostly members of the family and this council, of course. After the celebrations, the prince will lead his bride away in the company of the Queen’s loyal and trusted advisors and then, the marriage will be consummated in a room large enough for the ceremony.”

You opened your mouth to object, but found your voice had simply vanished.

“Will there be sheets as proof in the morning?”

“I would actively support it.”

“There are clothes here at Dragonstone suited for such a ceremony, I am sure we will have them before the wedding takes place.”

“A purity test accomplished by a maester might be sufficient beforehand as well-“

You felt yourself drifting away from the conversation, one that circled around you and yet did not include you at all. Staring at the table in front of you, you felt your breath quicken as a distant howl swept through your mind, drowning out their voices as they went on and on.

In your mind, you saw yourself being led into a fully lit room. The dress you wore was thin and barely hiding your body, your arms protectively crossed in front of yourself as you shivered. The bed chamber was crowded all the way back to the tapestry of the walls with men regarding you coolly. Their hunger for the curves barely hidden underneath your dress was evident in their eyes, yet you had to walk on until you reached the middle of the room. Jacaerys was waiting, his own expression blank and without any emotion for you as he took your hand and led you to bed. There were a thousand eyes on you and you felt numb, your body screaming in protest, your mind begging you to shout at them to leave as Jace mechanically began to kiss your neck-

The wide doors of the hall opened and the men seated around you abruptly stood, their wrinkly hands brushing over their attires. The Queen was here.

You remained in your seat, your mind having drawn itself back to a hidden part in yourself, blankly staring at the fidgeting hands in your lap. When you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder, the touch so familiar it could’ve been your own, you closed your eyes for just a moment. Jacaerys had come with her.

“What is going on?” Rhaenyra demanded to know, walking around the big table as she took in your uncharacteristic quiet state.

When your betrothed raised your hand to his lips in greeting, you looked up and bit your lip at Jace’s worried expression. The taste of iron coated your lips and only now you realized you had bitten your lip so badly, it had started to bleed. The pain was almost a relief.

“Are you alright?” Jace murmured, his hand delicately cupping your cheek and making you shudder. Your eyes were glassy, your cheeks red from shame and suddenly, a strong urge to cry shot through you, so intense you barely could fight it. “What is it, my love?”

You shook your head, avoiding his searching gaze.

The shame burned hotly through you and you wanted to shrink into your seat until you could escape these old devils. One of them, who had started this whole discussion about the ceremony in the first place, cleared his throat. “Your Grace, we were discussing possible arrangements for the wedding of the prince and his betrothed. There have been no mentions of the traditional bedding ceremony yet and the lords and myself were worried that-“

Rhaenyra frowned with a disgusted curl of her lips. “A bedding ceremony? There hasn’t been a tradition like this in my generation. Why would we burden the next with such an old piece of the past?”

You could sense Jace tensing beside you, his face dark as he stared at the lord. Would he look at you like this too, when the happiest day of your life would end with having to sleep with each other in front of dozens? Your chest hurt as you struggled to breathe normally.

“The princess has expressed similar concerns, but there are ways…There could be a thin veil draped over the sides of the bed.” Another suggested generously and you felt your stomach turn itself over. “Of course, it cannot shield the pair fully from the observer’s eyes. They have to be in sight, so it can be assured that she’s-“

“There will be no bedding ceremony.” Jace cut him off, close to snarling as he flexed his hand on the hilt of his sword. He remained by your side, his stance protective of you and intimidating. “Neither my mother or myself have been consulted about this before and the fact that you’ve preyed on an opportunity to bring it up in front of the princess is close to treason. And yet you’ve dared to speak of such inappropriate matters in front of my betrothed, your future Queen? I could have you hanged by the cliffs of Dragonstone for such perverted behavior.”

“My prince, with all respect, it simply is tradition. It has to be guaranteed that on the night of her wedding, the bride is a maiden-“

The sound of your chair screeching over the floor broke through the room as you stood up. The sound of your own breath was too loud in your eyes, the lump in your throat only growing by the second. “If you would excuse me, Your Grace, I’m not feeling well.”

Jacaerys stood with you, but as he reached for your hand, you had already slipped away and quickly made your escape towards the wide doors, trying to breathe against the numbing panic in your lungs.

You blindly walked down the long corridor, ignoring the questioning looks of the guards standing on the sides. Would they be there as well, to witness yours and Jace’s union, eyes on your naked body when Jace had to deflower you in front of an audience?

You choked on a sob, the tears running freely down your cheeks now, the pain in your chest only expanding from keeping it inside for so long. You had never experienced a panic like this before, a powerful tide washing all rational thoughts away and sending your brain into overdrive.

Behind you, quick footsteps were approaching and before you knew it, Jacaerys had overtaken you and blocked your path, taking your upset state in with wide eyes. Your bottom lip wobbled dangerously and you came to a halt, noting how far and fast you had walked away from the council room.

“My love…” Jacaerys mumbled quietly and stepped closer and somewhere inside of you, a dam burst and he caught you as you fell into his arms, your body wrecked with heartbreaking and breathless sobs. He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest and letting you cry, his own heart aching at the stress vibrating through your body.

“I don’t want them to see…” You sniffled miserably against his shoulder, his arms tightening protectively around your waist, one of his hands resting on the back of your head and stroking your hair. “I want our wedding night to be ours, I don’t want them in the room with us, I don’t want any of it.”

“I’m not going to allow it.” He assured you calmly, suppressing his own anger for the sake of your peace of mind. Later, he’d had time to rage and forge the feeling into action, but now the only thing that mattered was you. “They have no right to make these rules for us. You and I decide, together, okay?”

You nodded, your anxiety slowly beginning to ebb away and leaving the council room and its members behind you.

“I am so sorry I was not there with you.” Jacaerys regretfully whispered against your temple, soothingly stroking your back as you rested your tear-streaked face against his neck. “I am not going to let this slide. And I am serious, my love, I promise you; there will be no bedding ceremony, I’m not going to let them expose you like this.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your eyes still shimmering with worried tears. “And what if we have to? I can’t do this, Jace, I would rather die-“

He gently shushed you and gently rested his forehead against yours, willing you to take big and deep breaths with him until you were breathing in sync and your shivering stopped. “We don’t have to do anything. You and I, we’ll be king and queen someday and I will not accept any disrespect towards you, not today or when we’re married, alright?”

You nodded slowly, exhaling deeply as you allowed yourself to sink against him, letting yourself be held and gently swayed from side to side. Slowly but surely, your heart stopped hurting and the clouds in your mind dissolved until you only felt him.

“Alright.” You whispered back after a while and his lips on yours, featherlight and oh so gently, were a relief after such moments of stress. When you separated and looked into each other’s eyes, you added quietly: “I want this, with you. All of it. I want our first time together to be special and a memory we’ll cherish forever.”

“And it will be, I promise.” He soothed you. “These old pathetic men will do good to remember their place before I’ll unleash Vermax on them.” He added jokingly and even managed to make you giggle a little bit at the mental image. “You know how Vermax adores you, he’ll eat them in one piece and spit them out, because they’re disgusting.”

You snorted tiredly and nuzzled his neck in affection, not ready to separate yourself from him just yet.

“My mother will deal with them.” Jace promised you darkly, a revengeful shimmer in his fierce eyes as he wiped the last of your tears away with his thumb. “And when she’s done with them, I will make sure as well they’ll remember who they answer to, my queen.”

He would deal with this.

And after he had put those foul men in their place, he’d make sure you’d be the happiest you could be and your wedding would be perfect and just the way the two of you had imagined for so long…

my taglist: @princesschimchim1325 @cecestea @jacesvelaryons @princessvelaryon @diannnnsss

[sukunasweetheart]

actor!sukuna!!!

warnings; fem reader, jjk manga spoilers, a bit of both submissive and dominant sukuna, and also sukuna who loves his domineering wife a little too much, smut and fluff at the end, breeding, choking, use of collar and leash (on sukuna), rough sex, lots of teasing and provoking

i really really adore the trope where actors who play utterly vile, evil villain roles all the time simply bc of their intimidating appearance but their real personality is rather sweet and gentle, and i desperately want to apply this to sukuna. they would've probably needed to cast a whole different man for his trueform, which is what inspired this idea <3<3

actor!sukuna is oh so very notorious for his antagonistic roles, always always being the charismatic, devilish character in any film, tv series or dramas he's casted in, the ones that always somehow has the upper hand, who never shows care for anyone else, who always seems to have control over everything in all situations he's put into...

and the recent hit series 'jujutsu kaisen' is exactly the same. with him being the king of curses, having those extra cgi arms and tummy mouth and having to spend hours before shooting simply doing the makeup for the distorted side of his face. not to mention all those tattoos!

actor!sukuna, who loves his job, but sometimes gets exhausted by the kinds of roles he has to play. he's gotten so used to it, his normal facial expressions and mannerisms also may have changed a little because at times he gets himself too immersed into his character

and you might say fiction doesnt cross over to real life at the best of times, but for sukuna, it might not be the case... he's noticed over the years that people around him do truly get scared or intimidated by him. and like any celebrity, he has his own fair share of haters.

with his character's newest victim being the fans' beloved gojo satoru, it only aggravated them-- and he knew from the moment he read the script that he was going to get flamed for it. he's used to this but because of jjk's intense popularity, he actually gets a little concerned this time around...

thankfully, thankfully! he has a wife he can run home to and seek comfort from, and fully let go of this fictional persona of his.

actor!sukuna, who is often burdened with the unconscious expectations from others, to have his intimidating aura and always have control over situations (maybe sometimes people)...

but he is able to put all of this down in front of you and just lay in your lap in front of the tv as you play with his pink curls.

oh, he's so grateful for his wife, who fulfills his hidden desires... his wife, who didn't see him only by his villainous roles, but also took notice of his gentler side and decided to grab hold onto that part of him with an iron grip instead.

actor!sukuna may be a man well over two metres tall, with a resting bitch face and a deep, velvety voice perfect for being a natural dominant and aggressive lover-- which, sometimes he is of course, when the situation calls for it (whenever you feel like you want to be dominated) - but in actuality, he aches to be controlled for the most part, rather than the one controlling...

when he told you about his worries of his real life reputation, of how people on set seem to avoid him subtly, and get a bit over-polite with him, you sent a handful of extravagant food and drink trucks over to the shooting set in sukuna's name, raising the spirits of his colleagues, the camera and film crew members etc., and of course, sukuna himself.

and everytime he has any complaints about his job, you comfort him by saying that if he ever feels like it's too much, he can quit anytime he wants, because you'd be happy to be him support financially as long as he'd be your househusband *wink wink*

actor!sukuna laughs at the thought, but there are times where he seriously considers it... he is getting older, and sometimes doing all these action scenes as the villain is taxing on his body... (perhaps after jjk is over, he'll take a well deserved, long break from his career for a little while)

before getting married, from the moment sukuna first interacted with you, he was already hooked- you flirted with him openly without expecting him to take lead, and you talked less about his various identities in his shows, but showed more curiosity in his true self, and he was simply attracted to your... fearlessness?

and a part of him tried to fight against it too, but you were simply too charismatic. (it only charmed him more)

"you're an awfully cocky woman. you sure you can take me on?"

"take you on? oh, no, handsome. you'll be the one taking me on. i'll have you wrung out dry by the end of this week... if you'll let me, of course."

and that, he did.

fast forward to the present.

sukuna had come home without erasing all the makeup from his filming of jjk, to your curiosity...

"the king of curses, was it? the name of this character," you ask with a relaxed voice, watching as sukuna's large cock throbs between his legs, drooling precum messily into his boxers. ironically, you're the one lying against your back on the bed, with him hovering over your body longingly, but not being permitted to touch you... yet.

you'd put a collar around his neck. and you have him leashed, with the rope being in your hand. he has you between his arms that are supporting his body weight... muscles flexing and sweat dripping down his skin from his own arousal.... he was supposed to be tired from today's filming session but right now, his whole body is heating up like boiling water in a kettle. how cruel of you to do this to him, right after he gets home from work.

you loop the rope around your fingers once, and tug on the leash harshly, making his face shift closer to yours.

"i'd like to hear an answer, please."

"...yes, the king of curses," sukuna hisses, eyeing the leash that both turns him on and also pisses him off simultaneously.

"interesting..." you hum with a smile, gently touching the fabricated side of his face that's been made with make up.

"i do have to say, the tattoos and black nails fit you so well, my love."

sukuna remains silent as he resists the urge to kiss you, with your lips hovering so close to his.

"don't fuck me with your eyes, honey. you're making yourself too obivous," you tease, ghosting your fingers over his chest, touching him languidly. his dick swells even more.

"darling, please... i need to touch you," sukuna says, softspoken and yearning so hard it makes him dizzy.

"oh... i love when you beg like that. what would your fans think, if they saw their most cold-blooded villain pleading me like this?"

with a collar and leash on, no less.

"it wouldn't matter what they think. you're the only one i love," he responds, shuddering as you nudge your knee against the erection in his pants.

"i like that answer."

you kiss him, which is an act that means you're permitting him to finally lay his hands on you - and this breaks the restraint he'd been holding onto until now.

sukuna kisses you back with a throaty growl, slipping his tongue in to smother you with, as your lips are curled up into a pleased smile. drunk on the taste of you, he doesn't stop kissing until he's had his fill. both of you are breathing heavily when he finally pulls away, his face being flushed beautifully.

large hands come to tug away at your clothes, exposing the swell of your chest, and he clamps his lips around one of your nipples, like a man starving... you gasp, and tug at his soft hair from the back, the other hand still gripping onto the rope that connects with his collar.

you arch your back when he nips on them a little, earning him a hiss from you and another harsh tug at his leash. when he comes up to face you once again, he's wearing a smirk with foggy eyes, satisfied with this small payback.

once he finally comes around to releasing his strained cock, he gives a sigh of relief. the tip is glistening with his precum, and he wants to be buried in your cunt so bad. he slides it in with one go.

"oof, always so big, aren't you?" you tell him, feeling his throbbing dick reach so deep inside. it's not your first time saying such a thing, so he knows you mean it as a compliment. it inflates his ego.

"fuck- you feel so good," he mumbles mindlessly, pushing your thighs back.

sukuna begins to thrust into you, his heavy balls slapping down against your ass as he starts with a slow pace. another tug of his leash gets him to stop again.

"c'mon, love. is that all you can do?" you urge him, your grip still strong on his rope. he narrows his eyes, and pushes your thighs back harder, and begins to slam his hips into you, the way you love it.

"f-fuck... harder, sukuna... harder-" you moan as you keep taunting him with several pulls of his leash.

"tug that thing one more time..." he mutters with a low, out of breath voice, "and i'll make you regret it."

you love it when he's submissive, but even more so when he's in the mood to put his foot down. but you're not giving in so easily. you give it another tug, playfully.

"try me."

from then on, he snaps and decides he'll give you your own "collar".

his hand.

you squeal in delight as he roughs you up from his grip on your throat, to the biting, and to the bruising pace of his thrusts, all harmonising to bring you to your orgasm...

when sukuna cums, he does so right against your cervix, spilling all his thick, hot seed into your womb, with a loud groan. he's sucking a hickey onto your shoulder as he does so, full body shuddering with each clench of his balls as he dumps more into you. your pussy squeezes around him, fingernails digging deeply into his muscled back, feeling blissful.

he soon collapses onto you, and you start playing with his hair again, as he rests momentarily, being spent after the rough sex that happened when he'd just come back home. you'll need to reward him later for this.

in the bathroom, you help him scrub away all those tattoos, and tear off that falsified right side of his face. he appreciates this, especially the ones on his back that are difficult to reach. in the tub, you sit between his legs, and lean back as he dotes on you, calloused hands not leaving anywhere of you untouched.

once the bathing is finished, you do his nightly skin care routine for him. an actor's gotta preserve their skin, you know. before the moisturizer though, you press a soft kiss onto his pure face, clean of tattoos, and hum with a pleased expression.

"i love this one more, after all."

he huffs out a chuckle and pulls you onto his lap.

"hah. the king of curses ought to cry real tears with envy."

he clings onto you all night, face buried into your chest, indulging in the feeling of being the little spoon.

Masterlist

Tagging: @yuujispinkhair and @gojos-thot-patrol (who encouraged the leash idea...)

credit and link to the cute heart dividers here

[writa-anon]

"is that.. supposed to be me?"

francis mosses (the milkman) x artist!reader

a / n ~ boom! first fanfic :3 i was a little inspired by uh.. myself LOL when i started playing tnmn i realized i was horrible at memorizing faces so i started drawing the characters to help me remember and it works sooo much. but anyway, super cute oneshot where they first meet, hope u enjoy :D

content included ~ isaack mauss, francis mosses, reader is an artist and doorman, no pronouns mentioned for reader, use of (y/n), shy n wholesome first encounter

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 4.10.24 | 1.6k words

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Another slow day at work, huh?”

A enthusiatic-ridden voice boomed, instinctively making me look up to meet the gaze of a strong-jawlined man. I cleared my throat and placed my pencil on the scratchy sheet of paper, sitting up in my chair.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Gauss.” I greeted, grinning that customer-service smile.

“Good afternoon, (y/n). I assume work is treating you well?” He said before sliding both his ID and request form through the letter hole. “Only your third day and you’re occupying yourself with side hobbies!” He exclaimed, squinting a little to see my doodle through the glass screen. I chuckled a little as I examined his ID.

“Eh, yeah..” I sighed. “But this actually helps with my job, believe it or not!” I said proudly, pulling out the floor 2 folder to compare his ID number. “I’ve been drawing neighbors in order to remember their features better. It’s especially helpful because of my terrible memory.” I said, shaking my head. Isaack simply chuckled as I placed the folder to the side as I went through his request form.

“That’s pretty smart.” He commented. “Who have you drawn so far?” He asked, curiously tilting his head. As I went through the checklist as I idly thought to myself.

“Umm..” I hummed. “The Schmitts and the Mikaelys are definitely in here.” I finished up the last check before rolling back to my sketchbook, using my finger to thumb through the pages.

“Unfortunate. I haven’t been drawn yet.” He faked pouted. I rolled my eyes before flipping one or two pages before presenting the portrait to him.

“I’m not necessarily finish. Your face is pretty hard to encapture.” I sighed, looking at the smears of led blended together. Isaack was something of a character: a big prominent smile that is not hard to catch a glimpse of in a room full of people. His hair perfectly styled each morning that still manages to maintain its shape by the end of the day. His voice had depth to it, almost like he was born to be the daily news reporter for radios and TVs of all kind. He stared at the drawing in satisfied awe before leaning back.

“Wow, it surely is accurate!” He beamed. I smiled proudly before placing my sketchbook down.

“Thank you,” I politely nodded. I slid his ID back through the letter box. “Everything seems to be good to go. You’re allowed in, Mr. Gauss.” He nodded in his head in gratitude, but however, did not my window just yet. He took a minute to ponder, as if contemplating his next move, before beaming his teeth once again.

“Ah, before I go,” he quickly inputed. “is there by chance Francis Mosses is on today’s list? He’s the local milkman around here.”

I raised my eyebrow a little, not exactly sure as to why Isaack chose to bring up this person’s name. I shook my head gently before folding my arms in front of me. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gauss, but I’m afraid I cannot disclose that information for you.”

“—Ah, of course.” Isaack quickly fixed himself, putting his hands up a little in defense. “I understand. I was just curious is all. I’m sure you know him though, no?” Thinking for a minute, I’ve realized that this is a neighbor I have not encountered yet.

“No, actually..” I pondered out loud. “Huh, that’s interesting. I guess he works a morning or night shift because the name doesn’t really ring a bell.” I noted out loud.

“Interesting.” He muttered. “Well, keep the name in mind. He’s a rather interesting person, and I think you would find him just as interesting.” Before I could say anything else, he gestured a quick wink before walking through the unlocked door. I quickly snapped out my thoughts before locking the door back up again.

Isaack never really mentioned other names— it wasn’t necessarily out of character, but it felt a little outlandish. I looked down to see my pencil in hand again and blank surface of paper. My eyes trailed over to the paper taped on to the wall next to my window, realizing that Frances was in fact on today’s check-in list. Out of curiousity, I located his room number before surfing through the folders. After locating folder 3 and apartment 02, I was able to find more about him.

He was a slim, tall man with a crooked nose and ruffled brown hair. His eye bags were prominent from what I assume to be lack of sleep. As I stared at his picture, my hand moved by itself across my sketchbook, forming a circle to start defining out the headshape. I squinted slightly, trying to feel for each detail in his face. From the way his eyebrows were rotated a little outward, defining more of his tired expression, to the bump in his nose bridge, making it a bit more interesting to draw. It was mesmerizing, almost wishing I could sit here and draw his face in perso—

tap, tap!

I nearly jumped out of my seat. The pencil flung out of my hand, rolling off of the desk. My eyes flickered up—

and there he was.

My breath near caught in my throat as I stared up in shock. The man behind the glass was barely shocked to see my reaction. His white “milkman” hat rested perfectly on top of his brown hair with small curls slightly peaking out. I was swift to regain my composure in my head as I folded my hands in front of me with my legs crossed under the desk.

“Good afternoon, sir.” I smiled. “I haven’t seen you before. ID and entry request?”

He let out a small hum, barricaded by his pink lips, as he took out his paper and ID. He politely slid them through the letter slot before I took the items to examine.

“Mr. Francis Mosses.. Lives on floor 03.. Room 02.. Coming from work as a milkman.” I glanced up to look at him, comparing the photo ID to his face. His expression was exactly alike: tired eyes, slight frown on the lips, crooked nose, and a clean shaven face. I double checked with his file already on my desk, making sure that the ID numbers and the description aligned with his ID. “Everything looks good.” I confirmed as I slid his ID back to him.

“Mmm.. Thank you.” He hummed. I turned around to place his request form in a folder, but once I sat back up, I realized he was still standing at the window, curiously staring through the glass. I raised my eyebrow a little, confused as to why he was still lingering.

“I’m sorry, did I forget something?” I asked. Francis shook his head before pointing down at my desk.

“Is that.. Supposed to be me?” He asked. A tiny bit of emotion seeped into his voice, dripping in interest and curiousity.

“I— oh—” I looked down to see the rough drawing of Francis sitting at my desk, drawn with sketch lines still lightly defining his features, while the harder drawn areas sculpted his prominent details. “Yeah..” I mumbled. “I-I’m sorry if it makes you uncomfortable!” I exclaimed. “It’s just a way to help me remember faces and I was going through the files and I realized I haven’t met you before so I—”

“You make me look so pretty.” He mumbled, almost breathlessly. A faint pink color brushed his cheeks as he was unable to take his gaze away from the paper.

“W-Well.. I do aim for accuracy.” I chuckled, complimenting the man right back. My nerves had calmed down after noticing his calm demeanor. “You could keep it, if you’d like that is.” I offered. It would be awkward if I kept the drawing rather than give it to him— I mean— this is his first time ever seeing me and it was an awkward first interaction right off the bat. It was the least I could do for him. Francis nodded his head and in response, I tore the piece of paper out of the scrapbook before sliding it through the letter slot.

“There you go.” I smiled.

“Thank you..” He replied, graciously taking the piece of paper and admiring it once again. “Oh— um,” He quickly looked up to me. “What is your name? I’m sorry, I’m not really good with.. Introductions.” He trailed off, but something about his shyness and reluctant voice made me grin even harder.

“My name is (y/n). I’m the doorman in training for this building.” I greeted.

“Ah, of course. I’m Francis— Mmm..Though you already know that.” He said, shaking his head a little by the end of his sentence.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Francis. I’ll be seeing you around, I assume?” I said, sitting at the edge of my chair as I looked up at him.

“More often than before.” He smiled. It was the widest he’d grin throughout our whole conversation. Something inside me told me that he doesn’t pass around smiles like that easily. It made me feel accomplished in some sort of way. But with that, he departed from my window. I made sure to unlock the door and listen for the door closing behind him before locking it again.

Francis Mosses.

I think I have someone to look forward to on tomorrow’s entry list.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

really hoped you enjoyed! replies, reblogs, and even likes are super appreciated! thank you so much for reading :]

[hoshiina]

pairing: hoshina soushirou x gn!reader (no prns)

request: a reader that keeps messing around w him and at some point they mention they like him but then hoshina thinks theyre just playing... ..but they r not and he doesnt quite get it at first because hes so used to them joking around and then he ends up overthinking the whole thing until reader actually goes up to him to kiss him (or hug him very tight!!!!!!!! or both maybe!!!!!!)

maybe he liked them too but that thought didnt sit right with him because he doesnt believe hes worthy of something like that

notes: mentions the reader's face "flushing", reader is rather lively/outgoing, reader is not a fan of horror and is more a fan of romance, reader is a hoshina stan, one part is inspired by a scene in wakaba no komorebi, omg why are there so many notes I'm so sorry TY FOR THE REQ!!

wc: 2800

A new day, a new chance for you to shoot your shot at none other than your vice-captain of the third division.

You were always messing with him. This ranged from embarrassing pranks a grade school boy would menace his crush with, all the way to borderline hitting on him. There wasn’t a single day you’d forget to remind him he was stunning, and you’d always be bragging about him to the officers in the first division, regardless of the fact that you had absolutely nothing to do with the things you were bragging about. Simply put, you were loud about Hoshina.

Yet, every day, he'd brush you off and tell you to get to work. You didn't let that mind you much though, because you could tell he wasn't actually upset. You liked him unconditionally, and as long as you weren't actually bothering him, you couldn't care less if your feelings weren't returned. Well, you did care, but that wasn't going to stop how you felt for him.

Now, you said all of that, but naturally, you were still scared to just put your feelings out there so you hadn’t actually told Hoshina you liked him. You assumed he knew, but if you said it out loud, you’d have to hear an answer. And that, you were not ready for.

However, you weren’t going to stop messing with him anytime soon. Hoping one day he’d actually fall for you and one day you’d have the courage to properly tell him how you felt.

You were in the cafeteria with the rest of the division, having your breakfast while mindlessly scrolling through your phone, when you saw a post about a new movie in theatres. Immediately your mind went to possibly inviting Hoshina and you scrolled right back up, trying to find out what it was about. Horror. You sighed and continued to scroll. Horror was absolutely not your favourite.

“Oh, is it finally out?” you heard a voice from behind you say— your favourite voice say.

“Would you like to go?” you asked, whipping your head back to see none other than Hoshina Soushirou. Just the sight of him and your heart would flutter. How you loved him. “Together? Us? Just us? You and me?”

“Oh, like we have time to go,” he said.

“Man,” you said, knowing he’d say that. The entire defence force in general had been a lot busier ever since the appearance of so many identified grade kaijus. However, it did make you wonder if that meant he would if he did have time. No, he’s just declining your invitation politely, you’d tell yourself, bringing you back to your senses.

You’ve done this since always, and you do this every time without fail. Whenever a new shop had opened, or a new movie to watch had come to theatres, you'd always shoot your shot— hoping he'd say yes one day. Yes to a date.

Although you were used to getting turned down, it still wasn’t the best feeling. Recently, you've been letting it get to you far more than you used to. Maybe after all these times, the rejection did start to have an affect on you. Maybe you were falling for him even harder recently, or maybe you were starting to hope for your feelings to be returned.

Perhaps a relaxing day at the movies was exactly what you needed. Maybe you’d ask for a day off next week— just to go watch a movie you liked.

So you did exactly that, you filed a form to Captain Ashiro, requesting a day off anytime the next week. Preferably on a Tuesday, because movie tickets were cheaper on Tuesdays.

A few days later, you were called over to her office. You assumed it was just to let you know if you could have your day off and if so, when it was. To your surprise, when you walked in, it wasn't Ashiro but rather Hoshina there, working away.

“Hoshina?” you asked, pleasantly surprised. “I didn't expect to see you today.”

“You didn't?” he asked, genuinely perplexed. “But this is my office?”

“Your office? I thought it was Captain Ashiro’s?” you said.

“It used to be, but I took it over a little while back,” he said. “It's just a lot faster for me to do the paperwork.”

“Oh… I see,” you said, rather surprised you weren't already aware. There was a moment of silence.

“It was rather recently that I had officially started working here,” he said, somehow noticing that you were dejected. Oh, how did he always know exactly what to say? You were never going to get over him at this rate. “Anyways, you requested a day off next week?”

“Um… yes,” you said. Now you felt a little awkward about going to a movie alone, and you really hoped he wouldn't realize where you were going.

“On a Tuesday… are you going to see that movie after all?” he asked and he noticed you stiffened a little, so he immediately followed with, “Sorry, you don't have to answer that. You're absolutely free to take that day off.”

“I am,” you said. Half a lie, because there was no way you were watching a horror movie, let alone by yourself. But you were going to the movies. That was true. “It's been a while since I watched a movie in theatres, I realized.”

“I've never gone alone actually,” he said, imagining you were planning to go alone. “Or are you going with someone?”

“No, I'll be by myself,” you said, but instinctively you asked him out again. It was practically in your subconsciousness to do so. “Unless you'd like to tag along?”

There was a long pause before he said anything, and his unreadable expression only made the silence feel longer. You were expecting a quick rejection again, so the silence was absolutely killing you— you hadn't expected it one bit.

“Actually, I'd like to,” he said. “If that's okay with you, of course.”

You couldn't believe your ears. What did he say? You couldn't have possibly heard that right. What had he said?

On the other hand, he had no idea why he said yes. Why after turning you down all these times? Why now? He had turned down every offer of yours because he knew you were just messing around. You didn’t feel about him the way he felt about you. He knew this because you had done this since the moment you joined, and you couldn’t have liked him back then— you hadn't even know him yet.

But still, he hoped you were serious.

“You're joking,” you said.

“Were you?” he asked. This must be why he said yes. He wanted to know so badly— he was rather exhausted of playing the guessing game with you.

“Not at all,” you said. You thought he had known, but perhaps not. “I've never been. Not for a moment.”

“Then, let's go,” he said with his poker face on, but he was a little shaken. He didn't think you were at all serious, let alone that serious.

“Hoshina, is this a date?” you asked, and you could tell your cheeks were flushed. However, there wasn't much to be embarrassed about at this point, so you might as well have asked before you drove yourself insane.

“Okay…” you said, but you were spaced out. You had no idea what had prompted this all of a sudden, but this was the moment you had been waiting for, for your whole life. Yes to a date.

A date? Was it a date?

“Would you like it to be?” he asked. You had no idea what he was thinking.

“Yes,” you said. “Of course…”

“Then, let's go on a date,” he said. “On Tuesday, at 2pm. I'll pick you up from your unit and we'll go and watch a movie.”

It was yes to a date. A date with none other than the love of your life. You were going on a date with Hoshina Soushirou.

You left the office soon after, thanking him as you left, and you were lost in thought. You truly felt like the world around you had stopped, but at the same time, the time passing was a blur. You thought it’d be forever before your long awaited day, and you’d have plenty of time to calm yourself down and prepare, but it had rolled around before you knew it.

You put on what you personally thought was your best date outfit, but you had no idea if he’d like it. You really hoped he would. Now, you were sitting around, waiting for him to come pick you up. It was still 10 till 2, but he was always ahead of schedule— he hated making people wait, so he was always early. A few minutes later, you heard a few footsteps and some rustling outside your door, and you were pretty sure it was him. You waited for a knock, but it wouldn’t come.

Quickly, you opened the door and it was him, waiting by your door with his phone in his hand, opened to your messages with him.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry, were you waiting?”

“No,” you said, immediately. “I just finished getting ready. Why didn’t you knock?”

“Well, I’m early,” he said. “Didn’t want to rush you.”

Gosh, you were on a date. With him. You had actually never seen him in anything other than what he wears at the defense force, and as much as you liked that training shirt he had on, he looked so incredibly gorgeous today. And this was just for you. He wore a black corduroy turtleneck, and a simple long coat to go over it. You were still so lost, how had you gotten to this point in the first place?

“You’re stunning today,” he said to you as he smiled a little and you swear you felt your heartrate spike. Did he even know what he was doing?

“Not to mean you aren’t usually…” he said immediately. “Sorry, I never say the right things when they count, do I?”

“No, I thought my heart was going to stop,” you said, frankly. This was the way you always were, there was no point in getting flustered all of a sudden. “You’re gorgeous everyday, but even more so today.”

“Well, I’d have to be glad our date is today then,” he said.

While the two of you walked to the theatre, it was rather quiet. Far more quiet than you usually were. Suddenly, you were so nervous, and there was nothing to say to him. So many questions filled your head but none of them felt appropriate to ask. You felt like the spell would break if you took one wrong breath. You wanted to know why he was here with you today. Why he said yes all of a sudden, why he took a precious day off to go on a date with you, and what he was thinking when he said yes. You wanted to know how he felt about you, or at least how he felt about this date.

“I’ll go get us tickets,” you said, as soon as you got to the theatre. “Please pick a snack and a drink in the meantime, I’ll get the tickets quick.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, I’m getting the tickets, and the drinks and snacks, for that matter,” he said. “Besides, we haven’t even decided on a movie yet.”

“We haven’t?” you asked. “I thought we were watching the movie that came out the other day?”

“What? Why would we?” he asked, genuinely confused. “You don’t even like horror." He pointed at another poster on the wall. "Why don’t we watch that one? Romance is more your type of thing, isn’t it?”

You thought you’d cry. If there was one thing that was worrying you about this date, it was the movie. Horror really wasn’t for you, and you weren’t sure if you could watch the movie without showing it.

“How did you know?” you asked.

“It’s obvious,” he said. “You’ve never asked me out to a horror movie, have you?”

Just how did he notice? “But didn’t you want to watch that one?” you asked.

“Please, I can watch that whenever, on my own,” he said. “I’m here with you today. I’d be a horrible date to make you watch it with me.”

“Thank you,” you said, starstruck. “At least, let me pay for it then?”

“No way,” he said. “I’m taking you out today.”

“No, I asked you out,” you said.

“Don’t care!” he said and went off to get the tickets and snacks.

You were in love with him, and you were going to tell him. You were sure he knew, but you had to tell him properly. It wasn’t even that you were hoping for him to return your feelings, you just wanted to tell him.

You thought you wouldn’t be able to focus on the movie at all, but you were, strangely enough. You were watching a cliche romance movie that couldn’t possibly be about you and Hoshina, no matter how much you tried to stretch the narrative, but you loved it. It was a sweet movie, a type that you've always loved, and you were watching it with the one you always loved. You couldn’t be happier.

So as soon as the movie was over, you went for it.

“Hoshina, I love you so much,” you said, and kissed him. On the lips.

His eyes were wide and his cheeks were faintly flushed. You weren’t expecting that, not even for a moment.

“You’re serious?” he asked.

You were confused, did he think you were playing around all this time? “Yes, of course,” you said. “I’ve loved you for forever.”

“Since… when?” he asked.

“Since the day you saved me, 3 years ago,” you said, immediately. It was like you had waited all your life to answer this. “You definitely don’t remember, but I remember like yesterday.”

He wouldn’t reply, but he was still looking at you surprised, so you continued on.

“I thought I had told you this actually. Not the part that I liked you, but the part that you saved me. I joined because of you, Hoshina,” you said. “Yes, you’re my vice-captain and the love of my life, and I’m one of your officers, but you were my hero and I was your biggest fan for all this time.”

Something in him shifted. It felt like someone had woken him up from a weird haze, and showed him how much colour there is to the world. You joined for him. Not for Mina, not for Gen, but him. To you, he was a hero. To the one he treasured most, he was irreplaceable.

“I love you too,” he said, with the softest smile you had ever seen from him. He was serious, you could tell.

“No way,” you said.

“I do,” he said, but he could tell that you were a little skeptical, or at least puzzled. “I love the way you work hard, the way you joke around, but actually care so much. I love the way you give everything your all. I love the way you always smile when you see me— it makes me feel so special. You make my day, absolutely every single day.”

It took everything in you to stop yourself from sobbing, but that made Hoshina laugh. He kissed you this time, and tears rolled down your cheeks anyway.

Wiping your cheeks with the pad of his thumb, he kissed you on the forehead.

“I absolutely adore you.”

BONUS:

Later that day, you were going to open up the one cardboard box you still hadn’t unpacked. The one filled with your posters and merch of Hoshina you had collected through these years. You were hiding them, because you thought it’d be a little too weird if you had those just hanging around, but finally, they’d see the sunlight. You would never have even imagined this day when you had those in your room, dreaming of him. If only you could tell your past self— just how thrilled you would’ve been. Well, not that you were any less thrilled now.

The next time Hoshina came to visit you in your room, he was utterly flustered, it was absolutely adorable. He couldn’t believe people actually bought the merch they sold of him, let alone put them up— and in the room of his loved one nonetheless. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it, because it made him so incredibly happy.

He was thrilled that you did, in fact, love him the way he loved you.

[theostrophywife]

kiss with a fist | chapter three.

masterlist 💋 chapters 💋 playlist

pairing: theodore nott x reader.

song inspiration: high enough by k. flay.

author's note: we're well on our way. this is a shorter(ish) chapter, but that just means that you might get the next one sooner rather than later. as always, please enjoy the banter and sarcasm.

Angel’s Trumpet was going to be the death of you. 

You were convinced of it.

The multiple failed attempts to brew the wretched draught hung over you like a pall and followed you into your second week. When Wednesday night finally rolled around, you were in a proper foul mood. You couldn’t even bring yourself to take more than one bite of lasagne, which was usually your favorite. 

Beside you, Luna set the latest copy of the Quibbler down and looked over at you with concern. “Still having trouble with potions?” 

You nodded, sighing in frustration. “It’s this bloody Angel’s Trumpet. I’ve read over the recipe so many times that it’s practically ingrained into my subconscious, but I just can’t seem to get it right.”

Your roommate smiled faintly. “I know,” she said in her breathy voice. “You do come up with some rather creative curses when you’re studying.” 

You smiled sheepishly. “Sorry Loons, have I kept you up with my late night ranting again?” 

“No need to apologize. The wrackspurts are truly doing a number on everyone, not just you. They’re especially rampant during the start of term.” Her dreamy eyes sharpened into something that resembled mischief. “And how are your sessions with Theodore going?” 

The faint smile on your friend’s face told you that she definitely knew more than she let on. Besides you and Theo, Luna was the only person in Hogwarts who knew about your secret little dalliances. She had figured it out rather early on last year when you and Theo kept mysteriously disappearing at the same time. It was a shame that everyone underestimated her. Luna Lovegood was the most astute person you knew. 

You had absolutely no doubt that your secret was just one of many that Luna had uncovered by simply being observant. After all, teenagers weren’t exactly covert even if they were witches and wizards. 

“Miserably,” you finally answered. 

Much to your annoyance, Theo had not let up since the weekend. Day after day, he dragged you into the potions lab with varying disastrous results. Just the other night, the damned cauldron spewed magenta liquid like a geyser, effectively soaking you and Theo in pepto bismol pink like a demented water park ride. No amount of scourgify could wash away the shame. 

Luna laughed. “Pansy said that Theo spent hours scrubbing potion off of his fancy leather shoes.”

“Pansy?” you asked incredulously. “As in, Pansy Parkinson? Since when are you two the best of friends?” 

Your friend shrugged nonchalantly, but you clocked the slight flush in her cheeks. “Don’t worry, I’m not trying to replace you. Pansy and I just have a few classes together, that’s all.” 

You narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “Is she being nice to you? I swear to Godric if she even says one mean thing I’ll stick a broom up that witch’s ar—“ 

Luna held her palms up. “I appreciate the concern, but I assure you Pansy is very nice.” 

That wasn’t entirely convincing, but you trusted Luna’s judgment. As protective as you were over your friend, you knew that she was perfectly capable of handling herself. 

“I just worry,” you said, patting her shoulder. “Those little serpents have teeth.” 

“Oh, I think you’re more familiar with the Slytherins and their teeth than I am.” 

“Loons!” 

She smiled unapologetically. “Speaking of which, here comes your serpent now and he does look poised to bite.” 

You turned just in time to see Theo marching down the aisle with two of his housemates. The curly headed one, Mattheo Riddle, swaggered on his right and winked at you. Flanking Theo’s left side was Enzo Berkshire, who gave you a polite wave. He was by far the most tolerable out of the lot of them. You wholly ignored Mattheo, but acknowledged Enzo with a nod. 

Theo, on the other hand, you openly glared at. “To what do I owe the displeasure?” 

Every head at the Ravenclaw table turned towards your direction. Though your housemates liked to think they were above the petty drama, Ravenclaws were some of the worst gossips in this school. Three Slytherins walking amongst their midst was as juicy as it got. 

Completely unfazed by the attention, Theo slid in next to you on the bench. “Someone’s got their wand in a twist.” 

You flashed him a saccharine smile. “I’ll twist more than just your wand if you don’t leave me the hell alone, Nott.” 

Mattheo smirked. “Oh, I like her.” 

The glare you shot his way was full of venom. “The feeling is not mutual.” Enzo fought a smile as Mattheo gaped. You ignored the both of them and turned back to Theo. “Who are they supposed to be? Your cronies?” 

“Merlin, she never truly lets up, does she?” exclaimed Riddle. 

Theo grinned. “You have no fucking idea, mate.” His expression faltered when he saw the ire dancing in your eyes. “Right, I know that look. Leave us before she decides to turn you two into toads.” 

The boys reluctantly backed away. Beside you, Luna followed suit but winked behind her shoulder as she left the Great Hall. Luckily, Theo’s back was turned to her. 

“What do you want?” 

“Glory, riches, power. The usual,” he deadpanned. “What do you think I want? I've been waiting for you at the lab for half an hour.” 

“I can’t,” you said dismissively. “Not tonight.” 

“Oh, yes you can. I’m too invested to give up now. I am going to teach you how to brew Angel’s Trumpet even if it kills me.” 

“I’d prefer to skip the brewing and get right to the fun part.” You didn’t even notice that your bantering had stopped every conversation at your table. Everyone watched as you menacingly twirled your wand. “Shall I buy a new dress for your funeral?” 

Theo smirked, seizing your wrist. He lowered his voice and spoke quietly so only you could hear. “I’d rather see you wear my jumper again.” 

“Let go of my hand and I’ll be sure to turn up to your wake donning your beloved jumper.” 

He sighed in frustration. “I’m serious about the draught, diavolina. We’re trying again. Tonight.” 

“Was my last try not humiliating enough?” 

“There’s definitely room for improvement. Avoiding turning the lab into a slip and slide would be my first suggestion.” His mouth quirked in amusement. Prick. “Aside from that, I think I finally figured out the missing ingredient.” 

“And that would be?”

“Relaxation,” Theo answered proudly. “You’re way too uptight and it’s feeding into your magic, hence all the explosions.” 

You scoffed. “You want me to relax? I have literally never relaxed in my entire life. I came out of the womb stressed about taxes.” 

Theo snorted. “That’s exactly why I’m here. Let the expert teach you, sweetheart. Being relaxed means being confident and being confident means success.” 

“You do know that confidence and arrogance are two different things, right?” 

“Do you want to brew the bloody potion or not?” 

The fact that Theo was the one motivating you to do school work was only slightly despairing. “Fine,” you conceded. “Teach me how to relax, oh Great Master.” 

“Tucking that away for names I’d like for you to call me in bed.”

“Pervert.” 

“Don’t slut shame me, Y/N. We all have our kinks.” 

“Great. Mine is committing acts of violence against snarky Slytherins.” 

“This snarky Slytherin rather enjoys your acts of violence. Especially if it involves your smartass mouth on mine.” You flushed in response, which only made Theo smirk in satisfaction. “Now, come. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.” 

The Astronomy Tower was the last place you expected Theo to take you to. He didn’t really strike you as a stargazing type of guy, but then again, you probably didn’t strike people as the type of girl who slept with her academic rival out of spite. 

Maybe you both had layers. Layers upon fucked up layers. 

The thought almost made you laugh hysterically as you silently watched Theo transfigure his robe into a blanket. He laid it gently across the wooden floor and beckoned you over. “Sit,” he said simply. 

“This is awfully romantic of you. You take a lot of girls up here, Nott?”

“Only uptight little Ravenclaws who’d rather vex me to death than enjoy a stunning view of the stars.”

You snorted. “Sorry to disappoint.” 

He rolled his eyes and patted the spot next to him. “Sit. I won’t ask again.” 

To be fair to Theo (a statement you never thought you’d make), the stars were stunning tonight. You sat cross legged on the blanket and watched as constellations twinkled in the horizon. If you were up here with anyone other than the present company, you might’ve found it rather nice. 

But alas, this was Theo you were talking about. It was only a matter of time before he ruined it somehow. Probably with a lascivious comment. 

“Why are you sitting like you’ve got a stick up your arse?” Bingo. “Even more than usual, I mean.”

“Maybe you’re the stick up my arse.” 

“Don’t joke, darling.” Theo quipped, placing a hand over his chest. “You know I’ve been asking for months.”

“Do not make me push you over that railing, Theodore.”

“Jokes on you, I find your threats incredibly arousing. I’m pitching a tent in my trousers just thinking about it.” 

You rubbed your temples. “How is irritating the shit out of me supposed to be relaxing?”

Theo grinned, reaching into his pocket. “Because, I have this.” 

With a proud smile, he produced a tightly rolled blunt. 

“That’s your big idea?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the joint. “Taking me to the highest tower in the castle and getting higher than a hippogriff so we can potentially fall down the stairs and break our necks?”

“It’ll help with your nerves.” 

“The only thing wrong with my nerves is that you’re always on them.” 

He smirked, sticking the joint between his lips. “You’re deflecting. What’s the matter, diavolina? Scared to partake in the devil’s lettuce?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh for fuck’s sake, give it here.” Theo’s eyes widened as you took the joint from his mouth and stuck it in yours. “Well? Are you going to light me up or not?”

He shook his head in mild disbelief before pulling a lighter out of his pocket. You squinted at the silver Zippo, which had initials engraved on the front. The writing was too faded for you to read.

“I got tired of Mattheo stealing my lighters,” he explained. “This way I don’t lose track of it.”

The initials weren’t what surprised you. It was the fact that Theo even had a lighter in the first place. Most wizards just used magic to conjure fire. They certainly didn’t go around carrying muggle inventions in their pockets. It almost made you feel like you were back home in London, bumming a cigarette off some drunk after a night out in the pubs. 

“Why not use incendio?”

Theo shrugged. “An irritating know-it-all once told me that not everything has to involve magic.”

It was strange to hear him echo your words. 

None of it made any sense. Theo would’ve had to venture into a muggle shop to buy that lighter, which was unheard of for a pureblood. Especially not one whose family was part of the now disbanded Sacred Twenty-Eight. The idea of Theo walking around Camden Market to purchase a Zippo was more disorienting than the drugs. 

This little discovery did not line up with what you thought you knew about him. You squinted at him in the dim light, inhaling deeply. The smoke filled your lungs and clouded your senses. Yet one question remained even as you exhaled. 

Who the hell are you, Theodore Nott?

Sensing your gaze, he watched with a small smirk as you passed the joint over to him. It seemed impossible for the drugs to be taking effect so soon, but you found yourself mesmerized as Theo took a long drag. Smoke curled around his mouth as he leaned back on his elbows, tipping his head back to gaze up at the moon. 

“Why the Astronomy Tower?” you asked after a few moments. 

Theo shrugged. “It’s nice up here. Quiet. It helps to get away from the noise.” 

“Strange. I’d become convinced that you sometimes speak just to hear the sound of your own voice.” 

A set of dimples appeared on Theo’s cheeks. On anyone else, it might’ve been endearing. “Close. There’s also the added bonus of annoying you.” 

You didn’t try to stifle your laughter. “Yes, I suppose that sweetens the deal.” 

The two of you sat in silence, passing the joint every so often and quietly contemplating the stars. The absence of noise was jarring. You couldn’t remember the last time that you weren't surrounded by noise. Ravenclaws were a chatty bunch. Whether you were exchanging the newest piece of gossip or bragging about academic achievements, there was always this constant exchange of information. 

Your brain was hardwired to process input. Without it, you felt sort of like a toddler who had just gotten their comfort blanket ripped away from them. 

“Stop fidgeting, Y/N,” Theo commanded with his eyes closed. “You’re supposed to be relaxing.” 

You frowned, picking at your nails. “I don’t think it’s working. Either your drugs are rubbish or my neurosis is canceling it out.” 

He opened one eye lazily. His body language was languid, like he was floating through air. You envied him for it. “Just take a deep breath and empty your mind.” 

“I know that may be easy for someone whose thoughts are typically vacant, but I’m not wired that way. I can’t just turn off my thoughts.” 

Theo sighed and propped himself up on his elbows. He stared at you for a second before his eyes lit up with realization. “Of course. I’m so stupid.” 

“No argument there.” 

He rolled his eyes in response. “I’m trying to get you to relax the Theo way when we should be doing it the Y/N way.” 

“What does that even mean?” 

“Think of the one place in the castle where you feel most at peace.” 

You cocked your head, contemplating. The answer came to you in an instant. “Okay. I’ve got it. What now?” 

Theo rose to his feet and offered you his hand. “Lead the way, diavolina. Show me how the chronically neurotic unwinds.”

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[excalibur-gone-missing]

Paring: jeonghan x fem!reader

Requested: yes [Can you please write something angsty for prince DK? Or if this is too vague, what do you think about a bet au with Jeonghan?] [By anon]

Genre: angst, coworkers to lovers, fluff, fuckboy au, opposites au, bet au

Warning(s): misogyny, jeonghan is an asshole and so is seungcheol, [if you find more pls inform ]

Summary: Jeonghan had plans on never talking to the quite coworker they hired, but like doesn't always pan out the way we want to. But when you add money to the problem, plus both your feelings, you have the perfect recipe for disaster.

Word count: 5.2k

Other works

disclaimer: this is not the exact representation of the subjects in real life. I just use them for my inspiration.

a/n: I request each and every one of you to comment on this fic don't be a silent reader it helps me as an author to understand my readers and i would love to communicate with all of you. Constructive criticism is always welcomed by me so do talk about this fic or send me an ask.

a/n 2: i hope it was what you wanted, thanks for the ask btw!

Everyone at the office knew that Jeonghan was a free spirit, he worked hard and partied even harder. He like living his life in the most happening way possible. Be it weekend trips, bike trips to the mountains or staying in the countryside for a week and working remote while enjoying the serenity that comes with it, he was down for anything.

Funnily enough he was referred to as the least energetic person in his friend group. So, one can imagine overzealous they normally were.

His work more often than not was impeccable, no one could fault him at all. The rising star of the corporate world they called him at the office. In his five years at the job the man had garnered more approval than anyone else.

He liked his life, and he would not trade it for anything else.

Now, unlike Jeonghan you resided on the other side of the spectrum. Your kind of life was pretty monotonous waking up before your alarm, making your bed, skipping meals, and surviving on coffee, reaching, and leaving work on the dot and crying while rewatching your favorite shows, was your kind of life. You like staying in during the weekends and cleaning up the mess you make in your living space during the weekdays and trying everything in your power to not upset your cat while doing so.

Its calm, chill, maybe a bit boring but it worked for you and brought you peace.

You were the newest recruit in your office and from the first day you captured the attention of most of your coworkers for your meticulous and polite words.

More often than not you refuse to talk to your coworkers ensuring that there stays a professional boundary between you all and if they would not catch onto your behavior, you would politely decline them.

Never that interested in networking, you refuse to talk to more people than you need to.

Jeonghan caught onto it pretty early, but why did it matter to him what you did, so like everyone else he went on his own way and simply chose to ignore you.

Ten months into your new job was when you first had a real conversation with the man. It was pretty late at night, both of you had to stay back for overtime. That was when you saw him struggling with his presentation for the next day’s meeting.

That day you broke the ‘no talking to my coworkers rule unless and until it’s very important’ rule.

“what’s the problem?” you politely asked the man.

“Oh, I am having slight problem with the numbers here,” the man replies looking visibly confused and surprised.

“If you want, I can help you out” you kindly stated as Jeonghan casually just turned his laptop towards you.

So, for the next one and half hours you both sat there and diligently worked on the presentation and by the end of it the material looked rather good and presentation worthy.

Looking extremely grateful the pretty man said, “I am so thankful you helped me out today, so why don’t I repay you by dropping you off at your house, it’s pretty late you know.”

Looking at your watch you politely replied, “no worries, plus if I rush a bit, I can catch the last bus home so please don’t bother.”

Jeonghan looked bummed at this, but he was obliged nonetheless as he knew you to be an introverted lady and he did not want to make you uncomfortable.

--

The next time you and Jeonghan had a conversation, was again at a night when you both were staying at the office over time. By this time, you have become pretty comfortable with each other, not enough to hold a conversation but enough to spare a quick nod and a smile while passing by each other’s cubicles.

He was done with the day’s work and was about to leave the office when he noticed you hunched over your laptop looking frustratingly at your screen which showed you an open excel sheet with infinite numbers.

Feeling like he owed you the help, Jeonghan strode towards you and calmly said “let me see.”

Jumping in shock you looked at him and replied, “oh no don’t bother I can figure it out you should go home it’s pretty late you know.”

Tsking at your reply he grabbed a chair to sit beside you while saying “it’s only fair, you helped me out so I should help you now.”

You let him, in actuality you needed that little help from him, the data entries were annoying you and you absolutely did not like it one bit.

Just like that time passed by again resulting in the clock to show that it was quarter past one by the time you both were done.

This time though Jeonghan shut down all your protests to go about his own way and your reluctance to inconvenience him with a simple “it’s pretty late and I won’t let you get followed by some creeps on the road plus the last bus is gone anyways so you are coming with me.”

On the way he stopped at a convenience store to get some dinner for you both and you devoured your ramen while chatting with him.

You both were pretty similar, in some cases for example you both had this extreme love for Legos that existed beyond measurable amounts, both of you loved your pets to death, albeit his was a rock and yours was a cat, but as he said “we don’t discriminate peoples pets here, they can have what they want to but given its legal and safe for the pet.”

On the other hand, Jeonghan liked you too, he was happy he could be the first one to break your shell to meet the real you and he was proud of this. It was close to an achievement for him.

--

“Han like this new chick in his office.”

Joshua loudly announced to the group of boys sprawled in his living room one evening. Jeonghan’s friends had come to his house to hang out and to get drunk out of their wits to forget the stress of the tedious weekend they had. They were all friends from college, now working jobs in the most contrasting industries ever like Seungcheol was the manager for their states football club and Soonyoung was a choreographer working with famous celebrities, Hansol on the other hand was the proud of a pet shelter and the one and only Joshua was an English history professor who most days worked overtime at the university. But at the end of the day, they were all the loud and obnoxious assholes he knew and loved from his younger days, and nothing could compare to that.

“Really you never told us about this one hyung?” Mingyu enquires.

“Nah she is just a new hire at the office, does not like talking to people at all. She is more antisocial than Wonwoo’s ass.”

“Really now, antisocial?” Seungcheol enquires, not missing Jeonghan’s defensive tone.

“Yes, Cheol antisocial, plus I don’t even know her enough,” the male says while rolling his eyes at his friends interest with you.

“Maybe you could talk to her and get her out of her shell, you are a pretty good mediator in our group I think you could do that,” pipes up the ever so benevolent Seokmin.

“Yes, you could,” Seungcheol joins him smirking a bit.

Now thoroughly annoyed Jeonghan exclaims “no I cannot. The only way someone can get that stuck up bitch out of her shell will be fucking her or something and I do not want to do so!”

“What if I pay you, will you do it then,” Seungcheol says still smirking.

“Do what?”

“Fuck her enough to get her out of her shell.”

The whole room goes silent at that statement.

“Hyung, I don’t think it’s right,” the youngest of them, Chan, suddenly speaks.

“Yes, its morally incorrect man,” Jeonghan agrees.

“I will pay you, plus life is pretty boring. This will give us something to talk about for at least the next year,” the oldest explains still smiling a bit.

“I agree with the others, its emotionally taxing and nothing good will come out of doing something like this man, plus what are we teenagers making bets about emotionally harming others?” Joshua says.

“Jeonghan, you do it and I will give you a thousand bucks,” the oldest says calmly. At the same time all the men in the room let out an exasperated sigh, knowing there is no winning with this stubborn man, while hoping silently that Jeonghan does not succumb to the greed.

But alas they were wrong, so wrong. An amount that lucrative will only be passed by a fool and Jeonghan was no such thing. He stood up from his place at the loveseat and confidently strode over to Seungcheol.

“You better keep your fucking word,” he says while shaking the older man’s hand.

While Seungcheol smiles and says, “you know what you complete the bet within the next six month I’ll give you a five thousand and if you don’t end up doing it, you gotta pay me pal.”

--

After that evening with his friends, Jeonghan was pretty stressed, because why should he not be? Making you sleep with him is hard enough, but making a situationship out of it sounds even harder. Now he thoroughly regrets accepting the bet.

You on the other hand are pretty happy and quiet as you often are. Very much unaware of his internal turmoil, as you keep talking excitedly about the new Lego death star you bought.

Yes, you and Jeonghan have bonded quite a bit these past few days, he likes spending time with you too, and so do you. It is a nice and comfortable friendship you both have built, and you like it.

“Why don’t you let me come to your place this weekend, and we can build the set together. We can get takeout later too,” he suddenly speaks up shocking you with such forward proposition.

“Well only if you want to though no pressure, it’s just that I really wanted to build the death star and was planning to buy it but like couldn’t make enough time to do –”

“Sure, you can come,” you speak up stopping his nervous rant.

“Are you sure?” Jeonghan asks just to make sure he heard it correctly.

“Yes, I am, it will be fun to build the Lego set together,” you say smiling.

“Yes, it would be, but like are you really sure,” he says again to make sure he is really not hard at hearing.

“Jeonghan if you ask me once again, I will take back what I just said.”

This makes him stop talking at all and he proceeds to show you his beautiful smile, making you feel a bit giddy inside.

“So, I will come this Saturday and we shall make the death star cuz we can,” he sings, making you bark out a laugh at him.

Little do you know you just poured a cool bucket of water on the burning flames on anxiety inside Jeonghan’s brain and he is extremely happy about that.

--

The next Saturday comes rolls in slowly, the tedious and boring week is over, and it is time for self-care and a lot of friendship building activities or that’s what you thought.

The man was mad and when you say mad you mean it. The Lego making only lasted for like two hours before he had hidden all the pieces of the part that you were making, resulting you to search for them all over the house. Moreover, after diligently searching and finding nothing, you had given up when he had produced all those pieces from his pockets shocking you to the core.

This little stunt had made you force him to pay for the takeout and when you were both fed and watered, he had proposed a game of chess. Only problem, you never knew one could cheat in this game too. He moved the pieces wrong.

Result. You both had the pettiest fight ever wherein the man with all his might tried to convince you that the rook was indeed supposed to move diagonally.

“You don’t understand, that is how the game is played. Are you sure you ever played this before?” he had asked.

“Hani you are wrong, please the rook never in its whole life moved diagonally, it always moved straight.”

“Maybe that is what your problem is, you are so uptight, you refuse to accept the differences in our opinions!”

“Oh, now I'm uptight, you are only being this difficult cuz you are losing!”

“I wouldn’t if you let me play the rook diagonally.”

“But that is not how it is played! Why don’t you—"

All your rants stop just like that, it took you at least five business days to actually realize that Jeonghan had kissed you. But once you got over that shock, you closed your eyes and moved your lips along with his.

Jeonghan, thoroughly exasperated by your intense argument, impulsively sought to quiet you by placing a soft, lingering kiss on your plump lips. Almost immediately, regret washed over him as he feared he had acted rashly at the worst possible moment. Mentally preparing to distance himself from you for the rest of your time together, he was taken aback when you reciprocated the kiss, instantly dissolving all his worries and leaving him pleasantly surprised.

You broke the kiss to take a breath, both looking visibly flustered.

“Do you want to stay the night, or do you want to go?” you asked him while looking at him with your sparkling eyes, making Jeonghan want to glue his ass to your house, but he being the gentleman he was declined the offer.

“I would really like to take you out on a date. As I really like you, so I won’t spoil my chances with you by staying tonight.”

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. You always thought of the man to be a Casanova, so the idea of him taking you on a date while simultaneously insinuating that he won’t take any harsh steps with you was a nice little change and you were all for it.

--

It was all smooth sailing after that.

Jeonghan took you to an amusement park for the date next Sunday and oh boy did you enjoy yourself to the fullest.

Both of you had the time of your lives. Making sure to go on every ride, play every game and eating every junk you found there. By the end of it you were visibly exhausted and elated with how the day went.

The following day you were visibly happier in the office and even had a small conversation with one of your coworkers.

This went on for the following month, with each and every date you opened up to Jeonghan more and more, and so did he.

He loved spending time with you and vice versa. It was during your regular Friday movie nights, a ritual you both had established as you both liked watching movies and bonded while talking about them, when Jeonghan absolutely bored with the movie scooted a bit too close to you in hopes of gaining your attention by annoying you, a typical Jeonghan move. When you both ended up making love on the couch.

This was only the start of a lot of escapades you would have with the man.

After that one night, Jeonghan was all over you at all times. Be it at the office or be it at home he was with you or texting you all the time. Your nights were now filled with heavy make outs and intense love making sessions.

Everybody at the office knew about you both. On top of that you were more extroverted than ever. You even went out with your coworkers for an office dinner. Somehow, Jeonghan was praised for the change he brought in you, and like his ‘kind’ self, he declined all those compliments with a gracious smile.

He didn’t like to say it out loud, but he liked your changed self, more than your reserved one. Plus, he also took credit for the change, but it’s not like he would tell you that anytime soon.

--

 It was almost five months into dating Jeonghan, when he asked you to meet his friends. You knew he had a very loyal group of friends and you had never met them before. On the contrary Jeonghan had met your one and only best friend within only three months of dating. In the most best friend manner, the lady has hated his ass the whole-time side eyeing him constantly and leaving petty remarks here and there. But that night she had called you and told you something she didn’t ever say for any of your boyfriends “I can see he loves you a lot. For the first time you chose the correct guy.”

Getting your strict best friend to like Jeonghan was like clearing the first hurdle of your relation. For the first time, you were proud of your choice in men and especially your boyfriend.

“Oh, I would love to meet them, but would they like me,” you were rightfully concerned about the boys liking you. As much as you were independent, you would like to gain the approval of your boyfriend’s friends like any girlfriend.

“They are dorks through and through, they will love, don’t worry” he had said while kissing your forehead to calm you down.

“Plus, you will fit right in, they are nice people,” he later added.

--

That evening, Jeonghan had taken you to the Korean BBQ place downtown where they all were meeting. The night had started rocky but within an hour you were having fun with Mingyu and Seokmin, all worries forgotten. Jeonghan had looked at you with pride blooming in his chest with how happy you looked with his friends, enjoying yourself.

It seems that all the twelve of them had liked you a lot saying you were the perfect partner for Jeonghan, someone who could ground him at the same time let him be himself.

The BBQ party came to an end, but the boys still had a lot of energy, so they went to the karaoke next taking both you and Jeonghan with them. Although you were thoroughly exhausted, you had complied to go, seeing Jeonghan have so much fun was a sight you didn’t want to miss.

You had gone to the bathroom the first thing right after reaching the karaoke place, to wake you up and also to do your business. Seungkwan had accompanied you claiming, “all that soju and walking has made my bladder shake like never before!” it’s not a lie though, they did drink like it will be the last time they ever get to drink.

As you came out of the restroom, Seungkwan gave you a kind smile and said “I have never seen Jeonghan this happy before, not even with us. I'm sure he likes you a lot.”

Smiling at him you said, “I think I love him; I have not said that to him yet, but I really think I do.”

With a sassy ‘good for you’ from the one and only Boo, you both made your way to the room that your group had booked.

As you reached closer, you could hear all the boys talking to each other.

“I approve, she is an angel, she even consoled Soon when he cried” said one of them making you smile a bit. By this time Seungkwan had stopped with you too eavesdropping on his friends as he is as dramatic as one can be.

“She is nothing like what you described her to be you know, she is nice and kind and far from being stuck up,” someone else said.

“Nah she is not, that stuck up once you get to know her, contrary to that she is very cheery and I like her you know,” Jeonghan had replied making you feel extra giddy inside.

“Hey bro if you like her that much maybe we should call off the deal we made, I see how much you like her and if you ask me, I will say she is a keeper,” with this statement, a silence washed over the whole group. You looked at Seungkwan to understand what was happening, but the man refused to look at you still stubbornly pretending to listen to the conversation.

“I said I like her, not like her enough to let go of the five thousand you offered” you suddenly heard Jeonghan speak making you even more confused about the whole ordeal.

“I think you will regret it you let her go hyung,” Seokmin suddenly said with a very somber tone generating a lot of assertive noises from the group.

“She won’t bring me five thousand, plus I fucked her got into a relationship with her and made her the fun-loving bitch she is now. It was a tedious process, but I completed my work, so I deserve the money.”

It was hard hearing the man you loved so much make such a degrading comment. At this point you were shaking with emotions so much that even Seungkwan who refused to look at you during this whole time, had to hold you steady.

“Did you know about this,” you asked him.

The boy with his eyes downcast just nodded his head.

“I won’t even ask you why you didn’t tell me about it, I get it you are his friend makes sense.”

“Hey none of us wanted him to do anything like this, but your Jeonghan is unstoppable sometimes and about the wrong things.”

“I think I should get going, I’ve heard enough.”

“Hey y/n we like you a lot, so please stay in contact with us later, no matter what your verdict is,” the younger man pleaded with glistening eyes, making you almost accept the request out of pity.

You ignored everyone and strode into the room bustling with men, heading straight for the couch. Without hesitation, you grabbed your bag and, as you walked out, approached Jeonghan and delivered a firm slap to his face. "We're done," you declared before exiting the room without glancing at anyone else.

--

The minute you had left, Jeonghan felt his life crashing down on him. The looks of disapproval from his friends and the pure disappointment that radiated off you caught him off guard. He had thought he could get out of it with both the girl and the money, but suddenly he realized he didn’t even need the said money, he only needed you. The weight of his words came to haunt me as soon as he had spoken them.

He immediately attempted to follow you but was stopped by Seungkwan, “did you see her face, if you follow her now, she will resent you more. Not like you don’t deserve it, but you are still my friend.”

The tone of his voice showed how much he was upset with Jeonghan. So much so that the younger male could not even look at his face.

“You are my hyung, but you know what I like her more, never have I ever thought you would do something like this,” he continued, “I hope she never forgives you.”  

Hearing that Jeonghan couldn’t control himself and punched Seungkwan and a fight broke out. The boys trying their best to resolve it.

“It’s already a mess, can you both stop making it worse!” Mingyu said as Seungkwan punched Jeonghan back square on the jaw.

“Tell that shit to not meddle in my business then” comes Jeonghan’s voice.

“Maybe if you didn’t break her heart I wouldn’t, she was a fucking nice person,” Seungkwan shouted back as Mingyu dragged him out.

The night was ruined, and it was all because of Jeonghan.

--

That night you came home and cried your heart out ignoring all the calls from Jeonghan and the other boys, with whom you had exchanged numbers during the hangout. Thankfully, it was a Sunday the next day, so you didn’t have to look at the man who broke your heart, but it pained you so much to even move a muscle. It was like your heart was ripped out of your body. The pain was immeasurable.

There were at least a hundred missed calls on your phone and thirty of them from all of the boys. Your best friend come to your place that Sunday and tried her best to console a sad you, but nothing could stop you from beating yourself up for trusting a man like him. it’s true you loved him, and you regrated doing so, you didn’t blame Jeonghan for breaking your heart, you blamed yourself for being weak enough for you to let Jeonghan do so to you, for letting the man step all over you like you were a piece of trash that had no place in the normal world. The degrading things that he had said about you kept echoing in your ears, making it hard for you to think of anything else.

It was like you had forgotten all about your vow to never let anyone step over you and take away a piece of you from yourself. You were so hurt that you refused to see Jeonghan at all. So, on the next Monday you asked your HR for a weeklong leave and the kind lady obliged owing to your stellar performance at your department.

You turned off your phone that week and went to stay with you friend as the house was too lonely for you and the more you stayed there, the more you felt the memories of you and Jeonghan coming to haunt you.

--

On that Monday, Jeonghan woke up with a newfound determination. He was resolved to confront you and explain that his hurtful words from that night stemmed from his own inability to accept his feelings. He believed that once he clarified his side of the story, your compassionate nature would lead you to forgive him. He was even prepared to humble himself, willing to beg for your forgiveness if necessary. However, fate intervened when he discovered you had taken a week-long leave from the office.

The realization of consequences hit him suddenly. Yes, he understood the gravity of his actions, but he was willing to face any repercussions if it meant having you back in his arms. Anything seemed bearable compared to the thought of losing you.

By Wednesday, Jeonghan found himself standing at your doorstep, desperately knocking, hoping to speak with you. To his dismay, a neighbor informed him that you had been absent since Monday. His heart sank realizing he had missed his chance to reconcile with you.

He had made a solemn vow to himself that he would reach out to you no matter what obstacles lay in his path, willing to go to any lengths to make amends. However, he now realized the depth of his mistake. Reflecting on his actions, he understood that he should have heeded the advice of his friends earlier, but it was too late for regrets.

Jeonghan's determination to win you back consumed him. He felt a deep pang of regret for not acting sooner and for failing to appreciate the warnings from his friends. Now, facing the reality of your absence, he grappled with the weight of his impulsive behavior.

In the days that followed, Jeonghan resolved to wait patiently for your return, determined to seize any opportunity to make things right. He hoped against hope that he hadn't irreparably damaged the bond between you. Each passing day without you served as a sobering reminder of the importance of listening to his instincts and valuing the counsel of those who cared about him.

--

The next week you opened your phone to see it has blown up with Jeonghan’s messages and there were a few from Seungkwan asking you if you are okay and telling you that he had punched Jeonghan for being an asshole to you and that most of the people didn’t agree with Jeonghan’s antics but its hard to stop Jeonghan when is like that.

Taking pity of the boy you and answered him accepting his apology and telling him you were happy that he punched the guy.

His answer came immediately, saying he was happy that there is no bad blood among you two and he prefers you more than Jeonghan anyways making you laugh at his cuteness.

When you returned back to the office, the first thing you did was hand them your resignation letter. The next thing on your list was avoid Jeonghan till you leave work, at which you were pretty successful.

And just like that you were done with your time in the office and were moving onto another job before Jeonghan could even get hold of you.

--

Its has been three years since and life had never been better. You became friends with Seungkwan, Seokmin and Soonyoung immediately. You four hangout quite frequently. The three younger men like you a lot too. It’s a strong bond you have created with them. If anyone asks you would say the only good thing that came from your ex was the friends you made while with him.

On top of that you also have been in a relation with a man who treats you right and loves you to death. Its like you have at last reached the light at the end of the tunnel.

--

Jeonghan on the other hand drowned himself in work after you left, the man tried his best to forget your existence and was very thankful his work helped him do so. But whenever he was out with his friends he couldn’t stop himself from asking about you and always he got the same answer of ‘none of your fucking business’ from Seungkwan.

But it was different this time, it was the ever so kind Seokmin who answered him.

“Hyung she moved on, and you should too.” Hearing that he stood up, he didn’t know why. Would he go to your house and beg for your forgiveness again or will he call you while asking you to give him another chance?

Truth to be told, he didn’t know.

“Hyung please don’t mess this up for her. She is happy,” Seokmin spoke up again, kindly holding his hand to pull him down back onto his seat. It felt like Jeonghan’s life has come crashing down on him once again. One lone tear left his eye, too embarrassed to cry in front of his friends, he puts up a happy front while saying “of course Seok, I would do nothing to hurt her.”

All his friends looked at the man in pity, hoping that faith was kinder to him. but they couldn’t deny that he single handedly destroyed his life either. He was still their friend and he deserved to be happy to but so did you. The man sat in silence for some time till Joshua loudly declared he wanted to go to the arcade and all the others enthusiastically agreed, happy about the distraction.

That is when Jeonghan realized life has gone on and not stopped for anyone, the time he was supposed to seize his moment has passed and it wont ever come back. He now has to live his life without the presence of one of the most precious thing he ever had the privilege to possess, your love.

a/n 3: thank you all for reading !!

[it-happened-one-fic]

10 Seconds - Floyd

Author Notes: I'm not gonna lie, I had a lot of fun writing this. This fic was pretty much entirely inspired by a scene in chapter 111 in Akagami no Shirayukihime (Snow White with The Red Hair). After I found out that Floyd and Obi had the same voice actor, the temptation was to great for me to resist. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Fluff/ flirtation/ romance/ kind of spoofy/ Reader does have a pushy admirer so be warned on that note

Word Count: 1890

There was something about persistent wanna-be lovers that made one nervous enough to look to even the most shady sources of help. Including Octaveinelle.

“So this young man has been bothering you for…?” Jade trailed off as he looked up from the glass he was currently polishing to where I sat, right in front of him, at the bar.

“A little over a month now, I think.” I frowned as I recounted the numerous times the Pomefiore junior in question had just ‘happened’ to be right where I would inevitably run into him.

 I would be trapped there, having to interact with him and dodging his advances until I was saved by some passerby or thought up a reasonable excuse to leave.

I could’ve gone to Vil for help, considering it was one of his dorm members. But I also didn’t entirely want to put my annoyingly persistent and considerably pushy admirer through quite that much sorrow.

I did, however, want this handled, and me turning him down numerous times as politely as possible simply wasn’t cutting it. Which was why I went to Octavinelle to seek the advice of the infamous tweels. After all, they handled a lot of Azul's issues. Surely they would have advice for handling one persistent admirer.

Floyd let out a low whistle from behind me, causing me to twist slightly to glance at the young man who ought to be sweeping but was now just propped up on the broom’s handle as he shook his head, “Stubborn guy.”

His eyes found mine as a grin crossed his face, and I realized very quickly that I didn’t want to know exactly what Floyd was thinking. That wasn’t really one of his nice grins….

“Come now, Floyd. We can’t exactly blame the poor fool for being quite so smitten with our darling little Prefect, can we?” I almost grimaced at Jade’s teasing tone as I turned in time to catch his mocking, sharp-toothed smile.

“Guys,” I didn’t even bother fighting the whine that slipped into my tone. “I just want some advice. I can’t get him to go away, and I’ve already tried being blunt.”

Jade smiled in an indulgent manner down at me before a frown crossed his face, “I suppose it is rather problematic and concerning if he’s been at it this long.”

He sat the glass down with a tiny clink on the bar as he continued to ponder my plight, “You said he’s a Pomefiore student?”

I nodded, wondering exactly what Jade was thinking as Floyd slipped up next to me, propping himself on the bar, “Should I just scare him off? That’d probably do it.” 

Floyd sounded perfectly willing to do just that as he looked at me with that sharp-toothed grin of his before looking towards his brother. 

But he was soon frowning in confusion as Jade started to shake his head with a slight frown, “No, if he’s as determined as I fear, then I doubt that would solve the problem for little more than three days.”

That mocking smile appeared on Jade’s face again, even though he wasn’t actually looking at either me or his brother, as he continued, “Besides. Those Pomefiore boys are the schooling sort. Always flitting about in a group. If we tried aggression, he’d just come back with his friends, and that would make things more difficult for you, wouldn’t it, Prefect?”

He looked towards me as he finished, and I nodded glumly, “A squad probably would make it tougher.”

Especially since Pomefiore squads were known to be aggressive. Turning him down in front of his posse could be risky at best.

A chuckle slipped from the vice-housewarden’s lips as he smiled at me, “Now, now. There’s no need to make such a face. The solution is really quite simple, isn’t it?”

I perked up at his words, looking at him hopefully before I frowned once I noticed his grin, “What’s it gonna cost?”

The twins laughed together, their voices joining in a strange harmony that made me tense ever-so-slightly. 

“Oh, it’ll be on the house this time. After all, this will be most amusing for both of us.” Jade’s words seemed to surprise Floyd as much as they did me.

Unperturbed by our obvious confusion, Jade leaned forward with an undoubtedly conspiratorial grin. Propping himself on his elbows as he gestured both of us closer with a single flick of his long fingers, “Listen closely…..”

And that was what had brought me to this moment, as I let out a quiet exhale before rounding the corner.

I didn’t even have to worry about setting the guy up. I knew exactly where he’d be.

Propped up on the wall in that careful pose he was always in when he was waiting for me to come and just ‘happen’ to bump into him.

And sure enough, there he was. Leaning against the wall with one arm raised so that he had me slightly caged in from the very second I rounded the corner.

“Prefect! What a surprise,” His perfectly white teeth flashed almost blindingly, and I fought not to gag at the raw amount of perfume he was wearing. 

It was a good thing he hadn’t brought his posse; I probably would’ve passed out from the raw amount of perfume that would’ve been in the air.

But I smiled. Pretending to be surprised and not at all frustrated by his persistent, unwanted affections as I carefully went back through the plan that Jade had laid out in my head.

Interact with him like everything was normal while waiting until reinforcements came, and then follow those very simple directions that Jade had given.

So I waited. Awkwardly exchanging pleasantries and smiling up at the young man who now leaned increasingly closer despite how much I would like him to say far away. He was no doubt about to drop some sort of new line that was intended to sweep me off my feet but would be far more likely to make me grimace.

And right as he opened his mouth with a grin that spoke of some very misplaced confidence, I heard the exact thing I’d been waiting for.

“Shrimpy~” Floyd’s sing-song call came from behind me, and I turned so fast that I almost missed the deep frown that appeared at impressive speeds on my admirer’s face.

“Floyd!” I didn’t have to fake my joy at seeing him, though I couldn’t say the same for him considering that Floyd himself looked entirely bored as he looked towards the Pomefiore junior that now stood stiffly silent. Already frustrated by the mere presence of Floyd.

For a brief moment, I was honestly worried about how well Jade’s scheme was going to go over until Floyd’s gaze shifted and his eyes met mine. Because then there was an entire change to his person.

His gaze softened ever so slightly, and his lips twitched up in an absentminded smile as he walked over, all but cooing at me affectionately, “There you are.”

He didn’t stop until he was right next to me, looking down at me, and then I knew the moment of truth was upon us.

I could hear Jade’s amused voice in my head as I braced myself, swallowing as I recalled his words: “Ten seconds. You will need to stare into each other’s eyes for ten seconds. But that’s all it will take.”

Floyd was far calmer than I was as he slipped off his blazer and draped it over my shoulders, blocking the cool breeze that came through the open window.

 His voice was quieter than usual, though still playful as he spoke, “There you go; can’t have you getting cold.” And that was my cue that we were beginning.

One.

My hand reached up to tug his oversized jacket a little closer around my body, and my hand brushed lightly against his fingers that lingered at my shoulders.

Two. Three. Four.

I twisted just a little bit more so that I could look at him better as his hand slid down my arm so that his arm was wrapped around my shoulders.

Five. 

It was already getting sort of awkward to keep staring for this long into Floyd’s mismatched eyes for this long. But now I was beginning to think more about the color of his irises than the actual situation we were in.

Six. Seven.

One was a yellow color. Not a sickly yellow, but rather it was a warmer color that made me feel oddly safe considering the young man I was looking up at. The other eye was a surprisingly gentle olive that was also welcomingly familiar and spoke of how, in certain moments, Floyd himself could actually be quite gentle.

Eight. Nine.

I could feel numerous people staring at us, and I was fairly certain that one of them was definitely Jade. He was probably utterly delighted by how uniquely embarrassing this really was. Because even though I’d been prepared to feel a little self-conscious, I hadn’t been expecting to be this flustered. Especially since it was just Floyd….

Ten.

Floyd’s smile grew by just a fraction, and then he blinked, “I reckon I’ll see you later. I know you can’t miss your class. Good little student that you are~” He let go of my arm with an affectionate squeeze as he continued to look down at me. But this time with amusement in his gaze and a teasing lilt to his voice.

I swallowed down my overwhelming shyness as I looked away, blinking as I attempted to force my recovery by focusing on his teasing. 

But even then, my voice wobbled as I quipped back, not quite able to look back up at him, “Unlike you, I actually have to study to keep my grades up.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I could tell he was fully grinning now, “Aww, if you ever need help, you can just ask. If you're nervous about Azul, I can help you out.”

He leaned down and into my line of sight so that he could wink at me, and I let out an exhale. Reminding myself that this was Floyd I was dealing with. Not some incredibly romantic male lead who was here to sweep me off my feet and actually be successful.

Which brought me back to my admirer, who was still standing there, staring in open-mouthed shock. 

“Ex- Excuse me, I lost track of time with Floyd and really do need to get to class now,” I  was still flustered enough that I stammered slightly before I flashed him an apologetic grin before I trotted off. 

As I fled the scene, I passed a chuckling Jade and mouthed a quick, ‘Thank you,’ before hurrying on. Attempting to outrun the oddly shy sensation I now felt at the thought of being near Floyd and entirely missing what happened behind me as I fled the scene.

“You haven’t gotten anywhere in a month, and it only took me ten seconds.” So saying, Floyd glanced down at the Pomefiore student, who almost immediately puffed up with indignance that quickly deflated as Floyd grinned in a way that perfectly displayed his too-sharp teeth.

“You might as well just try somewhere else, ‘cause you aren’t going to be stealing Shrimpy away from me anytime soon.”

[ohmyeyesmyeyes]

i couldn't stand you - m. bunting

summary: (slow burn enemies to frenemies to friends etc / f!reader x mb) three years: arguments, truces, break-ups, moving houses...michael bunting wasn't nearly as irritating as you'd initially expected.

warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, reader is a pens fan, scenes with eating involved, reader is a chef, I PROMISE THE WRITING GETS BETTER THE MORE YOU READ (toronto to carolina sequence my fave <3), sid being an obliviously adorable cockblocker, angst/pining, fluff, the ending is so unfinished and doesn't do the 20k justice at all...(i lost inspiration)(but i might edit it in the future/do an alternate ending)

a/n: i got inspiration from this from that tom welling hug in cheaper by the dozen

In all honesty, you hadn’t really been paying much attention to Ellis, which kind of defeated the entire purpose of even stepping into the bar. Taylor had wanted you to meet her new boyfriend, and it had barely taken all of five minutes of being in his presence to deduce that he was not only a nice guy, but clearly liked her a lot, was funny, the whole works, etc, etc. Only, your attention had been (completely against your will) stolen by the…idiot sitting next to you.

You didn’t really know what else to call him. An impatient dick? That was also fitting. A bad driver? There wasn’t a 100% certainty in that statement, but it felt fitting given the incident from earlier that morning.

Nevertheless, when you’d clocked each other, the only empty space being that on the bench right next to him, there was no doubt he recognised you too. He’d rolled his eyes and scoffed into his beer, and you’d sat down rather aggressively and dropped your bag on the floor, downright refusing to look at him.

Hence, the intervening from Ellis, with his polite smile and countenance, a complete contrast to aforementioned impatient dick sitting on your left. Taylor had raised a brow, a silent question on her face but you’d simply shaken your head and accepted the cocktail she’d already ordered with a grateful smile.

“I’m confused.” Ellis muttered, leaning his head on one hand, eyes darting confusedly between you and Michael Bunting, Maple Leafs player apparently, “Do you two know each other?”

You shook your head, sipping your cocktail. Judging from the silence next to you, Micheal had done the same thing, neither of you too eager to explain anything. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. In fact, if the subject hadn't been poked and prodded further, you’d have probably been fine with it, maybe even accepted the fact that you were going to have to spend however many hours with him for the sake of your friends. 

Who knew? Maybe you’d have eventually gotten past this pre-established dislike for one another, but Taylor was never really one for ignoring gossip when it was sitting in front of her – a trait that you rather found entertaining until you were the victim.

“What, so it’s dislike at first sight, or something?” She asked, eyeing the two of you with more intrigue than you were comfortable with.

In fact, her eyes seemed to shimmer like a greedy shark when you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, briefly glancing at the man on your left.

He was rolling his eyes. And you didn’t care to even guess if it was at you or if it was at Taylor, but with the morning you’d had – because of him – you turned back to her with more conviction this time.

“Pretty much, yeah.” You shrugged.

Taylor scoffed in disbelief, sharing a look with Ellis, “Why?”

“Because she’s a shit driver.” 

You gaped, head snapping to Michael with appal. He was frowning in a way that just exuded arrogance. He actually thought he was right – the nerve.

“I am not–”

“Oh, yes you are.”

“The traffic in front of me was at a complete standstill, what was I supposed to do–”

“They were moving–”

“Oh, please. You were just in a rush because someone clearly forgot to set an alarm this morning–”

“I was not in a rush–”

“Then what was the reason for honking at me?”

“You flipped me a birdie!”

“You honked for no reason – who even does that?”

“You flipped me a fucking birdie!”

“After you honked!”

“You were too slow, you weren’t even looking at the road.”

“Yeah, because God forbid I skip a song in a traffic jam.”

He scowled, but said nothing else, sharing a rather irritated glance with Ellis across from him.

You, however, were a little different: sure, your jaw was ticking, your pulse was higher than usual from his stress-inducing attitude, but the first thing you did was share a wide-eyed glance with Taylor, whose jaw had dropped. You rarely fought with people, let alone in public spaces. In fact, the last time you’d bickered like that was when you and Taylor were little and arguing over who got to marry which celebrity from the magazine in make-believe play – but that was exactly all it had been: make-believe.

This was real life, and when you argue like that in real life, people tend to stare. You could feel strangers’ eyes boring into the side of your face and your cheeks flamed against your will. Add that onto the fact that Ellis – who you’d never met before, and were intent on setting a good first impression – had just witnessed you argue with his best friend? You were nothing short of mortified.

“Right.” Ellis sighed, scratching the back of his head, and all three pairs of remaining eyes sitting at the table zipped to him for some form of guidance as to what to do next, “So, now that everyone’s introduced…another round?”

There were muted expressions of agreements, and even just looking at Taylor, you could tell that she was about to slip out and join Ellis at the bar, even after your pleading.

You watched her go sadly, your hands tucked under your thighs, trying desperately to ignore the other presence. You weren’t sure how you’d feel even looking at him – didn’t know if you could. Not only for the embarrassment, but for the sheer…eugh of having to look at him.

Blue eyes, brown hair – not too dark. Apart from that, your mind was drawing a blank.

He cleared his throat. You ignored it.

“What’re your first thoughts on Ellis for Taylor, then?” He mumbled, half-heartedly trying to engage in conversation, and it was because you knew he was only doing it to try and ease some of the tension for Ellis that you turned to face him.

The flare of irritation that presented itself felt like an allergic reaction to simply looking at him, but you swallowed, trying to paste on a nonchalant expression. You could do this. You just had to stare at the blank spot on the wood just a little bit off from his face.

Only, he seemed to take your lack of expression and interest as something else, because he tilted his head towards you fractionally, a rather condescending look on his face. 

“Your instincts?” 

Instincts? You had instincts – not necessarily about Ellis and what it was Michael was asking about, but you had them. And maybe it was the patronising glare, maybe it was the day’s frustration, maybe you were just tired and needed someone to take it out on, but you ignored his context for the question.

“My instincts?” You repeated, and he nodded, eyes squinting slightly, “That you’re full of shit.”

***

Usually you’d have no issue avoiding Michael when both of your presences were dubbed mandatory to these kinds of things: there was space, there were people – no reason to talk or even look in each other’s directions.

Only, this time, Ellis’s birthday party, somehow the invitation had been extended to you and the get-together was small. Intimate. Maybe seven people in total, not including Ellis himself. And because Ellis was Ellis, a party meant drunk games – and if not drunk, certainly alcohol-induced.

And to your bitter astonishment, the only two people left without split-second partners for a rough game of charades was…you and Michael. In theory, it shouldn’t have been much of a shock: it was inevitable for Ellis and Taylor to pair up together, and you were Taylor’s plus one (even though Ellis had told you himself he wanted you there), and it had become increasingly obvious throughout the evening that Michael didn’t know anyone but Ellis and Taylor; everyone else seemed to have gone to school together and jumped into pairs pretty quickly.

Needless to say, when you’d looked around the room and locked eyes with an equally disgruntled Michael, the two of you hadn’t broken eye contact as you’d downed whatever was remaining in your glasses and immediately reached for a refill.

Yet, for all your displeasure in the pairing, there was an odd satisfaction in knowing that you’d both absolutely thrashed the living daylights out of everyone else. It scratched a competitive itch inside of you, and against your will, you felt yourself softening up to him. His grin had become less irritatingly smug when he was directing it at you after a speedy guess, and his failure to hide his equally competitive edge through the half-smirks directed at his lap when other couples failed were more endearing than grating.

(You just blamed the alcohol.)

Although, probably just as shocking as that turn of events, Taylor and Ellis were awful at charades. They’d gotten one word right in the allotted time, and although they’d tried to hide it, no one was completely ignorant to their harsh whisperings to each other and pointed gestures. Or the confused glances they seemed to direct straight towards you and Michael, who, unlike everyone else, were sitting side by side on the carpet, a sizable distance between each other and managing to neither look or speak apart from when it was your turn.

It was remarkable, really, that two strangers could guess each other’s frantic motions easier than people who knew each other in arguably the most intimate ways. It felt like a test of compatibility, and Ellis and Taylor knew they were failing – hence, in your head, said compatibility test was clearly false. Michael was living, breathing proof of that.

“And Team We Don’t Care Just Pick Whatever wins.” Taylor announced, glancing direly at the small scrap of paper that she’d been documenting the scores on, “Ten points clear from the runners-up.”

You raised your brows, sighing despondently at your glass because you weren’t quite sure you could look Taylor in the eye without feeling some form of inexplicable guilt. You, however, wanted to savour this moment of triumph.

And what better way to celebrate than to pour yourself another glass?

The kitchen was quiet, dirty dishes stacked near and in the sink, along with a plethora of glasses and bottles from where people had decided to mix their drinks. It was quieter and cooler, too: a place to rest and breathe for a second. Only, as soon as the first sip touched your mouth, you had to stifle a yawn, your eyes suddenly dry and heavy. 

Half past twelve.

“You leavin’?” 

You turned your head to see Michael standing in the doorway, clearly having just come back from the bathroom and with a rather blank look on his face. At your attention, however, he seemed to force his mouth into a slither of a smile, looking mightily uncomfortable under your gaze.

His eyes quickly dropped, momentarily drifting to your glass, a little hesitantly.

“Might do. You?”

You almost wanted to wince at the awkwardness emanating in the atmosphere. It must be the first time you’d ever willingly engaged in a conversation with each other – let alone by yourselves. The silence in the room seemed to intensify that realisation that there was no Taylor or Ellis to act as a buffer, but Michael looked remarkably calm and unbothered by that knowledge. In fact, at your question he raised his brows as though shocked you’d reciprocated the conversation and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.”

There was nothing particularly to say to that, so you just nodded, standing by the counter. He looked as if he wanted to say something: his hands were tapping against his jean-clad thighs and he kept glancing at you and then away, something playing on his features.

“You okay?” You found yourself asking, much to his surprise.

“Yeah, I just…” He stepped closer, throwing a careful glance back towards the open door, “Has Taylor talked to you about me?”

You blinked, tilting your head.

She had, many times on many different occasions and with a variety of different tones. Just off the top of your head you could list that time you’d gone over to hers for a movie night and she’d softly suggested that you try to get along with him; that one time she’d caught you pulling a rather put-off facial expression after he’d said something questionable; that one time she must have been a second away from grabbing you by the shoulders; eventually she’d given up, but that was after the basketball incident when you’d thrown the ball a little too harshly at him and winded him in the park. 

The ignoring each other thing worked – so why did you find yourself beginning to tolerate his presence? After all this time, surely, nothing would change so suddenly?

“Yeah.” You admitted, rather guiltily. In your defence, you’d tried to get along with him, but there was something about your personalities that clashed in the wrongest of ways. Both Taylor and Ellis had openly observed the two of you were pretty similar (you were a little offended by that statement) and would probably get along if you both put your pride aside, “Has Ellis…” You trailed off, watching him carefully.

He nodded, “Oh, yeah. He’s made a few bold statements about it, I’ll say that.” He huffed a bitter laugh, “But I was thinking–”

You pulled a face and he looked about ready to stop talking altogether, until he sighed, “Maybe we should just call a truce, or something? A fresh start, if not for us, for them. They seem pretty stable and if they’re for the long-term, then I think it’d be easier if we just agreed to get along, or at least pretend.”

Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, or maybe it was because tonight you’d found him a lot more tolerable than you usually would, but you nodded. And to that, he just blinked.

“Really?” He asked, almost recoiling in reaction.

“Yeah.” You shrugged, “Under one condition though.”

His face dropped – the almost triumphant smile that he’d nearly allowed himself to display had vanished completely in replacement for something harsher, more annoyed. His jaw had clenched and the hand he’d placed on the counter seemed to tap with more aggravation as he rolled his eyes in resignation, “And what would that be?” He asked, sounding rather like he already had an idea as to what it was.

“Just admit I’m not a bad driver.” You reasoned.

“Oh, I thought you were gonna…Nevermind.” He shook his head, holding his hand out for you to shake, “You’re not a bad driver.”

“Thanks.” Then, “Are you Michael or do you have any nicknames instead?”

There was a brief pause, and he looked at you like you were an alien, “Why?”

“I don’t know, Michael – you don’t look like a ‘Michael’, that’s all.”

“And what does a ‘Michael’ look like?”

“Probably twenty-thirty years older, balding–”

“Wow.”

“Is that a no?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment, “Purely because you don’t like it, no, I don’t have any nicknames. I’d rather you called me Michael.”

“Nice one. But when we’re in a public space and I yell your name, there’s gonna be at least three older, balding guys turning to look at me–”

“You’re hilarious.”

“Well, one of us has to be.”

Neither of you seemed to remember you were still holding hands.

***

One thing you never thought you’d be doing in your near future, was packing all of your makeup and three outfit choices and driving to Ellis’s place to have a conversation with Taylor. To be honest, there was a small part of you that was a little bit aggravated that to talk to your best friend you had to drive twenty minutes and risk missing packing something for the date you needed help with, especially seeing as though said date was in forty-five minutes.

Although, you did have time to reason with yourself in the car, the usual stuff: she could have just said no to helping you when you called her in a frustrated panic; the last-minute pep talk was probably going to make up for any residual irritation; on the bright side, though, at least Ellis’s apartment was closer to the date location than your own. 

You knew you’d feel better once you got there – only…

“You have got to be kidding me.” You breathed a solemn laugh, head lolling backwards and cheeks flaming at the sight before you.

Michael Bunting standing in the doorway with a wicked grin on his face, each pore practically oozing mirth at your current situation, eating an apple. And sure, you’d agreed to get along for the sake of your friends, but you had no idea that would mean him being privy to your moments – nor did it mean you were particularly pleased to see him at such a dire time.

“Hello, sweetheart. Heard you were stuck?” He tilted his head, pouting in your direction, and you didn’t miss the way his attention zipped curiously to the backpack over your shoulder and the garment bags slung over your arm.

“Do you really not have anything better to do on a Friday night other than third-wheel your best friend and his girlfriend?” You asked, smiling flatly and walking through the door when he opened it further.

He shook his head, crunching a bite, and you stood in the hallway, patience ticking away by the second as you waited for him to finish eating to speak. There were voices drifting down the corridor, and you turned your head to see shadows and flickers of light in the other room, Taylor clearly on her way – thank fuck.

“I have a game tomorrow, gotta have a tame night.” He muttered, reaching out a hand to touch the soft plastic covering of your garment bag, “And I’ll tell you one thing, I am so glad I get to witness this.”

You pulled a face, “Ha ha.”

“I can already tell you’re gonna make my fucking night, so I’m gonna just thank you in advance–”

“Hey, stop psyching her out.” Taylor appeared, a crease between her brows that clearly hadn’t materialised at his words alone, and for a split-second, you and Michael shared a worried glance, any previous teasing evaporating along with it.

He nodded easily, holding his hands up in surrender and disappearing into the living room, his footsteps slow and leisurely as though he was hoping to overhear a snippet more, but before you could even spit out a greeting of your own, Taylor had dragged you into Ellis’s bedroom and locked the door – the man himself nowhere to be seen.

“Is everything okay?”

Taylor spun on her heel, flashing you an urgent glance, apparently brushing off your question of concern, “I should be asking you that.”

“Oh, I’m fine–”

She shot you a look of disbelief.

“Just nervous, I guess. And I can’t decide what to wear, so I brought some stuff.”

In the other room, Michael was sitting on the sofa, apple half-eaten and trying to ignore the rather violent knee shaking Ellis was doing by tuning into the faint sound of voices from the bedroom that could still be heard over the TV. He knew he should probably be focused on his best friend – who was anything but subtle in trying to convey the fact that he was clearly irked by something – but he also knew that Ellis would talk when Ellis wanted to talk.

He was also kind of curious as to what had gotten you in such a pickle: he knew you were about to go on a date (first, he assumed), but why the sudden panic? You’d turned up armed with a Hannah Montana-type level of hair, costumes and makeup stuff and he’d just eyed it all a little bit confused. 

He was very aware of the fact that you were pretty – he’d seen you with the barest amount of makeup on (he assumed, he actually had no idea if you did) and in a pair of sweats, and his opinion hadn’t changed, so why all the makeup? Surely, if someone was to like you in that sense you shouldn’t have to dress up and put loads of makeup on?

He wasn’t too sure, really. His extent of first dates was restricted to his high school experience and he’d only been on a few since. 

“Why the panic?” He found himself asking aloud, turning to Ellis like he’d hold the answers in the universe. 

Ellis, however, turned to face him, a scowl already on his face, and it didn’t take a genius to gather that he wasn’t going to get much out of him with the mood he was in.

“What?”

“The girls.”

Ellis shrugged, turning his attention back to the TV, “Why would I know?”

Michael pressed his lips together tightly, trying to ignore the answers popping up in his head. Why wouldn’t Ellis know? He’d been talking to Taylor when you texted so if anything it’d be weird for Ellis to not know what was going on.

In fact, the longer he spent in Ellis’s presence, the more uncomfortable Michael felt. He shifted in his seat, the tense and awkward atmosphere feeling oddly claustrophobic and he felt the sudden desire to get out of the room, even if it was to fake a visit to the kitchen or something. 

He pushed himself off the sofa, the apple core in his hand sticky and by the time he’d stood in there and looked out of the window, washed his hands and decided he was going to leave anyway, there was a voice in the hallway.

“-look stunning, I promise.”

There seemed to be a muttered reply, but before he could make his way towards the door and announce his departure, there was a call of his name.

“Bunting–”

“No, don’t.”

He looked right down the hallway, Taylor leaning against the wall. Taylor wasn’t tall by any means, so he could easily see you behind her. You were clearly uncomfortable with something, unable to look at him or any living thing, your eyes instead fixated on the plants on the table next to the door. 

He had to remind himself to breathe when you rolled your eyes at Taylor and walked around her, your head down and pointedly trying not to make eye contact with him as you walked to the door to put on your shoes.

You were wearing a long black dress, not too long that you could ever trip over the hem, but long enough to accentuate the sheer length of your legs, and now he was close enough he could make out the little clusters of purple flowers embroidered onto the material. 

He couldn’t really get his mind to focus on anything other than ‘wow, that dress fits nicely’; it accentuates your curves perfectly and…he needed to breathe. He cleared his throat awkwardly, wondering when it had suddenly become so dry and ripped his eyes away to blink at Taylor.

He couldn’t read her face, but he didn’t like the look on it.

“Yeah?” He asked, unable to help glancing back at you. 

You looked…wow. 

“Does she look nice?” 

“Taylor–”

“You look really nice.” He blurted, his hands stuck in his pockets. When both of you turned to stare at him, apparently speechless, he felt his cheeks redden and his eyes drifted to the doorframe, a little mortified because you clearly hadn’t wanted him to say anything, but also because he’d said it embarrassingly fast and added a ‘really’ in there. And said it like he had a gun pointed to his head, which was one hell of a contradiction.

“Thanks.” You said, not having moved much. 

He just nodded, wanting nothing more than to melt into a puddle on the floor and soak through the floorboards and pretend this moment never occurred.

He wasn’t supposed to like you, he pretty much swore that from the start. But he had a niggling feeling you were wearing him down somehow. He didn’t know what it was, but lately he’d been finding himself sneaking a smile at some of the stuff you said and did. Like you were actually getting along.

And maybe it was because he wanted to test that unspoken theory out – to see if maybe you could be friends – but as he left he waited in the doorway for Taylor to finish talking. He had a sneaking suspicion, though, that Taylor was only talking for herself. The look on your face: he knew you were grateful for what she was saying, but there was something akin to impatience on your face if he looked hard enough.

And it was that, and the fact that the fake smile you’d plastered on your face was slowly slipping with every second that passed and every glance at the time on your phone, that he found himself stepping a little closer, whipping his keys around on his finger, “Hey, are you okay for a lift?”

Taylor shut up and looked to you for confirmation.

There was a pause and he almost regretted asking it–

“Are you offering?” Your voice was different to how it usually sounded when you were speaking to him; softer, perhaps a little more vulnerable.

And when he looked at you, he wasn’t quite sure what it was but it felt different. His stomach sort of dropped and he…lost his train of thought.

Still, he managed, “Yeah. I can drop y’off on my way home, it’s no problem.”

“You’re leaving already?” Taylor asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired.” He didn’t really want to say that he didn’t feel like he was welcome at this particular moment in time, not with Ellis clearly in a mood, but he did feel a stab of guilt when he thought about leaving Taylor to deal with it by herself, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” She brushed it off, taking a step back and glancing between you and him with an odd glint in her eye, “I’ll let you go. Have fun.”

There were a few hushed mutters as he stepped out of the apartment, waiting by the elevator for you to join him, and almost as soon as you shut the door behind you, you sighed.

He still didn’t say anything, and instead turned to watch the numbers tick up to the floor, before an audible ding sounded and the doors shuddered open. He let you go first. And if he thought the tension back with Ellis was bad, this was a whole other level, because he swore he could hear the cogs of your mind working on overdrive – about the date or about his uncharacteristic behaviour, he couldn’t possibly guess, but it was driving him crazy.

“You good?”

“Hmm?” You looked at him, shocked at his words, and he’d never seen you this frazzled before, “Oh, yeah. Just nervous, I guess.”

He swallowed, uncertain. He wanted to say something to make you feel better – heck, he had it lined up in his head to just blurt out, but the only thing stopping him was that it might make it weirder, and you’d already been bombarded by that kind of thing from Taylor. And then he thought of you on your date and–

“If you tell yourself that the nerves are actually just excitement, I find it usually eases some of the, y’know, nerves.” He stuttered, glad the doors opened once more.

“Thanks. Also, thanks for offering to drive me here, you really didn’t have to.” You murmured, and he found himself shaking his head.

“You don’t have to thank me, it really wasn’t any trouble.”

“Do you get nervous before your games?”

The question startled him to such an extent that he almost tripped over the rug in the entryway, but his sneakers squeaked against the floor and he felt his body jolt a little. 

Was he actually losing it or was this considered a civil conversation? You weren’t at his throat with some quick witted jab, and you weren’t looking at him like you wanted to wring his neck.

It was weirdly refreshing.

“Sometimes.” He admitted, holding the door open to the car park, “It’s usually hit and miss though, it depends on who we’re playing. The car’s this way.” He pointed to the other side of the garage at your hesitation.

And it wasn’t until you’d buckled yourself in and he’d turned the engine on that either of you spoke again.

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

He breathed a bitter laugh, “I’m usually nice to people, y’know, I’m not a–”

“Dick?”

“Yeah.” He shot you a look, “You test my patience, though. You bring out the worst of me.”

You seemed to ease up a little at his confession, managing a small smile, “Likewise.”

“I just…” he trailed off, pulling a face before momentarily losing his train of thought as he pulled out into traffic, “There’s a time and a place for that kind of thing. And I could tell Taylor was starting to grind your gears, so…”

You hummed, “Yeah. She’s great but sometimes she, like, I don’t think she knows me as well as she thinks she does. Sometimes I just need quiet.”

So, he thought, that’s what he’ll give you.

***

Unknown Number: SOS

Unknown Number: HELP

Unknown Number: PLEASE HURRY

You: Who is this?

Unknown Number: Michael Bunting

You could hear the yelling and the dumping of objects into a hollow box even through the door, and it was both the noise and the frantic messages that were still pinging through your phone that had you instantly pushing it open. If you hadn’t had some semblance of a warning from the messages, you’d have probably assumed the entire place had been ransacked by burglars: drawers had been turned upside down with the contents littered across floors in an attempt to find their individual belongings; there were cardboard boxes piled and stacked, stuff sticking up – and, more importantly you guessed, both co-habitants standing in the middle of the living room, yelling about something or other with a stricken Michael Bunting awkwardly holding a TV remote and waiting by the door like a kid.

It was clear from his face that he had no idea what to do. And despite the situation, you were able to find some amusement in that.

Although…

“What’s Taylor doing here?” You asked, the both of you still loitering in the doorway, watching your friends rip each other up like it was usual Saturday soap.

He shrugged, and you felt the heat of his stare burn the side of your cheek until you couldn’t take the silence. His cheeks were pink and he looked to be stuttering.

“What?” 

He winced, “I kind of walked in this morning and she was in the kitchen.” 

You blinked, your attention switching back to the arguing couple. Ellis had a cushion in his hand and they were both insisting it was theirs, only when you looked closer, you noticed Taylor’s bare feet and the Blue Jays t-shirt she was wearing, and you turned, shocked and disturbed, to Michael.

“When you said this morning…”

“Yeah?” He was refusing to look at you properly now, and that little seed of disbelief that had planted itself in your brain seemed to bloom, and a pebble of stress dropped in your stomach. His cheeks were still a bit pink, but it was hidden by a thicker wad of stubble than when you’d last seen each other.

“What time was that?” You continued, watching the delicate lines near his eyes appear when he pulled another face, almost confirming your thoughts with just a look.

“Nine.”

You nodded, “Right. And was she, y’know, dressed?”

His eyes closed briefly, a whisper of mortification barely heard over the yelling – but with the two of you standing shoulder to shoulder sharing a doorway it wasn’t missed, “Barely.”

You huffed a small laugh at his expense because he clearly hadn’t been prepared for his best friend’s now ex-girlfriend to be in the kitchen wearing next to nothing that early in the morning, and at the sound he sent you an offended glance.

“Sorry.” You apologised, turning to watch the spectacle with a barely-there smile that became increasingly difficult to hide the longer you felt him stare accusingly in your direction – if anything his undying attention only amplified the hilarity of his earlier memory and you had to lean your forehead against the wood of the doorframe and turn your back to him to block the image from your mind entirely.

“Listen, she’s pretty and everything, but…it’s weird for me.” He mumbled, folding his arms.

“Was it your first time seeing a half-naked woman?” 

He rolled his eyes, “You’re hilarious – shut up, don’t even say it. You know why it’s weird. It’d be weird if you walked in and it was Ellis with, like, a bowl of cereal covering his crotch.”

You wrinkled your nose, frowning, “I didn’t need that image, but point taken.”

You turned your attention to the bickering couple in front of you, now waving a fly swatter. In truth, you weren’t really sure why you were here or why Michael was here. Taylor had asked you to come with her when she’d made her so-called ‘appointment’ to pick up her stuff from Ellis’s place, but looking at them now she didn’t really need the help, or moral support. And neither did Ellis.

In fact, they were standing in front of each other arguing, and it was probably the least stressed you’d seen Taylor in weeks. Sure, their voices were raised, but there wasn’t anything malicious being said or anything physical going on. They were simply picking up objects and having a loud debate over whose it was, and it was that arguing combined with the obvious ‘last time together’ thing that made you think maybe this was more for closure for each other than anything else.

Even from Taylor’s point of view, she wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but she’d said it felt like everything between them had just gradually fizzled out for no apparent reason. It was odd, really: they’d seemed like such a good fit at the start and now, even like last week, they’d be in the same room and have more interest in talking to either you or Michael than showing interest in each other.

And it was that that had you turning to the man next to you, something plucking at your heart strings. It felt an awful lot like the dread you’d felt earlier, except it was laced with something heavier. Like knowing you’d never see your childhood pet again.

“Are they still broken up?” You found yourself asking, wanting him to turn his attention away from the scenes in front of you both.

He blinked once more before turning his head to look at you, about to say something on the tip of his tongue but clearly changing his mind at what he saw on your face. He tilted his head, eyes zipping from each of yours – back and forth – before his mouth curved up slightly at the edges, his expression taking an odd turn.

“What?” You asked, paranoid at the way he was looking at you.

His grin broadened, and he tilted his head adorably, “Nothing. But, yeah, they’re still broken up.”

You nodded, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. There was something rising in your chest, a tightness edged with panic, like you were aware time was clearly running out for something but your head wasn’t quite sure what.

“We’re still gonna be friends, right?” 

For a brief moment, you didn’t know what to do. Your pulse seemed to kick against your sternum and that tightness in your chest eased, an inexplicable reaction that you couldn’t quite get ahold of its meaning.

“Us?” You looked at him, and where he previously had a smile on his face, it was now replaced with a kind of cautious curiosity: his mouth was pulled tightly and there was a slight, very slight crease between his brows that deepened when you spoke again.

His eyes briefly skitted to your right before returning to meet yours, “Yeah?” He said, but with the way his voice ticked up at the end it almost sounded like he wasn’t too sure himself.

And you were so shocked at the words falling out of his mouth that you could only blink and stare, “I’m your friend?”

You supposed it wasn’t too shocking: after the initial agreement it had taken a while to warm up to each other, but you’d eventually gotten to the point where you’d managed to unintentionally create some inside jokes, and, sure, you’d still bicker like children from time to time, but the teasing was less malicious and more fond, like you’d known each other for a while.

And it was in that moment that you realised that tightness in your chest was because you just assumed that, like Taylor would lose Ellis, you would lose Michael. 

His eyes narrowed uncomfortably, and you could tell he'd gone a little defensive at your questions, probably assuming his own assumptions weren’t exactly reciprocated, “Yes.” He said, a little forcefully, “Aren’t I your friend?”

You nodded, awkwardly scratching your cheek, “I just assumed you only spent time with me because of Ellis and Taylor–”

“Nah.”

You nodded slowly, a small smile creeping onto your face, “Oh.”

He paused for a beat, watching you carefully, “Is that a no, then?”

“No, it’s a yes.”

“Good.” He grinned.

***

He was next to you one second and the next he’d just disappeared completely. It was the strangest thing. 

It wasn’t like he was particularly easy to lose in a  crowd, either, not with those shoulders and – well, actually, he was quite small so in hindsight, it was pretty easy to lose him in a crowd, especially when he was just another suit-clad man with a fairly recent haircut and shave.

You sighed in defeat, sitting back in your chair at the table surrounded by strangers that weren’t all that interested in your presence. You’d checked your phone at least five times within the past three minutes, expecting a quick text for an explanation and you hadn’t really been able to stop looking at the bar, helplessly expecting his face to materialise in thin air.

It was pretty shitty what he’d done: he’d all but begged you to come with him to one of his friend’s weddings and after you’d had to rearrange plans just so you could agree (he’d been so desperate he’d actually offered you a thousand dollars to go with him), yet the second you both enter the reception location, he dips? 

“Excuse me, hi–”

You snapped your neck towards the unfamiliar voice, heart pounding like a jackhammer in your chest at the unexpected intrusion, and managed a polite, albeit confused, smile as you found yourself faced with a pretty raven-haired woman. You’d never seen her before, but with the way she was looking at you, you were almost forced to second guess yourself.

“Oh, hi.” You replied, brain spinning and throwing out names, but your face clearly contorting into one of utter bewilderment, much to her amusement.

She chuckled, “Sorry, you don’t know me.” She said, slightly oddly, and you tilted your head, connecting the dots from what she hadn’t said.

“But you know me?” You asked, and she shrugged, her cheeks colouring slightly.

“Not exactly, but I saw you come in with Michael–”

“Oh.”

She cringed, “Yeah. I am really sorry for approaching you like this, but I was just wondering if he was okay?”

You just blinked.

“You know,” she continued, clearly sensing your confusion, “because of our breakup?”

Oh fuck.

You tried to hide the shock from your face – as though this wasn’t new news to you – but try as you might, you felt your brows rise a little and your heart rate quicken. He’d never mentioned anything like that to you. In fact, you guys rarely ever talked about relationships, even despite you currently being in one (though it probably wasn’t going to last with the way it had been going recently), so you just assumed he hadn’t been in one.

Nevertheless, you nodded, “He’s fine.”

She eased after that, smiling in relief, but still hung around as though you were supposed to say something else, but in all honesty you weren’t sure what to say. You didn’t know if he was okay, not if he’d seen her and bolted; you didn’t know when it was that they’d broken up, and you didn’t know how much he’d want you to say.

So you sat in the chair, smiling awkwardly – probably appearing pretty rude – and just sighed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t say–”

“It’s fine, I understand.” She replied, smiling tightly, “Enjoy the night.” 

You watched her walk away, and as soon as she disappeared through another set of doors, you picked up your phone and started to wind your way through the crowds to at least guess where he could have gone. There were little booths and food carts off around the edge of the room, along with some photo booths and drinks stands – it wasn’t until you reached the photo booth right near the entrance that you stopped for the first time.

There wasn’t a queue to this one, but there was a strip of photos in the hatch and a pair of freshly shined shoes under the curtain. You paused, taking a peak at the photos.

It was him, alright. Four photos: one of him in a ginger wig, one with a pair of huge glasses on, one with a moustache on a stick and the final one with all of them combined. If it had been any other time you supposed you’d have laughed, but all the photos did was fuel your desire to get the curtain open.

All he did was raise his brows at your appearance and shuffle over on the bench, tucking himself in against the wall with a defeated, unsurprised smile. You passed him the photo strip and he breathed a short, mirthless laugh before tucking it in his pocket and turning to you, an almost embarrassed look on his face.

“Sorry for ditching you.” He mumbled, looking genuinely guilty.

You shook your head, a pang of adoration shooting through your system for the man in front of you. You didn’t quite know where it suddenly came from or why it occurred, but you did know that it meant he was precious to you in a way you hadn’t even realised. You guys weren’t exactly close – there were obviously things you didn’t talk about (as evidenced), but you cared about him. Wanted him to be happy. 

Wanted to wipe that forlorn expression off his face because he was clearly beating himself up about leaving you but still a little caught off guard by…

“You don’t have to apologise.” You smiled reassuringly, before asking, “What’s her name?”

His brows raised, and he tutted as he pulled an uncomfortable face. Whether it was because he hadn’t expected the question or because he was stealing himself, you weren’t at liberty to say, “Jess.” He managed, eyes zeroing in on some lint on the floor by his feet.

You just nodded. If he wanted to talk about it, you knew he would – he wasn’t exactly an open book when you prodded him, but you were all ears regardless. 

“We were in a serious relationship for three and a half years before we broke up. That was a week before I met you. I wasn’t really coping well so Ellis dragged me out to that bar. I’m okay now, though. I still get a bit sad about it but I think I’m more sad for the me I was when we were dating than the me now, if that makes sense.” He spoke to his shoes, his arms crossed against his chest, as though to spit the words out and force himself to talk about it, that also meant he couldn’t face you, “I had a feeling she was gonna be here tonight, it was actually why I invited you, but the second I saw her, I don’t know, I just walked away. And the weird thing is that I don’t know why I walked away, because when I saw her I felt nothing. Maybe I walked away because I feel like I should have felt something, like walking away from her was something that was expected of me.” He sighed, swinging his head towards you, his eyes momentarily dropping to the necklace that sat comfortably against your sternum before darting back up to your face, “I’m just a bit confused.” He admitted.

You reciprocated his wry, self-deprecating smile, patting him on the arm fondly, “Me too; I actually thought you wanted to spend time with me–”

“Shut the fuck up.” He breathed a laugh, shaking his head. 

That despondent expression had gone, the tension practically drained from the lines of his face, and you rejoiced at the smile now there – a real one, not one put on for the sake of it.

You took a breath, and whether he could sense that you were about to say something potentially cheesy, or something that neither of you would really say or do, his smile dropped, but only slightly. His eyes were focused on you, and you almost wanted to shrink back under his gaze – you two were sitting pretty tightly together: this photo booth bench was only made for one person, so there was little to no room to even look at each other properly. You’d both had to lean backwards against the walls to not end up touching noses, and for some reason, that hadn’t even occurred to you until that very second.

The breath in your chest shook a little, “I know…Um…” You laughed uneasily, “I know you said you were okay, and I know we don’t usually do this kind of thing, but if you ever feel like it…just for the support – that my hand is here for you to hold if ever you want to.” You inhaled, and this time it was you who was unable to look at him, “And that it’s okay to feel confused about it all. You don’t have to have an explanation for everything, but there’s nothing you can feel that’s wrong in any way. And if you ever want to talk about it…I’m always gonna be here for you.”

When you finally found the courage to turn to him again, he was looking at you in a way that was almost equivalent to the secret adoration you harboured for him, and you fought to keep your cheeks from flushing and your face from smiling like a damn fool. With the way the LED overhead lights were shining on you both – the heat of them warming the box pretty quickly, made worse by the two bodies also in there – your eyes drifted to his nose. You’d never really noticed it before, but the light seemed to hit it just right to enunciate the straight bridge of it. There was a scar just above his lip, darker and also more pronounced from the fresh shave (he’d not got rid of it all, there was still a light bit of scruff left), and although he wasn’t smiling properly, the creases by his eyes seemed to suggest otherwise.

He swallowed once he noticed you’d turned your attention back to him, and he nodded, lips twitching, “That really means a lot, hearing you say that.” He said, rather hoarsely, “It also goes both ways, too.” 

You tilted your head in question.

“The hand thing – you can hold mine…for support.” 

“Ah.”

“I actually do have something to say, now that I’m thinking about it.” 

When did his eyes get so fucking bright? It almost angered you that you’d never noticed it before.

“What?” You asked, mildly curious as to his next words.

Though, nothing – absolutely nothing – could have prepared you for the bombshell of his next words.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

***

“I know I said to avoid Tim Horton’s today, but I didn’t really mean to avoid–Oh, what the heck?”

His phone was immediately pocketed, and the smile on his face immediately dropped, and he stepped through the door without another word, leaving you both severely confused at his sudden actions and slightly light headed at the speed he’d managed to do all three things in. He simply stood in front of your now shut door, a mildly horrified look on his face and his hands tapping against his short-clad thigh.

“Why are you wearing shorts, it’s freezing outside?”

Your question of appal seemingly went unheard, because the crease between his brows only deepened and he pulled a funny face: his mouth turned down at the corners but he wasn’t angry or upset.

“Um…Okay, so you can tell me to shut the fuck up with what I’m about to ask you…” He trailed off, his eyes never leaving your face – all it did was elicit you to swipe against your cheek, expecting your hand to come away with pen or some dirt or something, because he was looking at you like you were an alien.

It was weird. And creepy.

“But have you been crying?”

You blinked, tilting your head with wide eyes.

He didn’t say anything but he copied your actions, before snapping into a more serious role, “No, but I’m being deadly serious.”

You hesitated, and he took that as your answer, his entire body deflating.

There was no point trying to hide it, clearly not if he’d just taken one solid look at you immediately after walking through the door and managed to figure it out. If anything you were a little impressed he’d recognised it because you’d never cried before or in front of seeing him ever – there hadn’t ever been a situation where he’d have seen your post-cry face to recognise it for what it was, and it wasn’t even as if you actually cried much. Maybe two minutes, tops.

“I broke up with Sam this morning.” You bit the bullet, willing your eyes to not tear up as you spoke the words into existence, but as you did so, the lump rose in your throat so impossibly quickly you physically couldn’t bring yourself to say anything else. Not if you didn’t want to actually start crying.

So you waited, and you watched and you looked as he stuttered, his eyes darting all over your face before going to your living room area. He circled his attention back to you after his forehead had creased and he’d seen what was on the TV, looking suddenly more comfortable than he had mere seconds ago.

“Are you okay?” Was the first thing out of his mouth, his backpack sliding off his shoulders easily to be deposited by the door, and all you could manage was a weak shrug, teeth scraping against your bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

You hated crying, and there was nothing worse than crying in front of someone else – you had no idea how he’d react if the dam did end up breaking, but if the soft, sympathetic gleam in his eye as he took an unsure step towards you was anything to go by, you had an inkling you were in safe hands.

He nodded at your uncertain gesture, “That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

The crack in your chest seemed to split further, as though someone had thrown an axe straight through it, and all you could do was nod, your arms crossed tightly against your chest as though they’d somehow protect you from the inevitable hurt and grief of the next few minutes, hours, weeks and perhaps months.

But, despite all of that, the fact that he’d shown up out of nowhere sheerly because you hadn’t had the energy to pick up your phone, and because he clearly cared, you felt okay. Better than you had earlier when you hadn’t even spoken the truth to anyone.

He was right, you didn’t want to talk about it – but he was here. And he was pulling a Tim Horton’s box out of his backpack, giving you space and time and he was so heart-achingly patient that it almost sent you into another spiral of tears for a whole different reason. There was something about him that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. His friendship was different from yours with Taylor; you loved the girl to pieces but if you’d have told her like you’d just told him, she’d have corralled you into spilling your guts about everything, and you didn’t need that.

You needed peace and quiet and the familiar security and the unspoken knowledge that, yes, you were upset, but you were going to be okay.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, stomach growling when the smells emanated from the open paper bag.

He nodded wordlessly, but looked up with mild horror at the sounds your stomach made, “Hungry?” He joked lightly, already rooting through your cupboards to gather plates.

“Just a bit.” You replied hoarsely, helping him upturn the various boxes onto the plates, before, wordlessly, you both crashed on the couch, your eyes burning each and every single time you blinked. Your throat was aching with the effort to not succumb to the growing lump that had planted itself there, and you were so exhausted. So, so exhausted. 

“Thanks for the food.” You said, between mouthfuls, the hungry cramps of your stomach easing with each and every bite. You didn’t let him answer before you jumped into your next question: “How was work?”

You watched him out of the corner of his eye, swallow, also looking at you for a brief moment – as though to suss you out and to gather his thoughts – before he shrugged, a small smile on his face, “It was so bad.”

“Really?” You managed a laugh, the muscles in your face feeling tight at the sudden movements. His face was a picture: he was grinning brightly, the corners of his eyes crinkled and his brows had jumped up his forehead, mind clearly playing something on repeat.

“Really. Willy did the bare minimum and just giggled at me the entire time which made me worse at it, and I – fuck, I couldn’t concentrate on the people in front of me when there were people ordering down the line, and then Mo and Auston showed up too–”

“You’re kidding.”

He shook his head morbidly, “Dead serious. Wearing wigs and the most ridiculous clothes I’ve ever seen, and they ripped us apart, man. I can’t even do it justice, you’ll just have to watch it when it comes out, oh God…” He trailed off, breaking into a small fit of giggles that was so infectious you had to put your own food back down and concentrate on now choking on your drink.

“It was bad, but you had fun?” You summarised, grinning as he nodded, practically glowing at the memory of it.

“I think it’s one of the best days I’ve ever had.”

You just laughed, tucking into your food once more as it became clear he didn’t have anything else to say about it–

“Why’re you watching this?”

Your eyes jumped to him across the couch, briefly frowning in confusion before remembering exactly what you’d been watching before the knock on your door. The frame had been paused mid-first period of the game – there wasn’t anything particularly spectacular about it, and you wondered if he recognised it at all.

He tilted his head, a hint of confusion lacing his tone, and you swallowed, nerves picking up and your heart thrumming in your chest. You never really talked about hockey with him, at least not from your perspective. You guys talked about the Leafs and his games and his practices and his teammates, but you’d never really broached your affinity for the sport. And the longer you’d left it, the more awkward you’d felt it would be to just admit it outright.

“It’s my favourite game.” You admitted quietly, fighting the urge to smile fondly.

He hesitated, his head swinging from you to the screen and back again, and he asked, a little breathlessly – as though he was trying to wrap his head around everything bouncing around his mind – “You watch hockey enough to have a favourite game?”

You nodded, “I love hockey.”

“You do?” He asked, voice higher in pitch than it had been. The surprise was painfully evident, and with it, so was the guilt that seemed to make itself known.

“Yeah.”

He nodded slowly, “I thought you didn’t know who I was?” 

“I didn’t. I’d just moved to Toronto, like, a week before you started I think, and the Leafs aren’t exactly my team, y’know?” You explained, watching him carefully for any traces of possible betrayal he might feel, “It was a hectic time to be keeping up with any NHL news.”

He blinked, before shrugging, “Makes sense. Your team’s the Preds?” He raised an inquisitive brow, and for some reason you knew then that you’d both be locked in this amusing back and forth for a while. Of course you would: there’s no greater hockey fan than a hockey player, let alone a hockey player playing for their childhood team. 

You scoffed, barking a short, almost offended laugh, “No. I mean, I have nothing against the Preds, but it’s the Pens for me, all the way.” 

He arched a brow at your reaction, a smirk beginning to play at the corner of his mouth, “I mean you no offence when I say that.” Before, “I want you to win, though–”

“Just me?”

“Micheal Bunting against the NHL, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, “The Leafs are…I want you to win unless it’s against the Pens. It’s a conflict of interest.”

“What do you do when we play with each other?”

You widen your eyes comically, “Lock myself in a dark room and don’t come out until the game’s over.” You shrug, answering honestly, “It depends whose situation is the most dire, I guess. I always want the Pens to do well, but you’ve thrown a spanner in the works. You’ve made hockey complicated.”

“I’m honoured.” He laughed softly, “Why’s this one your favourite?”

“Sixth game of the Stanley Cup Final, 2017. I don’t know why that one specifically, it’s just the last one we won when I was back home, so it reminds me of…well, home, I guess.”

“You miss it?”

You nodded, almost wistfully, “Yeah. I sometimes think about moving back.”

“But?” He encouraged, almost afraid of what you were about to say.

“I don’t know. I have friends here, a job, somewhere to live; I guess I have that back home too, or I would given the time. I think I’m just waiting for the right moment to go back.” You trailed off, your voice becoming nothing more than a mere whisper, but he caught it – with a slow nod and the parting of his mouth.

You’d seen him speechless before, but he always managed to find something to say. The silence that ensued after spoke volumes, mostly just because you didn’t understand any of it. 

He reached over after that, taking the remote, before hesitating and turning to you, shocked when he found your eyes already on him, “What counts as the right moment?”

He pressed play when you shrugged.

***

Even after the conversation you’d both had last year about you leaving, you never would have imagined he’d be the one leaving first. It had always been a possibility, maybe even something you’d thought about since becoming friends, but there hadn’t really been anything to suggest he would leave. At least, not until the last season.

And it hadn’t ever felt realer than this moment: standing in the doorway to an empty house, your clothes sticking to you in the early Summer heat with your hands on your hips and feeling much more emotional about the prospect of a Bunting-less Toronto than you’d initially prepared yourself for.

He was wandering through the empty rooms, double and triple checking everything after you’d done the same, and for those lonely three minutes without him, you got a glimpse of what it’d be like not seeing each other every few days. You couldn’t exactly remember when Toronto had suddenly become him, but the idea of it felt strangely intimidating. It almost felt like you’d just moved in again, not knowing anyone or where anything was.

It was scary.

He came back into view, hand resting on a door frame as he stopped suddenly in the exact spot he’d looked up to you in. You offered a reassuring smile, standing up straight, but you could both tell it was strained.

“Checked everything?” You asked, voice tight, but you didn’t want to ruin this moment for him. He’d been looking forward to settling in Raleigh since he’d signed the contract – at least, once he’d gotten over the initial disappointment and sadness of leaving Ontario.

And you were excited for him, for this new opportunity and this new experience. 

You’d just never really anticipated how you’d feel.

“Yeah.” He nodded, swallowing, looking grave and strange.

“You good?” 

“Yeah.” He breathed a laugh, walking towards you and scratching his beard – he’d started leaving it longer between each shave now – “Just gonna miss this place, I guess.” He swung his hands in front of him, coming to a direct stop in front of you and swivelling on his heel, taking one last, long look at the place he’d called home for years.

You hummed in agreement, “Me too.”

You hadn’t even realised how true that admission was until you’d said it out loud. It sent an uncomfortable zing down your spine, like pulling down a zipper, and you shivered, rubbing your arms just to give yourself something to do. 

He turned to look at you, eyes assessing your every motion, and you froze. You didn’t really know where to go from here. The car was packed, the house was empty: you’d drop by the estate agent’s on the way to drop him at the airport, and from then on he’d be in Raleigh – at least, in every way that mattered to you. Sure, he had his training camps and he had his away games, but you’d very rarely get to see each other.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, unable to say anything.

But where did you go from here? You? 

Well…you’d been toying with the idea for a while, but–

“You ready?” He breathed out, lips pressed together with his hands on his hips.

You nodded, managing a smile, but the lack of effort into pretending like you weren’t in the least bit affected by it was noticeable. 

“Let’s go then.” You whispered, leading the way to the front door, slowing down each time he turned to get another look – never too far ahead, not wanting to let him out of your sight. These moments felt crucial, somehow. It was the last time you’d actually be able to look at him properly; his eyes, hair, smile, arms, legs, clothes. You felt silly soaking it all up.

He followed closely on your heels, taking the keys from you on the porch and turning round to lock the door behind him for the last time. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth twisted and he ran a brief hand across his brow bone, almost as though he was wiping away some sweat or satisfying an itch.

You tried not to make it obvious you were keeping an eye on him, ensuring to stand behind him, a few steps down to give him the space to collect himself if he needed to. And when he turned back around, he tried to keep his head down but you still caught his red-rimmed eyes and his sucked in cheek and his shaky smile as he caught up with you.

It was silent in the car, too, no music playing through the speakers. He was looking out of the window, eyes catching onto everything that swam passed, drinking it all in. 

Each time ‘for the last time’ flew through your mind, you’d have to catch yourself and reign in the prickly eyes and the tightness in your chest as best as you could without drawing too much attention to yourself. It felt pointless, though, because you knew it was inevitable that you’d both end up shedding a few tears at some point.

The only thing that seemed to do it was the knowledge that it wouldn’t even be the last time, because he grew up near here. He’d come back when he could; you’d see each other at the Marner wedding next month, too.

It wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like a part of it was dying.

“Here.” You mumbled, voice hoarse and wiping at the underneath of your eyes (no tears had fallen, but you could feel them welling up).

He looked up and out of the window, eyes zeroing in on the window of the estate agents. His seatbelt came next, and before you could convince yourself otherwise, you followed him in, ignoring his curious eye but taking the hand he offered anyway. It was something you’d both taken to doing lately, even in mundane moments like this.

Whether it was the knowledge that time was running out or if it was just a comfort thing, you never spoke about it. It just happened. And it seemed today was one of those days you both needed it.

Only, as he made his way towards the desk, you branched away towards the other side of the shop, hands ripping apart. He only threw a confused look behind, but carried on when his own agent walked out from the back of the shop.

You, however, found yourself standing in front of the magazine rack, hands clenching and unclenching at your sides, eyes roving over the words on each, searching for the correct one. Nothing seemed to ease the hollowness under your sternum, though. 

There was some comfort when you found the right one, though, picking it up and feeling the comfortable weight in your hands. It felt like a breath of fresh air, and the twinges eased only slightly at the familiar cityscape on the front.

You swallowed, rolling it up in your fist and making your way back over to where he was chatting to his estate agent, a pen in his hand and some papers in front of him. The key had been stripped of its keychains, and for some reason that little difference brought everything back again.

You wanted to reach for his hand, but you held back for a moment. The estate agent caught your eye and you managed a polite smile, but it dropped the second they looked away.

And before you could blink, Michael was pushing himself off the counter, snatching his keychains and pushing everything else back towards the agent with a final thanks, and then he turned.

He blinked, eyes dropping to the programme in your hand, and you tried to hide it by moving it behind his leg, but he wasn’t having any of it. There was a crease between his brows, and he didn’t look to be on the verge of tears anymore, but there was a specific ticking to his jaw – his entire being was still tinged with a veil of melancholy, but he gently took it from your hand once you’d stepped outside. You let him, your fist unfurling.

Your face seemed to act of its own accord, an odd wince appearing as his lips parted.

“You’re really gonna do it?” He murmured gently, an odd glint in his eye.

“Think it’s time.” You breathed an uncomfortable laugh, somehow not able to look at him or anything else.

He was so magnetic it was honestly a chore trying not to give him all of your attention, least of all when he was looking at you differently. It wasn’t something he’d done a lot before, but you’d noticed it a lot more recently: his eyes would fix themselves on you with an unfamiliar intensity, and even when you’d catch him red handed, he wouldn’t ever let up. If anything, the attention from you seemed to make it worse (or better?) because he’d start to smile and he’d expel a stuttering breath, like he hadn’t previously been breathing.

Each time, though, you never failed to blush slightly. Your cheeks would feel warm and you’d only be able to stand his look for so long before ultimately looking away, trying not to appear too flustered by it.

“Yeah?” He asked, handing you the programme back, “You can’t stand to be in a different country than me, eh?” He joked, but you could sense the underlying seriousness to his question, as though he was fishing for a specific answer.

“You wish.” You managed, scoffing slightly but unable to hide a small smile at the familiar dynamic.

It vanished the second the first wave of homesickness took hold of you though, and he noticed. Just grabbed your hand again.

The drive from the estate agent’s to the airport was even worse. Every time the sign appeared on the side of the road, you’d have to inhale and remind yourself to keep breathing in order to stave off the oncoming bout of tears. The entire time you were fighting against the wetness gathering in your eyes, and your nose had started to run – each sniff meant he’d look at you out of the corner of his eye and if anything, that made it worse, because as time went on and as you pulled into the parking lot, you could hear his sniffles too.

You put off turning the engine off. The second you did, he’d climb out, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that just yet. Judging from the utter stillness he was exhibiting in the passenger seat, he was the same.

Your hands were still clenched around the steering wheel, the rough plastic doing nothing to cure your cold hands, not even when the sun was shining through the windshield and warming the entire vehicle. Your body was on high alert, blood not really flowing to your extremities.

You’d never been so numb yet so aware of everything in your entire life: the way the hairs on your arms stood up when he turned in his seat to face you was almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart in the sheer effort it took to not show the tears wobbling on your waterline. 

It was a plane taking off and the sheer volume of the engine that snapped you out of the haze, your hands unclipping your seatbelt, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to even touch the door, flinching when the belt smacked against the inside of the car.

“I feel weird.” He muttered, eyes staring straight through the windshield and into the car parked nose to nose. He sniffed once, before unclipping his own seatbelt, and you watched him in silence as his shaking hands hovered above his lap before eventually settling on top of his cap, a shuddering breath passing his lips.

The sight was such a contrast to how he’d been earlier that morning – he’d gone from bouncing on his toes with giddy excitement to suddenly folding in on himself and the entire world crumbling at its edges.

You pushed open your car door, fully intending to make your way around to his own door and start from there but the second your feet hit the tarmac, he’d also pushed himself out of the car, his door slamming behind him. He’d made it to the trunk before you could even shut yours behind you or ask if he was okay, but it looked as though he’d made the decision to pretend he hadn’t just admitted his inner turmoil.

You helped him lift his luggage out of the car (there wasn’t much: most of his actual things had been packed in a moving van the day before to meet him in Raleigh tomorrow) in silence. The trunk shut.

You swallowed nervously, eyes darting to the entrance of the airport before jumping back to him. He had one fist clenched on the top of a suitcase, his other dropped by his side, gaze focused and unwavering into the glass window of the trunk, blinking every so often.

You cleared your throat and the corners of his mouth twitched before he turned to look at you, feet shuffling against the gravel. 

And he looked so despondent and not really like him at all that you didn’t have any choice whatsoever but to grab his free hand, which, similar to yours, was cold to the touch. You were both watching your fingers intertwine slowly, sliding over each other before finding solace in their places between each other’s knuckles. Three squeezes on your behalf and a small step forward had him pulling his suitcase along, an apprehensive and equally unreadable expression on his face.

“I could have stayed here longer.” He said, the both of you crossing over, a distracted gleam in his eye as he looked up at the entrance, nose scrunching on one side.

“If you stayed longer you’d want to leave less when you have to.” You reasoned, “And it’s better to move into your new place and get everything unpacked and ready for the season before it starts, to really get used to Raleigh, yeah?”

He nodded, swallowing, “Yeah.”

“Still feel weird?” 

He nodded again, looking to the floor as you walked through the entrance.

You frowned, a stab of something really getting you right in the ribs as he only looked up when the airport atmosphere bled into his bubble. It was busy, but it wasn’t the busiest you’d ever seen it: people were milling about, double checking for passports and boarding passes, everything ready at hand, and at the strangers’ checks, Michael’s own hand pulled away from the suitcase, forcing you to stop walking towards the first checkpoint, and patted against the pocket on the outside of his backpack.

He pulled it all out without looking, peering into the plastic wallet you’d given him to keep everything important organised so he wouldn’t have to check it all at this moment, right in the doorway. You reached over, letting him fret, and wheeled his suitcase over by the inside window, dragging him with you.

“What are you doing?” He asked, brows knitted as he continued looking into the wallet, not sparing you much of a glance as you patted imploringly at the straps of his backpack.

“Take it off.” “Only if you ask me out first.”

“Sorry, I just want no strings attached.” 

His eyes slid over to yours, his cheek sucked into his mouth to stop himself from grinning, and he gave you his wallet, shrugging his backpack off easily and dropping it on the floor next to where you’d parked his suitcase.

“Now what?” He asked, eyes darting back to your hand like he wanted to grab it again, but decided against it.

“I don’t know.” You breathed, “How long do you have left?”

“Two hours-ish until boarding.”

“Oh.” He had to leave now, you supposed, eyeing his luggage like they were the ones taking him away, and that ache in your throat reappeared before you could even blink, and you were rendered speechless. 

You watched him nod, and reach for his bags, but he must have changed his mind because the next thing you knew, your back was pressed up against the window, his arms wrapped around your shoulders and your head resting against his collarbone. 

There was a moment when all you could focus on was the sudden envelope of warmth that circled you, the cacophony of smells: deodorant, fabric softener, a slight twinge of sweat and something else entirely – something very familiar – and before you could even sigh at the ache in your chest, you’d melted into him completely, your own arms hooking around the backs of his. You tucked your forehead down into his chest, pressing at the supple muscle, hands tightening in his shirt.

It wasn’t very comfortable: the ridges of metal edging the glass panes were digging into your back, and–oh.

There was a shuddering against your forehead, and you froze, before tilting your head up to see his eyes screwed shut in an effort to not let anything show. 

“We’ve still got the Marner wedding – it’s gonna be okay.” And despite yourself, despite the watery smile on your face, you laughed a little, “You’re gonna enjoy Raleigh–”

“It’s not that.” He shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and blinking to get rid of the blurriness before dropping them to his sides again, the both of you still in entirely too-close-for-comfort-quarters. 

“The weird feeling?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his chin wavering, and he inhaled sharply, “It’s just gonna be so weird not seeing you.”

“FaceTime exists, as do away games to Toronto.”

“I’m not even in that division anymore.”

You sighed, “Pittsburgh is, though.”

Silence.

He was doing it again: “Stop looking at me like that.”

He frowned, “Like what?”

“I don’t know, just–” You rolled your eyes, reaching to tug him back into you like before, only this time your hands slid up his back to rest across the tops of his shoulders, and he sighed into the touch, his own rough palms dragging up your neck to plant a soft kiss against your hairline. 

You stayed like that until he really had to go, but there weren’t any tears.

***

“Do you like him?”

The question hung in the air for a good few seconds, you pulling a face, heart pounding like a jackhammer against your sternum before you could even find the words and the ability to talk, “He’s infuriating.”

“Do you like him?” Taylor’s voice rang out through your phone speaker, her eyebrow raised very matter-of-fact, and you’d never wanted to scream at her before, but you were cutting it pretty close with the way she was looking at you and the tone she was using.

You hesitated, your face falling. The words were caught in your throat, the admission you’d practised like a teleplay in your head, but the only thing stopping you was the way things would change. Sure, it would only be little things to start with, like Taylor nagging you with it, or her insufferably smug ‘I told you so’s. But eventually that meant that you’d have to do something about it, because Taylor could never leave things like that alone, least of all with rock hard evidence.

But…maybe you needed that?

“I…” You looked away from your phone, body trembling with an invisible cold, “Did I tell you what happened at the wedding?”

She frowned, “The Marner one?”

“Yeah.”

“The one that happened, like, Summer last year? Fucking months ago?”

You cringed, “That one.”

THE MARNER WEDDING:

“My God, are you a sight for sore eyes.”

Michael Bunting was never one to care about his appearance, least of all after crawling off a plane, but somehow he’d found himself in the bathroom of the airport, fixing his hair and straightening his clothes. All for it to fly completely out of the window when he strolled towards the exit and the first thing you did was say that. He couldn’t tell if it was the grin on your face or the sheer excitement racking your entire being that caused it, but he’d never felt sillier for feeling nervous about this moment.

“Could say the same thing about you.” He retorted, feeling the tightness in his chest dissolve, “What’s that?” He reached a finger to tap the underside brim of your cap, the sudden intrusion making you blink and jump slightly.

You knew what he was talking about: the black cap on your head, the sticker placed over a hidden logo with your handwritten message scrawled on. He furrowed his brows, eyes tracking over the words, before tilting his head in confusion, reading it aloud, “‘This is indeed my first rodeo’.” He said it slowly, as though he was worried he’d read it wrong, and before he could even ask you what it meant, you felt his fingers pick at the corner, peeling the sticker back.

He smiled sarcastically, patting it back into place with more force than necessary, the pats like small smacks against your forehead, “Shoulda known. What’s with the rodeo thing?”

“Bridal party thing.” You shrugged, “I’m not sure really.” You reached out to take the small suitcase from him, your own hands trying to pry his fingers off the handle, but he only held on tighter, “Let go.”

“No.”

“Yes.” You sighed, looking him dead in the eye hoping he’d get the hint and succumb, but he shook his head, his other hand peeling your fingers off him one by one, more condescendingly than anything else, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want the dead body to fall out.”

—

“Hey, I forgot to ask earlier,” he called from the bathroom, the door shut as you took turns: he was cleaning his teeth and trimming his beard etc, and you were getting changed – later, you’d swap, “but how’s the property hunt going in Pittsburgh?”

You grinned, slipping the straps of your dress over your shoulders. Even the mere mention of your future plans had you smiling like an absolute idiot; you couldn’t wait to get back there. If you told the you that had just moved to Toronto what you were about to do, you were sure she’d have had a stroke from the shock. For so long, you’d envisioned living your life in Toronto and staying there. Moving back home felt more like a fever dream or something you shouldn’t do, because surely moving back to your home city meant you’d failed at something? At least, that used to be your thought process.

In reality, you just missed your family too much – every time something happened, whether it be a proposal or an illness, something in you just ached to be back there. 

“It’s going okay. I’ve got a few places lined up that my parents have viewings booked for to check out, but there hasn’t been anything that’s stood out so far, but…” you paused, sitting on the edge of the bed to sort out your shoes, “I’ve got an online job interview with a company back there next week and the starting date, if I get it, is on par pretty much with moving in if there’s a place found within the next two weeks or so. But that’s only if everything goes well. Reality is I’ll probably end up moving back in with my parents for a few weeks until I find a place which isn’t exactly ideal.”

There were a few bangs, things getting placed on the counter, before his muffled, “Can I open the door?” Could be heard.

“Yeah, I’m decent.”

He creaked open the door, leaning on the handle as it swung open with a dopey grin, and it took everything in you not to stall at the sight: he was only wearing dress pants and a pair of socks, his hair tousled and damp from the shower. You’d seen photos of hockey players shirtless before, but there was something breathtakingly stunning about seeing Michael without one. He was your friend, and friends kept their shirts on – but…you swallowed, rather wishing you didn’t have to tear your eyes away from his toned figure and the smattering trail of hair, and turned your attention to his face.

The grin on his face had frozen, and despite not even looking further down than his neck you could see his chest rising and falling, eyes narrowed playfully as he stood up straighter, eyeing you with something that screamed trouble in all ways imaginable.

“Were you just checking me out?” He let go of the door handle, one hand pointing at you in an accusatory manner, and you just blinked, frowning.

“No.” You shook your head, pasting an incredulous ‘how could you’ look on your face to try and deny what had, in fact, been absolutely true.

He hesitated, his eyes roving your face for a single speck of a lie, “You were looking.”

You shrugged, “I’ve just never seen someone so…well-built before, that’s all.”

He nodded, pressing his lips together to stifle another grin, “So you were checking me out?”

“No, I was looking. There’s a difference.”

He lifted his hand, thumb and pointer finger closed together, a slither of a gap between them, “Tiny difference. So tiny there might not even be a difference.”

You sent him an unimpressed look, one that you hoped would mean he’d shut up about it because the second you even so much as hinted at him being right, it’d be over. He’d hold it above you for the rest of your lives, and you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of that, not if you could help it, “You’d know if I checked you out.”

He fell for it, his smile dropping in curiosity, “How?”

You shrugged, “You’d just know.” You took a deep breath, “Why’d you open the door?”

“I was gonna ask you about this job interview next week – what’s it for?” He disappeared back into the bathroom, but the mirror in the room still provided you with the perfect angle to watch his focused motions as he ran a towel through his hair and picked up an electric shaver. Each time he moved, his body rippled, and you hated that you couldn’t stop looking.

“It’s a cheffing position at a hotel, but it’s almost like a club. There’s an entire golf course; the restaurant is gorgeous; it’s got a spa, and it’s just…it’s like an old estate house in a period film, it’s just beautiful.” You raved, fiddling with your makeup bag as you waited for him to finish.

“Sounds incredible.” He muttered, nodding at you to join him and shoving his things to one side, “What makes you think you won’t get it?”

You shrugged, placing your bag on the counter, missing the way his eyes dragged right across your figure in the mirror, his hand still shaving his cheek with close concentration. Perhaps if he’d wavered, you’d have caught the action, but you didn’t, carrying on, “They can’t really ‘interview’ me without trying my food. I had to ask if it was okay for an online thing and it was lucky they even agreed, so…I don’t know, it just feels too good to be true.”

“Why?”

You sighed, “It just does. Something has to go wrong somewhere.”

“Not necessarily.”

“I don’t want to get my hopes up, that’s all.” You said it forcefully, throwing something back into your makeup bag and not even looking in his direction. He slowly lowered his hand to the counter, eyes fixated on you for a whole different reason.

You’d gone from being so infectiously excited about the prospect to suddenly…not.

“Everything okay?” He asked softly.

It had been four weeks since you’d last seen each other, and although he’d felt your absence like he’d never expected, he’d never felt it more than he had now. Ironic, considering you were standing right next to him. To have gone from texting each other with updates every day in Toronto to that eventually dwindling, mostly because he didn’t want to bother you too much – he’d assumed the same on your end, too – it was a big adjustment. He’d caught himself reaching for his phone a few times or eyeing it as each notification came through, and the remembrance of ‘oh, shit, we’re in different countries’ or not seeing your name pop up sent a shot of disappointment so deep through his chest that sometimes he’d actually have to massage it away.

It kind of killed him, though, that he didn’t know what was wrong. If he’d have still been back here…

“Yeah,” you clenched and unclenched your jaw, “it’s just stressful. There’s so many decisions that need to be made, and I have a date to move out now but I just want to go back to a job lined up at least. It’d be worth it then.”

His mind whirled, ideas of what to say lining up like there was no tomorrow, but he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say. He swallowed, nudging your arm with his elbow to get you to turn your attention back to him, and smiled smally in the mirror when you met his eyes, “I think it’s worth it anyway if it’s something that makes you happy. And it won’t be the end of the world if you don’t have a place to live or a job immediately. It might be ideal, but if it doesn’t work out, you’ll figure things out. Everything will fall into place, it just might take some time, that’s all.”

It was almost magical how quickly the sudden tension dissipated. The dread in your stomach and your racing heart calmed almost instantly – the very second you allowed yourself to believe his words. You knew he wouldn’t say something like that and not mean it, and the fact that he believed in you to that extent – to hear him topple each and every single doubt in your mind to the ground – had you fighting to grab ahold of him. Whether it be his hand or to hug him or to just check to make sure he was really there. It didn’t matter that one half of his beard was neatly trimmed and the other wasn’t; it didn’t matter that his hair was wet or he didn’t have a shirt.

You wanted to tell him you missed him at that very moment. Especially when he looked at you like that again.

Michael blinked, eyeing you. He was aware the entire room had come to a standstill and that all you were doing was simply breathing and looking right at him, and it was the latter that was odd. There was something skewiff about the way you were looking at him, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Your mouth had parted, and there was a faint, dainty crease between your brows, like when you were thinking about something. If it weren’t for the fractional tilt of your head or the softness to your eyes – they kept bouncing across his face like it was the first time you’d actually looked at him – he would’ve thought that’s what you were doing: thinking.

But then you huffed a laugh, almost shocking yourself, and snapped back to reality, that look disappearing as quickly as he’d noticed it, “Yeah.” You placed a hand against your cheek, eyes darting away from him briefly, and when you pulled your palm away, he could see the growing darkness of your cheeks, “Thank you, I really needed to hear that.”

You looked towards the counter, hair falling in a curtain and hiding your face, and not for the first time since he’d come back, a homesick pang seemed to resonate to the tips of his fingers, as though his entire soul had been plucked like the string of a guitar.

—

He kept telling himself that his arm was around your shoulder, his fingers against your skin, because your strap kept falling down – and he could tell it was irritating you. (He’d also made the mistake of actually looking when it had fallen the first time, the sharp motion catching his eye, and he had no intention of replicating that awkward moment again.) It had absolutely nothing to do with the alcohol in his system, lowering his inhibitions, or the way you’d scooted closer to him because of the tight-packed bar, or the fact that he’d realised mid-way through the ceremony that what Mitch was saying about Steph was eerily similar to how he felt for you.

Mo kept shooting him a look over Tessa’s head when you weren’t looking, and Willy had hilariously looked shocked when he’d had to correct him that, no, you were just friends, even after knowing that exact same fact for over two years now.

But you? He didn’t think you were thinking too much about him at that moment. Your eyes were fixed on someone further down the bar – someone that he wasn’t particularly fond of during the season in the first place – and he was having a hard time trying not to let it get to him. 

Sidney Crosby. He wasn’t doing anything in particular, but you kept glancing back at him and he could practically sense you vibrating at the mere knowledge that he was metres away. He was half-expecting you to straight-up ditch him to go talk to the man himself, or he would have if you hadn’t shaken your head at Mitch with a hilariously terrified look on your face when he’d offered to introduce you. Michael had an inkling you did want to meet the guy, but just didn’t want to appear too eager.

And realistically, he knew he had absolutely no reason to even be the slightest bit jealous of the guy. He wasn’t even sure he was jealous, but the thought did make him uncomfortable; though he wasn’t entirely able to think about anything other than the vows from earlier.

“Want me to help you out?” It was Willy talking in his ear. He didn’t even need to look at the blonde to know it was him; the garish chain peeking out between a shirt that was unbuttoned dangerously low down, and the cologne emanating from him. Bunts figured he must douse himself in the stuff before he steps outside, but he’d seen Willy get ready and the only conclusion he’d reached was that guy must just smell that good naturally all the damn time.

He didn’t know why that was the first thing that popped into his mind at that moment. What he did know was that nothing good ever followed Willy when he uttered those words. 

“Absolutely not, no.” He was very aware of his fingers still hooked onto the strap of your dress, keeping it held tightly against your shoulder. And on the way your other shoulder was pressed right against his chest. And the fact that you were chatting to someone he wasn’t quite sure he recognised – but the point was that you weren’t listening.

“What, why?” Willy frowned, pouting and swigging a bottle of something. Michael didn’t like the look on his face.

“Because.”

“Because you’re scared?” 

His silence was enough to answer Willy’s question.

“You need help.” 

Michael frowned, “Like, mental help or–”

“Me help.”

“I just said no.”

“I heard you but I’m electing to ignore that and follow my own instincts.” Willy flashed him a grin and Michael felt his stomach drop, watching and unable to move as his ex-teammate walked to his other side, coming to stand next to you and whisper something in your ear that had you recoiling, your head gently bumping against Michael’s shoulder. He pretended not to notice, but he couldn’t help drinking in your reaction.

He had no clue what Willy had done or said, but he could feel his heart beating in his chest, and he was half-expecting you to turn around and ask if he was okay, but, much to his own intrigue, you shook your head, an awkward apologetic expression on your face.

Willy shrugged, but there was a crease between his brows. And because Michael knew him so well, he could tell something had been proven. 

Willy then reappeared at Michael’s other side, and you returned talking to who you’d been chatting to before, a triumphant smirk on his face.

“What?” 

Willy said nothing.

“Dude.” Michael could feel himself getting agitated, his hand was tapping anxiously against his thigh and because he was so fully intent on focusing on Willy, he was completely ignorant to the way you’d turned around at the sudden shaking, eyes zeroing in on his spare hand with confusion. Willy noticed it, though. He also noticed the way your hand twitched before clearly thinking the better of it and turning back around.

“I just told her one of my friends thinks she’s cute.”

Michael blinked, nervous.

“Point is,” Willy continued, “That that was obviously untrue. I mean, she’s cute, but she never even thought twice about it. Didn’t even turn around. Said she’d rather not and stayed standing with you.”

“That proves nothing.”

“It proves she’s not looking at other people.”

“Barely. You’re clutching at straws.”

Willy rolled his eyes, “Okay. But you better do something about it before someone else comes along and she chooses them, okay? Because it’ll happen.”

—

You were about ninety percent sure that you were one of the only people in the entire cafe who didn’t have a hangover right now. It might have something to do with the fact that you hadn’t had much to drink last night because you wanted to be as sober as possible just to soak in as much of Michael as you could and actually have a chance of remembering it.

You had no idea when you’d see him next. He was leaving for a training camp in a few days and you had a feeling the next time you’d see each other you’d be in Pittsburgh, all being well. You still had to sort out your paperwork and the whole visa situation still had to come through before anything could happen, but other than that, both of your timelines were one giant question mark.

That seemed to weigh on you heavily now you were sitting opposite each other. His hair was slightly scruffy, none of the gel in from earlier, and he had bags under his eyes – a telltale sign of his own hangover.

He’d acted weirdly last night. You couldn’t really put it into words, but since walking into that bar it was like he wasn’t entirely there all the time. Like he was distracted. He kept checking his phone, and before he’d met up with you for breakfast he’d appeared with a gift bag with a book in it and smiled each time he caught sight of it.

You had a horrible feeling that he was seeing someone. It’d make sense, even if it did come as a bit of a shock considering the four week mark, but who could blame him? He was a catch if you did say so yourself. 

You’d tried to put the bubbling anxiety at that idea to the back of your mind, but the more you looked at him, it only felt weirder. 

“How’s Carolina?” 

The touch of his fingers ghosted your shoulder, a blazing reminder from the night before.

You blinked, goosebumps rising on your skin at the mere memory. What the fuck?

He looked up, nodding with a grin, “I love it so far. I’ve met up with some of the guys that stayed in Raleigh and I’m getting along with everyone well so far. It’s really pretty there, too. How’s Toronto treating you without me?”

You flicked your food over on your plate, “As well as it usually does. It’s quieter, though.”

The conversation wasn’t anything you hadn’t already talked about over text or FaceTime; it was something you kept coming back to when you just wanted to hear him talk. You weren’t entirely sure when that had started. You paused. You’d done for months, even back when he was in Toronto.

This time, when he answered, he leaned closer over the table, and for a brief moment you thought he was going to admit a secret or pick something off your face, but when you looked up he was doing It again.

And this time you didn’t shy away from it. In fact, if the spike in heart rate was anything to go by, you revelled in the attention. And the revelation just took your breath away.

“I know this might sound weird…” He trailed off, eyes carefully gliding over features, and although you didn’t know it was possible, your heart rate skyrocketed, the pounding tingling the tips of your fingers and causing a raucous rushing in your ears. Without even realising it, you’d leant closer across the table, too, the only thing separating the two of you being the condiments rack.

He seemed taken aback at your proximity, eyes widening and his mouth stuttering, “I do miss you, y’know.” He whispered, cheeks reddening almost immediately.

You blinked, allowing your mind to digest the gravity of his admission. Something happened: it felt like something in your brain sighed or something in your chest loosened, something you weren’t even sure existed suddenly being clicked to life, and you smiled shyly. You were completely unfamiliar with what it was or what it meant, but you knew there was a point of no return: you’d be chasing whatever this was for the rest of your life, without a doubt.

Where you’d felt jilted moments earlier, something evened out – it felt smooth, there was no ache when you breathed, and your mind cleared, the only thing on repeat…him. 

Oh.

There was a zing straight down your spine, and you shivered at the feeling of it.

“I’m gonna say something even weirder…” Your voice came out shaky, shakier than you’d initially like it to be, and he automatically glanced at your mouth because of it, “I miss you too.”

He blinked, stifling a grin by placing his hand over his mouth, and you took the opportunity to change the subject, not wanting to dwell on anything too long for fear of what it could mean, what it could lead to, “Are you gonna let your hair grow out?”

He pulled a face, his hand moving to his hair self-consciously, “You don’t like it?”

“No, I like it.”

“What about the beard?”

You hesitated, “I…Do you want my opinion?”

He pulled a face, like you were crazy for even asking, “I literally asked to get your opinion.”

“Keep it like that, then.”

“What’s this about my hair, though?”

“Nothing.” You breathed a laugh, wondering how an innocent question led to this entire ordeal, “You look good.”

Silence.

His cutlery clinked against his plate as he looked up, your own hand frozen midair around your cup of coffee, him staring at you incredulously and you staring at a stain on the table, a little too afraid to look at him. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t acted like you’d told him a monumental piece of news that’s changed the entire trajectory of his life. It also shouldn’t be too much of a big deal because he’d told you you looked beautiful before, and that hadn’t been an issue.

You broke first, taking a sip and mustering the courage to look at him once more, raising your eyebrows at the utterly shocked look on his face.

“I look good?” He reiterated, speaking each syllable with his entire body. His breathing was shallow, and for a moment you worried if he was about to pass out.

“Yeah.” This time it was your turn to act like he was crazy for asking, “You always look good.”

He breathed a mirthless laugh that bled easily into one of amusement as he pointed a finger at you, “You were so checking me out last night.”

You blinked, replying blankly, “If you’d have left it five more seconds I’d have lost my mind.”

He grinned mischievously, risking a wink, “Duly noted.”

You rolled your eyes, scratching your eyebrow to try and hide your face with your hand as you stacked your plate on top of his, “You ready to go?”

“Yeah.” 

For some reason you hadn’t pushed yourself up and out of your chair very quickly. By the time Michael had tucked his chair under the table and was standing next to yours, his head turned to the side – distracted – you’d only just finished tidying up the table. And because his attention had been stolen, and because he was standing so close to your chair, when you finally did make a move to stand up…

His head snapped in your direction, the sudden motion making you flinch backwards, legs bumping awkwardly against the table, and his hand shot out, flattening against your back. If you were more honest you’d have said you didn’t need the stability: all you’d done was knock your calves against the wooden legs – but the sudden, unprompted touch on the small of your back had you freezing where you were, breath hitching in your chest against your will. 

You were watching his face before, trying to pick out exactly what had caught his eye, but this time you could see when the realisation of what had happened set in: his mouth parted like he was about to say something, and his eyes were wide – probably slightly alarmed at the almost-stumble he’d seen in his periphery – and was, for lack of better words, practically hugging you to him. You were forced (though there wasn’t a single cell in your body that felt reluctant) to catch yourself in his arms to prevent yourself from being catapulted straight into him. 

He wasn’t wearing a hat. Usually he did, but today he’d left the hotel room without one, and you’d never really thought twice about it or missed its presence more than you did at that moment. A hat would have given you space to think, time to not spend looking straight at him, time to not fantasise about what would happen if either of you happened to lean in at the same time, but–

He’d folded first, his gaze flicking down to your mouth for a brief moment before returning to your eyes, the palm on your back not wavering one bit. He didn’t even take a step back to let you stand up properly, but instead stood there, holding you, waiting. Waiting for some indication from you that, yes, it’s okay to close the gap.

Your heart was thundering in your chest, and you were sure he could feel it against your ribs if he concentrated hard enough, but you couldn't bring yourself to focus on that for too long. Not when the sight of him in front of you was so enticing.

You inhaled quickly, wanting to say something but not quite finding the words, and he waited once more. He only seemed to do something when you chanced a glance at his mouth, not even intending to, but also not doing anything to stop yourself from sneaking a look, and his head dipped–

“Oh, hey guys.”

It happened quickly and a lot less clumsily as to how it had started: Michael blinked at the sudden interruption, seamlessly stepping backwards and pulling you with him, his hand dropping from your back once you were safely on your feet. You were a little slower, only managing to keep your breaths even and to turn your attention away from him in time to see exactly who it was that had just shown up.

Only, your bewilderment and vertigo increased when you set your eyes on the familiar figure taking a seat on the table next to yours, completely and utterly oblivious to what almost transpired. 

Sidney Crosby was sitting grinning in your direction, and your mind went blank for a whole host of different reasons. The main one being Sidney Crosby was grinning at you. You were vaguely aware of Michael’s hurried motions, placing your hat on top of your head after a quick greeting. You heard your name, and you smiled politely. 

Your face didn’t feel like your own, you were aware of moving your cheek muscles, but everything felt strangely foreign.

And then Sid was looking at your cap, and suddenly you were back in your own body.

“Cool hat.” He pointed, leaning sideways on his chair, and your smile broadened.

“Yeah, Pittsburgh Penguins, maybe you’ve heard of them?”

He laughed, feet kicking slightly under the table, and you felt Michael stiffen next to you, “I don’t think I’m familiar, no. They any good?”

You shrugged, “Won a couple of cups, made us locals proud. There’s this guy, Sidney Crosby, he’s pretty cool.”

He pretended to pull a face, “Oh, I know that guy.” He sighed, shaking his head.

“You don’t like him?”

“Hate that guy.” 

***

“What the fuck.” Taylor all but yelped through the screen once you’d done a quick rehash of events, before falling completely silent, her head in her hands.

You nodded, “I know. I got Sidney Cros–”

“Fuck Sidney Crosby, babe. With all due respect, fuck that guy.”

You swallowed, “Yeah, okay.”

“What are you gonna do about Michael?”

“We haven’t really talked since the wedding.” You mumbled sadly.

***

A meal was all you had. In three months, all you managed to snag of his time was a home cooked meal in your new apartment, and even then he couldn’t stay for more than a few hours. You didn’t just have to worry over the fact that things had clearly changed since the wedding, but you had to worry about cooking him a meal that adhered to his plan of what he could and couldn’t eat, and it had to be edible.

So, it was safe to say you were feeling a lot of pressure. Cooking at work was completely different to cooking at home: not only were you usually too exhausted to even cook something that nice when you got in, but there was something personal about cooking for people you know. It always felt like they were judging what you’d made, trying to decide if you were good at your job or not. Sometimes it felt like a make or break deal. If they didn’t like your food, they wouldn’t like you.

And while that had never been the case for Michael, tonight felt different. For starters, it felt like you’d had to fight tooth and nail to even get him to come over for a few hours, which was new. 

In all honesty, you were even hesitant in the entire…ordeal. Because that’s what it was, really, it wasn’t a quick catch-up, it was an ordeal. The last time you’d felt this nervous was when you were back in school, and gosh you didn’t miss the feeling at all.

He knocked three times and you had to stop stirring the pasta (shocker!) sauce to answer the door.

“Hey.” He sighed, flashing a tired smile, and in that instant all your anxieties seemed to diminish. They hadn’t disappeared completely, but it was as though the volume had been turned down, and you could breathe easily.

“Hi.” You answered almost breathlessly, and his brows jumped up his forehead in amusement, the small crinkle of a smile making an appearance, “I feel bad for pestering you now. You look exhausted.”

He shook his head, “Don’t, I’m glad I came.”

And then he did something he’d never done to you before: he leaned in and he pressed a delicate kiss on your cheek. The exact place he’d touched with his lips seemed to flame before you even registered what he’d done, and in that same moment, you were catapulted back to Toronto. Tucked next to each other under a blanket, an episode of The Mentalist on, both of you utterly immersed in the plot. 

You blinked, not entirely sure where that had come from, and grinned, his scent filling your senses, soon to bleed into your apartment and your couch and your cushions. The one thing you loved about having him around was that you could tell he’d been here even days later: whether it be the faint smell of his cologne when you sat down or the plants that had been purposefully switched around on the windowsill – something you tended to notice when you finally crashed, and it never failed to put a smile on your face. 

“This place is adorable.” He commented, easing himself onto the couch, feet up and reorganising the cushions around him, and all you could do was stand off to the side, simply watching him get settled.

“Adorable wasn’t what I was going for.” 

“What were you going for?”

“Cosy.”

He hummed, tearing his eyes away from you to have another quick glance around, “It’s that too.” And then he rounded back to you, still hanging around in between the living room and the kitchen, not really wanting to leave him alone but much too devoted to the food to even think about asking him to follow you in there, “How are you doing?”

You shrugged, “I’m really happy here.”

He fell asleep straight after he finished eating.

***

His stuff was everywhere: boxes and bags stacked and piled and thrown in the right rooms; zips unzipped and lids open, objects and clothes and cutlery scattered across floors like he’d picked up a handful and left a trail of nuts for you to track his steps. 

It was a mess, but it was a reassuring mess. You hadn’t really believed him until he’d shown up at the airport, and even then it had taken three days for you to actually comprehend the luck of it all. It took you fourteen minutes to walk to his apartment, now. Not over an hour on the plane, not counting the taxis and waiting for your luggage.

Quite frankly, it blew your mind.

It had taken you so long to adjust to even being friends with him, to then adjusting to him moving to Raleigh when you were still in Toronto, to then adjusting to you in Pittsburgh and him still in Raleigh…and now you were both in Pittsburgh and it had taken you approximately three days to get used to it. Not weeks, not months where you’d keep forgetting you couldn’t just show up outside his apartment.

You’d caught yourself laughing at it on more than one occasion.

For now, though, despite the welcome mess (as proof of life), you were looking straight at him. You’d caught yourself doing that a lot lately, but there was a reason this time – not just a genuine wonder at his mere presence. 

He walked back into the room, arms stretched out in front of him, clearly assessing the new jersey, and you swore, right then and there, that you’d never loved him more. For all his shit-talking on the Pens over the years, he was now wearing their jersey, much to your appreciation.

“I like it.” You spoke first from your position on his couch, your arm in the box of merch and kit he’d been given (he’d allowed you to have free reign over some of the items, all you had to do was ask him first), your teeth briefly scraping over your bottom lip. It wasn’t the first time he’d worn a black jersey, but it was the first time he’d worn one with a Penguin on the front and yellow text that spelt his name on the back, “A lot.”

You were grinning, and when he looked up to see you shaking with glee, he shook his head, huffing an amused laugh, “Of course you do.”

“I still don’t think I’ve gotten used to you not wearing blue yet, though.” You muttered, and he nodded, mouth flattening but face somehow still smiling.

“I do miss it, but I think I’m getting used to it.” He shrugged, before grabbing the front of the jersey by the NHL logo and chucking it off his shoulders and throwing it straight at your face, “You can keep that one if you want, I’m not short of any.” You heard him say, his voice slightly muffled by the fabric, and you pulled it from over your eyes, hand wrapped in the material – to see his cheeks flush at your expression. It seemed to worsen when you dropped your eyes to his bare torso.

���Thanks.” You averted your eyes quickly, instead focusing on smoothing the jersey out in your lap, fingers tracing the penguin before flipping it over for his name. Out of the corner of your eye you saw him reach into the box next to you and pull out a few t-shirts before a cap was in his hands and he was brandishing the logo in your face.

“Have you seen one of these before?” He asked, pointing to the circular black and yellow logo: the Pens motif was in the top half of the circle with two crossed-over sticks in the bottom half, and you shook your head.

“I don’t think so.”

He spun it around in his fist, eyes flicking from the hat to your face, “You want it?”

You hesitated, “Are you sure you’re allowed to let me have some of this stuff? I feel like they’re giving you different kits because you’re actually part of the organisation and that normal people aren’t supposed to have them.”

He blinked, jaw clenching as he took in your words. And before you could even say anything else, he placed the hat rather lopsidedly on top of your head and rifled back through the pile of clothes for the sheet of paper before throwing himself down next to you, the piece of paper held out so you could read it too.

You felt a bit pathetic at how quickly you felt your pulse start to pick up at the contact: his entire torso was leant against your shoulder, and although it meant you got an unobstructed view of…everything, and although you appreciated it, at the same time it felt a bit cruel. Like dangling a bone in front of a dog.

“It doesn’t say I can’t give it away.” He mumbled, turning to face you, his forehead bumping the brim of the cap. You blinked in surprise, but didn’t miss the way his eyes just casually flickered down to your lips, or the way his hand dropped down, still clutching the sheet, once he realised you’d not actually been looking at the words.

He’d caught you looking at him.

You cleared your throat, cheeks flaring but not too ashamed considering  you’d just caught him looking at you, and his eyes zipped back to your face, an awkward silence ensuing. Neither of you moved. You didn’t know if you were too scared to ruin the moment or if you were physically frozen by what could have happened – could still happen. Stillness seemed to be key. His breath was fanning softly against your face, and you were sure the same went for you. 

It was eerily similar to the whole Sid-situation. Only this time you were in the privacy of his own home, he was notably shirtless and the risk of getting interrupted was low, but not entirely zero.

You felt your own lips part at the same time his head moved an inch closer as though he was testing the waters, but before you could even think about leaning in, his mouth was moving.

What?

His cheeks reddened, and the blush seemed to travel down his neck and bleed into his collarbones, his attention now flicking between you and something off to the side, clearly too nervous to even look at you and speak.

“I asked if you were free on Thursday?” He whispered, his gaze travelling back down to the piece of paper still in his hand.

He hadn’t moved away from you but the stab of disappointment at the lack of his attention and the realisation that he’d chosen not to kiss you was profoundly disturbing. You didn’t like it, the way you practically yearned for him. The idea that your enjoyment in life was tied to what a random man did or didn’t do was absurd, and if you were being honest with yourself, you did feel a bit pathetic that you’d let it get to that point.

He was your best friend, for fuck’s sake. You weren’t supposed to actually fall in love with him – that was something that only happened in the movies or in novels. 

But…he was kind, he was funny, he was charming, he clearly cared for you. 

Did he feel the same way? It was impossible to tell in your eyes. Sure, it had just looked like he wanted to eat you, and you’d caught him looking at you like you hung the entire galaxy before, but who’s to say he didn’t look at other people like that?

And in all honesty, you’d spent so much time trying to not look at him that you’d given him plenty of opportunities to (if he did) sneak glances at you when you weren’t looking.

You sighed, folding the jersey, acting like his skin on your forearm wasn’t burning. Like you were completely normal being in his presence, “I should be, yeah. How come?”

He raised a brow, shyly turning back to you, “I was wondering if you wanted to go out?”

Something fluttered in your chest – it felt an awful lot like hope, and when you answered, your voice sounded off. You weren’t breathless, so to say, but your voice cracked and sounded ropey to your own ears, “Go out where?”

The question almost felt futile, especially with the wry smile he just sent your way. You had a feeling, but even thinking the feeling out loud in your head felt like you were about to jinx it, so you fought to keep your mind quiet. Everything else though (heart rate, blood rushing, the feel of his fingers tapping rhythmically against the inside of your wrist), that was loud. 

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheek when he looked down at where he was delicately touching your wrist. His motions stopped, but the warmth never left.

“With me, I was hoping.” He didn’t look at you as he spoke, and you held your breath the entire time, a part of you wanting to make sure you’d just heard him correctly and weren’t imagining it, “Like a date.”

“A date.” You echoed, flipping your wrist over completely so your palm was pointing to the ceiling. He didn’t tear his eyes away from your hand, but you could feel his heart thumping through his back from where he’d pressed himself against your shoulder and a smile fell naturally on your face. It wasn’t a big smile, but it was soft. The kind of smile that was only ever really reserved for him.

His hand didn’t falter in its motions as he dragged his fingers down the inside of your wrist to swirl a pattern on your palm, fingers tracing the lines and creases gently. 

It took everything in you not to scream.

He just hummed, and when you tore your gaze away from the side of his face – he wasn’t giving much away – his chest was thumping in time with his pulse. Was it possible for nerves to make him catatonic? You’d never seen him this nervous yet so calm and collected at the same time.

You inhaled, feeding your starved lungs, and tried not to shudder when his fingers slowed only to tangle and interlock with yours. It was like he was testing it out, seeing how you fit together, whether your personalities blended as well as your bodies did–

You felt yourself blush at that insinuation, and squeezed his hand, prompting him to look at you instead of away.

He did so slowly, first peeking at you out of the corner of his eye with a small breath of relief when he saw you weren’t annoyed. Then he turned his entire head towards you, leaning back so he wouldn’t knock into the hat again, and his mouth twisted, still awaiting your reply.

“Have you been wanting to ask that for a while, or…”

His stare went blank, and you could tell her was trying not to roll his eyes at your teasing questions, obviously stalling to get a rise out of him. It was working, “Put me out of my misery first.”

“Okay.”

He blinked, leaning forwards slightly, “Okay I’ll go on a date or okay I’ll put you out of your misery?”

“Both.”

He smiled, using his free hand to swipe at his nose and look away briefly, flustered. His chest was still pink and blotchy and you nudged him playfully with your elbow, “Your turn.”

“Uh…” He hesitated, “maybe, like, since you told me I don’t look like a Michael.”

You stared at him, jaw unhinged and dropped in shock, “But that was–”

“Two-ish years ago, yeah.” He nodded, pulling a face at himself, “What can I say? You charmed me.”

“But I was rude to you..” 

“I wouldn’t say rude–”

“I wanted you to not like me.”

He froze, “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“It had the opposite effect.”

And then you laughed. Right in his face, not very loudly, but you laughed at him altogether, “You liked me when I couldn’t stand you, I would’ve said no.”

He rolled his eyes, flicking the underside brim of the cap he’d given you, “Good job I held out then, isn’t it? At what point would you have said yes?”

“When you left for Raleigh.”

“Wow.”

“You gotta remember, I was in a relationship for a while–”

“Oh, that guy.” He muttered, bitterly, "I think I blocked that out-"

You interrupted him, leaning closer to briefly press your mouth against his, effectively shutting him up. Even at the brief contact, and even as you were pulling away you could feel the relief of it dissipate from your shoulders, like a worn out elastic band had finally snapped. You paused, a breath away from him, and his eyes slowly blinked open having tried to chase your mouth.

Even despite that, he still maintained his grin, "That's a good tactic." He muttered, hand sliding up the side of your neck as his thumb slid gently and delicately across your jawbone. His eyes zeroed in on the motion, clearly enjoying the way your skin reacted to his touch, goosebumps rising to the surface and eliciting a shiver of pleasure from you.

It was barely three second of contact, but it had changed your genetic makeup.

He was addictive, even the smug look on his face as he pressed his forehead against yours, chin bumping towards yours. You held you breath in anticipation, eyes instinctively fluttering shut - it was difficult to ignore the pounding of your heart or the tingling beneath his fingers.

"Noted." You breathed, unable to help smiling at his tone, "You gonna make me wait until Thursday now-"

"It's rude to keep a lady waiting." Was his answer.

[jamneuromain]

A Whiff of Blood

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader, Graphic Depiction of Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has light hemophobia (fear of blood), and ofc, the direction mention and description of blood, sexual harassment

Summary: It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia.

A/N: Based on the prompt from the bingo challenge. The inspiration came from @rogerswifesblog / @rogerswifesblog-updates when we were talking about business dinners and such.

The whiff of blood drifts out of Lloyd's office. You scrunch your nose and pull out a piece of tissue with a floral scent to cover half your face.

It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia.

The smell grows stronger, so you uncap your perfume and spritz it all over you.

As long as you turn your head the other way, or mask the scent with something stronger, your phobia will not act up. And considering Lloyd is paying you a hefty salary and bonus, you don't complain.

After all, when choosing jobs, at best, you can only pick two features out of "well-paid", "light work", or "close to home".

You are lucky that you can drive for an hour on weekends to visit your mom who lives in the suburb.

The door to his office swings open with a loud "bang", as if - no, probably, Lloyd kicks it open, and out comes two bodyguards dragging a heavy black garbage bag.

Quite heavy. Like 70 kilograms heavy.

You wouldn't want to speculate what is inside.

You turn your head the other way, facing a rather pleased Lloyd Hansen, the mob boss who pays you to be his secretary.

"Mr. Hansen, I've secured the dinner tonight at 7 pm with Mr. Suza Brewer. He owns the biker gang Hellbend ever since you helped him take out the previous leader Fitzroy. You will be having dinner at the restaurant named Bird. It's adjacent to the Ritz-Carlton, so you can take your pick whether to stay in your suite or go back home. Either way, I'll go tell your driver Denny to get ready." You don't even bother getting up, spinning your chair in his direction, you hand him the files, with a polite smile on your face, "These, I need you to sign so your clubs will be running as usual. Your head accountant Marilyn has an appointment with you in fifteen minutes, and I've called the cleaning crew. They are ready to clean up your office right now."

Lloyd snatches a tissue paper from your desk, wiping his silver blood-stained ring on his middle finger clean, before tossing the reddened, soaked, and irritating odor tissue onto the ground and out of your sight. A small smirk on his lips, Lloyd purses his lips to stroke his mustache with his finger, "Send them in."

You nod, picking up your phone from your desk, when he holds up his hand to stop you for a moment.

"Good job, Y/N." He says curtly.

Lloyd's icy blue eyes zero on you. After a few seconds, he speaks up again, "You're coming to the dinner with me."

You nearly jump from your chair. Shocked, but most importantly, confused, because he has never asked you to present during business dinners.

After all, those who were qualified for "business" are either ruthless or sociopathic. While your boss Lloyd is both, you are neither.

"Mr. Hansen, I-"

"You're off for the rest of the day. Call Denny, he knows where to buy a decent dress." He pulls out his wallet from his inside pocket, and hands his black card to you, "Consider this a bonus." His tone unrelenting, pushing the card on the desk further towards you, he issues his final command, "And tell Denny to find you a stylist."

You swallow your refusal and take his black card.

You know he doesn't take "no" for an answer.

"Thank you, Mr. Hansen."

He hums impatiently, waving his hand to gesture that the conversation is over for him.

For the first hour of the said "business dinner", you try your best to focus on the food in front of you, instead of the Brewer man. He is a few inches shorter than Lloyd, but the look he delivers when he stares at you is simply...

Fearful. Even more than Lloyd.

Having worked for Lloyd for nearly three years, you witnessed he yelled, shouted, pulled out his gun to shoot someone's brain out (you vomited on to his shoes, very unfortunately, for which he yelled at you for approximately half an hour), and of course, being mad at some business partners and the determination in his eyes to eliminate his rivals. But none of his looks scared you like the creepy feeling Suza Brewer brings you.

Lloyd gives off the vibe that he will shoot you alive, while Suza Brewer could skin someone alive. And Suza has not stopped stealing glances in your direction ever since you and Lloyd presented in this dinner.

You look at your plate, cutting a small chunk of carrot in half. Trying your best to ignore the four bodyguards, two from Lloyd and two from Brewer, standing in the back.

Convincing yourself. Maybe this Brewer guy likes to look, similar to many men who passed by your desk to reach Lloyd's office.

You raise your eyes carefully, taking a long exhale as you continue to persuade yourself that Suza Brewer brought a lady to the dinner, probably also why Lloyd has asked you to come along.

After a few glasses of wine, the girl Suza brought sat on his lap boldly, feeding him bites of cherry tomatoes.

"I'll say yes to your proposal. You and me, 50-50." Suza suddenly lets out a laugh, "I just want one tiny thing to sweeten the deal." He squints his eyes, and points his finger towards you, "I want - her."

The small chunk of carrot lingers on your lips as you are about to eat.

The young girl's jealousy could tear you in half, Suza's greasy lips smack together, as if tasting your flesh, and Lloyd simply looks at you, with minimum expression you have ever seen on his face.

"Excuse me?" Lloyd clenches his teeth.

"C'mon, buddy." Brewer smacks Lloyd a bit too hard on his shoulder, barking laughter with his yellow crooked teeth exposed into the air, "You can't keep such a sexy thing all to yourself, eh?" He wiggles his eyes suggestively, "Don't tell me you haven't fucked her yet?"

Now you HAVE to say something.

"Mr. Brewer, I assure you that my work with Mr. Hansen is strictly professional." You smile politely, raising your glass for a toast, "In fact, I think that's what we all want, Mr. Brewer, to have a long-term stable business relationship with Mr. Hansen. Here's to our thriving partnership-"

Brewer gets up from his chair and sways towards you. He could barely walk straight but he still manages to stand behind your chair, lowering his head right where your ear is.

As he speaks, he reeks of wine and meat.

"I'm talking to your boss, bitch. " Brewer snarls, slapping your hand so hard that your wine glass falls to the table. Startling you when you are trying to stay calm. "You are but a plaything to Lloyd Fucking Hansen and I'll have you whether you like it or not."

Now here's the difference between Brewer and the rest of the men who pass you to get to Lloyd's office. For those men, they work for Lloyd, and hence, they wouldn't dare to touch "Lloyd's belonging", which is you. Brewer, on the other hand, is a total wild card, which you understand perfectly as Lloyd worked with him to kill Brewer's adoptive father Fitzroy.

He is as unpredictable and unstable as Lloyd, maybe even more so, because Lloyd certainly hasn't laid a finger on you ever since you worked for him, neither sexually nor violently.

You even your breath as Brewer leans closer He grabs your boobs with his hand, having you freeze on your seat.

"In fact, I'll invite him to watch how I fuck his pretty little whore."

The chill seeps deep into your bones. You urge your body to fight back, but sanity tells you that you would probably end up in a dumpster with a bullet hole on your forehead if you ruin this big deal for Lloyd. For a brief second, you think about begging Lloyd. But in reality, your mind is point blank as the mindset in between "fight or flight" kicks in, and it instructs your body to play dead.

It might be a few seconds. Or a few minutes, before your savior swoops in, saying something that sounds like mumbling to your brain.

"We're done here." Lloyd growls, snatching your wrist with a grip hard enough to bruise, tugging you harshly to leave. Your knee and thigh bump into the wooden arm of the chair, to which you bite your lip in pain, and still too shocked to get your language system back online.

"But our contract-" Brewer shouts to Lloyd.

"I'll get back to you." Lloyd snaps back, pushing and shoving your back to move before him.

Your mind is a blur and cannot recall how Lloyd stuffs you into his limo when he steps outside to smoke. He did, however, throw his coat onto you and shut the car door with a loud "thud", having front-row driver Denny lowering the panel between you, whispering with much concern, "What's wrong?"

You curl your fingers into the black woolen coat. Folding it neatly as you have done hundreds of times when he throws his coat over you or over your desk. Placing it on your legs.

"Here. I'll tune the AC up." Denny showers you with his sympathetic look, as he has never seen you so out of yourself, so soulless, and shivering.

Your mind has been replaying how Brewer grabbed your boobs, and the filth he talked about. You also know that you have nowhere to hide, if Lloyd is determined to get something done, if he wants to deliver you to Brewer.

Though the tinted car window muffled some of Lloyd's angry shouting, you are still able to comprehend that Lloyd just got mad again.

"... CALL ME WHEN IT'S DONE!" Lloyd yells at his phone, opening the car door, and sliding in, taking a big inhale of the warm air inside. Glancing at you, he seems not having returned from his angry state, "AND THIS COAT IS NOT -" He lets out a grumpy huff, "never mind."

After a moment of silence, you feel like you should make your statement, no matter if Lloyd being unreasonable. You simply have to.

It's your life at stake here.

"Mr. Hansen, I just wanted to tell you that it has been a pleasure working with you these past three years. i have gained much experience and knowledge working as your personal secretary and assistant. I want to express my thanks for you cultivating me into a qualifying secretary and no matter what happens, I would want you to know that I cherish our business relationship and accept the consequence."

Lloyd listens through your statement surprisingly patiently, and pinpoints the most crucial idea (he thought that it was) throughout your entire speech, "You want a raise?"

You stutter, "No-No! Mr. Hansen! I wouldn't - What you have given me is well beyond market average and I appreciate your confidence in me."

"Ah. So you want to quit?"

His cold blue eyes stare into you. You gulp in fear.

"Yes, I mean - No, I don't want to quit. But circumstances have ... arisen, which makes me wonder ... uh, if I was able to -"

"I've had enough of it." He grumbles, twisting the ring on his finger, "Your next sentence starts with 'I want' and stop using these big words, sunshine. One sentence. Not another word."

"I - I want you to not deliver me to Suza Brewer." You quickly say, "Mr. Hansen." You did your best to be respectful.

His grumpy expression lingers on his face for a second, before turning into disbelief, "That's all you're asking for?"

"Yes...? I really liked working with you, Mr. Hansen, and I don't want to be put into a position that you are choosing between me and your ... business." Seeing that his mustache is twitching, inching close to a sneer, you add, "If you could just let me go, and claimed that I slipped through your custody or got away as soon as I could, I think that Mr. Suza would not mind that much -"

His index finger points up to shush you.

Lloyd snorts, fishing out a box of tictac and popping two colored-candy into his mouth.

Crushing the sugary treat with his jaw, he closes his eyes and roots his upper body firmly onto the back seat, "Denny, take us to the warehouse by the Westside Pier."

The Westside Pier.

The one place Lloyd would go to if he captures a traitor or fulfills a hitman contract.

The one place he could make a body completely go away.

He's about to end ... you?

The cold October wind does nothing to help you fight against the icy feeling in your bones.

The stylist Denny founded accompanied you during shopping and chose a most-fitting black dress for you, which goes a little over the knees. Along with the warm AC everywhere, the length didn't bother you -

-until now.

You hold Lloyd's folded coat in your hand, following Lloyd out of the car with teeth clattering, more out of cold than of the horrible thoughts of what he would do to you.

Lloyd turns around, grunting in a sarcastic way, "Can't believe your clever brain didn't work out why the coat-" before he stops whatever that's about to go through his lips, roughly taking the coat from your hands and putting it around your shoulders, "Try not to freeze to death."

Your hesitant expression must have been obvious, because he looks at you and purses his lips in slight irritation, "Don't do anything stupid. And follow me."

What does this even mean? That he doesn't want to kill you after all? Or that he has changed his mind and thought you know too many secrets to be alive?

Your mind buzzing with thoughts as you follow Lloyd through the gate of the notorious warehouse.

The swinging lightbulb over your head and the faint smell of blood make you nauseous. You have not stepped foot into this warehouse because you have heard of the cruel things Lloyd has done to his opponents, all of which happened here.

"I don't care how much your boss pays you, I-I'll pay you double!" A man screeches pathetically, taking hit after hit on his stomach from Lloyd's muscle man as two other hold him upright.

Looking at Lloyd's direction, the man's swollen and bruised face lights up in an instant.

"Lloyd! Buddy!" He gobbles in a mouthful of blood, "So glad, ehhehe, you came!"

Lloyd grabs his hair, and punches him in the stomach.

"Fuck you, buddy," Lloyd swings another punch at Brewer's stomach, a cold smile on his lips, "fuck you, alright?"

A sharp scream of pain. "Lloyd, I don't understand-"

Lloyd drags his head in front of you, bending his neck to face you, to which you cover your nose because of the strong smell of blood bombarding your nerves. "There. She's my people. You disrespect her, you disrespect me. Got it, you dumb fuck?"

"Sorry!" The man shrieks his apology, "I'm sorry!"

Oh. So that's what he meant.

You bury your nose under his soft woolen coat. Burying the lower half of your face. Your cheeks getting warm, and a small grin creeps up.

Feels kind of nice. To have someone watching over you.

"Our business," Brewer pants, coughing out blood, losing a few of his teeth, "you need me to do our business, Lloyd."

Lloyd smirks, waving to gesture the removal of Brewer.

The man is still screaming he's sorry, but the two muscles hold him by his arms, forcing him to stand on the edge of the pier and tying a large rock around his waist.

"But Mr. Hansen," You stop him in his tracks, "your business, your deal with-"

You point towards Suza Brewer, now with a gag so all he could manage is some muffled voices.

"Don't worry your head around it, sunshine." Lloyd places his hand on the coat collar and tugging it tighter. The look on his face blank, but somehow more sincere than his cold grins, "I'm working with his stepbrother now. Pal is so grateful that I help him take care of Suza; he decided to offer me 70% of the cut."

You let out a whispered "Oh". Glad that Lloyd's "business" is thriving but also ... not that glad.

He's doing this for his business after all ... while he'd get to ... make it up for you?

A strange feeling tugging your heart. Some sort of relief, but not entirely. You are disappointed, somehow, as if you believed there should have been more to this gesture.

The muffled screaming stops after a loud splash comes from the edge of the pier.

The three muscle men return. One of them announces: "He's been taken care of, boss."

Smelling the whiff of blood on them, you can't help but crouch onto the ground and hurl your guts out.

Lloyd gestures those men to "beat it". And as the air clears from the smell of rusted iron and salt, a white handkerchief dangles in front of your eyes.

"Don't puke over my shoes again." Lloyd stands still, pinching his handkerchief between his index and middle finger, handing it to you.

You gag a few times, covering your mouth with the smooth white handkerchief, turning into another direction other than his shoes.

"Mr. Hansen, I don't know you -" You fight the instinct to be sick in front of him, standing up from your crouching position with wobbly legs, "carry a handkerchief." You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, wiping the corner of your mouth using the white fabric, now stained with the red smudge of your lipstick, "I'll dry clean it along with your coat, and send it-"

He seizes the handkerchief and stuffs it in his front pocket, "Don't bother."

He pats on your shoulder. The same way he would pat his men. A silent encouragement and praise of "Good work".

"Mr. Hansen, I-"

You want to say something. The precise moment when your heart skipped a beat and you've captured something vague in your mind, some terrifying yet imminent. Your bones rattle in the possibility of the blurry idea. But when his blue eyes turn to you, the idea takes its chance and slips from your mind.

"-thank you." Is all you could say.

"Wait for me in the car." He searches his pocket for his box of matches and cigarette, waving his hand, shushing you away, with the cig between his lips. He sounds stern as ever, but deep down, you feel like something has changed.

Lloyd watches you as you head back to the car. You, his tiny, fragile, delicate, poor little secretary who gets sick at the sight or the smell of blood.

He watches you still wrapped in his coat. When the cold October wind sweeps by your feet, you shiver under the warm expensive wool.

He stares for a long time when the match used to light his cigarette burns the tip of his fingers.

"Shit." He grumbles.

[moiraimyths]

Howdy, fateful friends! Are you an artist or illustrator with an interest in visual novels?

If so: Moirai Myths, creators of the visual novel The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe), are in need of guest artists! More specifically, we're looking for up to two artists to help us with the content graphics ("CGs") for Maeve and Shae's upcoming routes. All of the details will be listed on our application form (linked below), but here is the gist:

This is paid work with 20-30 business day deadlines per piece!

Complicated revisions in the post-sketch phase are compensated!

You will be prioritized for future guest artist opportunities!

You will be featured/credited on Moirai Myths' website and in the game itself!

Sound interesting? If so, apply here:

Click under the cut for some F&Q 👇

Who are you? (I'm new here!)

Hi! We're Moirai Myths: a small, newish visual novel company based out of Canada. We're making a game inspired by mostly Irish mythology, which was funded on Kickstarter in 2023! Our game's got fairy politics, a diverse cast, a Gaeilge-to-English translation tool, and routes that can be played either romantically or platonically! Also horses. An ungodly amount of horses, really.

If that odd pitch sounded intriguing, perhaps you'd like to play our demo! It's free on Steam & Itch.io.

Why are you looking for guest artists?

When we originally launched our Kickstarter, the plan was to have our three in-house artists collaborate on the CGs in the same way our header image was. However, we quickly realized that adding CGs, even if they're done collaboratively, onto the existing duties of our artists was a tall order. Add to that the departure of our original sprite artist (who has since been replaced by our graphic designer), and we determined that having our in-house team work on CGs was simply not possible if we still wanted our first release to happen in 2024. So, rather than omitting CGs or adding them in at a later time, we came up with the idea of hiring guest artists. Overall this means our CGs will be a bit more varied in terms of art style, but we like to think of this as a positive! NDM's development will take a number of years to complete in full, so we hope our CGs will allow us to feature a lot of artists either within the VN/indie dev community already, or artists who aspire to work in gaming and are looking for entry positions.

How long will applications remain open for?

This application will be open until Sunday, March 24 at midnight (EST)! If we intend to extend past that deadline, we'll make an announcement about it.

I can't apply right now. Will you look for more CG guest artists in the future?

Definitely! As mentioned, NDM will take a while to develop in full, so this is by no means your only opportunity to apply. That being said, we suspect we're going to end up shortlisting a number of artists over the course of this application period, and we intend to keep a list of all the runners-up. So, even if you won't be able to participate this time, it might be a good idea to apply anyway just to remain in our contacts! Either way, this will not be the last time we have apps.

Will you be looking for guest artists outside of CGs?

Maybe! We already have two guest artists (Nefukurou and Madi Funk) working on sprites and CGs respectively, so it's always possible that we'll have other artistic needs later down the line. Likewise, we may also reach out to past guest artists for future work with us, whether it's on this game or something else!

You say we need to sign an NDA. What does that entail?

The non-disclosure agreement essentially means you will be legally unable to publicly disclose any confidential information you become privy to as a result of working with us. This would include personal information about the developers, as well as spoilers from the game itself. In addition do this, you will be expected to sign over the IP and copyright of any artworks you produce for us.

Can I still use my artworks in portfolios, even if I don't own the copyright?

Yes! We'd only ask, if your portfolio is a website, that you wait to do so until after your art has been made public by us, either on our social media or via the publication of the game. Our first release is anticipated to happen later this year, most likely mid-autumn.

How do you guys feel about AI? Do you intend to use it, or would you ever train an AI off of the artworks whose copyright you own?

No.

Making a game is expensive and time-consuming, but AI is no replacement for human artistry. We fundamentally believe that any advancements in AI should be used for the purpose of giving people more time to make art, not take away opportunities for it. Moirai Myths will never, ever use AI or train an AI off your work.

***

If you've got any more questions for us that we didn't think to include here, feel free to send us an ask!

[itsfairly]

Two Negatives Make a Positive // Nanami Kento x f!reader

word count: 2.4k

cw: f!reader, neighbors to lovers, valentine's inspired (not mentioned but that's the main idea), not proofread

summary: dating can be tricky and nanami has confirmed that fact tonight on his date. but as he gets home and sees his neighbor alone by the stairs, he gets the feeling he isn't the only one with a bad night.

notes: i have no notes other than you can tell when things started to flow for him in this one.

liked this? show it with a like, reblog, and/or comment. each is greatly appreciated and celebrated!

His date wasn’t going well. Not because his date was rude or not interested, but it didn’t feel like a date. Rather than feeling his cheeks hurt from how much he was smiling, Nanami felt he was just being polite rather than smitten. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions so quickly, he thought, maybe as the date went on things would fall into place to meet again.

But things never seem to fall just right. Conversation was bland and when it seemed like it would get better, the moment didn’t seem to last for longer than a few seconds whether because of an interruption or because that was the end of that thread. They couldn’t seem to find their pace, resulting in multiple occasions when they ended up interrupting each other mid-sentence, maybe her sneaking her phone down the table as if to escape the awkwardness of the situation, which only made it worse in his eyes. It was obvious to know that, despite the kind “we should do this again sometime”, they wouldn’t meet each other for a second date.

After walking his date to their car, Nanami sighs, running his fingers through his hair. This one wasn’t as lucky either. Neither was the last, and the one before that, and the one before that…when did dating become so complicated? Even with this many ways to meet other people, the universe didn’t seem to help him much with his cards. Again, it wasn't like the people he met were horrible, they were always polite and even lovely, but it didn’t seem to click with any of them. Nanami was beginning to think that maybe he was looking for a spark that didn’t exist for many people, that he was having too high of expectations and he had to lower them to his dismay.

For now, he just wanted to be alone, maybe have something to get rid of that sad taste in his mouth once he got home. The drive was nothing noteworthy, simply love songs playing on the radio no matter how much he tried to avoid them by changing stations, almost as if the universe decided that mocking him was much more fun than helping him in his predicament. But eventually he gets home, but he also sees you. His neighbor was all dressed up and sitting by the entrance of the building with your phone in your hand.

Of course he knew you, but he had to admit he had to double check to confirm it was you. He just never caught you looking so…elegant like this, you were always rushing out of the building and coming back so exhausted from work that you always kept your appearance simple to make it easier to maintain. Not tonight. Tonight it was obvious that you took the time to impress someone: flowery dress with heels, blush and glossy lips, string earrings that match your necklace, along with a small purse that kept you company on the side. Another thing that was different was your face, not because of the make up but because of your expression. Rather than the bright and confident look that you always wore, you were looking down with a soured expression, letting out a frown as you put your phone down and buried your face in your hands.

While Nanami did know you, it wasn’t anything beyond neighbors. Hello and good evening accompanied by small talk for the sake of being polite, nothing more. But it wasn’t like he could just walk past you when you were obviously distressed. It might not be his place as a guy that happened to live in the same building as you, but he couldn’t ignore that you were alone outside and all dressed up. His mind made two and two together and decided to walk up ahead to you.

“Seems like I’m not the only one ending the night on a bad note.” Nanami said, trying to sound as casual as possible. He didn’t want to seem as if all he wanted was to downplay what you were going through.

You run your hands up through your hair, looking up at Nanami before you. Just like you, he was dressed quite elegantly, his blazer hanging around his arm and revealing the rest of his white shirt and black vest. He always dressed quite professional, being a businessman and all, as well as always looking quite stressed. Tonight though, he seemed let down, just like you did.

“You’re a man, right?” You asked, sounding gloomy. Before he could express his confusion to the question, you continued with, “explain to me why a guy would cancel a date five minutes before it.”

So it was as he thought, he got much luckier than you by not getting stood up by his date like you were. Offering a sympathetic chuckle, he sits down one the stairs with you. Not by your side but on the opposite side of the stairs to you. It was one thing for a date to not work like this, but it was another one to get canceled at the last minute, practically to be denied the chance to know whether or not it would lead to something more. It was a quite immature move to cancel so quickly and out of nowhere, especially when it seemed like you really put a lot of consideration into tonight if you looked like that.

“Do you want a polite answer or my answer?” He asks, bringing his hands together as he rests his elbows on his legs.

“Whichever is more real.” You mumbled.

Nanami sighs, looking up at the night sky as he searches for an answer. He didn’t want to make you feel worse, especially considering that your date’s actions are nowhere near your responsibility, but he knew how it could be so easy to beat yourself up over it if you looked distressed over it.

“Maybe he got cold feet at the last minute, realized that dating isn’t his thing or found someone else. Regardless, if he canceled minutes before your date, they are not worth your time if they disrespect you so quickly.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around your legs and resting your head on your knees, looking straight ahead. Nanami could only hope that his words weren’t too harsh on you, so he decides to add onto his answer to soften whatever blow he might have landed.

“Besides, a man doesn't cancel a date so close to it. Maybe you got lucky avoiding such an immature guy just now.”

You chuckled, the corner of your lips lifting for a second in appreciation. You turn to look at him, your back resting against the stairs rail with a sigh.

“I know it has nothing to do with me or that I did something wrong, it’s just that I was excited for tonight. You know, that giddiness that comes on a date, getting to know each other, and…just hoping for more…”

As your words trail off, the two of you sit in silence, letting those feelings of disappointment come back up for Nanami. Those experiences you described were the ones he felt he was left out of tonight, instead getting brushed to the side at times by getting interrupted or his date focusing on something else other than their date together, as well as hoping for the date to either end or get better rather than wishing more of it. Of course, you probably felt the same as him, deprived of what so many people call the purpose of life. What a joke, he thought. If the purpose of life was to find someone you loved, then why was it so hard for some over others.

It felt weird for this to be his first conversation with you outside of small talk and other neighborly matters, but at the same time there was this odd comfort in knowing he wasn’t the only one feeling robbed of some romance for tonight, someone to share his misery with, even if you two were yet to know each other better.

“Being on the date isn’t easier either,” Nanami broke the silence with a light scoff.

You raise your brow at him, taking a good look up and down before asking, “Is that why you're all dressed up? I mean, you’re always looking very fancy and elegant. It’s just that tonight you looked like you were headed to somewhere nice.”

He chuckled, surprised at the subtle compliment, he doesn't comet much about it. “I did. It just wasn’t the date I was hoping for.”

You softened, your brows pinching together as your shoulders relaxed. “Was it that bad?”

“It wasn’t bad. She didn't do anything outrageous, but it was just uncomfortable. Not because of first date nerves, but because we didn't really click.” Nanami explained, shrugging his shoulders to show that it wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t that things didn’t work out on this particular date that bothered him anyways, it was that things weren't working out for quite some time and it was growing frustrating for him.

You nodded, taking in his words as well as his frustration. It was a different kind of frustration to yours at the moment, but it was the same feeling. You two were still looking for that romance that simply didn’t seem to come to either of you just yet, no matter how hard you tried to find it.

“Seems like dating is hard for the both of us.” You chuckled, resting your head against the railing. “It’s too tricky. Maybe we should start a support group for the romantically challenged."

Nanami chuckles, no, he laughs. It was enough to lift up his spirits after bringing them down. He shrugs, looking at you with a sympathetic smile, “That would mean we would have to find other people to join in.”

“I think people would be embarrassed to even join. You know, between dating apps and all, they would feel like there’s no excuse to complain about being single.”

“Then it can be just the two of us. It seems like we understand each other right now.”

You smile, making Nanami’s mood improve when he sees that smile that you always wear. That smile simply pulls your look together, brighter than the jewelry you’re wearing and softer than the dress around your body. It was strange. He just came out of a nice restaurant, the kind that has a nice dinner with dim lights, and he was having much more fun at the stairs of his building with his neighbor. One moment frustrated that his date didn’t click and the next feeling his lips curl up because of your smile, a smile that was because of him.

It took a second for him to realize that he was smiling much more sincerely before you than he did before his date tonight, a smile that not only reached his cheeks but also his eyes. That his chest was warming up with that feeling he has been seeking for longer than just this evening. That things were clicking.

After a few seconds of silence, he speaks up, his voice softer and tender, “I should’ve said this before, but you look really pretty tonight.”

Your smile softens as your head tilts downwards to look down at your clothes, as if you had forgotten that you had gotten ready for tonight, before looking back up to him, “oh, thank you…you look very nice yourself. Well, you always do, considering that this…” you signal to his clothes up and down with your hand, “...is what you wear on a daily basis. It’s a really good look on you.”

He chuckles, looking downwards for a second as he thinks on what to respond before he realizes he has a blazer on his lap. He looks up at the sky, the moon high on the night with the stars shining all around it, making him remember your smile and the earrings that frame your face nicely. He thinks that sight of you looks just as beautiful as the sky right now…

“Thank you. I wasn’t saying it to be nice though. I meant it and it’s a shame that they canceled and missed out on such a lovely person.” He reaffirms, scooting a bit closer to you.

You hummed, not scooting away from him or pushing him away. In fact, it seemed like your eyes couldn’t drift away from him. Whether it was the moon shining on them or something else, there was a shine to them now. He liked it. He really really liked it.

“Say,” Nanami clears his throat, swallowing his nerves as he looks at you with a hint of shyness now that he realized how much of a reaction he was having at the moment, “since we’re both so dressed up, what if we go out for a drink? To end the night on a better note.”

You chuckled, nodding at his proposal as you extended your hand for him to grab. “Thought you never ask.” You say playfully, your smile reaching your eyes as they squinted slightly.

Nanami chuckles as well, getting up from the stairs and standing in front of you to take your hand. As he lifts you up the stairs, he wraps his blazer around you, meeting a soft “oh” from your lips. When you try to take it off, insisting that he doesn't need to, he shakes his head.

“Please, it’s already late out here and cold. At least until we reach my car.” He insists, tilting his head down towards you to meet your eyes.

You keep your hands on his blazer, pulling it closer to you by the edges of it as you thank him. It was a nice feeling, maybe this is what he meant earlier when he called the guy that stood you up as immature because here he was as his contrast. Nanami wasn’t even your date until a few seconds ago and he was already making you feel all those butterflies in your stomach, that giddiness, that excitement of getting to know him…maybe this was what it meant to go out with a man that knew the kind of relationship he wanted. Secure and upfront, but also tender and considerate.

Opening the door of the car for you, Nanami helps you into the seat and then walks around the car on his own, a genuine smile on his face as he drives off to a café you recommended just now. As he drove, those same love songs from earlier keep playing on the radio, making him thank the universe for letting things play out the way they were supposed to. Now, not only did he know you two would do this again soon, but he also got that spark he has been looking for with you.

[cavegirlpoems]

The Beast & The Church in 'Black Death Rising'

I'm writing a religious horror rpg, in which the End Of Days is in full swing in 15th century Europe. I figured it'd be worth it to talk about that game's religious perspective.

So I'm going to do something inadvisable, and talk about religion from a christian perspective. (religious/setting design ramblings under the cut)

Some context. I'm a quaker; for those less invested in minor christian dissenter sects, I'll give a brief summary. Quakers are a sect going back to the 17th century, with a strong focus on egaletarianism and individual conscience. No clergy or heirarchy, no formalised doctrines, and - historically and currently - a lot of focus on social justice issues. Honesty, equality, pacifism and simplicity as core value. So that's the overview.

This is, you will note, a stark contrast to a lot of what Christianity is currently, and has historically been. Which is to say, quite often on the side of the wealthy, the societally entrenched, and the oppressive.

I am also, as it happens, very openly and obviously queer. As you can imagine, this makes me really quite uncomfortable in a lot of 'christian spaces'.

So. Let's turn our attention to the Book of Revelations, as the various ideas in there are a lot of the game's inspiration. Revelations is written extremely abstractly, with dense metaphorical language rather than a direct accounting of events. There are, needless to say, a wide variety of ways to interpret the text, but I will focus on my own.

A key feature of Revelations is the subversion of religion; the idea of a false prophet turning religion away from its moral/spiritual purpose, and making it a tool for politics, leading to the rise of 'the beast' to power. It's made clear that as the beast seizes power, it goes on to use that power to persecute the outgroup (with whom the text's sympathies lie) and that a church controlled by and reverent of the beast becomes evil and totalitarian, leading to widespread suffering.

The parallels to the state of christianity in the modern day are, to my mind, quite apt. A wide faction - 'conservative christianity' to be polite about it, or christian nationalism to be more blunt - aligns itself with the oppresser over the oppressed, concerns itself with worldly wealth and power, and is actively and openly and inexorably tied to dangerous political forces. That mainstream christianity frequently acts in support of fascism is hard to miss.

There is a particular horror, I think, to seeing representations of one's faith hollowed out and distorted, emptied of their spiritual value and instead becoming a tool for evil. The perversion of what should be sacred has a huge potential for horror.

This is, after all, a particular horror one encounters in a regular basis in the real world. I mean, fuck, one simply needs to see Kenneth Copeland speak for 30 seconds to get a sense of something deeply, deeply wrong.

So, this is the horror the game seeks to capture and accentuate. The sense of what should be holy having been emptied out and used for evil. The twisting of faith to become a tool for fascism.

To this end, the game treats aspects of Revelations quite literally. The Beast is, in fact, the leader of a vast and horrible fascist empire that is the cause of misery on a vast scale. Key to this is the total cooption of the church. The 'pope' is a reanimated corpse issueing proclamations at the Beast's direction, and the church is an engine of propaganda and inquisition that serves to enforce the empire's orthodoxy and stoke hatred against the Empire's outgroups.

This is not to say that faith is absent, but those possessing true spiritual conviction (and with it, in some cases, the ability to perform miracles) are definitively outside the church; actual faith is the domain of religious dissenters and heretics. PC clerics are not members of the church, they're actively persecuted by that church for - essentially - their refusal to spiritually sell out.

(Also, critically, miracles are not the sole domain of christianity; the game treats Jewish and Muslim figures as equally capable of performing miracles, and grants relics associated with those religions equal potency to christian ones; what matters is spiritual conviction, not one's specific denomination).

Other aspects of The Beast's Empire followed from this. Inquisitors and paramilitary agents are common enemies, and the 'seven heads and ten horns' are taken to represent The Beasts inner circle of most powerful servants.

In particular, I've given the Beast's empire it's own form of magic, Defixion, with the name taken from old roman curse-tablets. Defixion is, essentially, the magic of spiritually selling out. In exchange for eroding the user's soul, they become bound to The Beast and his empire; this gives him incredible power over them, but also grants them power based on their position within the Empire's heirarchy. Importantly, it's totally, one-hundred-percent off limits to player characters; playing as the fascists simply exists outside the scope of the game. Instead, Defixion is an explanation for why the Empire's agents have scary monster stat-blocks.

The choice of what to make The Mark Of The Beast was surprisingly easy; it's a cross, the same one that is embraced by fascist groups such as Stormfront.

(This also ties in with the use of the inverted cross as a counter-cultural icon; it's historically been a symbol of humility before God, and in the modern age is associated with strongly anti-church sentiments. In a setting where the church has turned away from God and towards hateful political power, those two meanings can go hand in hand.)

In conclusion: "I know writers who use subtext, and they're all cowards."

[humanpurposes]

Hysteria

(1950s AU) A housewife reaches breaking point and seeks medical advice at her husband's request // Main Masterlist

Aemond x nameless female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, period typical sexism, dub-con,

Words: 5400

A/n: inspired by this ask on @lightningandfireinmybones 's blog, shout out to @b-vvitched for the prompt, I couldn't stop thinking about it :) Also available to read on AO3.

She reads over the gold painted letters on the door to make sure she has the right room.

Dr A. Targaryen

General Practitioner

She brings her hand up to the door, hesitating for a moment before she softly taps her knuckles against the wood, thrice.

She holds her breath, unsure if a moment passes or a minute.

His voice comes soft and distant from the other side. “Enter.”

The room is simply four white walls, a dark wood desk and cabinets and an examination table with black leather upholstery. The harsh afternoon sun and a slight breeze bleed in from the open windows, floating through thin, white curtains. It’s surprisingly serene but still plain and inoffensive.

Dr Targaryen– Aemond as he insists as he shakes her hand– has harsh blue eyes, the left framed by a long scar slicing down his face, a pointed nose, curved lips, a sharp jaw and pale blond hair, stylishly gelled like some movie star. Something about him is unsettling despite the small smile and the impeccable manners as he offers her a seat in the green leather chair on the other side of his desk.

She contracts her hand slightly once he lets go of her. His grip had been rather firm.

He opens a brown leather notebook and flicks through a clipboard on the desk, frowning and tapping a pen against it as he goes over some paperwork and basic information she had given the nurse, as instructed.

She holds her hands together in her lap and winces at how damp her palms are. She’s sure it’s just the weather, and smooths them over her pale blue, rayon skirt. She checks her nails while she’s at it too. She had painted them red the night before, but they are already starting to chip from where she’d started her day with washing the dishes and doing a deep clean of the kitchen.

“You said your husband recommended you seek medical advice, is that right?” he asks, his head tilted down and his eyes meeting hers, expecting a prompt answer, she realises.

She swallows through the scratchy feeling in her throat, wishing she had accepted the receptionist’s offer of water. “Yes, that’s right.”

His eyes move over the page again and he gives a cryptic “hmm.”

The specifics often change but lately she’s realised that each day of her life feels the same. Wake up before her husband, make his coffee and his breakfast, make sure he wants for nothing and see him off to work. Help the mother-in-law with her shopping and her laundry. Bake a cake for the village fundraiser and drop it off at the the Church. Make polite conversation with the vicar and the other women helping out, compliment their babies, ask about the older children. Try not to cry when she’s bombarded with the dreaded question. “How soon can we expect little ones from you?”

Two weeks ago her husband had come home from work and found her on the sofa, staring into space, too tired to even reach for a book or a magazine. Everything had seemed to be going wrong for her that day, evidenced by the broken washing machine, the broken heel on her shoe, the cuts and blisters on her feet, the shopping left unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. She was absolutely exhausted, but when his dinner wasn't ready and waiting for him, her husband hit the roof.

Something snapped. Before she knew it, she was screaming, eyes hot and streaming with tears as she choked on her own sobs. She had never been so loud in her life. She can hardly even remember what she said.

Her husband’s voice screams inside her head. “Emotional… irrational… hysterical…”

“And you went to the nurse first?” Aemond asks. 

“Yes.”

He looks back at the notes. “What did she tell you?”

She shifts in her chair. It should all be right there in front of him, why does she have to say it?

She takes a deep breath, as subtly as she can. “She suggested it could be a hormonal imbalance, or a symptom of…”

Aemond raises a brow, expectantly.

She feels a warmth rushing to her cheeks “... monthly courses,” she says quietly.

“And have you had issues with those?” he asks.

“They can be irregular.”

He hums again and writes something in his notebook.

She clenches her fist around her skirt and notices the soft ticking of the clock on the wall over the desk. It’s not too obtrusive, and the rhythm gives her something to focus on while neither of them are speaking.

Aemond shifts back in his chair, crossing a leg over the other, absentmindedly pressing the lid of his pen to his lips like he’s trying to solve a crossword in the morning paper. “What exactly was your husband’s main concern?”

There comes a familiar feeling, an emptiness in her chest like her body might concave, and a swelling in her eyes. She bites down on her lip to dispel the urge to cry.

Everyone around her loves to comment on how happy she is, how blessed she is to have such a happy marriage and a loving husband.

“He says I’ve been too emotional.”

“Emotional in what way?”

She tells him about the outburst two weeks ago, expecting him to tut and shake his head and chide her for her behaviour. Instead he watches her and listens.

“He says he doesn’t know what else to do with me. He says he does everything he can to make me happy, but that it’ll never be enough for me,” she says.

“And does he make you happy?” he asks.

Her answer hitches in her throat. The obvious response would be of course. He does what any good husband does, works, brings home a salary, sweet talks her mother and smokes cigars with her father when they visit every other Sunday. 

Happiness seems to be an external factor, something people comment on and praise her. When other people say she is happy she wears it with pride, like a medal or a precious piece of jewellery.

She loves her husband, as well as any self respecting woman does. She reminds herself that’s the whole reason why she’s here.

At her silence Aemond smiles to himself and begins to write. She follows how his fingertips grip the pen and how the tendons in his hands flex.

“Wait!” she says, shuffling forward in her seat.

He pauses and looks at her like he did before, with his chin tilted down.

“No– I meant to say yes. Yes, he makes me happy.”

His eyes move around her face and briefly down, over the pearl charm hanging from her neck, her white blouse and her hands bunched in her blue skirt. She releases them when she realises he’s looking and rests them on the arms of the chair instead.

This feels like a test, one in which every word and gesture will be put to scrutiny, earning either a curious “hmm” or a scratching of the pen against the paper. She wonders which is worse.

“How long have you been married?” he asks.

“A year in July.”

“No children?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His question leaves a tight feeling in her chest and in her gut. 

Aemond sets the pen down on the desk without making a sound. “Sorry, I know these questions can be obtrusive. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but it would be useful to know what I’m working with.”

That’s an odd way to phrase it, she thinks.

“No it’s alright,” she says, her fingers moving anxiously over each other. “It’s not for lack of trying. We… try a few times a week. Usually on the weekends or when he’s not tired– he’s often tired after work.”

“And how is it?”

“Oh, um–” without thinking her hands move back into her lap and she starts to pick at the red nail polish. “He says there’s something wrong with me.”

Aemond tilts his head. “Wrong with you?”

She squeezes her thighs together at the familiar memory of her husband’s downright painful attempts to make love to her. He practically has to force his way inside of her and she can never stand it for more than a few thrusts before she pushes him off. 

He was understanding for the first few months, but she can tell it’s starting to irritate him now. She doesn’t understand why it doesn’t work, what she could possibly be doing wrong.

“Does he prepare you?” 

She looks up with a knitted brow. “Prepare me?”

He tuts and mutters something that sounds like “poor thing,” before scrawling another quick note. 

Then he stands, rolling up the sleeves of his white coat and the black shirt underneath. “I want to check a few things,” he says, cocking his head towards the examination table on the other side of the room.

She follows dutifully, propping her hands against the leather upholstery and pushing herself up to sit on it. Her black heels don’t reach the floor. She crosses them at the ankle and lets them swing a little. 

Once Aemond has washed his hands he approaches her. He’s tall, she realises as he stands before her. His hips are level with her knees and the edge of the table and while he’s not quite close enough to touch her, her legs twitch at the proximity.

She tries to avert her gaze from the somewhat intense expression in his eyes as he simply looks at her. Her eyes don’t stop moving, looking past his shoulder or down at her sides, but there’s not anything interesting to look at.

She focuses on the steady ticking of the clock, counting ten long seconds before she realises she’s holding her breath.

When she finally releases she finds herself focusing instead on the gentle sounds of Aemond’s breath through his nose, the smell of his hair gel, musky aftershave and the lingering scent of smoke. 

Warm fingertips brush against her jaw as he brings her to look at him. She can feel the slight roughness of the pads of his fingers, but he’s gentle when he touches her, almost cautious. 

He leans in a little closer until he’s touching her knees. She doesn’t let herself react but her heart is drumming furiously, more so when his thumb strokes over her cheek. He moves back and forth, grazing the corner of her mouth, before he swipes it over her lower lip. 

She relaxes her mouth as he presses and tugs on the soft flesh. It’s somehow both terrifying and oddly reassuring.

And then he settles, pressing both of her lips into a slight pout while his fingertips rest against her jaw and the top of her neck.

“Open your mouth for me,” he says.

She stares back at him with wide eyes. Had she heard that correctly?

The corners of his mouth curl politely, waiting for her compliance.

So she does as he asks.

With his fingers holding her chin, Aemond inches his thumb into her mouth, settling on her tongue. His skin tastes clean and faintly medicinal from the amber soap.

“You can close your mouth,” he says.

She keeps her eyes on his as she closes her lips around him, careful not to touch him with her teeth.

He hums again, low and contentedly. “Good girl.”

She shudders at the sudden weightlessness in her belly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She gives him a small nod.

"Good," he utters, "just breathe."

She loses count of the seconds on the clock as he simply settles inside of her. She does as he says, breathing deeply through her nose, looking up at him through her eyelashes, trying to read if he's pleased or not.

When he starts to withdraw and she instinctively drags her tongue along his thumb. She looks down at his hand, the imprint of her mauve lipstick on his skin, the glistening digit and the small line of spit that trails from her mouth, which he wipes away with his fingers.

“How did that feel?” he asks.

She thinks for a moment. “Good.”

He glances down and her eyes follow, to the fabric of her skirt. When she stands it falls to her shin, but seated, the hem rides up to just below her knees. He places a wide hand on her left knee, their skin separated only by a thin layer of nylon stockings.

“These outbursts of yours,” he mutters, “are they a regular occurrence?”

“Not really,” she says.

“What do you think caused it?”

She presses her teeth together and looks away from him to think. “Lots of things I suppose. It all piles up.”

“How did it feel, to shout at your husband?”

She huffs a laugh at the instinct that appears in her head, it’s not something she should ever admit, but there’s something about Aemond’s eyes and the feeling of his hands that make her want to tell him the truth,

“I liked it, I was just so…” she shakes her head looking for the right word, but she supposes there’s a simpler explanation. “I was so angry, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“What were you angry at?” Aemond asks, his thumb starting to stroke against her thigh. 

Would it be too much to list every aspect of her life that irritates her?

She hates a lot of things. She hates tidying the house just for it to get messy again. She hates it when her new shoes dig into her skin and make her bleed. She hates that she seems incapable of interacting with another person without suffering their scrutiny. She hates it when people tell her that her life is perfect.

Everything races around in her head, screaming and shouting at her until the noise becomes silent, just a throbbing pain in her head.

“Just… everything,” she groans, rubbing her fingertips against her temple. “I don’t understand it, everyone says our life together is so perfect, but I don’t feel perfect.”

His hand moves away from her and she looks up at the absence.

Aemond takes a slow breath. “Are you familiar with hysteria?”

Her heart sinks and he seems to see it in her face.

He purses his lips for a moment before he explains, “it’s essentially an excess of ill-managed emotions. It can lead to irrational behaviour and quite severe distress.”

She’s heard of the condition before, sparse stories here and there of men who had no choice but to seek proper treatment for their wives when they are too emotional… irrational… hysterical.

She’s not like those women, surely, and her husband knows that, right?

“Is that what's wrong with me?” she asks.

His mouth quirks. “Quite possibly.”

“But I’ve heard of women with this condition before. I’ve heard what their husbands do to them, I—” she can feel her eyes beginning to well with hot, stinging tears. “That’s not going to happen to me, is it?”

She hangs her head, dread pooling in her belly, until his hands cup the sides of her face. Aemond brings her gaze up into his eyes.

“Don’t send me away,” she whispers, blinking the tears from her eyes so they roll down her cheeks. “Please, there must be something you can do–”

“There there, pet,” he says, tracing his thumbs along her teartracks, “everything is going to be alright, hmm? We can sort you out.”

She nods at his reassurance and the feeling of his hands against her skin. It must be entirely improper to be so close to another man, even more so when she starts to realise just how much she likes it, a sweet sort of unease. Perhaps that’s just his nature, perhaps he’s just good at this part of his job.

For a moment he presses his lips together in a strange way, like he’s holding something back. “There is one treatment I’m keen to suggest,” he says.

“What treatment?” she asks.

He tilts his head slightly. “Hysteria is an instability of emotion. You need a release.”

“Like when I shouted at my husband?”

He smiles at that. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

She nods.

“We can undergo controlled releases,” he says, “you’ll be much happier for it.”

She takes a sharp breath when one of his hands moves down from her cheek to rest casually at her waist.

“I can start the treatment today, if you’d like?”

His face is close to hers now, She feels every flutter of his breath, the heat of his body separated by inches of empty space.

“Yes please,” she says quietly, like she might disturb the peacefulness in the room if she speaks any louder. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Don’t worry, pet, we’ve still got plenty of time left,” he says, stepping away. “Take your skirt off, and lie back.”

Suddenly her skin feels tight. “My skirt?”

“If you don’t mind?” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards his desk. “It just makes things a little easier, maybe the blouse too.”

She hops down from the table, heels clicking against the floor.  While Aemond’s pen scratches against paper, she turns her back and starts to pick at the buttons on the top of her blouse. She pulls it over her head and folds it, setting it down on the table, where her head will go. Then she pulls down the zip on her skirt and lets it fall around her. For the slightly mortifying prospect of standing there in her stockings and undergarments, the breeze from the window washes over the bare skin of her arms and torso. It’s quite nice, a welcome relief.

She waits with her heels close together and her hands clasped in front of her. Aemond has his back to her and she watches the way the sunlight catches in the silvery streaks of his hair. He tears a sheet from the pad of prescription papers and leaves it on his desk before he moves to the sink to wash his hands. It’s methodical, like before, well rehearsed and memorised for efficiency. Does he even have to think about what he’s doing, she wonders?

Once his hands are dried he reaches into a drawer under his desk. He keeps his eyes on the small object in his hands as he walks towards her.

She straightens her back and puts her hands on the table behind her, testing her weight so she can shuffle on top of it. 

Aemond looks up and she pauses.

His eyes dart up and down her body. “Shoes and stockings off too.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks but she complies, reaching down to undo the small buckles on each shoe. Once they’re under the table she stands straight and curls her thumbs around her stockings.

She looks up to Aemond. He gives her a small nod.

She starts to pull the thin material down her legs, so thin it should hardly make a difference. She shivers as the breeze meets a new part of her body. She straightens again, dutifully awaiting her next instruction. 

The corners of Aemond’s mouth curl. “Perfect,” he mutters. 

He steps closer to her, until she can make out the object in his hands. It’s a coppery colour, gleaming like metal, and no smaller than a tube of lipstick. He slips it into his coat pocket.

She follows Aemond’s hand as he reaches out and runs a slender finger under the strap of her brassiere. “I think we’ll keep this on,” he says.

She nods, though she doesn’t really know why.

A hum sounds in his throat and his eyes look over her face. “Lie back.”

She does as he says and fiddles with her hands, unsure of where to put them until she decides to keep them by her sides. Anticipation sets her nerves alight. She listens to every breath, each taunting footstep as Aemond comes to stand at the foot of the bed.

He moves slowly so as not to agitate her, but her whole body tenses when his hands clasp around her ankles. It’s obvious he’s trying to be gentle, but even when softly spoken his voice leaves a restless feeling in her gut. “Shh, try to relax, and just let me…” he lifts her legs up along her body until her knees are by her hips. His hands go to her thighs next and she lets out a short whimper of surprise when he pulls her closer to him.

“There we go,” he muses to himself, one hand on her thigh while he gently rests the other on her navel, over the hem of her panties.

Her hands are restless, fists clenching and nails digging into her palms.

Aemond looks down at her with a hint of concern. “You can tell me if you want to stop, at any point.”

“No it’s alright,” she breathes, suppressing the urge to arch her back.

His brows raise as he looks down, grazing his fingertips over her skin. Each movement has her breath hitching or her body squirming, no matter how hard she tries to relax, just as he’d instructed.

He brings both hands to her knees, closing them together before he reaches for her panties and slides them from her legs. She doesn’t see where he drops them. Her hands come into fists again as he gradually spreads her legs. 

She’s not sure what to expect or how this is supposed to help her control her emotions, but she tries to concentrate on staying still, keeping whatever dignity she has left.

“Look at that,” Aemond hums, circling his thumbs against her inner thighs, “you’re already getting wet.”

She can feel it, the warmth pooling between her legs. No one has ever told her it’s bad, but it’s one of those things she wonders if she should be ashamed of. She tries to shift but there’s nowhere for her body to go, nowhere she can hide from him.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “it’s not bad, is it?”

Aemond frowns. “You mean you don’t…” he trails off as his face melts into an amused sort of sympathy, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Bad news for your husband maybe. It means you’re aroused.”

Aroused. She repeats the word to herself a few times. 

Surely it is a bad thing to find herself in such a state, only she finds herself turning her attention to Aemond. Her gaze trails shamelessly over the veins and tendons of his hands and forearms as he kneads at her thighs, the curve of his upper lip and the tip of his tongue swiping between his teeth. If only she could read his mind, figure out what he’s thinking behind those pretty blue eyes, what hypothesis he’s playing around with inside his head. 

And then he reaches into his pocket. She lifts her head to try and get a better look. The coppery object looks more like an oversized bullet, with a slightly pointed head and a black button at its base. When Aemond presses the button it starts to hum. Even the noise of it sparks a reaction from her. She feels something strange, like a shockwave flashing through her body.

“Relax,” Aemond says, bringing his other hand to her hip. “I don’t want to have to tie you down.”

“No,” she utters, “sorry.” She lets her head fall against the upholstery and stares up at the ceiling, determined not to react.

Until something presses to her centre, humming against her. Pleasure pulses through her, unfamiliar but hot and bright. Her eyes snap shut and her hips try to buck but Aemond’s hand holds her down. 

“How does it feel?” he says.

Her first attempt to speak comes out as a broken whimper. “Good,” she manages, stilling her hips from trying to rock against the bullet. “Fuck…”

Something inside of her feels tight, tensing and tensing until she’s sure she can’t take any more. But he keeps it against her, making small, rhythmic movements through her folds, edging her closer to that rising feeling only to relieve her of it.

Her nails start to drag along the leather, clawing at it for purchase. She tries to stay still, to keep her hips steady but something has to give. She turns her head to the side, whimpering and groaning into her shoulder.

“There you go,” Aemond hums, as he finds a truly torturous pattern, slowly swiping upwards from her entrance to the sweet spot of her pearl, only to start over. 

“Please,” she whimpers as he tears her away from that feeling again. Blissful tears blur her vision and she feels utterly weightless. “I can’t stand it…”

He lingers the bullet just below her pearl. She’s so close to something. She can feel it. 

“Do you want to stop?” Aemond asks.

“No!” she cries.

He starts to move in small circles now and her body feels like it’s burning. “Just take it,” he says, “you can take it, just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

“Yes… yes…” she utters like a dreamy chant. 

The button clicks and the vibrations increase. She hardly registers the wanton noises she makes, but she’s all too aware of wet sounds of her arousal and Aemond’s short hums when her hips start to buck again.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Aemond says. “Come on, pet, you can do it, you’re almost there…”

She feels the hum of her throat as she groans his name and suddenly the tight feeling snaps. Her whole body releases, just as Aemond promised, and she feels herself come undone. He guides her through it, the bullet whirring against her and his hand steady on her hip.

When he finally withdraws, her limbs don’t feel like her own. She listens to her own breath and feels the rise and fall of her chest as she wills herself into a state of awareness. She props herself onto her elbows and her eyes meet Aemond’s.

He smirks, and looks down again, gently drawing a thumb through her folds. 

Her back arches and her breath hitches, though not as intensely as before. She can feel how slick she is now, how easily he moves against her. She eases under his touch and just lets it feel good.

“You did so well,” he says, “fuck, the way your cunt twitches when you come…”

She gazes at him with a bewildered kind of awe, at his parted lips, the golden glow of sunlight trailing down his jaw and his neck, and now the dark, almost hungry look in his eyes. She can already feel the desire rising again, the wanting for more.

“There’s something else I want to try,” he says. His thumb slips further down, teasing her entrance. “If you’ll let me?”

She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and nods.

“Good girl,” he hums.

That alone has her trying to roll her hips against him, but then he’s gone. She wants to groan in protest but keeps her mouth shut as she watches him remove his white coat and black shirt, both of which he drapes over his chair. For his seemingly slender frame, he’s surprisingly muscular. 

With his back still turned to her she watches his hands move to his trousers. She hears the clinking of his belt buckle and the sound of his fly coming undone. He reaches back into the same drawer, tears something between his teeth and discards a small, white packet on the desk. 

As he comes to stand before her once more she can’t help the small smile that graces her lips, unashamedly appreciating the muscles of his torso, his pectorals and the lines of his abdominals, and his now freed cock, already hard, and certainly larger than her husband’s.

He stands before her once again, bringing her knees down so he can slot himself between her legs.

She can already feel herself twitching and her heart racing. 

He doesn’t waste much time on preamble. “You’re fucking soaked,” he mutters, lining the his cock to her entrance and taking a hold of her thigh, “be a shame to waste it.”

She expects it to hurt when he pushes inside of her, and for a moment it does. She feels the way he stretches her out with just the tip. He moves slowly, dragging in and out of her, each time pushing in a little more. She can take the pain, at least until it starts to melt away. After a few strokes it feels effortless.

Aemond lets out a sharp grunt as he comes close to bottoming out. “How does it feel?” he asks with a small amount of strain.

It’s a different kind of pleasure, it’s duller and deeper, less frantic but it still burns in the best way.

“Good,” she breathes.

Aemond’s hands take hold of her waist as he increases his pace, dragging her into him to match his thrusts.

The air feels hot and thick now, the ticking of the clock drowned out by laboured panting, breathless moans and the soft sounds of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he hisses, sinking his fingertips deeper into her flesh.

“I don’t suppose that’s a medical term?” she says with a dazed grin.

Aemond huffs a laugh but it seems to spur him on, his jaw slack and his brow furrowed in determination. 

She wraps her legs around his hips and reaches up for him, but all she manages is to graze her fingertips over his torso. He snatches her wrists, leaning over to pin them on either side of her head as he brutally starts to snap her hips into hers. Like this he fucks her deeper and harder against the leather.

She feels her release building slowly, his cock brushing against a spot that has her eyes watering again.

“Going to come for me?” Aemond grits out, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I want to,” she whimpers, arching her back to get closer to him, “fuck–”

He releases one of her wrists and slips his hand between them, circling her pearl with the pads of his fingers. 

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear. “You’re squeezing me so good,” he whispers harshly, “nearly there, nearly there sweetheart…”

Her legs start to shake as her pleasure peaks and her climax washes over her. Every part of her body tenses and moulds itself into him. Aemond doesn’t relent, he keeps fucking her until she’s whining and squirming, until finally he lets out a guttural groan into her neck. His hips still and she feels him throbbing inside of her, spilling himself into the condom.

For a moment she’s content to lie there, no matter how uncomfortable the surface of the bed is. She likes Aemond’s weight on top of her, his breath on her neck, the scent of him, the sweat from his brow against her skin. But they don’t stay like that for long. He pulls away from her and makes quick work of disposing of the condom and tucking himself back into his trousers.

“Nothing wrong in that regard,” he says, reaching for her hand to help her sit up. “If you’re having trouble it’s the fault of your husband. He needs to prepare you before he tries to fuck you.”

She flicks her hair from her neck to relieve some of the heat. “Oh, right.” She can feel herself trembling, but she feels light, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. 

“How are you feeling now?” he asks, placing a reassuring hold to her arm.

“Good,” she says.

Aemond carefully helps her back into her panties, stockings, shoes, blouse and skirt. He rights her necklace, wipes the dried tears from her cheeks, drags his thumb around her mouth where her lipstick has smudged and helps her down from the bed, keeping a firm hand on her until she nods to let him know she’s alright. 

He tears off a prescription paper and hands it to her. She quickly skims over it. He’s not prescribed any medication or recommended a lobotomy, thank God. 

“Contraction therapy?” she reads, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“I want to see you twice weekly,” he says, buttoning up his shirt. “Maybe we can go for three times a week, if you feel it would be beneficial.”

She tries her best to hide her smile. “Well I’m sure you know best, doctor.”

General Taglist (comment if you wanna be added): @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

[pigeonpeach]

I’ve Loved You From the Start

Chiori x oni fem reader

Cw: nudity, Fem reader, reader is big bodied. Pinning, fluff with some suggestive themes

“You don’t like it?” You said surprised. The kimono your friend had seemingly slaved over was truly magnificent to you. The beautiful patterns matched well with your horns. It covered every inch of skin yet allowed you full mobility. It was a boost of confidence to you, for your size was rarely provided in stores. Your weight was healthy for your kind, but humans still regarded you as obese even if the weight was mostly muscles. You were actually considered “underweight” by your oni parents who worried you were too skinny whenever you would visit. Truth be told you had to lose weight if you didn’t want to go out practically nude like Itto did.

“It conceals too much to me… most women don’t even conceal their ankles anymore much less everything below the neck.” She eyed you with a stern expression you couldn’t crack. But knowing her you figured she was up to something. Chiori hardly ever hates her creations. Old ones she views as learning experiences. You didn’t give her much creative freedom so that might be the reason.

“We-well I have to. Anything more revealing and I’d get those comments again.” You sighed.

“Oh please those folk are simply jealous. Your body is far more beautiful than any of those old crones were in their prime and they know it.” She said as she circled you like a shark. She lifted your hands and examined every inch until she just eyed your chest. Which protruded so.

“Well they weren’t all old people but I just can’t find anything my size there at all. I needed something like this but the price to have something customized is more than for other… normal bodies…”

“Nonsense. I won’t charge you a dime. If anything this is good for business. It shows I’m capable of branching out from the societal expectation. That my clothes aren’t simply for one body type but all who come in. And besides, you are far more eyecatching than any other model.” She spoke casually. You tensed a little but relaxed, a blush settled on your cheeks.

“You’re sure you don’t need anything? I could do a favor if you won’t accept my mora. I just can’t take this from you without giving something back.” You said politely. She paused, finally looking in your eyes.

“Are you busy today? I know you’re here on a trip but… I’d like to use you as inspiration for more possible projects.” She walked over to the curtains to draw them, placing s closed sign in the window and making sure not a single ray of sun would leak through.

“No actually. I was just going to go sightseeing in Fontaine. I hardly ever get to leave Inazuma so I made sure to have plenty of time before I return.” You eyed her suspiciously. She brought the paper screens to enclose the space, so even if someone walked in they wouldn’t see you two.

“Undress then.”

“E-excuse me?!”

“I’d like to see your body as bare as possible. I’m going to do some sketches for possible outfits.” She pulled out her sketchbook as she gathered some other utensils to draw with. You gulped. “You offered to pay me with a favor so this is the favor I ask of you. But if you’re uncomfortable I could find another way.”

“Uh… can I at least keep my panties on.” You asked. She sighed.

“If you must.”

Even though Chiori had been a good friend of yours in Inazuma, and had also brought you to the hot springs before, and had routinely seen you in your underwear, it was rather odd to stand posing while she scribbled. You felt incredibly nervous.

“Excellent. Turn around for me.” She instructed. You did so. “So obedient.” She whispered. You wondered if you misheard that. But either way you trusted Chiori. You knew she meant no harm, she wouldn’t do anything against your wishes.

“Um… might I ask what you’ll do with the sketches?” You asked.

“Make the one I find suits you most. I’ll admit its a shame you don’t prefer more feminine clothes.”

“Well I do its just I hardly get to wear them.” You explained. She seemed to light up at that clarification.

“Perfect, because that’s all i have been designing. Now if you’ll allow me I’d like to get a closer look.” She said.

“That’s fine with me.” Your approval seemed to evoke something as she circled you once more. You felt as though she’d bite or do something at any second. It felt invigorating. You had never felt sexy or desirable until you met Chiori. She treated you like you were the epitome of beauty itself. You did however deeply miss her In Inazuma. You felt safe walking with her down the streets. She had on many occasions left your hasslers speechless and sobbing on some occasions. She was known for her brutal honesty, even when faced with nobility. Its why you knew for certain she was honest in her intentions. And you knew that you would receive many outfits in the mail once you got home.

“Chiori… you’ve always been honest with your…um… sexual interest in me but I never knew exactly why?” You croaked as you struggled to maintain a facade of strength and endurance.

“Do you not realize that you’re almost what every lesbian would crave? A big beautiful wife, with a plumb chest and behind, thighs thick enough to crush, tall, strong, and oh so polite. You’re everything a femme could want. If only you would leave Inazuma. You know, a fellow fashion designer caught sight of my sketches of you from back then and she wanted to know if you would be her model.” Her voice never wavered in any sort of embarrassment. You however felt a shrill run up your spine.

“O-oh.. i didn’t realize you like women too.”

“How?!” She seemed baffled at that response. “Oh please no man could ever compare to even the most basic of women. The curves, the plumps, the lips-“

“No i just didn’t want to assume anything. I figured you might have been but i thought it was wrong to make assumptions.” You quickly clarified.

“Good. I’ve made my interest in you far too obvious. It truly is a shame you didn’t want to come to Fontaine with me then.” She sighed. “People here seem to like you. They don’t have the biases of those retirement aged folk in inazuma. They see you as a stranger but also a kind one. I heard you helped a beached boat the other day, those sailors boasted about how you did the work of five men in one push. I’ve even noticed how the former hydro archon eyes you when we passed her the other day.” You truly were baffled.

“I-i was too worried then that.. i’d slow you down. Please say you’re not playing up my reputation here. I do love fontaine but If I leave Inazuma I want to be certain its the right choice of place.” You looked her in the eye as she still eyed your chest. Her hand reaching up to gently play with it. She looked at you as you turned red.

“I assure you my intentions aren’t just to keep you here with me. I have missed you greatly while here. The letters I sent don’t convey that enough to me. But I swear on a oathe that you could sue me for, the majority of fontainians I have heard from have nothing but admiration or curiosity to you. And if they had anything else I wouldn’t hesitate to correct them.” You kneeled so her hand could reach your face and brush the hair behind your ear. Her face was closer to you now as you looked at her. “I swear on the very life of every citizen in every nation, I would protect and provide for you if you just moved here.”

Your faced turned red, a expression of embarrassment and flattery. “I didn’t realize your feelings were that deep.. I just thought you found me attractive.” You gulped. You had been a expert with pushing feelings down, you loved Chiori but you never wanted to weigh her down. You worried your heritage would ruin her reputation or chances in life. You loved her so much that you had been slightly envious of that special patrol lady who had seemed so close to her. But you kept it to yourself.

“I have long viewed you for more than your tits, the reason I look at them so much is simply because of our height difference. But your body is not the reason I know those stereotypes are wrong, that every liar who says you are something else is wrong. I have witnessed your facade crack to reveal someone who is strong in every sense. You may lift a log but you do so for the child who’s stuffed animal was underneath it. You stopped your own and first vacation to help a beached boat and regularly step in to safe those in trouble. Your scars aren’t from battle but from good deeds. Your heart is more golden and radiant than any ring or necklace. If you were a stone, you would be the most precious and sought after. I have loved you all this time and I am not ashamed of it in any regard.” She said bluntly. Instinctively you pulled her in for a kiss. She didn’t resist one bit but instead moved her hands to your waist that instant. A wave of relief and excitement rushed over you int that instant.

Afterawhile she pulled away. “Now let me show you the extent of my love to you, so you can understand just how beautiful you truly are to me.” Her eyes shone with a desire no longer hidden. You nodded as you laid on your back, your legs spreading slightly.

[nesiacha]

Thank you, Elisabeth Le Bas!

Thank you for these touching memoirs. Her modesty also moved me, as she is clearly one of those women behind the scenes who encouraged their revolutionary husbands, who would not have been as effective without them. She possesses an extraordinary strength of character and integrity that many men should have been inspired by instead of placing their individual interests first. The revolution could have been saved (no need to specify who I am targeting here). Although her memoirs may at first seem to portray a woman who simply supports those she loves, it is actually much deeper than that. She attended political debates with Charlotte Robespierre, showing that they were far more politically engaged than they appeared. By the way, I have a theory about Philippe Le Bas based on an excerpt from Elisabeth Le Bas:

"It was the day when Marat was borne in triumph to the Assembly that I saw my beloved Philippe Le Bas for the first time.

I found myself, that day, at the National Convention with Charlotte Robespierre. Le Bas came to greet her; he stayed with us for a long time and asked who I was. Charlotte told him that I was one of her elder brother’s host’s daughters. He asked her a few questions about my family; he asked Charlotte if we came to the Assembly often, and said that on a particular day there would be a rather interesting session. He urged her to come to it."

I haven’t found any evidence that Le Bas defended the rights of womens citizens (I hope I’m wrong because I really like him as a revolutionary, so feel free to correct me). Yet, I have no valid reason to doubt what he said to Charlotte Robespierre about encouraging these two women to attend a session of the Assembly. I get the impression that Le Bas was one of those men who valued women’s political opinions, had no problem with them attending political sessions, but didn’t see the point of them participating more actively in political life. I imagine he had no objections to discussing it privately with Elisabeth.

Philippe and Elisabeth Le Bas form such a touching couple (I almost applauded when they were finally able to marry), and I really liked that, together with Henriette Le Bas (another woman who is too unknown in the revolution, but fortunately Tumblr is here to bring them out of the shadows), she accompanied her husband and Saint-Just (she was one of the many women who accompanied the revolutionaries on their missions, like Charlotte Robespierre, Sophie Momoro, etc.).

I also really appreciated the relationship she had with Eleonore Duplay, where we also see the courage of her sister in adversity. Paradoxically, it’s in Elisabeth Le Bas’s memoirs that I began to appreciate Charlotte Robespierre. Charlotte Robespierre’s memoirs contain quite a few inaccuracies, as other Tumblr users have pointed out, and I thought to myself, it’s impossible, she’s way too “saintly,” I don’t believe it for a second (not to mention that she comes across as too apolitical, but I imagine those who helped write the memoirs didn’t want a thinking woman). Here, thanks to certain passages from Elisabeth and what we know from the Mathons, we have proof that she is certainly not a saint (no one is), but she’s not a heartless, toxic, or selfish woman as I’ve seen (not on Tumblr but on other forums, where they oddly bash Robespierre but blame Charlotte for disowning her brother; those who say these things are inconsistent, plus I’d like to see how they would have reacted if they had faced the same threat as Charlotte). She is a woman with touching qualities (like her kindness towards Elisabeth, her desire to accompany her brother on a mission, when she designated Mademoiselle Mathon as her heir, or that at the end of her life, she wanted to rehabilitate her brothers) but also with weaknesses (I would start with her completely inaccurate memoirs, I think the disagreement between Madame Duplay, Eleonore, and Charlotte involved shared faults, just like the dispute between Augustin and Charlotte, especially the letter Augustin wrote to Maximilien about Charlotte, etc.). Thanks to Elisabeth Le Bas’s memoirs, Charlotte Robespierre is neither a monster nor a too-perfect being, she is just a human being. By the way, I don’t blame her for disowning her family name and her brothers temporarily because the danger could have been real. She was a civilian who didn’t seek trouble, and in that respect, it was trouble (more precisely, the Thermidorians) that came to her. I also don’t blame her for asking Bonaparte for a pension and continuing to receive one under Louis XVIII because life for a single woman was very hard at that time. It took extraordinary strength of character to avoid doing all that, and not many people had it. Where I do criticize Charlotte Robespierre is for embellishing the reality concerning her in her memoirs.But it was very sad that she was not able to reconcile with her brothers especially Augustin before she died because none of them seem toxic to me. If France and the revolution had no longer been in danger, if they had survived, I think they would have reconciled, but I can't speak for them.

Returning to Elisabeth’s memoirs, I smiled when she idealized the revolutionaries she was close to, like the Robespierre brothers or Saint-Just, although after recognizing many of his qualities, she said he could sometimes be severe due to his great love for the country and the revolution. But it’s normal that she idealized them and defended them loyally because she was simply being loyal to the revolutionary struggles they were leading and in which she believed, even though it would have been good to see their flaws in her memoirs. Memoirs are always subjective, even from an honest person like Elisabeth Le Bas. Despite everything, she is attached to her country and is capable of making a judgment when she says in the excerpt, “Nevertheless, he needed to leave; Robespierre, who had great confidence in Le Bas because he knew his wise and prudent character well, had chosen him to accompany Saint-Just, whose burning love of the patrie sometimes led to too much severity, and who had a tendency to get carried away.” On the other hand, what troubles me about this statement is that normally, a person is not sent on a mission based on the will of just one other person; it usually requires the majority of votes within the CPS or the CSG (sometimes in the Convention). But we see that Elisabeth stays in the background yet makes a thoughtful political judgment to better safeguard the endangered French Revolution.

However, I didn’t like that Elisabeth constantly put herself down by describing herself as scatterbrained when everything indicated that she was not. I was saddened by the tragic fate of Philippe Le Bas, even though we all knew it was inevitable. At least they were able to say goodbye. At least he died before seeing the tragic outcome of the revolution. I found Madame Duplay’s death unfair. Poor Duplay family, who went through one tragedy after another but found the strength to bounce back. I admired Eleonore for helping Elisabeth during her most tragic moments in prison. I applauded when Elisabeth Le Bas showed astonishing courage in front of her adversaries from prison to her release. She never asked for anything and displayed extraordinary strength.

Even though I wouldn’t have blamed her for abandoning the revolution to survive with her son in such difficult times, she didn’t do it, whereas some “revolutionaries” greedy for their wallets destroyed the revolution, endangered France, and undermined the revolutionary people's efforts for social progress that had begun since 1789. The obligation of loyalty to the revolution that deputies like Fouché, Barras, or a general named Bonaparte should have respected was found in the daughter and wife of an authentic revolutionary (especially in the worst moments). Honor to her (and to the many men and women like Elisabeth) and shame on all those greedy ones (I must admit that my language is blunt and could be more nuanced if making a historical judgment, but I’m more in the realm of value judgment, so I feel I can allow myself some liberties, sorry for the fans of theses characters it's only my view).

On a more positive note, thank you, Elisabeth Le Bas, for fighting against this all-too-common black legend of the revolution through your memoirs.

Thank you for your journey as a fighter. If only the greedy deputies I mentioned earlier had a quarter of your integrity and courage and remembered that they were there to serve the people, as they are in their positions solely because of the people and thanks to them, the revolution would surely have lasted longer.

Thank you, Elisabeth, for all you did with so many others. May your life serve as an example and a source of strength for us.