#and his personality COMPLETELY SWITCHED and he sounded exactly like my abusive exes

[tittyinfinity]

Depression/PTSD recovery is wild because you could be doing greater than you've ever been in your life but then one small thing happens that reminds you of "that time" and suddenly all of the past emotions flood back into you and you feel like you're back to being the kid who's crying and shaking in the corner wondering if the people closest to you would be so much happier without you

[snifflesthemouse]

Harry’s the Problem. His wife is the symptom. He is the real Diana 2.0 Wannabe...

         Since the Oprah interview aired, my whole perspective regarding the spare and his spouse has shifted. It would seem that I’m not alone in my thought process as more and more media outlets start reporting similar stances. Just recently, there was an article suggesting Harry didn’t change; but rather, he is only finally revealing his true self. The more I think about it all, the more I’ve come to the realization #6 is the real culprit behind everything.

         I’m not saying that his wife doesn’t have her own agenda or shares responsibility for her part in all this. Her hands are far from clean. What I am saying is it’s finally time for all of us to consider the cold, hard truth. Harry is his mother’s child. Harry is the bad egg, and his wife is only a side effect of the real problem here.

         Had it not been for the Oprah interview, I would have never put it all together. The problem with oversharing is too much information gets put out in the public. Most assume PR firms would worry about oversaturation in the press, but the real problem comes from personal interviews they cannot control in real-time. Puff pieces can be edited before publishing so facts and statements align; live interviews cannot. Over time, one of two patterns form from this oversaturation. Consistencies, repetitions, and similarities can be found in oversaturated truth-telling. Inconsistencies, changes, and huge differences result from those like Harry who prefer their trousers scorching hot from bursting into flames from deception. When you consistently lie, the only constant is the inconsistencies. 

         Now, those of us who have been following these two already know by now inconsistencies and changing stories should be expected. But the Oprah interview really highlighted some interesting things I had previously missed. The interview with Dax Shephard only solidifies my theories. Up until lately, those two have been together through most everything. Very seldom have we seen Harry alone in an interview or speech. There’s never a time where the missus isn’t popping up. James Corden proved that. Then we have the Oprah interview where she was supposed to be the star of the show. But, that was the moment it all changed. That interview was the moment she became the understudy. 

          Think about it. Who is the one being used in the media lately? Most people would suggest that the impending delivery of child number dos is why the missus is absent. One would then argue the Apple + special with Oprah started production well before the second child was a topic for discussion. The missus is being used less and less on camera or in the media. Everything is all about Harry. Forget about when Harry met Sally; Harry Met Hollywood! 

         Harry is the one doing the interviews, dropping projects, and talking with big Hollywood names. Even their announced Netflix projects are focused on one of Harry’s pre-married concepts. All the wife has going for her is a book that’s only number one in the “Books written by ex-Royals who couldn’t hack it” category. Seriously though, as of this posting the Bench is #2130 on the Amazon Books list, #12 in Children’s Black and African American Story Books, #73 in Children’s Emotions Books, and #167 in Children’s Family Life Books. Being pregnant isn’t a disqualifier for being interviewed. But, apparently being just the wife is.

         So, if it was his wife’s plan from the beginning to marry Harry, get him to abandon his family, move to California, and become a big star with a Prince for a husband, her plans have been ruined. And if you think about what she said in the interview with Oprah, you can actually see the moments she told us all exactly that. She clearly tells Oprah Harry was her direct link and source to the Royal Family and everything she needed to know. She didn’t misspeak or misunderstand a thing; she was telling us that Harry’s next to be markled. In every weird answer or revelation where she gave her versions for why their child(ren) were without title, saying they wed three days before the chapel, or having to cry out to HR since Harry failed to help her while she was so depressed she wanted to kill herself and her unborn child... all of it. It was all just the beginning. It may seem like she is attacking her husband’s family, but Harry’s the real target now.

          In just a couple sentences, she managed to reveal who Harry really was. Harry, of all people, should (and does) know how to navigate the press. Clearly, he failed to not only help her acclimate to Royal life, but it could also even be argued he set her up for failure for the get go. Let me give you an example. When my husband introduced me to his family for the first time, he told me little tidbits of information he found important for me to know. He essentially prepped me for the meeting so things went well. He wanted his family to like me because he loved me. I wanted them to like me because I loved him, too. So, I took to heart everything he told me. Yet, Harry’s wife shared with the world how little Harry cared about that. She credits Fergie with teaching her to curtsey, google for teaching her the National Anthem, and even said Her Majesty made her feel especially welcomed. So how did Harry not do more? If they started seeing one another in the early Summer of 2016, how is it Harry failed to teach or explain anything to her prior to meeting his grandmother, the Queen, when he had months and months of time to do so? How is it he failed his wife so miserably, she didn’t even understand basic UK custom, laws, or protocols? Why might you ask?

         Simply put, Harry is so much like his mother, all he knows is how to play the victim narrative while using the link to the Royal family as a nonstop ATM machine. Many people aren’t honest with themselves when it comes to Diana. She wasn’t the Mother Theresa everyone makes her out to be. Mother Theresa wasn’t a Mother Theresa either, though. Did Diana do some great things? Absolutely. Did she do them only because they were nice or great? Absolutely… not. Diana’s PR team would even have her switch up her charity causes whenever they felt it was getting to martyrdom level. They’d refer to her PR stunts as flavors. Does that sound like an innocent woman?

         Not to me. This whole time we all have seen his wife as the root of all issues, but she’s the side effect. It’s becoming more clear by the day that Harry searched out her. He wanted someone with the basic Hollywood connections that he could capitalize. Someone that seemed so controlling and ambitious it would be easy to believe they were controlling him, too. Of course he knew she would invite all the celebs she did. He probably inspired that guest list. Instead of guiding her in the press and in British society, he leads her to slaughter. He hides behind her repeated gaffes and wokeness to keep on his own mission.

         You see, Harry is obsessed with his brother eventually becoming king, being the “Second Son of Diana” and being the misfit. He is obsessed with his brother and father. They are all he talks about. When you obsess on something like that, it is more revealing than anything you say. Harry’s true motives aren’t protecting his wife and children. His real motive is making a name for himself like his mother did. If he can manage to get some revenge by making the Firm feel some backlash, hey that’s a bonus. 

         While his wife may think in her mind she will be the next Diana 2.0, the truth is we all missed who really will be. Harry is the one wanting to be Diana 2.0. If that’s the case, then that means the much older spouse for whom there are two children with, aka the wife, would be his Charles. Remember, Diana lost her HRH and titles. And we have Harry being very aggressive and pushy, to the point it seems he is trying to get ahead of a Palace announcement of them losing their titles. But it makes sense now.

         They aren’t trying to lose anything, but instead Harry keeps opening his mouth to create pressure in the media. He knows his wife does not want to give those titles back. But if he himself keeps saying outrageous things, then it would put everyone in ultimatum mode. Either Harry will push hard enough that Parliament and the Queen will have enough, or the press will get so critical of the two, Harry will push his wife to agree to returning the titles.

         Harry is following the Diana business model. While in the Royal Family, they both were seen as rock stars who had more star power the the Sovereign, which was an issue. Then, they couldn’t take all the abuse, coldness, and inhumanity, so they bolted for freedom. Instead of putting the past behind them, they use the past to monetize grief and trauma in such a way, they become their own brand. Right now, the trauma being monetized comes from the past, but the problem will soon come when that trauma is tapped out. He will need a source of new pain or victimhood. Enters the wife stage left.

          The wife is a tool. She of course has her own plans and thinks she is the one in control or the genius. She thinks she is the one everyone wants to work with. But it’s becoming clear to her that isn’t the case and she’s been played by her elite buddies. They all want him, not her. They all duped her for him. If I can see it, and I can see her already finger pointing that Harry is the failure here, then she can see it. And that means paradise will soon be lost in those Montecito hills. His wife won’t go down without a serious fight here. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she eventually causes him to lose his special visa. 

         Overall, Harry hides behind his wife like a beard or shield protecting him from the press’s glaring lens. He lets her do and say whatever she thinks is great so he can keep plotting his own plans. He allows her to take the fall, look stupid, pull stunts people can see through, etc. for a reason. He isn’t completely sure he can make it in his new California life. He knows he can’t if he keeps her for too long, but he also knows he needs an exit strategy in case it blows up. So, he pins the press to attack her as the true culprit. If they split and he has to, he can return home and play the victim of her. If they split and he is doing okay in Hollywood, she can be the reason he plays victim to big named people like Oprah and Gayle. 

         I can see it now. An Oprah Special with Harry tonight on Apple +. Something cheesy or corny that is almost plagiarism. Like Narcissus and the Prince or something. Watch. Mark my words. Oprah talking to Harry about surviving the marriage while trying to rescue two small kids, being in the spotlight as a Royal while being gaslit by a narcissistic wife… yes I can see the green screen set up now.

         I know this is difficult to digest, but I do ask you to try. While his wife is not innocent, she clearly is guilty for her own part indeed, his wife isn’t the true problem. The true problem here is a man who has a serious issue with living in the shadow of his future-King father and future-King brother, and his future-King nephew, that he has chosen to use the same exact attack model his own mother used to merch and marginally disrupt the institution that made her a star. Harry and his mother both wanted the entire spotlight, but both knew they could never have it the way they wanted it. So, they wrote their own victimhood narrative.

         And here we are now. Mark my words. Harry will keep pushing until those remaining titles are removed by them forcing the hands of Parliament and the Queen. Or, they’ll push and push in the press so much the outrage and hypocrisy will leave them no other option but to renounce and re-gift those titles and rights to the line of succession. That is what he wants, even if his missus doesn’t. Also make no mistake about it. Harry is the real Diana 2.0 wannabe, not his wife. Keep an eye out. I have this gnawing feeling that soon enough, there will be plenty leaks from the wife about the husband. She won’t go quietly into the Beverly Hills… but neither will he.

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 3

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Eventual smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - more tension and also male and female masturbation

Author’s note: Chapter 3 wheyyy! I'm super sick at the minute, but nevertheless I hope my illness isn't reflected in this piece of writing. Yikes. I hope everyone is enjoying so far! Remember if you wanted to be added to my taglist feel free to let me know!

MASTERLIST | SUBMIT REQUESTS

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER THREE - NEXT 

The rain drops pelted heavy against your skin as the cool winter ambience sent a shiver down your spine. Once dismissed by Maxwell Lord, you practically raced out of the building. The contrast between the heat you felt in his presence and the December air was immeasurable. You took a big gasp of air, letting rain drops fall on your face and soak through your clothes. You stood there in the middle of the busy street trying to process what just happened.

You had been successful. Your elaborate plan had worked out and you had gotten the job. Only, it was unlike anything you had ever done before. Maxwell told you to expect a call sometime tomorrow and before you left, he made sure you were comfortable with the prospect of his job offer. First things first— tell Tristan the good news. Hopefully then, he would let you stay in your apartment a little while longer.

Before you could grab a ride from a cabbie, the doorman tapped you on the shoulder. "Ms Minerva?" His tone was completely different than earlier, more polite and friendly. "Ma'am? Mr Lord has requested his driver take you home. He didn't want you to get wet in the rain but," the doorman looked you up and down. "I see you're already drenched from this God foresaken rain. I’m Andreas, by the way."

Maxwell had asked his own, personal driver to take you home? You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach from his kind gesture, but you worried about the authenticity of it. How genuine was he? Maxwell Lord was someone who built up his reputation and business on lies and false hope.

"Oh really, that's quite alright," you dismissed the offer. "I can just get a cab."

Andreas put his hand out, halting you from walking away. "I'm afraid Mr Lord insists." He told you, taking out a sleek black umbrella and opening it up. He held it above you, protecting you from the rain.

"Could you tell Mr Lord that I'm grateful for his offer, but I can make my own way home?" You said through gritted teeth.

"I'm afraid not," Andreas said with a short shake of his head. "Whatever Mr Lord wants, Mr Lord gets."

So that's how it was going to be.

Before you could reply, a black limousine with tinted windows pulled up on the road in front of you. A few passer-bys on the street, hands full of their Christmas shopping, shot you a strange glance as you slipped into the car. Andreas shut the door behind you and suddenly you found yourself sitting in a car that probably had more worth than your entire life’s savings.

The seats were sleek and black leather, the floor was carpeted and you spotted a small ice cooler by your sofa seat. You carefully clicked it open and examined the insides. It was just various bottles of alcohol- mostly spirits. You couldn’t help but smile as you continued to explore the limousine.

Upon meeting him, Maxwell Lord was not what you expected, but now you had found the perfect opportunity to learn more about him. You spotted a velveteen box nailed to the floor so you opened it up and found a variety of odd things. It was like a rich man’s junk drawer. Everything from gold fountain pens, jewellery, condoms, multiple checkbooks were mixed inside this box. Nosily, you scurried through it all, taking out the occasional item and examining it closer. You couldn’t believe it. You had never met someone who was just able to leave such expensive items lying around in a random box inside their own limousine.

This whole experience felt like a fever dream.

The lights in the limousine were dimmed and so you searched around for a switch or button of some kind to brighten the interior of the car. Your fingers tapped into a switch and rainbow disco lights flickered on, illuminating the limousine multi-colour. It looked more like a party bus. You didn't even realise the driver had already got into the car and as he turned on the ignition and began to drive, you jolted and fell back at the sudden force, into the plush leather seat. You scrambled to belt yourself up and compose yourself.

"Ma'am, where will I be taking you?" the driver called from the front of the limousine, as he tried to navigate through the busy Christmas roads of DC. You yelled your address back to him and he made a brief sound of acknowledgement.

After a few moments of sitting in still silence, despite the rainbow disco lights beginning to give you a headache, you heard a buzzing noise. You scrambled around in your seat, looking for where the noise originated from, when you found a phone nailed to the wall of the limo. Maxwell Lord’s limo had its own carphone! Of course it did.

Your eyes widened when you realised it was ringing and you contemplated answering it. It could be anyone! It could be someone important or a business related matter. It could be private. Thoughts raced through your mind as the phone continued to buzz.

"Are you going to get that?" The driver called out again.

You took a deep breath and took the phone off the hook, nudging it between your ear and your neck. "H-hello?" you asked, your finger anxiously twirling in the wire connecting the phone and the dock.

"Apologies for calling so early on, I usually wait a few days before calling back my female suitors," you weren't sure if your heart rate eased or increased when you heard Maxwell's voice. His voice sounded easy-going, and you were sure you even heard him chuckle slightly at his own remark. "I trust you weren't made uncomfortable by Andreas insisting you got a ride home."

"I have to admit, Mr Lord, I don't usually get into cars with strangers." you huffed, squeezing your eyes tight shut.

"Smart," Maxwell replied quickly. "So why did you this time?" His voice was dark and had a lulling undertone. He sounded similar to when he saw you during the interview earlier on, and the memory made that familiar heat erupt once more in your stomach.

You struggled to find your words. "I- I uhm-" you weren't exactly sure why you had agreed to Andreas. You would've never agreed to such a proposition before. But this is what Maxwell Lord wanted. And you didn't dare want to disappoint Maxwell Lord. You didn't understand because you didn't even know the man— nor did you have any care about him whatsoever prior to your meeting today. But since you exchanged those words in his office, you had been feeling a certain kind of way. "I trust you." you admitted with a defeated sigh. It was true. You trusted a man you had barely even spent half-an-hour with. You trusted a man who built his business on lying to the people of the world.

On the other end of the line, Maxwell was smiling to himself. His feet were on his desk and he was nursing a glass of his favourite whiskey. He could never tell you, but he craved to hear your voice again. He was already thinking about the next time he could see you. He put the glass down on his desk and with his free hand, palmed at his hardening manhood.

"I'm glad," Maxwell replied smoothly. "Trust is going to be very important in our kind of arrangement." There was a beat. "Speaking of which, would you owe me the pleasure in accompanying me to dinner tomorrow night?"

"D-dinner?" you blurted out, feeling your cheeks heat up. Dinner with Maxwell Lord— this is not how you thought today would go. Sitting in a limousine and being asked out by the cover boy of Forbes magazine.

"I know a really nice restaurant by the river. Black-tie dress code type thing." His voice was like silk. It was getting hot in the limousine. You needed air. The thought of him taking you out for dinner at a restaurant, having a nice meal and enjoying his company felt like a dream. Then you were hit with the reality of your financial situation.

"Oh Mr Lord, I'm sure it's lovely but I don't think I can afford-"

"I think you're forgetting the terms of our arrangement darling," Maxwell snickered on the other end of the line. It was true— you had. For a moment you thought it would be a normal date. But this wasn't a relationship. He was right, it was an arrangement. "What I have, is yours. You are to want for nothing."

There was something romantic about his sentiment, you once again found yourself forgetting the true nature of his words. "Well then," you gulped."Dinner sounds great."

Maxwell's smile grew wider. "And then back to my place." his invitation sounded more like a command than a question, and the authority in his voice was enough to get your panties wet. You pursed your lips together to suppress a moan at the thought of going back to his house. You wondered what it would be like. Would your arrangement commence tomorrow night?

"I'd really like that." you let out a shaky exhale. Your hand dropped in between your legs and you slowly began to touch yourself through the thick material of your denim jeans. You ached to get home and take them off. There was something that felt so naughty about getting off in the car of a man you had just met. Especially when that man was Maxwell Lord.

Maxwell felt the same. He had intended to take you back to his place to go through a contract and discuss the specifics of your arrangement— but if the night led to something else, he certainly wouldn't be opposed. You were driving him wild; like no other woman had ever. He unzipped his pants and slipped his hand under his boxer shorts, slowly beginning to pump his length while holding the phone in the crook of his neck.

"You- you have something pretty to wear?" he asked, trying to remain as composed as possible.

"Maybe, maybe just my little black dress." you whispered in response, pressing your forehead against the cold window to try and release some tension.

Your description left much to the imagination, but Maxwell wasn't complaining. He wondered about the black dress: how short it was, exactly? How did it fit you? Did it accentuate his favourite parts of your body? Maxwell's eyes fluttered shut as he carried on stroking his length, a small grunt escaping his lips. It didn't go unnoticed by you.

"I'll have my driver pick you up tomorrow evening," Maxwell hummed. "6pm."

You couldn't even reply— he already put the phone down. Maxwell slouched back into his chair and worked at his already hard length. His thumb swept the precum that beaded at his tip and he continued pumping, wishing that the wetness around him was from your mouth as you devoured him.

He imagined your pretty lips suck him and his cock began to throb in his hands. He imagined having to push your hair out of the way so he could get a good look of your face whilst you took him in your mouth. He imagined your eyes wide and your cheeks hollowed as you fit him inside of you. He wanted to fuck your mouth, wanted to make you gag and have your saliva make a mess all over him.

Maxwell gasped as he spilt his seed all over his tailored suit pants. He kept his sensitive cock in his hand for a few moments after, feeling it soften. He wanted to soften inside of you. Already, he was enamoured by you. Desperate to feel your touch, your wetness. Desperate to hear your screams of pleasure.

When you got home, you had planned on seeing Tristan, alerting him of the good news. New job. Then maybe, he'd let you live in your apartment just a little bit longer until you could afford rent. You decided he could wait until tomorrow. Hurrying into your small flat you locked yourself in the bathroom and turned on the shower.

You discarded your clothes, letting them pool into a puddle on the floor. In your frenzy, you had forgotten to open a window, so the steam from the hot water warmed your skin and small beads of sweat drew along your collarbones and chest as you ran your hands over your body. You bit your lip, hard, remembering the image of Maxwell's hands in the office which you had so carefully ingrained into your head.

You thought about his thick hands squeezing your tits, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your nipples and pinching hard enough to make you squeal. You wondered how his touch felt. You imagined him rough, and ruthless, but since meeting him today, and the way he diverted all your expectations, you wondered if he would have any surprises up his sleeve for your time in the bedroom. You let your fingers gently trace the skin of your stomach, a feather light touch that tickled slightly. You closed your eyes, imagining the wealthy CEO stood behind you, arms wrapped around your naked body and planting sloppy wet kisses into the crook of your neck.

With complete certainty, neither you or Maxwell could stop thinking about each other. Maxwell wanted to call you over in the dead of night when he couldn't sleep. His body ached for you. He felt a neediness that he had never felt before. Of course he could just call one of his assistants. He paid them enough, they would be able to come over and satisfy him (to some extent), but the problem was, they weren't you.

You had done something to him, and now nobody else could even begin to compare to you. You consumed his every thought. Maxwell had once almost married a rival CEO. He was meant to be in love with her but… the feelings were not the same as this. The feelings he felt for you were far beyond lust, but he couldn't put his finger on what exactly they were. He cursed himself, feeling frustrated. This wasn't him. But he was completely and utterly whipped on you.

And you weren't much different. You swore you were in love with Tristan. You had been in an on and off relationship with him for two years but once again, the feelings you had for him were so different to the feelings you now possessed for Maxwell. It was indescribable. You wrecked your room, trying to find the perfect shoes and accessories to wear with your promised little black dress. You wanted to be perfect. You wanted to look perfect. And it was all for Maxwell.

He had you whipped, and you hated him for it.

You lived your life wanting to only impress yourself. You didn't think twice about the way men felt about you. It never mattered. But this was Maxwell Lord. Everything was just different.

So when your 'date' finally came around, you were both equally bursting with anticipation.

When you slid in the back of the limousine, Maxwell couldn't keep his eyes from you. His gaze was glued onto your amazing figure which he loved so much, and the way your little black dress clung to your body and accentuated all your perfections. Your little diamond earrings sparkled under the car's dim light and there was something so beautiful about the simplicity of it.

Truth be told, Maxwell Lord was nervous. He didn't date. He couldn't remember the last time he went on a proper date (he wasn't even sure if you classed this outing as a date). He wasn't one for relationships either. Hell, a woman could count herself lucky if she lasted a week with him. He liked the spontinuity of fucking different women, no strings attached. Throwing them away like garbage the second he got bored. He had the power to do that. It was just the way he was and he had no intentions of that changing.

Although, maybe his intentions were slowly changing and he hadn't yet realised. You offered him the kindest smile he had ever seen, your eyes glistening like jewels. And oh, he felt his cheeks warm up. He leaned over to the window on his side and pressed his face against it, the cool winter air calming his nerves. When your fingers graced the material of his tailored suit pants, just over his thigh, he swore his heart stopped.

"You look nice." you beamed at him, your heart blooming when he finally turned and his brown eyes met yours. You didn't expect Maxwell Lord to disappoint, in any sense, but especially not when it came to fashion. The power suit he was wearing was practically dripping in wealth, and you were almost certain every inch of him was wearing designer names from his suit jacket to his gold cufflinks in his shirt.

"So do you." Maxwell returned the compliment, gawking as he took in your exquisite form. You felt your cheeks heat up under his gaze and you awkwardly looked down at your match black heels, scraping them against the carpeted floor of the limousine. "That dress- I saw it in Louis Vuitton last year?" Maxwell pointed out and you looked down, reacquainting yourself with the outfit you had chosen to wear.

"This? Oh no no," you chuckled earnestly. "I got this from the thrift store for seven dollars like a month ago."

You regretted those words as soon as they left your lips. You did not just admit to Maxwell Lord that you had bought the dress he had been so enthralled in, from the moment you entered the limo, second hand. To your surprise, he gave you a toothy grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling in delight and that adorable little dimple appearing in his left cheek.

"We're here," he announced as the driver pulled up on the side of the road. You gazed out the window in awe. The whole street was lit up in gold Christmas fairy lights, and the restaurant that Maxwell had selected, was highlighted with tinsel and a huge Christmas tree in the front window.

"Wow," you couldn't help but whisper at the gorgeous view. You hadn't even realised Maxwell had already slipped out the car and opened your side door for you. He held his hand out for you, and of course you grabbed it. His hands were soft and warm… he definitely moisturized. He helped you out of the limo and shut the door behind you, sliding an arm around your waist as he guided you into the restaurant.

"Be careful not to slip on the black ice." he warned as he helped you slowly walk in your heels. Still hand in hand, you looked up at him with the biggest smile. You hadn't felt a happiness like this in a long time. He didn't look at you back, instead of focusing on successfully navigating inside the restaurant without falling over.

The restaurant was empty. Not a soul in sight. Your eyes snapped to Maxwell, waiting for him to give you an explanation. He caught on, offering you a small and understanding nod.

"I rented the restaurant out." He explained, raising an eyebrow as he examined his surroundings. Your gaze followed his as you took in the merrily strung Christmas lights and the beautifully decorated tree by the front bay window.

"Why would you do that?" You quizzed him.

"You never know who is sitting among us," he explained. "Journalists, paparazzi, crazed fans."

Ah, there it was. The part about Maxwell you had completely forgotten about. He was famous. Everyone in the world knew who he was and if you had known anything about Maxwell before meeting him, it was that the tabloids loved to pry into his personal life. So, you were somewhat understanding. But that didn't stop the devastating feeling of your heart sinking into your chest. He wanted to hide you. It made sense, I mean, you had only just met and you were only his sugar baby, but it still hurt. You done your best to ignore the strange feelings and told yourself you could still have a good night with him. But the thoughts didn't escape your mind.

You and Maxwell were ushered to a seat by a lit fireplace and passed menus by a beaming waiter. "Can I get you a drink while you decide on what to eat?" he asked with an enthusiastic smile.

"Just a bottle of your finest champagne with two glasses," Maxwell replied, not even looking at the waiter but flicking his wrist and gesturing for him to scurry away. The waiter left both of you in a frenzy, and you couldn't help but giggle. "Is something funny?" Maxwell prompted you, raising an eyebrow. You pursed your lips again but shook your head 'no'. Maxwell's eyes flicked back down to the menu and you burst into another fit of giggles. "Seriously, what is it?" Maxwell asked sternly and you straightened your posture, taking a deep breath and trying to compose yourself.

"That poor waiter looked so afraid of you." You admitted quietly. Maxwell shrugged his shoulders like it was no big deal.

"A lot of people are afraid of me."

"Why?" you beckoned, leaning closer to him.

Maxwell hesitated and put his menu down. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"A lot of people used to be afraid of my mother," Maxwell admitted. "I'm afraid I'm going to end up like her."

"Why were they afraid of your mother?" you questioned him, thanking the waiter as he promptly brought you the two glasses and bottle of ice cold champagne. You began to pour it out.

"She was so cold. Bitter… heartless…" Maxwell scowled, quickly taking a glass of champagne and downing it in one quick gulp. "I worry that, maybe, others perceive me in the same light as they perceive my mother."

"That they think you're cold, bitter and heartless?" you quizzed, and Maxwell winced at your words. He didn't reply, instead buried his gaze into the cream coloured table cloth.

You extended your arms and reached out, taking hold of his soft ring clad hands. Maxwell's breathing hitched under your touch. You noticed the way his hands were considerably larger than yours but even still, you rubbed comforting circles into his skin with your thumb. He interlocked his fingers with yours and you offered him a warm smile. "I don't think you're cold, bitter and heartless."

Maxwell sighed. "You don't know me."

"I see the warmth in your eyes," you whispered. "I know there's more to you than meets the eye."

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[hatsukeii]

【Ｙｏｕｒ　ｎｅｗ　ｂｏｙｆｒｉｅｎｄ－　Ｄａｙ　１】

Word count: 6.2k+

【Ｄｅｃｅｍｂｅｒ　２５，　２０２０】

【２：３９　ａｍ】 Nearing the end of the seemingly indestructible health bar of this stupid resurgent cryo regisvene, Changbin lets out an audible growl, tapping furiously, almost murderously at his phone screen. “Cmonnnn you persistent piece of shit, just bite the dust already like the normal one...” His voice trails off as every drip of focus is directed back on his game. 

“Which one do you think it is this time Seungmin?” Jisung taunts from the kitchen of the shared apartment, watching the coffee drip into his cup from the ancient coffee machine at a snail’s pace (He had been insisting on having Changbin get a new one for the past three, four months but the latter had been persistent to keep it instead of “wasting money on a new one”). Seungmin yells from inside his room, the sound of keyboard clicking along with the occasional growling and mumbling exposing what he was doing- League of Legends. “You think I would know? I don’t even know the game he’s playing.” “He’s been at it for the past three days Seungmin, it’s obviously the same ice thing he won’t shut up about.” Minho deadpans, tenderly lowering the three cats in his arms onto the couch. “Now my babies, don’t touch the madman next to you, or I’m going to have to do the dishes tonight, kay? He’s our main dishwasher, let’s not try anything funny.” The three cats collectively look up at their owner as he cooes softly at the felines. With the last of his party completely obliterated, Changbin throws his phone across the couch, startling the cats as they jump off hastily, earning a piercing glare from Minho. “We’ll talk about this later, Seo Changbin.” “My god, I give up, I’ll just get Chan hyung to do it for me tomorrow.” What even went through Mihoyo headquarters when they created this boss? Did the development department just decide to throw everything into one giant boss fight? 

As he wallows in defeat, his ringtone blares where it sadly lies from being thrown across the couch, the annoying “We just got a letter!” song from Blue’s Clues (He had a feeling that the annoying children’s song would aid in motivating him to actually pick the phone up instead of ignoring people then texting them out of sluggishness) playing on loop the longer he chooses not to answer. “Will you just shut up?” Aggressively snatching his phone, he takes a quick glance at the caller, before picking up. “(Y/n), what do you wan-” 

A few audible sniffles can be heard from the other side of the line. 

“Changbinnie, he cheated on me.” 

Changbin deadpans, not sure he’s hearing things right.

“Hello? Binnie?”

The words hitting him like a truck, he bolts up from where he once sat, hand gripping the phone so hard veins were popping.

“That motherfucker did what?”

His voice rings clear throughout the unit, both Jisung and Minho flinching at the sudden burst of noise. “Jesus Christ keep it down Changbin, the whole apartment complex can hear your annoying voice.” Minho complains, picking up one of his dear cats and stroking its ears. “Soonie ah, that idiot’s yell didn’t hurt your ears did it? Aigoo my baby, it’s okay, it was just stupid horse-faced Changbin, it’s okay my baby boo...” Jisung rolls his eyes, taking a sip from his pitch black coffee. Wincing, he sets the mug down, running to the fridge to get creamer. “Changbin hyung, did you get the wrong creamer again? I told you to get the vanilla one, this one’s dairy free!” Changbin lowers his phone, covering the speaker. “Why the fuck are you even drinking coffee at this hour? Go buy your own fucking creamer if you want it so much then!” “I’m broke hyung! Plus the campus convenience store and the supermarket are closed already, use your pea brain!” “Use milk and sugar Jisung! I’m busy!” Returning to the call, he makes his way into his room, not wanting to have to deal with the two parasites outside. “Tell me everything (Y/n), oh he’s bruising for a cruising playing with your feelings like that-”

A sob passes through the speaker.

“I was just trying to check on him-”

“Scratch that, I’ll be there in twenty, don’t do anything stupid by yourself.”

Shoving the door of his room out of his way, he storms towards the three refrigerators in the kitchen, the other three people in the unit following him in sight (Seungmin heard the commotion and decided to come out of his man cave for once to assess the situation). He pushes Jisung to the side, pulling open the doors to the biggest one. “Soju... soju... soju... there it is.” He untangles the biggest plastic bag he can find from the huge bag on top of the fridge (Minho seems to collect plastic bags at this point, it’s getting annoying) and shoves just about all the bottles of soju he can fit into the flimsy piece of plastic. Moving on to the next fridge, he slams the previous one close, startling Jisung. “Hyung, are you okay?” Changbin ignores him, scrambling to grab the two family sized tubs of ice cream. “Hyung, that’s the last of our ice cream-” Yet again ignoring Jisung’s complaint, he makes his way to the pantry, throwing in the most tooth rottingly sweet candies he can find, a few bags of those honey butter chips and all of Jisung’s cup ramens. In the past couple of minutes, Seungmin had picked up on the situation on hand. He whisper yells at Jisung, making weird gestures to catch his attention. Once his eyes meet Jisungs’s, he frantically jerks his head towards the rooms (It’s like some secret bro code the two have). Jisung picks up on the message, shutting up and shuffling to his room along with Seungmin, before locking their bedroom doors. After his expedition in the kitchen, Changbin goes back to his room, just to grab a duffel bag to put everything in. He takes his switch and the dock, his laptop, and throws his phone into the mix (Both Jisung and Minho agree that Changbin needs to stop abusing his phone, Seungmin doesn’t really care). The only one left in the living room watches as he angrily puts his shoes on, and slams the front door just a little too aggressively as he goes. Hearing the front door close, the two younger boys come out of hiding, finally safe from their scarily furious friend. “My cup noodles... Minho hyung my cup noodles....” “Let’s just wait for him to buy them for us again, leave him alone for now.”

【３：００　ａｍ】 It’s been exactly 21 minutes since you had called Changbin and he is now furiously knocking at your door because 1) You need moral support, clearly, 2) He didn’t bring all the food and risk getting the life nagged out of him when he goes back for nothing, and 3) Your ex boyfriend’s new chick is about to receive a very explicit call from a very angry person. “Oi (Y/n), it’s Changbin, open up.” From inside, you wrap your Armin futon throw blanket around your tired body, before waddling to the front door to your apartment. Gripping the blanket together with one hand, you twist the doorknob with the other and pull. It’s almost like one of those slot machines you would always see in dramas. You pull the lever with all the might you can muster during this trying time and BAM! You hit the jackpot and an angry Changbin comes into sight. He looks scary, almost. His demeanor could probably kill right now if you didn’t know better. “Come in... yeah come on in....” His hand loosens around the duffel bag, dropping it on the floor while he gets his shoes off. You penguin waddle back to where you were sitting on the couch, picking up the crumpled tissues and throwing them out. “Make yourself at home.” You feel a stare burn into your back as you step off the bin pedal. “I’m here, now tell me everything that happened with this asshole.”

“So what I’m getting from this is that Junwoo fucker said he was going out to get groceries, which was a lie at that time but you didn’t know. He took a suspiciously long time so you, being the paranoid ass person you are, went to check on him, only to see him making out with some hussey that wouldn’t stop making moves on him during that dumb lecture you had in the afternoon, correct?” You nod, tears starting to form again for the fourth- no, was it the fifth? About the fifth time in the past minute or so that you spent explaining the situation. “(Y/n), sweetie, I’m gonna need the name of the hussey.” “No, you’re going to do something stupid.” “I wasn’t asking, give it.” You give Changbin a stink eye, acting like you were completely against whatever he has in mind despite actually being curious to see what he has planned (An angry Changbin is a scary Changbin but a rare one also). “It’s Jimin from the dance team.” His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “No, he did NOT!” You nod solemnly, sniffing.  "He cheated on you for that slut?” “Binnie! That’s rude!” “Oh please, I don’t like to disrespect women but you know that it’s true.” That shuts you up instantly. He’s not wrong, so far she’s been caught up in the middle of way too many relationships to count. She’s pretty much notorious for sleeping with people’s boyfriends now. Horrid, really, she knows what she’s doing and she enjoys it. Changbin practically rips the zipper off his duffel bag and snatches his poor, abused phone, before scrolling through his contacts to find Jimin (He would delete her contact from his phone if he could, really. He’s tried, but she hit on him so hard on campus as a threat that he kept it just to be safe. Quite honestly though, he doesn’t really care now). “Binnie, no-” He puts the call on speaker, his feet tapping at the floor impatiently. “Bitch, you better pick up before I find you and pick it up for you-” 

“Hello?” 

His face lights up when he hears Jimin’s voice from the other side of the line. “Oh yeah hi! Here’s your friendly Changbin reminder that your new boyfriend’s an asshole!” You can almost see the sneer that Jimin has on her face. “Uh, and who are you to say that? Twink.” Your mind doesn’t even let you properly process what she said because Changbin’s already retaliating. “Oh, you know, just from his ex partner he was cheating on, but you can state your arguments if you’d like. Also that wasn’t very nice, calling me a twink, considering you hit on me every day on campus.” Changbin’s aura goes borderline murderous when a chuckle sounds from the speaker. “Oh? Them? He could do better anyways.” “Okay listen here you little slut, I’m gonna be honest with you, because no one ever will. Any guy that says they’re in any way interested in you beyond just using you as a fuck toy, is full of bullshi-” 

You slam your finger onto the big red button before he can say anything more. 

Changbin’s seething with anger, even though he isn’t showing it. You know that because 1) He’s oddly calm in this situation and 2) He just openly called one of the most known people in the college a slut. “Seo Changbin, calm yourself down. Please.” Those were some harsh words he said to Jimin, it was completely out of his usually good natured, well spoken character. He closes his eyes, taking a few deep breaths, before grabbing a flimsy white plastic bag out from the duffel bag. He shoots his hand to the bottom, grabbing one of the 15 bottles of soju he brought over. He wrenches open the bottle cap, before chugging half the bottle in one sitting. “How much stuff did you bring?” Changbin really is oddly stable considering he had just gotten called a twink and went off at someone through the phone. “About 15 bottles of soju, two tubs of ice cream, a few bags of those honey butter chips, all the cup ramens in the pantry, and a bunch of those Hi-Chews that I know you love because you keep taking them from me and eating them in class.” He grabs another bottle of soju from the plastic bag, as well as a pack of Hi-Chews. “Drink?” You sulk, taking the green bottle from him while he rips open a pack of candies, popping one in his mouth. “Damn, on Christmas day too, what an ass, Junwoo.” You roll your eyes, taking in a mouthful of alcohol from the bottle. “You’re so stupid Binnie, she’s going to ruin your life because of that stupid call.” “Me? Stupid? The only stupid thing here is you managing to stay with Junwoo for an entire year. I knew he was toxic from the start. Besides, what’s Jimin going to do? She’s got nothing on me. I might as well be the only person that hasn’t sent her nudes or something.” 

It sounds harsh, almost mean, but you know that he’s not lying. Your ex boyfriend was the most toxic, manipulative person you’ve ever been with yet you stayed with him for over a year, it’s unbelievable, really. 

“Can I take a cup ramen?” Changbin doesn’t even spare a glance at you, he’s typing away on his phone (Looks like the nagging has started, one could never expect no complaints after taking all the comfort food from the kitchen). “No, you can’t. I brought all this food because it’s three in the morning and I suddenly want to eat at your house. Of course you can, this is about you, do whatever you want.” You grab one of the cups from the bag, before sluggishly making your way to the kitchen to boil water. Seeing that you left your seat, Changbin empties out the plastic bag, before discarding all the rubbish that you left behind prior to his arrival. Tissues, boxes, chocolate wrappers, everything, he throws them all into the white bag. “That should do.” Ripping open a pack of honey butter chips (Minho needs to chill out about him taking a few packs considering he bulk bought these in boxes. One pack won’t hurt), he takes one, before setting it down and waiting for you to return.

Meanwhile, the remaining three in Changbin’s apartment have just received a reply. “Hey... hey hEY HEY WE GOT A TEXT BACK EVERYONE!” Both Seungmin and Minho gather around Jisung and his phone. “Changbin hyung says he’s not coming back tonight and that he’ll restock the food he took when he’s back, what do we do?” The two young ones look expectantly at Minho, as if he would have any good advice. “I don’t know, should I give him a call-” “Are you mad? He’s going to tear you to shreds hyung, don’t waste your life like that!” Minho sighs in exasperation. “Then we’ll just have to wait for him to be back.” Seungmin and Jisung look to the floor almost guiltily. “He won’t even tell us what happened... how are we supposed to do anything about it?” “You don’t, that’s what you do, you don’t do anything about it until he calms down and tells us about it. Now Seungmin, stop playing your games and Jisung, stop doing solo karaoke and go to sleep.”

【５：５８　ａｍ】 “This is going to be the first and last night you get to be this unhealthy, we’re using healthy coping mechanisms instead of… whatever the fuck this is.” You look at him, a mouthful of ramen hanging from your food vacuum as you slurp it up loudly (For context, you’ve managed to go through four cup ramens, two bags of chips, a pack of Hi-Chews, and an additional three bottles of soju to wash it all down. The two tubs of ice cream remain untouched in the freezer. In other words, you were binge eating, all while being shit faced drunk). The TV blares from in the front of the living room, the Mario Kart theme playing on loop. Your controller sits on the coffee table, completely unattended as you get busy with eating. “Haaaaah? I need the junk food Binnie, it’s all a part of recovery!” Changbin clicks his tongue, before flicking your forehead. “That’s just a shitty excuse to be unhealthy, we don’t stan that.” Frowning, you snatch a few chips with your chopsticks and shove them in your mouth grumpily. “Now, where were we... ah! Yeah! Prepare for another devastating loss Binnie! You shall not come out victorious!” (Cmon, you really think you could beat Changbin in Mario Kart drunk? Hunny, he was losing on purpose.) He lets out a breathy chuckle, before picking you up bridal style, walking to your room, and throwing you onto your bed. “That’s about enough for now, go to sleep. I already know your hangover tomorrow’s going to be absolutely horrible.” You whine, tossing and turning. “But I don’t wanna go to sleeeeeeep... I wanna win again... I wanna playyyyy... gamess....” And with that your voice trails off. “Idiot, you would just pass out halfway.” He closes the door behind him as he leaves your room, but not before gently releasing the console from your warm, clammy hands. Coming to terms with what he has to do next, Changbin massages his neck when he sees the absolute mess of a living room. “Now, where do we start?” All the homework and study cramming is about to come in handy as he starts to clean up all the rubbish left sitting around. He sets his eyes on your pink blanket. It’s 2°C out, his nose is prickly and red as he sneezes, and he still quickly notices an alcoholic smell wafting out from the pink throw blanket. Reaching over to feel it, the fabric is slightly damp under his touch. “Jesus Christ, you for sure spilled soju over this thing. Tag... tag... tag....” his hand roams around the thick blanket, feeling for a laundry tag. He whips his phone out, searching for a laundry care symbol guide (It’s been a while since he’s done laundry properly. Seungmin is in charge of doing everyone’s laundry since he contributes the least). “40°C water at the highest, tumble dry on low.... alright.” He bunches up the blanket, the fabric hanging to the floor from his arms. Trying to get to the laundry room hurriedly, he almost trips over the soft material, stomping on the floor obnoxiously loud to regain his balance (The neighbours are going to seriously hate him for this). He throws it into the washing machine and slams the compartment door shut. Scanning the room for detergent, he deadpans when he sees where it’s located. “Why would you put it that high up in the shelf? You’re not even that tall-” He tries everything, from standing on his tiptoes, to jumping in order to reach it. All those attempts end in vain, and he resorts to his final trick- climbing on top of the washing machine. “Cmon, just a feeeew more millimeters-” The dust from the top of the cabinet along with the temperature causes him to sneeze profusely, almost losing his balance. But with a hook of his fingers, he manages to push the bottle out, before grabbing it and using the bottle to push another bottle of dettol out. He wrenches open the lids, before clumsily pouring out the needed amounts, but not without spilling it on the floor. Cursing, he quickly sets the washing machine for a one hour cycle. He then grabs a random towel from on top of the machine and wipes the floor now. “I guess it’s squeaky clean now, you did good Changbin, you did good. Go me.” With one job done, he makes his way back to the living room. The main area is so messy that Changbin has to form a proper plan on how to clean everything up with the highest efficiency. He grabs the ramen cups, draining out the soup and throwing them out. The chopsticks clank together when they hit the kitchen sink as he turns the tap on. He grabs a sponge, soaking it in water and squeezing detergent onto it, before scrubbing the chopsticks clean. With the dishwashing done, he staggers his way towards the coffee table. He’s tired. He’s so fucking tired that his eyes are about to betray his mind. His arms are numb and the floor is wobbling from beneath his feet. He sneezes a few more times, sniffling. He sighs, wiping his nose and warming it up with the sleeve of his hoodie. If anyone pushes him with a bit of effort, he’ll probably fall over and pass out, but he absolutely refuses to let you wake up to a messy living room. He makes use of the vibrant Mario Kart podium segment still blaring on the TV to keep himself awake while he works on cleaning everything up. Seeing that the sky has progressed from pitch black to a beautiful, yet dreadful shade of aegean blue, he’s pretty sure he won’t be getting any sleep any time soon.

【７：４７　ａｍ】 You cough yourself awake to the burning stench of smoke. The world really said “Lol your life is burning and crumbling down” and took it a little too seriously. Fire, fire, fire, what’s the worst that could happen? Fire needs to give itself a vibe check, can’t it see that you don’t have the energy to deal with it right now? You squeeze your brows together and pull your sheets back over your body. If not for the panicked yelling from outside you would’ve stayed in bed and just waited for whatever fire was burning to reach your room. Hearing Changbin’s chain of swears and curses, you shoot up, more worried for him than for yourself. “CHANGBIN!” You get no reply. You’re horrified, probably both from the hangover working its magic at making you more paranoid and sensitive than you already are, and the possibility that the apartment’s going to burn down. You scramble to the kitchen, choking when you reach the hallway. The amount of smokiness in the living room makes it impossible to see anything clearly. One thing is for sure- there is no fire. What there is though, is a very startled Changbin squatting next to a tray of what looks like charcoal. 

“Binnie, what the fuck did you do?” 

Poor boy, he looks like a lost puppy, a small pout evident on his face. “I was trying to make you breakfast, but I think I set the oven to the wrong temperature, turns out it doesn’t take that much heat to toast bread.” Pinching your nose, you take a glance at the oven. “Changbin I- why is it set to 250 degrees?” “I just told you, I don’t think toast needs that much heat!” It’s almost funny how bad he fucked up. You would laugh wholeheartedly if not for the borderline deadly amount of smoke wafting around your apartment. “Changbin, I have a toaster.” “I don’t know how to use it though, it’s too digital and it makes weird noises.” You let out an exasperated sigh (You knew getting a digital toaster was eventually going to lead to some problems), taking the tray out from the oven and discarding the two pieces of what used to be toast. “Binnie, do me a favour and go open up the windows.” Hearing his cue to leave the crime scene, he rushes to the other side of the living room, opening everything up. “It’s been 84 years... fresh air, hello....” You let out a sarcastic chuckle, before throwing out the piece of foil on the tray. You scan your surroundings, everything is in place, the apartment is squeaky clean, your futon is on a drying rack outside on the balcony, and that’s when it hits you. “Changbin, if you tell me you didn’t get any sleep cleaning my place up for me, I will knock you out here and now.” You speed walk towards him faster than Karen walks to the manager, before taking in his features. His eyebags are heavier and darker than usual, his face is pale, his hair is a mess, his eyes focus on nothing in silence. “Seo Changbin!” You snap in front of his face, startling him out of his trancelike state. “Huh? I swear I’m okay, don’t even worry.” His voice is hoarse and nasally, and he sneezes a few times after his statement, sniffling and wiping his nose with his sleeve for the second time this day. You don’t even give him time to move away or protest. Your fingers pinch his ear at the speed of light, before pulling him to your room and practically shoving him onto your bed. “Sleep.” Changbin pouts, curling into a ball. “But I don’t need to sleep! I’m perfectly fine-” “No, you’re not, you almost burned my apartment down messing with the oven tired, sleep.” You don’t wait for a response as you slam the lights off and shut the bedroom door.

【２：２３　ｐｍ】It’s been about seven hours since you practically forced Changbin to sleep, the ending of the final episode of Death Parade reminding you of the time that has passed. “He’s still not up?” Mumbling to yourself, you creak the door to your room open, being as silent as possible. “Changbin?” No reply. The covers don’t even budge the slightest bit. You are so taking a photo of his sleeping face for future uses. The second you pull your phone out, it starts ringing, the recording of Jisung’s impression of Changbin’s iconic “Yoooooh” blaring through the speakers like a concert (The two of you snuck into one of his music project recording sessions without him knowing, music major things am I right). You throw yourself out of the room, picking the phone up. “Hello-” “(Y/n)!” Dear God it’s Jisung, loud as ever. “Where’s Changbin hyung?” Of course he didn’t tell them anything. “He’s here, asleep, I forced him to sleep.” “Okay, when he wakes up tell him that he owes us everything he took from the pantry, and that he should come home, thanks!” “Wait-” And that little shit hangs up on you just like that. You place your phone onto the coffee table, before going back to check on Changbin. Scratch the idea of a photo, you’ll just do it next time. You kneel down next to your bed, placing your palm on his forehead. “You idiot, thank God you didn’t cook and get me sick along with you.” Being a medical science major, you never overlook anybody’s wellbeing, especially not your best friend’s. When you feel his burning forehead, you almost slap him in his sleep. He’s in for it when he eventually wakes up. Trying your best, you pull the blanket out from underneath him (He fell asleep pretty much straight after you shoved him onto the bed). He stirs, mumbling softly. “Where... where am I...? Who... am... I...? Who are... you?” You scrunch your face up, finally ripping the blanket from underneath him. Working quickly, you throw it over him, before turning on the heat setting for the aircon in your room. Doesn’t look like he’s going to wake up anytime soon, he looks like a sleeping baby. Motionless and oddly talkative and soft. In the meantime, you might as well go read over the old messages with Junwoo and cry a little more.

【４：５８　ｐｍ】 It’s been another two hours, your eyes are puffy and red from the crying, Changbin still hasn’t woken up yet. You pick up the ramen cup and drag yourself forcefully from the couch to the kitchen, throwing the soup out along with the cup, and reaching up to find the paracetamol and fever relief patches (Which you bought five packs of at a time for a great buy three get two free deal) from the box of first aid and medical essentials. Taking it out of the box, you keep it in your pocket, just in case. You make your way to your room, opening up your cabinet and grabbing your car keys. You shove those into your pocket as well, before peeling off the wrapper of a fever relief patch and sticking that flat on Changbin’s forehead. You throw on a trenchcoat to cover up the fact that you’re wearing a pyjama shirt with tights, get your boots on, and head over to Jisung’s place.

【５：１７　ｐｍ】“Jisung! Let me in!” You rap at their door until your knuckles hurt and a slightly concerned Minho pulls it open, his three cats following their owner and rubbing their cute little cheeks on your leg. “Oh, it’s you. Come on in, Jisung’s not here, what do you need?” “I just need to grab clothes for Changbin, he won’t stop wiping his nose on his sleeve, it’s gross, and he needs a shower.” “Go ahead.” Shooting Minho a quick thanks, you run into Changbin’s room, rummaging through his drawers and cabinets. For someone with a major obsession with hoodies, he sure doesn’t have many. You randomly grab a pair of sweats, along with a tshirt and the thickest hoodie you can find, before you drop the clothes, letting out a funny sound of embarrassment. “Fuck, Minho!” 

【５：３９　ｐｍ】It’s warm. It’s really warm, in contrast to how Changbin remembers feeling the last time he was awake. What time even is it? He doesn’t have his phone, and he notices that it’s starting to go dark out, looks about 6pm for the typical Korean winter... and the sound of running water? He kicks the blanket off of him (which he doesn’t remember covering himself with), and is welcomed by an oddly warm room for 2°C weather. Did you manage to throw the blanket over him and turn the heater on at some point when he was asleep? A lump forms at his throat at the thought, a tiny smile threatening to show. The light from the bathroom blinds him temporarily when he opens the bedroom door, and as his eyes adjust to the light, he can see you filling up a bathtub with water. “Oh, you’re awake, just in time.” He’s still dazed from the drowsiness as he staggers a little bit into the bathroom. “I got you a change of clothes, underwear and all, and paracetamol there for your fever.” You’re in your trench coat, the one you wouldn’t shut up about after buying, or so he remembers. “Did you go over to mine to get the clothes?” You let out a breathy chuckle, cupping your cheeks sarcastically. “Oh no! I secretly hide a stash of your clothes and underwear in my house! Get in the bath Binnie, I’ll make dinner outside.” He’s hesitant, but as you close the door behind him he can’t help but be welcomed by the bubbly hot bath in front of him.

【６：００　ｐｍ】“Did you take the paracetamol I left in there?” You chuckle a little at the towel hanging around his neck. “You look like one of those hardcore grandpas in animes.” You stir the tiny stone pot in front of you, making sure not to splash the red soup onto your shirt. “Yeah, I took the pill, thanks.” From the corner of your eye, you can see Changbin heading towards the kitchen. “Uh uh uh, stop right there buddy. You are not going anywhere near the kitchen, nope. I know you want to help, but I’m almost done, so just sit your ass down at the coffee table.” He does as you say like an obedient little puppy, sitting down at the wooden table. Putting on a pair of oven mitts, you carefully carry the scorching hot pot and a plastic mat to the table, setting it down while the liquid continues bubbling. “Now you can go in and help me grab the rice and bowls.”  

Changbin once told you that he would never set his eyes on one of your “stupid japanese cartoons” because apparently they're too immature for a 5′6 college student to watch. That’s complete bullshit. He doesn’t even see the kimchi stew drip onto your coffee table because his eyes are glued to Hunter x Hunter which you coaxed him into watching with you. You scoff, mixing the stew into your rice. “Move your spoon Changbin, it’s dripping all over my table.” He snaps out of his trance, hovering his spoon on top of his rice instead. “Poor Ikalgo, all he wanted was to be a squid and have friends....” “Are you going to eat up or not?” You watch as his hand slowly tilts to let the liquid drip into his rice, his eyes not once leaving the tv screen as he mixes it and shoves a spoonful into his mouth. “Ikalgo... you deserve everything. Absolutely everything.” This is a sight, you take your phone out and snap a pic before he notices. “What happened to anime being too immature for you huh?” “Shut up (Y/n).” He retorts, shoving another heaping spoonful of rice into his mouth. “Are you... about to cry?” Changbin continues to stuff his mouth with food, his cheeks puffing up. “Oh my god you’re crying! You’re crying over an anime!” “No I’m not.” He forces himself to mumble out a disagreement with all that food in his mouth, however his watery eyes completely betray him and say otherwise. You stay silent, smirking at him knowingly. “It’s just Ikalgo deserves so much better, if Killua doesn’t become his friend I’m going to stop watching.” He looks so reluctant to admit it that you start laughing, a snort sounding from your nose. “Called it, you’re getting sentimental over a childish fucking anime!” “I’ll kill you if you tell anyone, Seungmin will never let me live this down.” “Thanks for the idea, idiot.”

【１０：４２　ｐｍ】Sentimental hours are open starting from 10:30pm till whenever your body decides to fall asleep. Poor Changbin has been trying to comfort you since then, yet all has been in vain. “Changbinnie, am I really good enough for anyone then? Am I good enough for someone to just stay with me?” No one likes seeing a pretty girl cry, let alone their best friend being said pretty girl. Seeing you cry pulls on his heartstrings. It angers him to the point where all he wants to do is break Junwoo’s face, yet knowing how you wouldn’t like a fight is the only thing stopping him from going along with his desires. “(Y/n), for the last time, you are more than good enough. Please just listen, he was a douchebag all along, you knew that. He didn’t do this because you weren’t good enough for him, he did this because he was selfish and toxic, at least he’s out of your life for good now.” You slump into the mattress further, Changbin staring at you hopelessly. “You can’t keep this up you know, it’s self destructive.” You try your best to move your eyes towards him, but the angle you’re lying in doesn’t allow for that as you feel the strain in the corner of your eye. “For the record I am very much aware of that, thank you.” You feel a hand on the top of your head, stroking your hair softly. “It’s gonna be okay, you’re better off without him and there’s plenty of fish in the sea anyways.” You turn and toss a little bit, shoving your face into and wrapping your arms around his torso while you sulk (If people didn’t know better, they would mistake the two of you for a couple). Your fingers grazing his body sent warm pinpricks up his spine and feathers in his stomach. Changbin’s hand never leaves your head even as you stop sniffling and the room slowly shifts into a comfortable silence. “How is it that you treat me better than how my ex did so for me?” His eyes leave the phone in his other hand to glance at you empathetically. For a moment, he isn’t the witty, sharp tongued Changbin everyone came to know. He hopes you can’t see the almost devastating look on his face as he smiles pitifully, such vulnerability that he will only ever show towards you. “Anyone could treat you better than that guy.” He doesn’t get a verbal reply, but instead receives a string of soft snores slightly muffled by the fabric of his sweater. Satisfied, he has to pry your arms off of him to reach the lights, turning them off. “Binnie, come backkkkkk...” Freezing in his tracks at your words, he sighs, rolling his eyes in slight amusement. He slips himself in bed next to you, getting comfortable with your arms back around his torso. You mumble a few incoherent words, before dosing back to sleep. 

Meanwhile in Changbin’s apartment, Jisung feels a sneeze coming. He braces for the impact, before sneezing once, then twice, then the third time. “Oh my god, it’s happening.” Seungmin side eyes him, giving Jisung a weird look. “Not you with your stupid mind bonds or whatever you call it.” “No I swear, it’s real, three sneezes that’s what I told Changbin hyung would happen if he ever did it.”

Now, the two of you have long since passed out amidst the comfort of your bed. However, let me share you a little secret, You, who were the most reluctant to share your sanctuary with someone else, you’re going to wake up from the best sleep you’ve had in months tomorrow morning.

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[castielific]

Title: Fancy and the tramp

Story status: Complete, 8 chapters

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dean/Castiel, Alternate Universe, Fake boyfriends, pretend relationship, homeless!Dean, rich!Cas, family, angst with a happy ending, temporary breakup, getting back together, coming out, past!homophobia, self esteem issues, Dean Winchester has a sexuality crisis, first time, homelessness, bed sharing, pining

Sex tags: anal sex, switching, bottom!Cas, bottom!Dean, first time, frottage, marking, blowjob, fingering, barebacking

Special warning: Contrary to what the title may presage, there are no spaghettis in this story. 

Summary: 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods.

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new fake boyfriend. What a weird day. 

Link to AO3

Chapter 1 under the cut:

************

"Come on Ricky, you owe me that money!" Dean says on his phone, taking a step forward when the line of the coffee shop shortens. 

"I don't owe you shit, Dean. You still owe me the last three months of your rent," his ex landlord says on the phone.

"And I'll pay you, you know I will. But to get the money, I need a job, and to get that job I need some new clothes and-"

"Yeah yeah, I know the deal. You think no one has told me that one before? No bueno, man, I'm keeping your deposit," Ricky grumbles. 

Dean groans in frustration. "Come on, all I need is fifty dollars so I can buy a pair of pants without any holes in it. You give me fifty, I get the job and I pay you back, how does that sound?" he tries to negotiate. 

"Like a fucking lie," Ricky spits just before hanging up.

"No Ric-fuck!" 

The woman in front of him in line sends him a dark look. Dean rolls his eyes at her. Like she hasn't heard worse before. 

Ricky was his last shot. It was a long one, he really does owe that bastard some serious money. Guess he can kiss the job interview at two goodbye. It's some kind of assistant job. It sounds easy enough, buying coffee and picking dry cleaning and stuff. It was still a long shot anyway. Dean's only real job experience is being a bagger boy when he was seventeen and it lasted about two months before his dad decided to move them further east. 

So far, he'd always managed to get by doing repairs or cleaning at gas stops and motels. The older he gets and the harder it gets to find that kind of random job. People are more willing to give a few bucks in exchange for manual tasks to a kid than they are to a nearly thirty years old guy. Now they just tell him to fuck off. 

And since it's always been casual and off the book, the only official work experience he has is the bagger thing. He doesn't even have a high school diploma because he dropped out long before that. Not exactly a stellar resume. Which explains why he hasn't found work in eight month and is currently living in his car. Thank God he has Baby. 

He had been too ambitious thinking he could get his own place. It could only pay rent for about five months before he went broke. He's never had a home before, and had no idea that having an apartment cost so much. In motels, you don't exactly have to pay for water or heat or utilities. There was a bunch of stuff he hadn't planned for that ate up the last of his meagre savings. Ricky threw him out after three months when Dean couldn't scrape up enough money to pay rent anymore, putting a violent stop to Dean's pipe dream of living a normal life. He hoped it would be simpler to get a job if he had an actual address, had even thought about scrapping up enough to maybe get his GED. He's not sure what he's going to do now. 

He's always wanted to be a mechanic. If his dad ever taught him anything, it was how to take care of the Impala. John taught him all the basics and Dean got the knack of it. As a teen, he spent days reading car magazines and working on the Impala, trying to learn as much as he could about how cars worked and how to repair the different parts. He knows enough by now that he could easily work in a garage, but he's got no diploma, and hasn't found anyone willing to hire him on faith alone. 

The line of the coffee shop shortens again, the barista asking her order to the goody-two-shoes in front of him. Dean looks regretfully at the display of sandwiches. He searches his pockets and only comes up with three dollars. Of course, the cheapest piece of food cost four dollars. Dean sighs. Guess just a coffee will have to do today. 

He won't have another choice but to go to the soup kitchen tonight. He hates it there. The food is crap and he wants to punch the prancy people serving it. They always try to give him some Jesus bullshit with his food, like Jesus is ever gonna put a roof over his head and find him a decent job. Neither Jesus nor God nor whatever gives a crap about him. Not that he blames them. Hell, if they exist they're probably not big fans of the guy that used to slip into church as a kid to pick the lock of the donation box

"Just an americano, please," Dean says regretfully when the barista asks for his order. At least it will keep him warm and fill his stomach for a short while.

Halloween just went by and the weather is becoming really cold. He should use the last of Baby's tank to go as far south as he can before winter really hits. He probably won't get farther than Wichita though, and the thought makes him shiver. No one wants to get stuck for a winter in Wichita. Maybe he could go and see if he can make a few bucks at the nearest motel, that kind of place always needs a handyman's help. He hasn't tried the one on Corn Street yet. He's noticed only two lights are still working on their sign, he could offer to help with that. If he makes fifty bucks, he might be able to reach Austin. 

Dean stops on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, pondering if he should walk to the bar a few streets down or the motel. Sometimes Benny, the owner of the bar, lets him use the sink in the back to wash up. If he's lucky, he'll even get some leftovers from last night. It's generally just some stale pretzels, cold fries on good days, but it's still better than nothing. He's got two cans of beans and a car with an near empty tank to his name right now, so he's not picky. 

Dean takes a look at his watch. It's eleven thirty already, the leftovers are probably already in the trash at Benny's. The motel is probably his best bet. 

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you pretend to be my boyfriend." comes a hoarse voice, way too close to his ear. 

Dean jumps, nearly spilling his coffee on himself. He spins to the right to face the man who just talked and is met with a pair of clear blue eyes. Way too close again. He waits a second for the man to take a step back as he realises as close Dean turning brought them, but the guy just continues to stare at him, head slightly tilted to the side. He's wearing an oversized trench coat over a dark blue suit that looks expensive. He's so close a gust of wind makes the bottom of his coat brushes Dean's shin. 

"Dude, personal space," Dean reproaches, taking a step back. "And fuck off, I don't swing that way," he adds, not meanly. It's not the first time he's getting hit on by a dude. Sadly, not even the weirdest. He's strictly into chicks though, so no dice.

"Two hundred bucks," the man insists. He looks ready to fall on his knees and beg, eyes going wider and wider as he throws a panicked look to the right of Dean's shoulder. "It won't take more than ten minutes and all you have to do is nod along," he begs, making Dean wonders if he's in danger somehow. Maybe he has a stalker or an abusive ex? 

Dean follows his eyes to a woman coming closer. She's very elegant in a grey pantsuit and a long white fur coat as she walks straight toward them. He can feel her eyes judging him even from thirty feet away, looking at him from head to toes. If he wasn't already self-aware of the number of holes in his jeans, he would definitely be under that gaze. 

"Five hundred dollars," the other man whispers just as the blond woman reaches them. 

"Castiel, dear, you should have told me we would have company, I would have notified the restaurant," the woman says, sending a clearly disapproving look toward Dean as she deposits a kiss on the other man's - (Castiel, apparently, what kind of name is that??) - cheek. 

"Mother, let me introduce you to my boyfriend," Castiel says, looking ill at ease. He's obviously not a very good liar. 

Dean blinks a few times as their attention turns toward him. Castiel seems to be trying to communicate something with his eyes, and Dean frowns in incomprehension for a moment before he gets the hint. 

"Huh. Dean. Winchester," he finally says. "Ma'am," he adds when she just continues to stare at him like he has grease smeared all over his face. He's pretty sure that she wouldn't want to touch his hand if he were to offer it to shake, so he doesn't. 

"Naomi Novak," she introduces herself. "What a delight to finally meet Castiel's new companion," Naomi says, her deadpan tone contradicting her words. "Of course, I would have preferred not to be ambushed by such an announcement. Castiel, you know, that Le Délice hates it when we change our reservation last minute. Who knows if they will even have a table for three," she declares, already composing a number on her phone. 

"It's okay, mother, Dean won't be joining us for lunch."

"Oh, is it because your attire isn't appropriate?" Castiel's mother asks, looking at the holes in Dean's jeans and the big leather jacket that used to be his dad's. "I assure you they won't say a word about it if you're with us," she reassures. 

Dean squirms a little, wondering what the hell is even happening. Ten minutes ago he was buying a coffee and going at his day like a perfectly normal person (well, albeit a homeless and jobless one). Now, his fashion sense is being criticized by the mother of a man who is pretending to be his boyfriend. Did a piano fall on his head or something? Has he finally lost his mind?

He looks to the man beside him. He's scratching the side of his neck in nervousness. The move makes his coat fall a little over his wrist, revealing a freaking Rolex watch. Dean looks back to the woman, eyes sliding on her diamond earrings and the huge rock around her neck. 

You know what? That's not okay. His stomach has been crying for food since last morning, and he's what? Supposed to help this stranger by saying no to free lunch at one of the most prestigious restaurants in town? Fuck no. He's gonna eat like a king and make a few hundred bucks off the back of those rich assholes. 

"In that case, it would be my pleasure to join you," Dean announces with his most charming smile. 

"What?" Castiel can't help but bark. "But y-your work thing?" he tries, sweating. The round panic eyes are back. Dean sends him his best shit eating grin. They both know he now either has to invite this stranger to lunch or reveal the lie to his mother. The guy is trapped and may as well continue to play along.

"It's not as important as a chance to finally get to know your mother, honey," Dean answers. "He's told me so many nice things about you, Naomi. Can I call you Naomi?"

"Of course, dear," Naomi says. She looks a little wide eyed too, probably thrown by Dean turning on the charm to the max.

"Perfect! We shall go now, we don't want to miss your reservation. I do hope it won't be too much of a bother for them to add a chair to your table," Dean says. He should probably tone it down with the pompous tone, because he nearly added an English accent here. 

Naomi leads the way, and Dean is going to follow when a hand grabbing his arm makes him fall a few steps behind. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Castiel hisses.

"Acting as your boyfriend?" Dean says innocently. By Castiel's glare, he's not fooled. 

"I asked you to nod silently for ten minutes, not to do method acting for a whole meal," he reproaches. Naomi sends a look behind her shoulder and Castiel smiles at her like there is no worries, indicating for her to lead the way, 

Dean shrugs. "I had some free time."

"I'm not giving you more money than planned, if that's your goal," Castiel says with a suspicious squint. 

"I'm fine with the five hundred as long as you're also paying for lunch," Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows as they walk toward the restaurant. Something passes on Castiel's face that Dean can't quite identify. The other man stares at him for so long that it's a wonder he doesn't trip. He finally relents with a long suffering sigh as they enter 'Le Délice'. 

Apparently, Naomi Novak is prominent enough that they don't mind changing her reservation after all. They're seated at a table near a legit indoor fountain. Dean is looking around, trying not to let show how impressed he is by the place. The walls are made of stone and covered in frescos that he always thought you couldn't see outside of a church or castle. A waiter gives him a leather covered menu and Dean opens it eagerly. After a few niceties to Naomi, they're asked what they want to drink. Dean has an inkling that he probably shouldn't ask for a beer in an establishment like this. 

"Same for me, please," he says after Castiel ordered some wine with a name Dean can't pronounce. At least, he hopes that's wine. Who knows. Hell, in this place the bottles of water are probably more expensive than his usual brand of beer. 

Dean starts to second guess his decision when he realizes that the menu is in french. What is it with rich people and France? He just wants a damn steak, how do you say that in french? Is there even steaks here or is it just frog legs and snails? Oh god, he hopes not. 

"I think I'll take the duck today," Naomi notes. "Nobody cooks it better than chef Francis. How about you Dean? Have you ever come here before?" There is a mean glint in her eyes that says she knows perfectly well he hasn't. Hell, from the side eyes he got from everyone as they crossed the room, everyone here knows he's not from their world. There are three holes in his jeans, threads hanging from the bottom and his dad's leather jacket probably should have ended up in the trash about three years ago. Even now, it's still too big for him and the sleeves are so scruffed that they're nearly paper thin. The original dark brown color has turned to a light beige in most places from wear. His scruff is just the bad side of too long now, and he hasn't had a haircut since April, strands starting to fall into his eyes. At least, he's wearing his best plaid shirt and managed to wash up last night, so he's not smelling too rank. Why would Castiel pick him out of all the people in the street at that moment to play his boyfriend? It makes no sense at all. From the guy's obvious discomfort as he hides behind his menu, he probably realizes it. 

"Actually, Naomi, duck sounds like a delicious idea," Dean says, voluntarily ignoring her question. To be honest, he’s never even eaten duck before, but it's poultry so it probably taste like chicken. You can't go wrong with chicken, right? His stomach certainly likes the idea, gurgling so loudly that he has to hide it behind a cough. 

Castiel ends up ordering some fish and soon their drinks arrive. Dean barely has time to sip at his red wine before Naomi pounces. 

"So, tell me everything, how did you two meet?"

Dean nearly chokes on his drink. Castiel seems to gulp down his whole glass. 

"We met at a coffee shop. Dean was in line in front of me and we started to talk," Castiel explains, not quite meeting anyone's eyes.

"How quaint!" Naomi exclaims, clasping her hands in delight. "I'm just sorry that you didn't tell me about it sooner, Castiel. How long have you been keeping this charming man a secret?"

"Not-," Castiel clears his throat, "-not long."

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you Dean. I sure wish this luncheon will give me the chance to learn everything about you."

Luncheon? Who even talks like that outside of Downton Abbey?

"I do hope I'll get to keep some mystery, we wouldn't want this guy to lose interest," Dean says with a wink. He pats Castiel's hand on the table. Should he hold it or something? How open on PDA are gay people those days? Not that he knows more about how heterosexual couple act in public anyway, especially in those crowds. It's probably safer to keep the PDA to a minimum here. 

"You have to at least tell me some things. For one, what career path are you on?" She looks like a shark circling her prey. 

"I'm a mechanic," he lies. He'd rather stay as close to the truth as possible. It's a little unfair that Castiel is letting him do all the talking when his initial demand was that he stayed silent, especially since it's his skin that Dean is apparently saving, but the guy looks like he's swallowed a potato whole. 

"Oh, that's...interesting," Naomi says in that insincere tone of hers. She looks like he told her he was fucking children’s corpses every full moon. He's two seconds away from telling her that he's actually jobless, penniless, and homeless, just to see her face, when Castiel intervenes. 

"How is Anna's engagement party coming on?" 

Thankfully, this seems to be a subject Naomi loves because she tells them about every aspect of the future party all the way through their meal. 

Duck, as it turns out, is actually very good. It's more like red meat than chicken, which is a great surprise. Although, Dean isn't a fan of the way rich people put tiny quantities of food in very large plates. He eats all the dinner rolls and scrapes every single bit of sauce out of his plate, yet he's still hungry by the end of it. He nearly starts crying when the waiter asks them if they'll take dessert and Naomi declines. He's starting to wonder if that little piece of duck was worth sitting through lunch with her. 

"That sounds like you're turning this into a wonderful event, mother, Anna must be delighted," Castiel compliments. 

"Oh, you know your sister," Naomi waves it off. "It sure feels like a nice opportunity to introduce your new beau to everyone."

Dean frowns. What's a beau? Is that him? That's not him, right?

"I wouldn't dare take any attention away from Anna," Castiel tries to refuse. 

"Don't be daft, you know your sister won't care. Everyone will be so happy that you've finally found-" she passes a long look, over Dean, like she's doubting anyone would actually approve of him. She certainly doesn't seem to, "-someone," she finishes lamely. 

"Oh shoot, I don't think I'm available that night," Dean tries to play off. 

"I'm not sure I've told you the date of it yet."

"Cas did," he says. The other man perks up at the surname, but whatever, 'Castiel' is a mouthful. "And I have this huh work thing, you know? Bummer," Dean says with a fake pout. 

"What kind of 'work thing' can a mechanic possibly have on a Saturday evening?"

Dean tenses up, pursing his lips. "One he can't get out of?"

"Nonsense, you're coming," Naomi brushes off. And that is that apparently. Shit. There is a vein about to pop on Castiel's forehead. "Castiel, dear, you look a little white. Was the fish okay?"

"I-Yeah-I-Actually, do you think we could possibly cut our lunch short? I am indeed feeling quite unwell."

"Of course, my dear," Naomi says, leaning forward until her hand touches his forehead. "You're as clammy as a fish. I should come home with you, and make sure you're okay," she announces, taking her napkin off her lap and deposing it on the table, ready to stand up. 

"No!" Castiel stops her, a little too brusquely. "I-Dean will take good care of me, don't worry," he says, getting up and grabbing Dean's arm so he does so too. Dean follows his lead, all too happy to get out of here. "Stay and enjoy your tea, mother."

"If you say so," Naomi says, sending an unsure look at Dean, obviously upset at being brushed off in his favor. "Call me this evening, or I'll worry all night."

"Of course, mother," Castiel acquiesces, kissing her cheek. Dean hovers behind him. Is he supposed to kiss her too? Wave hello? Shake her hand? 

"Dean," she says as what is apparently a sufficient goodbye. Thank God. "I'll be sure to see you on Saturday," she reminds just as they're walking away. 

Cas turns on him as soon as they're outside the restaurant. 

"What was that?!" he asks, not quite yelling. He starts pacing, rubbing a hand through his already pretty ruffled hair. 

"You owing me five hundred bucks? Dude, you're lucky I don't charge you more for the fresh hell I just lived through."

"You went through hell? You?!" his pacing gets faster and Dean has an idea that if he stops pacing he might punch him in the face. 

"That's what you get for asking this kind of stuff from a perfect stranger," Dean shrugs, pushing a pebble with the point of his shoe. His red sock is peeking out from a tiny hole near his big toe. It's such a contrast to how grand everything and everyone looked in there. It's making him feel like shit. He's maybe feeling a tiny bit guilty for trapping Castiel like that too. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, albeit one with a psycho mom.

Cas turns on him, eyes glaring and mouth open in what will probably be a flow of reproaches. He stops himself before he says anything though, seeming to deflate. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe instead, shoulders falling. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should be thanking you. I have no right to make you any reproach when I brought this on myself."

"It wasn't so bad, though, was it? I mean, I think I sold it?" Dean asks, a little hesitant. He even used pedantic talk and everything. 

"You did as well as could be expected."

"That's not much of a compliment…". 

"I shouldn't take more of your time," Cas apologizes, taking his wallet out. Dean goggles at the amount of cash in there. 

"You really shouldn't have that much cash on you, that's, like, asking for trouble."

Castiel squints at him like he's wondering if that means Dean is gonna rob him for a moment, before he hands him a wad of cash. 

Dean's eyes bulge out, "That's way more than five hundred dollars."

"There's also an advance in there to buy some clothes for the engagement party."

"The what now?" Dean blinks dumbly for a second until his brain catches up to what is happening. "Dude, no, I'm done!" 

"You were the one to push it so far in the first place," Castiel reminds. Accuses, really. 

"I just wanted to eat fancy food, okay! Not, like, go steady."

"There will be lots of food at my sister's engagement party," Castiel tries to persuade. Badly. 

Dean gives him a nonplussed look. The cash feels heavy in his hand. He's never had so much before. This could help him get a new start. What's a night of playing Downton Abbey compared to the many many nights he might not have to freeze his ass off in the backseat of his car thanks to it?

"Why are you even doing this anyway? And why would you choose me? Do I look that desperate for cash?"

"No," Cas says after what's definitely a too long pause. Dean scowls. "You were in front of me in the coffee shop line. I heard you talking on the phone. You said you needed some cash to buy a new outfit for a job interview. Begged, really."

"Where the fuck do you get on listening in on other people’s conversation?" 

"I didn't listen, I just heard."

"You know, what? Fuck you," Dean spits, "I don't need that bullshit in my life right now." He has enough cash to get to Austin and replenish his stock of food, even buy some new clothes. At least this way he can keep his dignity rather than being insulted by a bunch of rich assh-

"Please," Castiel begs, following him as Dean storms away. "You don't understand…"

"Oh I understand perfectly," Dean says, stopping and turning around so brusquely that they nearly bump into each other. "You think you can shit on other people from your high horse and that they'll still do your deed for a few hundred bucks. Well, I'm not your freaking puppet, man."

"I have never shitted on any-" he stops himself with a frustrated groan, before turning on the puppy dog eyes. "Dean, please. Listen to what I have to say at least?"

"I know what you're gonna say. I've seen that movie before, Cas. You're going to bring me to that party, so you can parade me around like I'm some earned price or some shit. Meanwhile you get to appease mommy dearest and the clan of hyenas putting pressure on you to find a husband, while still having the satisfaction of giving them a huge fuck you by bringing a guy like me instead of the golden boy they're dreaming of."

"I-" Castiel stops himself, pursing his lips. "That's actually not that far from the reality."

"Of course it isn't. Told you, I've seen that trope before. Except this is real life and your plan sucks, so you can keep your money and I'll keep my dignity. Just grow a pair and tell them all to fuck off, will ya?"

"You sure do like saying that to people," Castiel sulks. "Are you sure you can't do it for me?" 

"Oh believe me I would love to tell your mom to fuck off, but I like my balls attached to my body, so that's a hard pass."

Castiel laughs slightly at that and Dean can feel his own anger start to abate at the sound. "Good self-preservation instinct on your part," Cas mumbles. The puppy look is still there, except now it's making him feel like he's kicked the puppy.  

"You know, we're in the 21st century, right? You shouldn't feel pressured to the point of inventing a boyfriend. Who gives a shit about that nowadays?"

"My family does," Castiel answers in a long sigh. "You don't get it, how could you... I have three brothers, Dean," Castiel explains. "Two sisters. My little sister, who is just nineteen, just got engaged. I was already seen as the irremediably unwed one and now I…," he pauses, sending a nervous look at Dean, looking ashamed.

"Oh come on. How hard can it be? You're rich, objectively good looking. Do you have weird kinks or something?"

 "I-I wouldn't know. I've never even been in a relationship before," he confesses, looking at the ground.

"When you say 'relationship', you don't mean you've never…" Dean inquires. Cas' cheeks redden, and Dean blows like he just got punched. "Wow. That sucks."

"Yes, it's very pathetic."

"What? Eh no, it's not pathetic. Surprising, yeah. But, to each their own, you know?"

Cas inclines his head like he's not sure he does know. 

"I'm sorry I tried to drag you in all of this. You seem like a good man. You don't deserve-"

"-to be served on a platter to your family?" Dean asks, searching Castiel's gaze until they exchange a smile. 

"Yes. That." The man is still looking dejected. The money is still in Dean's hand. That duck really was good. Damn it.

"The food better be freaking awesome," Dean relents with a frustrated grunt. Castiel seems instantly relieved. "And you're not pretty woman-ing me," he warns, pointing a finger at the other man. "I'm choosing my own clothes and I don't give a shit if I don't know which fork to use for fish."

Castiel's head is tilted and he's blinking owlishly, like he doesn't understand a word that Dean is saying. Figures. He's not sure how he could convince anyone that he's this dork's boyfriend, honestly. Naomi certainly looked like she wasn't fooled. 

"I'm sorry for the way my mother behaved toward you. I assure you, being yourself will be amply sufficient to the task."

"Dude, the way y'all talk, where do you come from, Victorian England?"

"I-I don't think I have English ancestry, no. Why?"

They blink at each other for some time. 

"I must be a freaking masochist."

Cas' face scrunches up even more in incomprehension. 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so: no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods. 

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new boyfriend. What a weird day... 

You can read the rest on AO3

[ds-ts-smut-fics]

Lovely Boys [Chapter Four]

Summary: Janus and Logan are both in love with Remus, it’s just a matter of who can convince Remus of their feelings first. 

Trigger warnings: NSFW, real hardcore insecurity, not the healthiest habits, rough sex, being caught (kind of, they’re not walked in on), mention of abusive and negligent past exes who neglected proper BDSM rules, some very rude degrading self talk, sl*t as an endearing term, pretty heavy pet play

Genre: Hurt/Comfort smut (Sub Remus, dom Logan, switch Janus), intruloceit 

Written by: Virgil & Claire

Edited by: Virgil 

A/N: Last chapter! Lovely Boys is complete! Get ready for some Janus whump lol 

Part One

Janus rolled his eyes as Logan pulled the car into the long driveway. Janus adjusted his bowtie with a scowl. “Why did Remus and I have to come to this again?” 

Logan sighed softly. "Because I need the support and I want my partners to meet my parents?"

“Yeah, it’s been, like, six months!” Remus cried with a pout. “I want to meet them!”

“I don’t see why you needed me to tag along,” Janus grumbled, but followed them out of the car anyway. 

Remus pressed an excited kiss to Janus’ mouth, grinning up at him. Janus couldn’t help but smile back. Remus was dressed in a sparkly, gothic dress, and stockings with a tentacle pattern down the legs. Janus had dressed down compared to his boyfriends, dressed in a suit similar to Logan’s but with a yellow bowtie and undershirt. 

Chuckling, Logan smoothed his tuxedo and offered his hands. "Baby… I need you both by my side. Besides, it's also a business dinner party, I thought you'd be thrilled to meet some of them?"

He shrugged a little, sheepish. “I could use that to pass the time.”

He took Logan’s hand and laced their fingers with a sigh, following him inside. 

Setting Remus' hand on his arm, Logan twined his other fingers with Janus' and led them inside. "Kiss, babies?"

Remus giggled and kissed Logan sloppily on the lips. Janus glanced around for prying eyes, and gave Logan a soft kiss on the cheek. 

Smiling, Logan relaxed a little more. He sighed, before taking them inside with a nod to the person at the door who greeted him. "Thank you, my dears…." 

Remus squealed pretty much the second they got inside. He tugged on both of their hands. “Guys- Guys- Dancing! There’s dancing!” 

Chuckling, Logan tugged him close for a nuzzle. "Calm, my pup… Why don't you and Janus dance, I'll let my parents know we're here?"

“I- I don’t know,” Janus said with a nervous laugh. “I don’t dance in front of other people.”

Remus pouted, and turned his puppy eyes on Logan. “Pleeeeaaaaaseeeee, Master?” 

Giving in, Logan nodded. "We shall, then… There's likely to be food on that side of the room and mother usually opens her rose garden, through those doors?" 

Janus grinned. “Then I’m sure I’ll find something to entertain myself.” He kissed both of their cheeks. “Find me in the garden when you’re done.”

"Will do, darling!" Logan led Remus to the floor, sweeping him into his arms with a smile.

Janus wormed his way through the crowd of strangers to the garden, only stopping at the food tables to get himself a glass of wine. He breathed in deeply when he stepped inside, breathed in all the green and the flowers and his drink. He wandered through the garden for a while, admiring all of Logan’s mom’s clear talent, finding a bench by a fish pond to rest at. 

Someone hummed softly behind him. "You're new here tonight… how are you liking the garden?"

Janus glanced back and internally groaned at the woman standing behind him. Fucking small talk. He decided to be subtle. “It’s beautiful. A good place to get away from the crowds.”

"That it is… I find the best people out here at these gatherings. Did you come with someone?" She smiled, her light silver dress swirling around her ankles as she stepped closer.

“Yep. My two boyfriends.” If that didn’t scare her off, he didn’t know what would. It usually worked. He finished his glass of wine with a little hum of disappointment. 

She chuckled and sighed. "Well, there goes my hope to pair you with my boy…" 

Janus quirked an eyebrow. He feigned offence and made a show of looking down at himself. “Do I look that gay?” 

She shrugged. "Is there a gay look these days? I'm just saying that to let you know that I wasn't coming onto you…. That's the correct phrase, yes? I'm married and my son is around your age I believe."

Janus laughed. He didn’t know who this bitch was, but he liked her. “How old is he?” 

"Just recently turned 29… He has two partners, I'm hoping he brought them tonight! More wine, sweetie?" She winked. "I have a bench cooler with a nicer selection out here, Max knows me too well…"

He grinned. “More wine sounds great. And, uh, your son’s a few years older than me, but he’s the same age as one of my boyfriends, so it doesn’t really matter.”

Leading the way gracefully, she hummed. "How old are you then? Over 21, I hope?"

“Yeah, I’m about to start my second year. I’m 22.” 

"Lovely! What are you studying?" Opening a bench carefully, she took out a bottle of wine and showed the label, offering to pour.

Janus held out his glass happily. “Uh, I’m double majoring. Law and philosophy. Barely had the time to come tonight, honestly. But Logan wouldn’t let me stay home.” He chuckled a little into his glass, taking a big gulp. 

Her eyes widened as she took back the bottle. "Logan, hmm? Tell me about him? He sounds like a good man if he makes you relax so you don't burn out!" Is it my Logan? Oh, I hope so! You're so precious!

“You don’t have to act like you don’t know him,” Janus chuckled. “Logan Taylor? Everyone here knows him, I’m not dumb. And anyway, I think I force him to relax more than he does me.” 

She dissolves into giggles. "Oh, honey… I know my Loganberry very well, indeed…. My son has excellent taste!" 

Janus froze. Now would be a great time for a spontaneous, painless death. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of what to say. He couldn’t feel his heartbeat. 

"Are you Janus or Remus? I'm guessing Janus… You seem more calm and reserved than he's described Remus to me." Offering her hand, she smiled widely. "Sit with me, tell me all about yourself dear?"

Oh, God, how did he get himself into this? He sat down with her and prayed they would be finished dancing soon. “I- I’m Janus,” he managed. “Uh… What do you want to know?��� This entire time he was talking to his boyfriend’s mom like she was… Some random lady. How was she not enraged at the disrespect? 

"Well, I know how Lo feels about you… But I'm curious how you feel about him? I know he can be a bit grumpy before coffee and if you run out of exactly the right type of jam…."

Janus took her offered hand, mostly because he’d feel too awkward not to. He tried not to smile at the thought of Logan before coffee. “Um. How- How does he feel about me?”

She squeezed lightly. "Honey, you don't know that he gushes about you two? He's always so quick to dash out after board meetings because he's got to get home to you… He's head over heels!"

Janus blushed deep red. “Logan is… My constant. He’s the only stable and, uh, secure thing in my life. I don’t… I don’t think he understands how much that means, to- to Remus and I both.” 

Her heart squeezed. "Oh, Janus… I'm sure he's aware. He never works overtime if he can help it anymore, his schedule is so much more stable now. I really think you two are it for him…"

Janus barely held back a smile. “You think he’d want to stay with us?” 

She grinned. "Sweetheart, I have a feeling you'll be calling me ‘mom’ soon enough. Now, where are those two hiding, hmm? Food or the dance floor?"

“They’re dancing. Remus saw and didn’t want to do anything else.” Janus chuckled nervously, taking a few more big gulps of wine. 

"How sweet… Janus, are you alright? That's a bit quick on the wine…" Frowning softly, she reached for the glass. "Perhaps we should get some food into you?"

He blushed. His head was starting to feel a little fuzzy… He didn’t want to give up the wine, but he didn’t dare refuse her. “I’m okay.” He held out the glass. 

She hummed, taking it carefully and leading Janus to the buffet. "I don't want Logan to be mad at me for getting his boyfriend drunk. Do I scare you that much, Janus?" 

He nearly spluttered, stuttering out, “I’m not scared,” but he wasn’t nearly as good of a liar with the alcohol in his system. Jesus, this was not going well. She was certainly going to tell Logan to leave him the second they’re alone. 

"Sweetie… Logan loves you!" She patted his hand gently as they walked. She smiled at Logan and Remus on the dance floor. "I may be his mother, but I have no control over who he loves…"

Remus giggled as Logan dipped him, gripping onto his shoulders and squealing. 

Janus forced his gaze away, and choked out, “But I’ve been such an asshole to you.”

She giggled softly. "You were honest, and I didn't introduce myself. I try to have a conversation with people first, as a random person— it shows me their character. You are kind but honest, Janus. It's a good set of qualities!"

As they reached the food tables, Remus looked over and gasped as he saw them. He gripped Logan’s hand and tugged him over. 

“Hi, Janny!” Remus’ face was bright and excited, as happy as could be. 

Logan sighed but smiled. He hugged Janus, and blushed at his mother's soft laugh. "My dear… Oh, you found Mother!"

Remus was immediately distracted. “Oh, there’s chocolate!”

Janus lurched forward and grabbed Remus’ hand, wrapping an arm around his waist and tugging him away from the table. “What are you doing, there’s probably milk in there!”

Remus pouted up at Janus’ worried, exasperated face. “But it’s chocolate-“

“We can stop by that cupcake place you like on the way home, you can’t just eat random chocolate-“

Janus blinked as Remus leaned up and pressed a kiss to his mouth. Janus tried to speak as his mind rebooted, and Remus said, “Okay.” 

"Awww…" Bouncing a little, Carla grinned, holding the bowl out to Janus. "Let the boy have some chocolate! He's just the cutest!" 

Logan sputtered softly, taking the bowl and feeding Remus a piece. "You approve, Mom? They're very dear to me…."

Remus ate the chocolate happily as Janus scrambled to look at the card on the bowl, displaying the ingredients. He glared at Logan. “You could have just said it doesn’t have milk in it,” he snapped, momentarily forgetting about Carla’s presence. 

Logan hummed softly. "I gave Mother the allergy information and she told me exactly which dishes to keep Remus away from. They're in the bowls with green edges. The blue rim means you can't have their contents." He winked. "Got to keep my boys happy and safe!" 

Carla grinned, nodding. "Such a fierce protector…"

“Besides, Jan-Jan, you know I’m not that dumb! I wouldn’t eat something-”

“Exactly how many allergic reactions did you have before you told me I can’t cook with milk?” Janus crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. 

Remus blushed. “I dunno.”

“Eight,” Janus said. “Sixteen days into living with me, and you just ate whatever I handed you. Excuse me for being worried.” 

Carla frowned softly. "I'm glad he has you two caring for him, then…"

Janus sighed and cradled Remus against him, resting his chin on top of his head. “Me, too. I, um…” He forced himself to meet Carla’s eyes, “I- I’m really sorry about that, um, display. It wasn’t… It wasn’t very polite. I apologize.”

She waved him off and gestured to Remus. "Worry leads to strong reactions, dear. He's a handful, I can tell…" 

Logan hugged his boyfriends gently. "A lovely handful, yes indeed, Mother. I wouldn't have him any other way!"

Remus giggled and kissed Logan’s cheek. “Janny, you’re not still worried about impressing her, are you?” He pouted and Janus’ face flushed bright red. “She’s fancy, but she’s nothing like your parents! You can just be yourself!”

“Remus, please,” Janus choked out, fighting the urge to hide his face in Logan’s shirt. 

Carla sighed softly, opening her arms. "Come here, darlings? Let me hug my son's boyfriends? You're so perfect for him…"

Remus giggled and jumped into her arms, hugging her tightly. Janus hesitated. 

Giving Remus a cuddle, she smiled, petting his hair. "We have to have a spa day some time, you're so cute!" 

Logan stroked Janus' back lightly. "It's okay, baby… You're already family, my love."

As Remus babbled on with Carla about all the things they could do together, Janus leaned into Logan’s touch. “I know. I’m trying.” 

"You are and I love you all the more for it, baby." Stealing a soft kiss, Logan wrapped around him gently. "Let me dance with you, J? Mother and Remus should bond well over fashion and spa day outings…"

He blushed. “If you can find an empty room, I’ll dance with you.” 

"Done!" Gently tugging, he led Janus to an empty room after a few tries. He locked it behind them. "Anything for you, baby.."

Janus chuckled freely, draping his arms over Logan’s shoulders, crossed at the wrist. 

Taking his hips, Logan swayed them gently, kissing Janus' cheeks. "Mmm, there's my cutie pie…"

“Shut up,” he mumbled. He laid his head on Logan’s shoulder. “Your mom tricked me, by the way.” 

"Oh? Did she do her 'you're new here, and I'm a random woman' bit on you?" Nuzzling Janus as they swayed, he chuckled.

“She did. She also didn’t let me get drunk. She’s a bitch, I love her.” He chuckled. “She also tried to set me up with you, Loganberry.” 

"The horror… A protective mother who's still trying to get me dates. At least she has good taste? And Loganberry? Oh, goodness… I haven't heard that nickname since I was 12!" He grinned, kissing Janus' ear. "Feel free to use it~?"

Janus bit Logan’s ear. “Stop being weird.” 

"Weird? How am I being weird, love?" Petting Janus, he cuddled him closer.

“‘Loganberry.’” He snickered and stopped the swaying in favour of pulling Logan’s body against his, nuzzling into his neck. With nobody else around, he felt more secure, able to run his hands under Logan’s coat and make Logan wrap his arms around him. 

Wrapping tighter, Logan sighed. "My baby… All mine."

Janus sighed happily. “Say that again.” 

"Mmm, you're mine, baby… All mine to love and cherish and protect~!" He kissed at Janus’ neck, coaxing to relax and melt into Logan’s arms.

Janus’ knees went a little weak, and he did exactly that. He hummed and nuzzled into Logan’s neck, eyes closed. The wine probably helped. 

Logan supported him easily. "We're all alone, baby~ Why don't you relax? Daddy's got you."

Like always, Janus’ words slipped out before he really thought about it. “Yes, daddy.” 

"Need daddy to give you some love or just cuddles, baby? You're so tense…" Stroking in long pets, he directed them to a chair, sitting and pulling Janus into his lap.

“Just cuddles, please,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to Logan’s shoulder. “Some more wine would be nice, but your mom’s probably hiding it all at this point.” 

"Wine when we're at home, baby? Daddy wants to make sure you're okay…" Massaging gently, he slid Janus' jacket off to rub over his back and neck easier. 

“I’m okay, daddy,” he promised. “It just… You know, makes me feel less like I’m fucking everything up. I don’t know how Remus can be so… Casual, with parents. I mean, his and mine are so alike, and Remus is just… Unphased.” 

Humming, Logan nodded. "He's one of a kind… He has so much hope and love. That's why we protect our ball of sunshine, yes? I wouldn't leave him with her if I didn't know she's going to cuddle and love on him properly, baby."

Janus nodded. “I know… It’s not- It’s not about her. I’m sure she’s great. It’s just… You know. I was always told my partners’ parents aren’t my friends, they’re my…” Janus cleared his throat, “you know, like, superiors.” 

Janus didn’t actually remember how much he'd told Logan about his parents. He certainly hadn’t introduced them. Knowing him, he probably only told Logan small things, when he was drunk or in subspace. 

"Ah… I see. My parents are more formal, usually. However, events like this are only for friends, family. They let loose and relax, showing their true selves. That's why I thought this would be the place for you to meet them? They're not superior, just older and a little wiser?" 

“I know,” he said quietly. “Or… I’m trying to.” 

"Your sharp little mind knows, your heart is still catching up to the fact that you're safe and wanted?" Petting his hair, he raised Janus' face for a soft but possessive kiss.

Janus moaned happily, kissing him back with a smile. “Should we check on Remus?” He asked after a while. 

Nodding, Logan hummed, sliding Janus back to his feet and settling their clothes back in place. "We should and will… My darling baby." 

Janus blushed deeply and took his hand, following him out to search for Remus. He tried not to let his anxiety get the better of him as he interacted with Logan’s parents and associates, tried not to be too stiff and standoffish. It helped having Remus next to him, who could have an excitable conversation with anyone in the world— and Logan, too, of course. 

Proudly showing off his boyfriends, Logan smiled from his place between them, a hand on both their hips. My lovely boys… 

Reminder that I’m (Virgil) doing smut commissions on Kofi, each coffee equals 300 words for any prompt of your choosing (I can reblog some prompt lists if you guys would prefer, as well, just let me know). 

Commission me here please: https://ko-fi.com/stormcloud_baby

[msjr0119]

Cordonian Wags

Part 24

In a world full of Professional footballers and their demanding wives- can their football team nicknamed the ‘Cordonian Apples’ succeed? An American female physiotherapist joins the club. Will this cause issues with the footballers wives?

Book: The Royal Romance (A/U plot switch)

*Majority of the characters belong to Pixelberry*

Please do not read if under the age of 18. If you do, you are consenting that you are over this age. If any of the trigger warnings below affect you, please do not continuing reading the chapter! 😊

Warnings: Swearing, mention of cancer, mention of sex, mention of domestic abuse (past tense).

A/N: I feel like this is a filler chapter, and some of you may hate Riley in this 🤷‍♀️. As always there’s drama 🤦🏻‍♀️

Word Count: 2100ish

Tags: @pedudley @kacie-0156 @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @texaskitten30 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @walker7519 @lodberg @cmestrella @hopefulmoonobject @axwalker @yukinagato2012 @indiacater @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @cordonianroyalty @desireepow-1986 @choices97

*****

Fuck.

Running out of the bathroom, Riley knew exactly who it was- and she wasn’t going to stop until she confronted the woman.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Riley. I do feel for you. Honestly I do. But I hope that you don’t fight this.”

“Take that back Kiara! What are you doing here anyway?” Drake snapped towards his ex.

“I’m paying my respect to my lover, who was murdered if you’ve forgotten. Both myself and Madeleine are here. Then I saw you run off Drake- I wanted to make sure that you was okay.” Moving closer towards him, she reached her arm out towards him- hoping to comfort him. However he dodged it, instead wrapping his arms around Riley’s waist.

“No, I’m not okay- but that is none of your concern. Don’t tell anyone what you overheard...”

“Drake.. I know how much Riley means to you. But I’m here still. I can heal you.” Fuck she said something similar in my dream.

“I’m still here you know! You never deserved someone like Drake!”

“Maybe not, but people change. As I said, I hope that you don’t fight this. I’m still here- and I’ll always be here. Along with your ex husbands money.. we can have a great future, Drake. Don’t worry I’ll keep your little secret, won’t be long until the press find out though...” Walking away with a smirk, Riley didn’t trust her one bit- Kiara would do anything and everything to ruin their relationship.

And that’s it- full time! Well done to the Apples, what a fantastic match.

“Shall we head up upstairs? I’ll quickly change before they all go to the changing room. I’ll meet you up there.” Riley just nodded, knowing that going upstairs was about to be like entering a battlefield.

*****

Arriving upstairs, there were the usual familiar faces- the other WAGS. Then there was Kiara and Madeleine smirking, as if neither had done anything wrong in the past. They shouldn’t be there. They had no right to be there. They were ex partners. Not part of the ‘team’ anymore. Joining Olivia at the bar, Riley ordered a double whiskey. Ever since her cancer diagnosis she had avoided alcohol- but due to her run in with Kiara prior she needed it for Dutch courage.

“Woah, slow down.. what’s the matter with you?” Olivia asked, looking at her concerned. Ordering another, she really didn’t care what anyone thought anymore.

“Kiara and Madeleine are here. Kiara knows something about me. She’s not going to stop.”

“What does she know? Just ignore them. They’ll soon be booted out of here.”

“It doesn’t matter....”

“I killed your husband for you, if there’s something on your mind you can talk to me...”

“Kiara wants Drake back. That’s all.” Partially lying, she didn’t want to disclose the other reasoning as to why she was upset with Kiara’s presence in the room.

“Well Kiara can go and fuck herself with a baguette. He’s yours, he’s smitten with you. Don’t ever allow that French talking moron to steal him from you.” But one day I’m not going to be here, Riley thought to herself. Feeling familiar arms go around her waist, she was going to cherish every moment with Drake from now on.

*****

Bertrand provided a short speech regarding the deaths of Constantine and Xavier. Even though deep down he didn’t want to as he was aware of their true personalities he felt the need to. To prove to the press that the club were fully ‘heartbroken’ about the news. Clearing his throat he quickly changed the subject, the club had some positive news to share.

“Before the chairman passed away, he was in the process of signing two new players to join our club. Since his passing, I completed these contracts with the support of; the head of recruitment, head of performance and analysis as well as the chief scout. I am pleased to announce that the two men who will be joining us will be arriving tomorrow. You may all know one of them, Neville Vancouver....”

“Who’s neville Vancouver?” Riley whispered in Leo’s ear.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know. He thinks he’s better than the rest of us. We played against his team last year, he has some beef with Drake. We don’t know why. He is always determined to break Drakes leg. I think it’s because Drake doesn���t have family who played professional football prior to him.”

“He sounds a snobby arsehole...” Leo high fived her. If his father wasn’t already dead, he potentially would be now. This news would never go down well with the team.

“The second player hasn’t played for Cordonian team before, so it’s a big change for him. I hope that you all make him feel welcome. Riley, you may know him....” Riley’s eyes widened, panic started running through he veins- wondering why she would know him.

“His name is Olivier Berger...”

“Fuck!” Not knowing how loudly that word slipped out, she soon had an audience as Bertrand continued talking about the mans career.

“Fuck?” Drake and Leo questioned her.

“Olivier played alongside Xavier in Manchester....”

“So why is that bad?”

“He’s the reason Xavier ....” Feeling like she couldn’t breathe, flashbacks from her past soon entered her mind.

“He’s one of the reasons that arsehole hurt my sister! Riley helped him recover from an injury and Olivier was forever grateful for her saving his career. That was all. Nothing more but Xavier became jealous.” Without fully elaborating, the gentlemen knew exactly what Lindsey was referring to. The abuse that Riley had received due to Xavier’s jealousy.

“Well it’ll be nice for him to have a friendly face when he arrives.” Drake said in a positive manner. Encouraging her not to worry about it.

“To end this speech, I’d just like to thank you all for putting in so much effort in today’s match. Even with the little disturbance from you Walker. Carry on putting one hundred per cent.....” Bertrand paused his speech as his phone began ringing along with a few notifications. Declining the call he read the notifications- his eyes widened before locking eyes with Riley. Suddenly an echo of gasps surrounded the room.

“Riley?” Bertrand managed to croak out, leading all eyes to land in her direction. Drake could feel Riley’s grip become tighter. Liam and Leo pulled her in for a tight hug, now she knew what was happening. Drake left her side. Not that he wanted to. Storming towards Kiara and Madeleine, they both fluttered their eyelashes towards him.

“Drake I’m so sorry to read about this...” Madeleine expressed in a fake sorrowful tone of voice before smirking.

“How could you do this Kiara?” Kiara pulled him to the side.

“I didn’t. I may have in a way threatened to do it but I would never do that. She’s dying anyway, so I just needed to be patient to win you back.”

“You and I were the only people who knew. So do explain to me how the press know the minute you found out?” Focusing her gaze towards her friend, Madeleine raised her drink into the air whilst winking. This was all the proof Drake needed. Somehow the witch knew. And exposed it. Still not trusting Kiara’s words, he decided to turn his anger towards the blonde. Kiara grabbed his arm, forcing him to face her. Caressing his cheek, she provided him with a soft smile as he tried to force his body away from her. Pulling him closer to her, she placed her lips on to his- keeping a tight grip on him.

“I love you, Drake. I’m always going to be here. I wouldn’t hurt you again.” Drake stood still, in shock that she would pull a stunt like this.

“Riley! Wait!” Pushing Kiara off of him, he saw all of his team mates run after Riley as the door slammed shut.

“Get the fuck out of my life, Kiara!”

*****

Drake kept calling and texting Riley but there was no answer. From his point of view he knew that she was in shock as the Rhys held her tight. Wishing it was him instead. Wishing that he had stayed comforting her rather than demanding the truth from his ex. Instead Kiara forced a kiss up on his lips, and Madeleine was back with her cunning plans. Causing trouble as she always did.

Arriving home, he hoped that she was there. That hope soon disappeared. Heading straight to her apartment, he had the press following his every move. No luck there either. Trying each of his team mates houses, no one had seen or heard from her.

Riley Brooks the Apples physio, loses her ‘ex’ husband. Now according to an anonymous source there is talk of a cancer scare? Is there trouble in paradise, as Drake Walker has been spotted driving around Cordonia- we assume searching for his girlfriend? More news to follow....

Entering the cabin alone, he was worried for her welfare and state of mind. He kept trying to contract her, losing his mind. He hoped that she would return on her own accord.

Please let me know that you are okay. Please come home. I love you so much x

*****

“He’s gone. You can come out now.”

“Thank you for covering for me.”

“He’s going to be losing his mind! Explain to us everything. Now!”

“Yes, I have cancer. I’m having an operation in a couple of weeks time. I didn’t want to worry anyone...so I didn’t want it to become public knowledge until after the op. Kiara overheard us discuss it. She’s the one that went to the press....” Breaking down in tears, her two friends comforted her as best as they could.

“And then he kissed her...” Barely speaking the words out- she felt as if her world had come crashing down in an instant.

“He wouldn’t kiss her on his own accord. It seemed like it was forced.”

“He’s a man, why couldn’t he push her away? If he loved me, he would have stayed with me. Stayed away from her.”

The two of them looked concerned at each other, Drake was a man who couldn’t defend himself against Kiara’s abuse for years. If a stranger looked at her, she looked innocent and sweet- possibly gave the impression of being the doting girlfriend. But she wasn’t.

“You need to talk to him. Let him know that you’re safe at least.”

“I will do. At some point. I promise. I won’t be a burden for you both.”

*****

Two weeks later, Riley was at hospital preparing for her operation. She had stayed at her friends house, but refused to see Drake. Speaking to him on the phone, the conversations hit a dead end- he had insisted on coming to see her just to make sure that she was okay. However, she refused. Just saying that she will see him after her operation. In those two weeks, he kept himself to himself- whilst trying to hunt Madeleine down. To question her about her actions, to ask what benefitted her from doing this.

Arriving at the hospital, he demanded to know where Riley was- Lindsey had text him confirming that she was having the operation today.

“Mr Walker, you can’t see her just yet. I’ll let her know that you are here when she comes out of recovery.”

“That’s not good enough! Please... I just need to see her. Even if it’s for a minute.” Unlike Leo, he didn’t like to use his money for bribery- but in this situation, anything was worth a try.

“Right this way, Mr Walker.” Following the receptionist, she introduced him to the theatre nurse in charge. Knowing that they were going against hospital policies and procedures- the nurse led Drake into the room.

“What are you doing here?” Wondering why the staff would allow him to enter the room, whilst she laid down having her cannula inserted.

“I told you that I was going to be here every step...I’m going to hold your hand until you fall asleep, and I’m going to be here when you wake up.”

“Ki... Kia.. Kiara...” Seeing the anaesthetic quickly work its magic, he knew he had to be quick with his words.

“She forced that kiss upon me... I love you, Riley. We are going to get through this together- we are soulmates, you came in to my life for a reason. We are going to have a baby once this is over. I’m going to continue to play, to provide for the two of us...Madeleine was the one that went to the press, I assume anyway. Please don’t shut me out. I know that you’re upset, we didn’t plan for it to come out the way it did. But I’m here, always.”

“Dr.. Drake...” Forcing his hand off of hers, she may be half asleep but her brain was still fully functioning for the moment. Forcing her hand back into his, he kissed it softly. Letting it linger there.

“Marry me Riley...”

[royallyanxious]

Fake best friend me, maybe?

paring: platonic roceit

tw: sympathetic deceit, very brief mentions of past abuse, crack fic

additional note: Deceit’s name’s Deegan because “Dee” was too short.

wc: 3.8k

Summary: Deceit needs someone to pretend to be his best friend. His only option is his so-called mortal enemy.

AO3 link

Door loudly closed behind his back. Dee cringed. The hallway smelt like dirty socks and sweat. He hated college but he hated his asshole ex-friends that were waiting for him outside even more. And above all of that he hated the fact that he had to humble himself in front of someone. Worst day in Deegan’s life.

His golden eyes scanned the nearly empty hallway as he scratched the scar that ran across his cheekbone. Most of people looked away when his eyes met their eyes. Dee was not widely liked in here. Not anywhere to be exact. He didn’t bother to change that either.

Only one person seemed to be completely unaffected by Dee’s sudden appearance. The gold sparks in his eyes lightened up. That was the man he was looking for.

Dee took one step forward and then another. Roman was standing just few meters away, clicking something furiously on his phone. His friends flew away as soon as they saw that Dee was approaching them so surely Roman had to be aware of his soon-to-be company. And yet he didn’t even bother to look up at Dee.

The audacity of this bitch.

Dee cleared his throat loudly. If it was possible hallway suddenly became even more empty.

“Roman, buddy, I have a favour.” He declared standing right in front of Roman.

The other glanced up from his phone, eyeing Dee suspiciously. Rightfully so. He was unimpressed. He usually was.

“Buddy?” Roman sneered, putting his phone into the pocket, “We’re not buddies. In fact we technically hate each other.”

“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic.” Dee clicked his tongue in response. He had to remain calm if it was to work out but then… bickering with Roman was always so much fun. The worst thing was that Dee knew that Roman felt the same way. Convincing him to do anything could take ages.

“Dramatic? You spat into my lunch yesterday!” roared Roman, “You spat and grinned right into my face. Thank you very much, buddy-my-ass!”

Fair point.

“I was smiling in general direction, you just happened to be right in front of me!” said Dee innocently.

Roman groaned and raked his hand through his copper hair. Dee could already see the mischievous smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. That was the moment he was waiting for.

The thing with Roman and Deegan was that officially they hated each other but in reality they couldn’t live without separately. They were the type of enemies that were going absolutely morbid without each other. It escalated to the point that if Roman was sick - Dee was skipping school, and if Dee had taken a part-time job - Roman made sure to torment him with nasty texts during his shift. And everyone approved that. Because it was simply their dynamics.

Roman was widely liked by the masses while Dee was a freak/loser type of guy. It was only logical for people to label them as enemies. Especially since almost each of their encounters ended up with sharp remarks and angry sneers. Yet somehow they kept coming back to each other, like two magnets. There was no escape from that.

There was however one unspoken rule between them - the rule that Dee was about to break any second soon. Never have they ever met outside of the college. If they saw each other in public, they never made a move to suggest that they know each other. It was their way of keeping balance in the nature.

Not for long.

“I need you to fake-best-friend me.” blurted Dee when Roman finally (finally!) looked at him without the confusion and mockery in his eyes.

Said eyes almost immediately grew wider. Dee was not surprised.

“Excuse me?.” Roman took a step back and put a hand over his heart. Again - not unexpected. “I must be hearing things… First of all. There’s no such thing as ‘fake best friends’. Second of all… You do realize that people usually assume that we are mortal enemies, right? It could ruin our image! Give me one good reason why should I do that.”

Dee sighed. Talking to Roman was one thing (that itself wasn’t easy) but convincing him was something completely different. He was stubborn and while Deegan usually didn’t mind that (it made his life much more interesting), now he was cursing that very trait of Roman Fucking Fairley. Damn him and his stupid stubborn ass.

“Well this is important to me.” replied Dee and mentally praised himself for very witty response. Great fucking job he should be a mediator truly.

“Is it now?” Roman huffed loudly, mocking smile back on his face as he raised his eyebrow.

“Very.” nodded Dee, trying to ignore the heat tickling his cheeks. It was humiliating but it was also his only shot. The truth was that no one was even willing to normally talk with Dee, not to mention hanging out in any possible way.

“My answer is still no then.” shrugged Roman and turned around on his heel. Dee nodded thoughtfully before the other’s words caught up on him.

“Wait what. No! Oh for god’s sake, Roman! One small favour for your favourite slimy enemy?” in a spun of a moment Deegan grabbed Roman’s hand, practically launching himself on him. “This is my dignity that we’re talking about! I can’t lose it!”

“You can’t lose something you don’t have, dipshit.” replied Roman coolly. Sparks of cold satisfaction were literally glowing in his eyes and Dee mentally groaned.

“You’re insufferable.” he said instead and let his hand slip off Roman’s wrist.

“I’m just trying to be a worthy match for you.”

“Do you really?” snickered Dee.

“Oh shut up. Gimme a sec” snapped Roman and pulled out his phone again. He started typing something furiously with the speed of the light. Before Dee got to ask what he was doing Roman switched his phone off and crossed his arms on the chest. “So… fake best friend? Sounds like a terrible fic trope. Also proves that you’re lame.”

“I disagree and... slightly disagree.” grinned Dee and started walking towards the door, explaining everything vividly “So basically what I need you to do is pretend that you’re my best friend. Because my friends from the past are waiting for me outside and I don’t want to look like a sore loser.”

“You are sore loser.” Roman said smiling lazily but followed Dee’s steps anyway, “Why me though?”

“You’re my enemy.” Dee shrugged, “No one knows me better than you do. Tell me something nobody knows.”

“Patton didn’t threw up on Logan’s couch. It was you.” replied Roman almost immediately.

“See? That’s the spirit! You can totally fake best friend me.”

“Yeah… Maybe… maybe you’re right.” nodded Roman, “You owe me a pizza afterwards though! Like you know… just you buying me pizza and leaving me alone.” he warned raising his finger up as if he wanted to threaten him.

Deegan smiled and hooked his own pinky finger over Roman’s. The atmosphere between them was heavy with challenge which - for once - wasn’t held against each other. Seconds later Roman unhooked his finger and pushed the door, letting the fresh air into the building. Dee let himself smile a little bit wider as he padded after Roman. Something warm and fuzzy made itself cozy in his chest and he had no idea what that was but - him be damned - it felt pretty good.

---

Turned out that Roman didn’t have to do much. Just him being there was more than enough apparently. Except of him and Deegan, there were three of them. Those ‘ex-friends’. Roman wasn’t the type to overthink so he didn’t ask why they weren’t friends with Dee anymore. He also didn’t ask why they decided to meet up if they weren’t friends. It wasn’t his business anyway. Also he didn’t care.

Just like it wasn’t Dee’s business that Roman had cancelled plans for entire afternoon just because Dee asked him for help.

And sure, Roman was fighting against the idea at first. The thought itself - of him and Dee hanging out (even if it was fake hanging out) was actually pretty concerning. But it also took Roman exactly 5 seconds to understand that spending one more evening with Dee was much more fun than spending time with anybody else.

Being around him was like a challenge. And oh boy, Roman did enjoy challenges a lot. Pretending to be Dee’s best friend was a great opportunity not only to work on the acting skills but also gave Roman more occasions to embarrass his self-proclaimed enemy. And that what Roman was always up for.

Everybody claimed that Dee and him were complete opposites but Roman begged to differ. They were actually painfully similar. It’s just the directions they took were different.

He enviously glanced slushie that Deegan was sipping as they strolled down the street, before his eyes wandered to nameless men that were never skilled enough to be Dee’s friends. Because you see, Roman had this strong belief that it didn’t require time or patience to be Deegan’s friend. It required skill. And actually Roman possessed this skill. He just never made a proper use out of it.

“You’re awfully quiet guy, Roman!” snickered the boy with hair that was dyed green. Roman was pretty sure that his name started with “e”. Despite the outstanding hair-colour, he was pretty grey.

Dee laughed loudly when he caught Roman’s gaze lingering on him.

“Roman’s shy baby at first but believe me you wouldn’t want to see him surrounded by his little fans!” he mocked, his lips twisted in a loop-sided grin. It made his sharp cheekbones stand out even more. “Or you know what? You would love to see that, Evan!”

Ah, so it was Evan. Bland name. Actually fits him well.

“Why?” peeped another guy, the one wearing thick glasses.

“Because everybody loves our Roman here.” grinned Dee. “If only they knew that inside he’s not as much of a saint that they think he is.”

“Hey!” Roman’s eyebrows furrowed, “Excuse me, I am a model student.”

Apparently those words held some kind of a special meaning because the rest of the boys started laughing as if they heard a good joke.

“What?” asked Roman confused, scrunching up his nose.

“You can’t be a model student if you’re friends with Dee. Being friends with Dee is like… a major disgrace for any model student.” explained Even, glancing at Dee a little bit waringly.

“Yeah,” agreed Thick Glasses, “You gotta choose! You’re either perfect or you hang out with Dee!”

The third guy, the one wearing long, orange skirt, leaned closer to Roman, before whispering loudly “I don’t think we need to tell you that nobody chooses Dee in this equation, do we?”

Dee quickly took an obnoxiously loud sip of his slushie. Their eyes met for a split of second and Roman couldn’t help but notice a shade of shame in Dee’s eyes.

Some would say that at this very moment Roman felt pity. But he knew better. The only emotion in his heart at that time was an overwhelming disgust and sense of unfairness. He instantly straightened his back and snatched the slushie from Deegan’s hand.

“It’s their loss honestly. Dee’s a great guy. Not that you know though. After all you ditched him too, didn’t you?” he smiled widely, showing off two perfectly white rows of his teeth.

Orange Skirt cautiously stepped back while Evan and Thick Glasses looked at each other slightly panicked.

“It’s not…” started Evan but just when his tongue started twisting in whatever explanation he had, Dee waved his hand off.

“Roman’s always like that. Always a prince on a white horse.” he joked heavily before looking at the other with a familiar glint of something wild in his eyes. “Why do you always make everything sound so awfully melodramatic, idiot?” he sneered.

Dee knew what he was doing. Roman could feel in under his skin. It was nothing different from the remarks that Dee sometimes threw at him in the college. He wanted to rile Roman up in the name of good fun. And he knew that Roman wouldn’t refuse. He never refused. So when the question tickled Roman’s nerves just like it usually did, he let his lips spread in a merciless smirk.

“I’m just trying to keep up with your terrible sense of fashion, babe” he replied smoothly, eyeing shimmering with glitter shirt that Dee somehow managed to put into his jeans.

Evan crackled upon hearing that but neither Roman nor Dee cared. The blood was already rushing under their skin. That was their dynamics.

“At least I don’t spend hours in the morning, trying to flawlessly stylize my hair.” hissed Dee, circling Roman, “And yet you still wonder why people treat you like a fucking trinket. Try talking to them and they will swoon. Try looking in their direction and they will faint. Wave at them and, I’m sure, they will be ecstatic.”

Roman only chuckled at this statement, “Bold statement considering that it comes from someone who daily waves aside everyone in general.”

“It’s a conscious decision.”

“You puking at Logan’s couch! That was a conscious decision.” laughed Roman and briefly looked at the others. “But you barking at people? If it’s a decision of yours, then you are really poor at making them.”

“The only poor person here is you and it’s because you’re lacking your brain” retorted Dee, eyes glimmering with excitement. “Nitwit.”

“Imbecile.”

“Moron.”

“Moron your hair.”

“I think you meant maroon and that’s hardly an insult,” smiled Deegan widely, “Therefore I win.”

“Win? A freakshow maybe, yes.” replied Roman. He wasn’t sure if the sweet taste lingering on his tongue was from the slushie or from the delicious ripost.

At this point Deegan was fuming, eyes glistening in excitement and fury, hands clenched in small fists. Roman smirked even wider. He was enjoying their game today. The outside world had already ceased to exist. It was only him and Dee’s awful attitude.

“Just because you won a battle, doesn’t mean that you won the war,” hissed Dee, baring his teeth. Left canine was pricking his lip. Roman knew this sight by heart by now.

“No, but at the revenge still tastes sweet,” he said, taking a particularly large sip of the blueberry slushies.

Something sparkled in Dee’s eyes and Roman froze with the straw in his mouth.

“You do know that you’re basically indirectly kissing me, don’t you, loser?” stated Dee casually as if he was discussing why it’s light during daytime.

The drops of slushie that was still tingling on Roman’s tongue forcefully made their way to the pavement as he started coughing abruptly, choking on his own saliva and air. Meanwhile Dee started laughing so loudly that the sound was surely to be heard two or even three streets away from there. The cup with the slushie fell on the ground and the liquid spilled across the pavement, creating a blue puddle. Deegan thought that the look on Roman’s face was totally worth the prize of the drink though.

Only when Dee’s lungs started to burn craving for oxygen, did he take a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. Roman finally straightened up but before he could angrily deliver any remark he had on his mind, Dee wheezed again pointing at Roman’s perplexed face.

“You have fucking blue sprinkles on your chin, genius.” he snorted mercifully.

Fair amount of red blush crawled on Roman’s cheeks. Quickly, he wiped the chin with his hand but instead of getting rid of the blue drops, he smeared them even further.

“Well, great.” he grumbled in reply, looking through his pockets in search of a tissue. “I’m already turning into a snake that you are. Thank you for your slimy gems, Dee.”

“Actually, you’ve always been a cold-blooded bitch, Roman. So really turning into a snake wouldn’t make much of a difference for you anyway.”

Roman prepared himself for the familiar sound of whistling and growling that usually followed sentences like that but this time, all he heard was silence and Dee’s heavy breathing. He looked around. He got so caught up in the game that he forgot where they were. What was even more shocking though was that Dee and him were standing all alone on the empty street. His eyebrows furrowed as he scanned the surroundings. He could have sworn that he had just seen Evan and the rest of the group…

“They left the moment I called you ‘nitwit’” said Deegan noticing Roman’s confusion. “I guess our shenanigans were just too much for them to handle.” he added shrugging.

The sun was slowly disappearing behind the horizon, tinting the sky with the shades of golden specks. For some reason they reminded Roman of the sparks in Dee’s eyes.

“Well, to me they came across as weak from the beginning,” he replied finally, trying to pretend that he didn’t see just how much the other was avoiding his gaze. “I guess my mission here is over then…” he added hopelessly.

As soon as these words left his mouth he felt an unpleasant pain growing in his chest. It wasn’t unfamiliar - or at least didn’t feel like something strange. Maybe it always was there, but Roman never cared enough to acknowledge it. The realization hit him hard moments later, when Dee sighed loudly. Roman didn’t want this day to end. He had fun. Despite all the concerns he had - today he had fun. And it wasn’t because of Eran or whatever his name was. It wasn’t because of Orange Skirt or Thick Glasses. It wasn’t even because of melting slushie on the pavement. It was because of Dee.

He always had lots of fun with Dee.

Those unspoken words were stuck in his throat, bruising his sensitive flesh and ego. Him, Roman, someone who was a man of many words and even more kind smiles, was now standing in front of one of the most important people in his life and he was practically mute.

Dee hummed softly, still avoiding Roman’s eyes. He seemed unbothered and it hurt more than it should.

“Text me your address and toppings,” said Dee finally.

“What?” asked Roman dumbly, cursing the confusion in his voice.

“The pizza?” sighed Dee, arching his eyebrow,  “I promised, I remember. So don’t worry. You’re free now.” he smiled but it was a strained smile. Roman knew all of Deegan’s smiles: from the mocking one through the evil one up to the honest dorky laugh. Over all those years, he learnt to distinguish and love them. This one? It wasn’t a smile Roman wanted to see on Dee’s face. Not now nor ever.

“Ah, right…” he mumbled numbly when all he wanted was to ask Dee what was wrong.

They stood in complete silence for a few minutes, Roman unsuccessfully trying to catch Dee’s gaze. It was weird being together without the air filled with fights and insults. It was weird but also surprisingly comfortable. The only thing destroying the moment was tense muscles under Dee’s skin and a certain uneasiness that was radiating from him. Roman could feel that something was wrong but he couldn't bring himself to ask. After all who was Roman to Dee? Nothing more than official enemy and unofficial fake best friend.

The odd silence was broken by a loud tune announcing a new text message. Hesitantly Dee pulled his phone from the pocket of his jeans. Whatever someone texted it apparently was funny because moments later Dee’s lips spread in a shy smile. He glanced at Roman behind his phone, as if he wasn’t sure if the latter was still there.

“Yonnah, texted me.” he said casually and Roman blinked with surprise.

“Sorry, who?” he asked politely.

“Yonnah.” repeated Dee, searching for some kind of recognition on Roman’s face. Finding none he sighed, “One of the guys we’ve been hanging out with all day long. The one with specs…” he provided helpfully.

“Ah! Thick Glasses!” clapped Roman with understanding.

”The only thick thing here is your head.” purred Dee and just like that the heavy atmosphere was gone.

“From the other side, the only non-thick thing here are your thighs.” grinned Roman.

Dee grimaced. “That was kinda lame.”

Roman chuckled in response, for the first time not feeling an absolute and overwhelming need to reply with something equally sharp and mean.

“Yeah, it was…” he agreed carefully.

Deegan looked at him visibly stunned. It wasn’t just an agreement. Both of them knew that. It was something new, a step forward maybe. Someone could call that a peace offering but they never were at the state of war. Nothing remotely close to hate radiated from golden eyes when Dee was talking to Roman. Ever. For Roman he held only shy kindness mixed with playfulness.

“I was thinking, Dee…” Roman cleared his throat, “Maybe after all we could get that pizza together… I mean. We don't have to if you don’t want to but… God, don’t let me ramble, this is terrible,” he hopelessly looked at the other.

If it was possible Dee’s eyes grew even wider and his mouth was hanging open. Then he blinked rapidly few times in a row.

“You want to hang out… With me?” asked Dee carefully as if he wasn’t sure if it’s not another joke.

Roman nodded quickly. “Pretty much so. I think it’s high time for us to hang out properly don't you agree?” he said, scratching his head. It sounded terribly lame.

And yet somehow Dee was beaming. His eyes were sparkling under the artificial light of the lamp above their heads. The scar running across his cheek seemed to be just another line of his awfully toothy smile. Roman’s heart melted on the spot.

“I’d actually love that.” nodded Dee finally and almost instantly turned on his heel to walk down the street. He stopped however after barely few meters just to glance over his shoulder and wink at Roman, “Don’t get me wrong. This is pure business for me. If I go with you, we will split the bill, right?”

Roman laughed under his breath, already setting off in Dee’s direction.

“Yeah… I guess we will do that.” he said to himself. “I guess, we will…”

----

That evening Dee was sitting on his bed waiting for Roman to finish taking a shower. He wasn’t sure how or why had he offered Roman to crash over at his place. It was natural. Having Roman around was always natural to Dee. It always had been.

Yet, over all evening long neither of them said the magical word.

Friends.

Maybe they were friends indeed. Maybe they were friends way, way before Dee asked Roman for a favour this morning. Maybe they were yet to become real friends.

Once again, Dee hummed and opened his phone searching for a text from Yonnah. He found it funny how a silly text, pushed him to make a decision that might had been one of the most important decisions of his life.

“I’m glad that you finally got yourself a normal best friend

actually no

scratch ‘normal’

you two are fcking nuts”

The end.

PS I'm heavily considering writing a sequel to this story in which our lads would become something more than just best friends. If you'd be up for that let me know if you wanna be tagged :)

General taglist:

@depressed-alone​​ ​ @changeling-ash​​ @dear-lover-dearest​ @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2​​ @calmingthoughtsinyourhead​ @zo-geeky​​ @fandomfreak-19​​ @thegnatnat​​ @inha-led​​ @tree4life25​​ @panic-at-theeverywhere​​ @reallyanextrovertipromise  @shit-happens-bitchachos@pastel-patton123​​ @pinkeasteregg​​ @greymane902​​ @princeyssash​​ @ilovemyspoopydad​​ @musicphanpie-b​​ @all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2 @birosezz​ @winged-outlaw @anxious-fander-talian-bean​ @lizaelsparrow @moonstonefox12 @pastelnerd101  somecrappyclonemysticalstrawberryface @ninjago2020​  donteatmyassghostie toriwithacamera moxiety–sanders101 confinesofpersonalknowledge xxladystarlightxx wheeitsvee a-very-optimistic-realist narniasfinestavengingsociopath  thequeensqueer allycat31415 rileys-main-blog-spotroman-is-a-dramatic-prince virgil-my-diamond justanotherproblem faacethefacts  beautifully-terribly logical-but-anxious queen-of-all-things-snuggly seabellart   @generalfandomfabulousness lostin—translation  knine-nights  @poisonedapples @talhaddelpla @punk-and-flowers @quietlypondering @milomeepit 0joodles0  grape-soda-city-kid sanders-sides-stuff lonelysoul43 imtooaromaticforthis @romanasanders 

[labelma]

Say Goodbye to My Demons and All My Break Evens

Sequel to Carry Me Home in Good Health

Read here on ao3

Sometimes you just have a bad day. 

Maybe you miss your alarm and you don’t have time to eat breakfast, or maybe your boss scolds you at work. 

Or maybe you get assaulted by a group of homophobic douchebags, watch a man get stabbed and find out said man married your ex-boyfriend when the ex arrives at the scene in an ambulance. 

Yeah, that sure was an eventful day. 

At the time that it happened, Trevor was just glad someone had come to his aid. All too often people see larger men ganging up on a smaller guy and they walk on by, pretending it never happened. Trevor isn’t afraid to fight back, but well, he isn’t exactly tall or bulky. He doesn’t want to think about what could have happened had Mickey not thrown himself into the fight. 

And then he got stabbed because of it. 

So it’s safe to say Trevor feels a little bad. The guy got stabbed because he came to Trevor’s aid, and well, he wants to thank him somehow. 

It’s just that there’s the nagging awkwardness of Mickey being married to Ian Gallagher. 

Of course Trevor has long since moved on from Ian. Two years removed, he can look back and recognize that their relationship was doomed from the beginning, for various reasons, but not least of all because Ian was still in love with someone else. 

When Ian almost ran off to Mexico with his escaped convict ex boyfriend, Trevor pretty much gathered that Ian was never going to be as committed to anyone as he was to Mickey. 

And Trevor likes to think he’s a non judgemental person, but he had already formed an image in his head of Mickey, before he’d ever met him, and he does think he’s somewhat justified, after all, the first time he learned of Mickey by name, it was from the cops informing Ian he had escaped from prison. 

In his head Mickey was not the kind of person to jump to the aid of a complete stranger. He was not the kind of person to talk about his husband with a fond look on his face, or caress his face as gently as he did. 

Now Trevor’s image of Mickey seems to have flipped on its head. If he’s honest, despite the fact that he has very much moved on, there’s a small part of him that harbored a bit of ill will to the man who broke up his relationship with Ian. 

But well, he doesn’t think he feels that way anymore. 

Seeing them together, seeing the way Ian’s face switched from scared, to worried, to relieved within the space of seconds, and the way they held their foreheads together, breathing each other in, he can’t help thinking that maybe everything worked out in the end. 

So yeah, he feels like he needs to thank Mickey. 

And that’s why he finds himself frantically fanning his smoking oven while the fire alarm blares because he forgot to take the cookies out of the oven. 

Another one of his kids got kicked out of their foster home and he was already at capacity at the shelter. He’d spent all morning calling around to other shelters to see if they could take the kid in, but no luck yet. 

Most of the kids he worked with came from broken and neglectful homes, dealt with abject poverty, childhood abuse, sexual assault, mental illness, sometimes all of it together. As a social worker, he’s been trained to recognize the signs of these things, and he liked to think he was at least competent at his job. 

Which is why he can’t believe all the signs flew right over his head when it came to Ian. 

He realized it some time after his relationship with Ian crashed and burned, that maybe Ian’s background was far more similar to the kids he worked with than himself. 

Ian was so confident and competent when they first met. He was interesting, had an impressive job, and he was hot as hell. He forgave all of Ian’s missteps about Trevor’s gender identity because it was clear he simply had never learned, and Trevor took great pleasure in introducing Ian to a whole world he seemed to have never considered before. 

Still, he should have seen it. He should have recognized Ian’s desperation to please as a symptom of childhood grooming. He should have made the connection between Ian’s age, and his stories of working the back rooms at a gay club and realized Ian must have been underage at the time. 

He’d been so caught up in memories of his own trauma, that when he met Ian’s mother, and saw Ian’s pain he should have been more sympathetic. 

He should have seen it all. 

And he does feel bad. He’ll never say it, but there’s a part of him that feels guilty. Like maybe it was his fault that Ian ended up at the vanguard of a movement he couldn’t control and eventually in prison. 

But the larger part tells him he shouldn’t feel bad. Ian was an adult. An adult who stopped taking his antipsychotics, and made his own bad decisions. That’s the part of him he chooses to listen to. 

And at the end of the day, he was glad to get a clean break from the man who broke his heart, and who he knew would never truly be his. 

The fire alarm finally stops going off, but the cookies are beyond saving. Trevor sighs and decides to just go to the store. 

That’s how he finds himself standing on the Gallagher front porch, a place he never thought he’d see again, holding a pre-wrapped bowl of produce, willing himself to knock on the door. 

It’s a Sunday, so while he really has no idea what the Gallagher work schedules are like, he figures someone will be home. 

Finally he knocks on the door, holding the fruit bowl to his chest with his right arm. 

For a while, nothing happens. With how many people were in and out of this house on a daily basis, someone has to be home. Right when Trevor is considering knocking again, the door swings open slowly. 

Trevor looks down to find a small red headed child staring up at him. She’s got a finger digging up her nose, and she’s considering him with her big green eyes. 

Trevor remembers when he dated Ian that his little sister had a child, a reality which seemed to cause much tension for the Gallaghers. 

She’s still looking at him, totally silent and Trevor isn’t quite sure what to do. Should he leave and come back later? Drop the basket with a note? 

He’s saved from making a decision by a sleepy, very adult voice coming from the region of the couch. 

“Franny, how many times have I told you not to open the door for strangers?” 

A concerned looking Mickey Milkovich appears, hand on the girl’s shoulder. His expression calms when he sees Trevor but then his eyebrows knit in confusion. 

“Um, if you want to talk to Ian, he’s at work.” 

If Trevor had to guess which family member would be left home to watch the toddler, he wouldn’t have guessed Mickey, but his assumptions up until now have all been wrong so he guesses he should just stop assuming entirely. 

“No actually, I’m here for you. I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For helping me the other day. And you know, check in, make sure you were okay.” 

He thrusts the fruit bowl towards Mickey, who doesn’t immediately grab it. 

The girl, Franny wanders off, evidently bored by the awkward conversation happening. 

Mickey reaches for the bowl, considering it with raised eyebrows. 

“So you’re the guy who turned my husband onto Kind bars?” 

And the situation is so damn weird, Trevor can’t help himself when he starts laughing, and can’t stop. 

Mickey looks bewildered for a moment, but chuckles eventually. He steps back. 

“Do you uh, want to come in for coffee?” 

And Trevor’s day can’t really get any weirder at this point so why the hell not.

He follows Mickey through the living room, which looks quite a bit cleaner than it ever did before. Franny is sitting on the couch, enthralled by some cartoon playing on the television. 

They enter the kitchen to find a young black boy who must be Liam asleep, head on a pile of papers. 

Mickey walks towards him, and shakes his shoulder gently. 

“Get up punk, you gotta finish your homework.” 

The boy lifts his head blinking the sleep out of his eyes and groans. Mickey laughs and pours him a glass of juice, which Liam dutifully sips from. His eyes turn to Trevor, first unrecognizing, but then his expression clears. 

Trevor isn’t quite sure if Liam remembers him, so he decides to introduce himself anyways. 

“Hey Liam, I’m Trevor, I used to be a friend of Ian’s.” 

“I remember. You used to date him.” He says matter of factly before turning back to the papers on the table and beginning to write. 

Mickey clears his throat, 

“So, uh, coffee?” 

“Sure, I’ll take it black.” 

Mickey nods and begins preparing two mugs. Trevor hesitates for a second before moving to sit at the table with Liam who doesn’t even look up from his work. 

Mickey sits across from Trevor and slides a mug to him. He takes it but decides to let it cool before taking a sip. 

“So how are you doing?” He asks, motioning towards Mickey’s midriff. The motion is unclear, but Mickey understands. 

“I’m doin’ okay. The knife didn’t hit anything important, I just needed some stitches and antibiotics. It only hurts if I move too suddenly.” 

Trevor makes a noise of sympathy. 

“And you like, had your tetanus shot and everything?” 

“Are you kidding?” Mickey scoffs, “in this neighborhood? You bet your ass my tetanus is up to date.” 

Trevor nods, and the conversation stalls, silence broken only by the scratching of Liam’s pen on paper. 

“And you? Are you okay?” Asks Mickey genuinely. 

“Me? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m used to it honestly.” 

Mickey grunts. 

Trevor has never been one to hold his tongue, and so even though he probably shouldn’t, he asks, “Why did you help me? That day I was being attacked? Why did you jump in when you didn’t know me?” 

The room is quiet, even the sound of the pen has stopped, Liam evidently interested in the conversation happening in front of him. 

Mickey lets out a breath and leans back in his chair, considering. 

“I don’t know, I didn’t really think about it at the time. I guess I just know what it’s like to get beat on for being gay.” 

And this has to be the biggest revelation for Trevor, that Mickey is a good person. The kind of person who watches his four year old niece, who assists his brother in law with homework, who helps out someone on the street without thinking. 

“You know, you really aren’t what I expected you to be,” Says Trevor earnestly. 

Mickey huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah I’m not surprised. You probably thought I was some violent thug right?” 

“Honestly? Yeah I did. No offense.” 

Mickey laughs again, and Trevor thinks that he has a nice smile. 

“None taken. You’re not wrong. That’s what I was raised to be. My father was a neo-nazi, organized crime was the family trade.” 

Mickey is still relaxed, but the information is jarring to Trevor. A gay kid being raised by a neo-nazi sounds like one of the worst possible situations he can imagine. 

“Jesus, and I thought my childhood was rough. I mean, it’s never easy to be transgender, but my parents got used to it eventually. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be raised by someone like that.” 

Mickey shrugs, but Trevor can see that some tension has crept into his jaw. 

“It sucked, there’s no point sugar coating it. My dad was, still is, a piece of shit, I grew up hating myself, it took a lot of work to unlearn,” his face breaks into a small smile, “I got to where I am today thanks to Ian. I mean, if it wasn’t for him I’d be dead or in prison. Growing up I never could have imagined I would be happily married to a man, with a stable, legal income, but here I am.” 

Trevor smiles, and he finds that what he says next is not remotely a lie. 

“I really am happy for you guys. I mean, Ian and I weren’t right for each other, and not just because he was still in love with you the whole time we were together. Our backgrounds are so different, it just wouldn’t have worked.” 

Mickey scratches his eyebrow, clearly fighting with himself over whether to say something. But he does eventually speak. 

“You know, I am sorry about how things went down when you guys were together. Like I know Ian and I had history, but it always sucks getting cheated on, and it was partially my fault. I knew he was dating someone when I asked him to come with me to Mexico.” 

“I forgive you,” says Trevor, and he realizes that he does, “I don’t know exactly what happened with you two, but if not even prison, Mexico, and a neo-nazi father could keep you apart, it’s clearly meant to be. I’m glad you have each other.” 

Mickey smiles, and his eyes are distracted, mind elsewhere. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

*

When Ian gets home from work, the house is oddly quiet for nine pm. 

“I’m home,” he says loudly enough to announce his arrival, but quiet enough so as not to wake anyone sleeping, he hopes. 

It’s silent for a few moments as Ian drops his pack and peels off his jacket. Then the sound of footsteps on the creaky front stairs draws his attention, and he turns to find his husband walking towards him, a small smile on his face. Mickey’s eyes are soft, and Ian’s breath is momentarily taken away by the thought that he is the only person who gets to see Mickey like this. 

When Mickey reaches him, Ian cups a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him into a brief kiss. 

“How are you feeling? Pain any better?” 

Mickey takes hold of Ian’s hand and leads him into the kitchen where he begins reheating whatever they had for dinner. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t so bad, I mostly spent the day napping.” 

Ian grins, he knows how much his husband loves to nap. 

“Why is it so quiet?” Asks Ian, still confused by the odd stillness of the house which never seems to stop moving. 

“Liam went to bed early, I think he’s spreading himself too thin at school, poor kid. I put Franny to bed at the same time, Debbie said she’d be home late. And I have no clue where Carl is.” 

Mickey places a plate of reheated white people stir fry in front of him, and Ian eagerly tucks in. He loves his job, but it never fails to leave him wiped out when he gets off. 

“Mm, this is good. Did you go shopping today? Where did you get the vegetables for this?” 

Mickey snickers and points his thumb to a basket of fresh produce sitting on the counter. 

“We had a visitor today.” 

Ian knits his eyebrows together, still confused. 

“Trevor came by. Apparently he wanted to thank me, he brought us fresh fruit. What a fucking yuppie.” 

Ian laughs, and to say he’s curious would be an understatement. 

“Was it… okay?” 

It’s not that Ian is truly worried, it’s just that Mickey has a history of being territorial and Trevor can be confrontational and a bit of an asshole. The two don’t mix. 

“Yeah man, it was fine,” Mickey looks at him knowingly, “I invited him in for coffee, we spoke for like five minutes, then he left us with a bunch of produce I don’t know how to use.” 

Ian smiles and takes the hand that Mickey has resting on the table. Ian loves Mickey. Has loved him for years. He loved him when he was a dirty, shit talking punk, he loved him behind bars, but he especially loves the confident man he has become, without the threat of Terry looming over their shoulders, and self hatred long since unlearned. 

He’s living a life his sixteen year old self wouldn’t dare to have dreamed of. 

And despite the ever present pressure of poverty, the felonies on his criminal record, the knowledge that his mental illness will rear its ugly head eventually, Ian is happy. He’s happy because he has Mickey by his side to weather all of it. 

“Hey,” Mickey’s voice pulls him out of his musing, “Stop thinking so hard, you look like you’re going to burst a blood vessel.” 

Ian laughs. He really does love him. And he tells him so. 

“I love you too,” says Mickey softly. His hands come up to Ian’s face and Mickey’s eyes meet his. He pulls him into a soft, lingering kiss. 

Ian breaths in the feeling of Mickey, relaxing against him. Mickey pulls away, resting their foreheads together. 

“Let’s head up to bed. I know you’re tired from work, and babysitting the kids all day really took it out of me.” 

Ian smiles at Mickey, places his dish in the sink and follows his husband upstairs. 

If this is what his future looks like, coming home from a job he loves to a husband he loves even more, Ian thinks he has a lot to look forward to. 

[dawsonsfall]

Intro - August Dawson 

『BILL SKARSGARD ❙ CISMALE』 ⟿ looks like AUGUST DAWSON is here for HIS SENIOR year as a SOCIAL WORK/PSYCHOLOGY student. HE is 24 years old & known to be SELF-MOTIVATED, ARTICULATE, NEUROTIC & RUTHLESS. They’re living in MORIS so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ RA. 19. EST. THEY/THEM.

It’s Ra back at it again with a second muse. I don’t have everything figured out for him yet, but I hope to change that by just...writing anyway. His pinterest is here and his wip playlist is here. If you’d like to plot, just give this post a like and I’ll appear in your dm’s like a genie here to answer all your plotting needs. 

This is really just a haphazard list of facts about August loosely sorted into two categories and I apologize in advance. Thanks for reading! 

CW: Suicide, Implied Verbal Abuse, Depression, Anxiety, Death (askjksijs I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds, I’m just covering my bases) 

Background - 

- August was born (funnily enough) on the last day of August to a middle-class family in Richmond, VA. He’s got a younger sister named June with whom he doesn’t get along but loves, regardless. 

-(Depression TW, Suicide TW) His parents...they could’ve been worse. They weren’t overtly abusive or neglectful, but his mother had a series of untreated mental health issues - the most prevalent of which were depression and paranoia - which wasn’t conducive to good parenting. She was suicidal more often than not and took her own life when he was 11. 

-(Implied Verbal Abuse TW) His father was a very serious man. Towering over most of the population at an impressive 6′7″, his presence was intimidating and his stoic expression never changed - not even when his wife passed away. August was terrified by him. By the time he was 7, he knew very well not to question the man’s judgments or talk back. Sure, his father never laid a hand on him, but the threat of it - the way his eyes went dark and his voice went cold - was more than enough to make a young boy cower in fear. 

- There was a lot of pressure from his father to do well in school, extracurriculars, and everything in between - pressure that only grew once his mother passed. His obsessive and meticulous planning started when he entered middle school and only got worse from there. 

-(Anxiety TW) Anxiety followed him everywhere, it left him drained and paranoid, worried he’d miss something or forget something and his life would come crashing down around him. Perhaps it stemmed from a lack of control over his home life...or maybe he was just destined to inherit his mother’s special brand of dysfunction; Either way, they were there and the only way to get some kind of relief was to plan. And to clean. 

- He and his sister were only one and a half years apart so they pretty much always attended the same schools. August looked out for her - she was scatterbrained and rebellious even as a tween - and she resented him for it. He found it frustrating and eventually let up a bit (but not entirely. She lives like five states away and he still sends her reminders.) 

- School was something he excelled at naturally, he was one of those kids who never needed to study and did homework during class because he got bored. Even throughout High School when he chose to take as many AP courses as he could reasonably fit into his schedule, he didn’t have much trouble keeping up with things. (Probs because he can’t deal with procrastination, he has to start things right away) 

- He decided on Radcliffe because his father had gone and he was eligible to apply for an alumni scholarship through the school. For as much as he resented his father, he wasn’t above taking the money to get to where he wanted to go. 

- Choosing his majors was something he’d done Sophomore year of High School when he was working out his plans for the future. He wanted to work with CPS and figured out exactly how to do it. August hasn’t strayed from that path since. 

- His sister still lives in Richmond. She’s a musician touring with her heavy metal band, much to his father’s dismay. Then again, June had never feared him like August was...it was something he admired (and was envious of.)

Personality/Random Headcanons - 

- August is surprisingly personable, he likes being around people and he’d feel empty without friends. Still, people are unpredictable and that’s something that irks him to no end. How do you plan for a spontaneous conversation or a party that goes too late? You don’t. He tries his best to not let it affect his relationships, but his temper tends to flare up at the unpredictable and he gets rather nasty. 

- He chain-smokes when he’s stressed or anxious (which is always), but he hates the way the smell of cigarettes clings to his skin and his breath so he’s mastered the art of masking it. He’s also looked into switching to vaping, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet. 

- Intense is one word to describe him. He’s a lot. 

- Don’t touch his stuff without asking. Ever. He gets twitchy when people handle his things even if it’s just to move them over to make room or something mundane like that. In the same vein, he’s a bit of a neat freak. His room is immaculate and he cleans the rest of the house whenever he sees something that isn’t up to his standards. August is both the best and the worst kind of roommate. 

- He chooses his words very carefully. Language is important to him and he hates the thought of being misunderstood because of his wording. Luckily, he’s gotten good at articulating his thoughts and feelings over the years in a way that doesn’t sound super condescending (most of the time. He has his moments.) 

- August is very tall, not as tall as his father but pretty close at 6′5″. Sure he hunches in on himself, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. He’s still a giant. A gangly giant. 

- He’s trying hard to break loose of his rigid nature for the sake of his career and his future happiness. It’s proving very difficult, especially since he’s got senior year stress to worry about, but he’s determined. 

Wanted Connections - 

- Unlikely Friends: someone who’s the complete anthesis of August but still manages to maintain a close friendship with him 

- Exes: Someone he’s dated over the course of his college career, up to you how they ended things and how they stand with each other now

- Friends

- Annoyances/Distractions: People who insist on trying (whether intentionally or otherwise) to skew his daily schedule or continuously burst into his life without rhyme or reason 

- Potential Romantic Relationships

- People he’s using to get over how controlling his approach to life is

- Smoking Buddies

- Anything really! 

[canchewread]

Editor’s note: earlier this afternoon I managed to smash my foot into a coffee table and I’m increasingly starting to suspect that I broke at least one toe. As a result I haven’t had time to write a full edition of “The Skinny” today; in the meantime here’s a short essay on history, propaganda and the CIA.

In a recent essay about changing mainstream attitudes towards Edward Snowden and the national security state, I talked a little bit how the business of recording and analyzing history is riddled with class-based structural barriers that largely serve to protect and support establishment power and as such, elite capital. Obviously where I deal with this most in my writing is in the real-time record of history reported and analyzed by the media - after all, this type of orthodox, pro-establishment propagandizing happens every day on the evening news.

Today I'm going to switch gears and talk about books, specifically actual history books about war, foreign policy and espionage. After finishing Edward Snowden's new biography “Permanent Record” I went back to my shelf and pulled down Tim Weiner's 2007 book "Legacy of Ashes: A History of the CIA" - a volume I've reference many times in my writing but have never sat down to read from cover to cover until a couple of days ago.

While this isn't exactly a normal book review, I like to note up front that I’m not here to explicitly trash Legacy of Ashes - it's not like Weiner's tome is an objectively bad or horrifyingly inaccurate history book; it did after all win a Pulitzer Prize.

Based on hundreds of direct interviews and massive hordes of (then) recently declassified documents, Legacy of Ashes is mostly what it purports to be - a complete history of the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency from its formation up until roughly 2006. Obviously different scholars have different primary sources but if you're in mainstream liberal media or military scholarship and you write about national security, this is a book you'll be expected by most informed observers to be familiar with; as I said, I've referenced it quite often in my work as well.

Of course, in light of the fact that the book was released right around the same time as the full exposure of CIA's staggering failure in the lead up to and aftermath of 9/11 and its complicity in Bush's secret prisons hiding America's torture program, the author understandably takes an overall "dim" view of the CIA. From cowboy covert operations in the fifties and sixties, up on through to the horrifying failures that lead to the invasion of Iraq in search of weapons of mass destruction our government knew they couldn’t find (because they didn’t exist), Legacy of Ashes tells the tale of a wayward, out of control intelligence agency that has never been capable of its supposed primary function – keeping the President informed of what is happening beyond America’s borders.

In the general sense then, it’s fair to say that for the average reader the book almost certainly comes off as a shocking indictment of the Central Intelligence Agency and many of the men who have had leadership roles inside the agency - so what's the problem? It almost sounds like I'm recommending it - doesn’t it?

Unfortunately however Tim Weiner is an affluent former New York Times journalist with a Journalism degree from Colombia and a career's worth of contact with minions of the national security state; in other words Weiner is about as "establishment" as they come and the effect that has on both his overall worldview and his study of the CIA's history, screams off virtually every single page in Legacy of Ashes.

Like all too many national security "muckrakers" Weiner starts with the basic hypothesis that the CIA and U.S. intelligence agencies in general are good, justified and necessary for the defense of the country - the whole mom and apple pie American feel good story. The repeated abuses and failures of the agency, from the author’s perspective, are simply an obvious byproduct of the arrogance, incompetence and personal failings of individual leaders - failings that are often magnified by the byzantine bureaucratic structures inherent to a "free" and "open liberal democracy” like the United States.

In Weiner's account the CIA itself is not the problem, but rather the faulty individuals entrusted with its sacred task. Catastrophic failures in intelligence that have all too tragic consequences are a result of individual hubris, mission drift and plain old American cultural arrogance; the question of whether or not there should have even been a Cold War for example, simply doesn’t come up - even as the author openly admits that everything the CIA and the US government thought it knew about the Soviet Union turned out to be wrong and was based on lies produced to order by, yes the CIA. Leader after leader and planner after planner are revealed to be flawed human beings consumed by petty emotions or false assumptions and thus wholly unsuited for the job. Every U.S. president is a poor helpless dupe, grasping to extend his power to protect America from harm without realizing what he's now empowered the wayward CIA, lead by "the wrong men", to do next – even as those same men continually empower the CIA to do more and more damage in the “service” of protecting American interests abroad. In this worldview American “cloak and dagger” imperialism comes off as a sort of tragic accident; rather than a purposeful activity designed to bolster American power not just in a military sense, but in a global economic sense on behalf of American corporations as well.

In particular, Weiner's curious assessment of Allen Dulles as a bumbling incompetent obsessed with reckless covert military actions and derisive of the CIA's real work, gathering intelligence, paints a very different and somehow less harmful picture of the former CIA director than previously released accounts that delve deeper into the control Dulles exhibited over American media and the ruthlessness with which he marched men to their deaths in the dubious service of the Cold War on communism. While anyone who has read Dave Talbot’s “The Devil’s Chessboard” will have no real problem accepting that Allen Dulles was an unhinged psychopath whose vision was clouded by myopic hatred of the Soviet Union (and anti-capitalism as a whole), Weiner’s portrait of a gout-ridden dilettante withdrawing into a world of public relations and spy-novel trickery doesn’t line up very well with Dulles’s staggering level of (malignant and xenophobic) influence over multiple U.S. presidents and American foreign policy. We are after all talking about a man who might have had a hand in assassinating an American head of state to not only save the CIA but also prolong the Cold War in the wake of the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Another good example of how the author’s proximity to his subject influences the way he presents the history of the CIA can be found in the way Weiner's suggestive prose repeatedly implies, but does not directly state, that Fidel Castro killed John F Kennedy; an extremely unlikely if not almost impossible scenario in light of the secret peace talks the Kennedy administration has since been revealed to have been trying to conduct with both Castro and Nikita Khrushchev.

It would be one thing if Weiner were just repeating information from CIA interviewees who believed Castro had Kennedy assassinated, but the problem is that Weiner himself is clearly purposely leaving a trail of clues towards his own belief that Fidel Castro had John F. Kennedy killed in retaliation for the CIA's botched plots to assassinate Castro; clues that are scattered throughout the entire book - it comes up at least a dozen times in the first 250 pages for example.

Naturally this theory has the benefit of not only indirectly absolving the CIA itself (and shifting the blame to Robert Kennedy) but also supporting the author’s primary thesis – namely that the CIA is horribly run and has at times been completely out of control but ultimately the agency is worth salvaging; a position that undoubtedly makes Weiner’s ex-CIA friends and sources happy no matter how much they protest otherwise.

In the author’s worldview, even the existence of the CIA is an unfortunate compromise for the pure as snow “democratic” Pig Empire, a result of America’s desperate need to fight the more talented, sophisticated and ruthless Soviet intelligence machine - an admission of inferiority that may seem scandalous on its face, but likely serves the CIA and its efforts to obscure the real, decidedly imperialist purpose of the agency just fine on the whole. Weiner could have and quite probably should have named the book “Legacy of Ashes: Confessions of the real CIA” or something similar because this feels like a confessional, or perhaps national therapy more than it feels like excoriation and condemnation.

Legacy of Ashes uses the agency’s own records and officers to gleefully point out all of the CIA’s already admitted mistakes, but the larger questions of how and why the world’s only superpower keeps letting dangerous cowboy intelligence officials “lead it” by the nose into “accidental” atrocity after “accidental” atrocity is left wholly unasked and unanswered. In the end you’re left with a book that largely consists of a full and detailed chronicle of the CIA’s known public history from the perspective of an exasperated but ultimately sympathetic parent who just wishes the agency would stick with the important work of gathering intelligence. 

So that simply leaves one question; did Tim Weiner sit down to write a limited hangout for the CIA at the time of its greatest need? I can’t definitively answer that question but truthfully, I doubt it. The lens through which Legacy of Ashes views the CIA seems to me wholly a product of who the author is, or rather who he’d simply have to be to end up a world renowned national security reporter for the New York Times; an influential media figure with the resources, time and gravitas to speak to hundreds of former CIA employees.

Weiner comes from a lived experience and professional environment where American imperialism is a dirty foreign smear, the CIA’s purpose is purely defensive and questioning whether or not the problem is American global hegemony itself, as opposed to rogue cowboys running an unsupervised spy shop, is strictly verboten. If the author were the kind of guy who thought the CIA deserved to be shattered into a thousand pieces and American imperialism is a source of global suffering, not global stability - well I highly doubt you’d have ever heard of his book.

All of which isn’t to say that Legacy of Ashes is a worthless book; if like myself you’ve read dozens and dozens of other books on not only the CIA but also U.S. imperialism, it’s fairly easy to tease out the facts from Weiner’s strictly liberal orthodox opinions and desire to ultimately preserve the agency. Unfortunately however if you are not an accomplished history student or largely unfamiliar with the minutiae of CIA’s history as a whole, it’s safe to say that Legacy of Ashes is only going to tell you part of the story - the what, and not the why.

This is because if you ever did figure out the real reasons why, you’d see no justifiable reason for America to even have a CIA.

- nina illingworth

Independent writer, critic and analyst with a left focus. You can find my work at ninaillingworth.com, Can’t You Read, Media Madness and my Patreon Blog. Updates available on Twitter, Mastodon and Facebook. Chat with fellow readers online at Anarcho Nina Writes on Discord! 

[katurrade]

Secrets and Sins 6

This is not your normal TRR story. This is a complete AU. A mobster AU. Hopefully you enjoy this, it’s dark and twisted, but should be a fun ride. It’s also written in a reader format, not a MC format. (Y/N = Your Name) Enjoy!

Description: You flee from an abusive situation and find yourself on the other side of the country, creating new friends and possibly finding new love. But will you be able to escape your past? To truly move on with your life? Or will everything come crashing down around you in the blink of an eye. Catch up HERE.

Word Count: 3,800 ish.

Pairing: Mobster!Liam x Reader.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Violence. Drinking. Curse words. Possible NSFW content in later chapters. Flashbacks of abusive behaviour, and moments of abuse. Possible triggering thoughts and feelings. Probably more warnings to come. You’re been warned.

A/N: *throws canon out the damn window* YEET.

This was supposed to be labelled Chapter 5, but I turned the Liam POV chapter into 3, instead of 2.5 (it was bothering me) so then I had to switch all the chapters up by one number. So this chapter is now 6 instead. Don’t worry, you didn’t miss a chapter. I’m just messing ya’ll up hahaha. Enjoy!

The next day was your first day off all week. You allowed yourself to sleep in, waking up damn near mid day. That was a first in a long time but you had to make up for the extremely late girls night you and Hana had pulled the night before. It was just movies and hot chocolate, after your shift, but it was nice to have someone you could have those nights with. He never really allowed you to have friends, female or not. Especially the not female type. He didn’t want them giving you any ideas. He didn’t want you to have any life lines. It worked. By the time you realized why he didn’t want you having friends it was to late.

You had to deal with everything he did to you entirely on your own. You had never felt more alone. More isolated. More trapped. It was not a good place to be and the day you finally decided it was time to run, you packed just the stuff you knew he wouldn’t notice right away. Loaded up the trunk of your car and left, in the middle of the night. While he slept soundly in your shared bed.

He never let you have money of your own. Everything was on credit cards, everything was trackable, which is extremely inconvenient when you are trying to plan an escape. So you got inventive. In the beginning, whenever he would abuse you, the next day he would pretend he was sorry and that he felt guilty, you knew it was bullshit, but you played along. You would tell him shopping would make you feel better, would make you happy again. So he’d approve a limit and off you’d go.

You’d buy watches, neckless’, rings and clothes. Knowing that when you did finally flee, the jewelry would be easy to take and pawn. To him you just liked flashy things, he obviously didn’t know a damn thing about you. Once you ran, that’s exactly what you did, you drove south and pawned all the shit along the way. Attempting to leave a trail in the wrong direction. Once you had pawned everything, you doubled back and stuck mainly to the back roads, well as much as you could, it wasn’t always an option. But you made do.

It took you a while before you reached New York finally, but you figured if you could throw him off your trail for a bit, it would be worth it. And now that you have been in New York for a few weeks, it had clearly worked in your favour.

During your girls night you had also talked to Hana about your run in with Liam, she had been adamant originally about steering clear of him, but now she was starting to teeter on that a bit. After you recounted the interaction with him, some of your feelings during it and then some of what Olivia had told you about him. She still wasn’t 100% on board, but she was warming up to the idea of you possibly saying yes to a date with him. She urged you to take it slow and to only agree to a date if it’s what you really, truly wanted. Oh, and to be safe. But that whatever you chose to do, she would stand behind you and your decision. That put you more at ease, you had only just gotten Hana in your life, but she had quickly become your best friend and you needed her, more then she could ever know.

After all the serious talk was out of the way she pointed out that if you did date him it meant you’d possibly be able to get her into some fancy VIP sections and private parties. You had made a joke about her pimping you out for her own benefit to which she just shrugged and said “Girls gotta do what a girls gotta do” you both laughed till it hurt then the conversation got lighter. You both zoned out on movies and ate way to much junk food before you called it a night and took a cab home.

You picked up your phone. ‘No new messages’ so you put it back down then pulled yourself out of bed and wandered over to your bathroom. Quickly brushing your teeth then hopping in the shower. Once you were done, still in your towel you went back into your room and grabbed your pants from the day before. You reached into the back pocket and pulled out the business card. You spun it in your fingers a few times, humming and hawing before you plopped down on your bed and picked up your phone. You added Liam into your contacts then opened a text window to him.

You started typing a message but then started to hit the back space button, and deleted it all. Then you started typing another message only to again delete it all. You groaned. It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet and i’m already itching to message him. The fuck? No. Not yet. You will not cave that quickly. Guy doesn’t need anymore of an ego boost.

You heaved yourself up off the bed and got dressed in a pair of light blue skinny jeans, a white tank top with a white knit sweater over top. Then you went over to your window to look out at the busy street below. It was a beautiful sunny day, though probably still cold as balls, there were a bunch of people out and about. You took one more glance at your phone then decided you needed some fresh air. You needed to get out of your apartment before you did something hasty. Maybe wander around for a bit then head down to the Lee’s shop and pick up a few things. You pulled on your white converses and your black bomber jacket then looked out the peep hole. All clear. You opened the door and headed out.

Once you got down to the street you pushed open the front door to your building, walked down the steps then check both directions quickly before you began to walk towards your favourite coffee shop.

You opened the doors to the wonderful smell of fresh brewed coffee mixed with of hint of donuts. You had stumbled upon this place on a couple weeks back and it had quickly became your favourite place to spend down time. Well aside from your apartment, Hana’s or the Lee’s shop. But it was a close 4th for sure.

You stood in line for a few minutes and zoned out on your thoughts. Mainly of a pair of blue eyes and the deep, seductive voice that went with him. You began to think about the words he had said to you, how they had made you feel, that is until you felt someone tap your shoulder gently and you looked at the person behind you. They pointed towards the counter and you turned to realized the barista was trying to get your attention, you hadn’t noticed the line moving and now it was your turn to order. With a quick ‘sorry and thank you’ to the person that tapped you out of your trance, you moved up to the counter. You ordered your favourite hot fall beverage then stepped over to the far side of the counter to wait.

Once your drink showed up, you went to sit in a window seat to just relax, enjoy your drink and people watch for a bit through the window. New York was the city that never slept and there was always an abundance of people to watch, no matter what time of day. People heading to and from work. Families out for a stroll. Couples walking hand in hand. Dog walkers. Bike couriers. And cabs. So many cabs. You wondered what other peoples lives were like. Were they happy with their lives? Did they enjoy their jobs? Had they found true love? Or were they running from their past just like you were?

You sat there for just over an hour, your drink was cold by the time to you reached the last few sips but you didn’t mind. You finished it off then threw out the cup and pushed the front door open to head back out to the sidewalk. The sounds of New York ringing in your ears again. You wandered around just checking out stores and enjoying some much needed time off. Some much needed alone time. Not only to just relax, but also to help clear your mind. Clear those darn persistent thoughts. You knew if you sat in your apartment all day, you’d have texted Liam. You had very little self control when it came to men, clearly. You were surprised you had withstood this long. Maybe your ex had changed you in one good way. Not that you’d ever thank him for what he’d done to you. But maybe you were stronger now. Wiser even.

After a while of wandering, you found yourself outside of the Lee’s shop. Your mind had subconsciously brought you here. You opened the door to the familiar chimes of the over head bells, signalling a new customer, and saw the smile break out in Mr. Lee’s face when his eyes met yours. You had visited the Lee’s often since you’d first stumbled into their shop that first week in town. They had almost become like family to you. Like the family you’d never had. You’d come down on your days off and just chat with Mr. Lee, about every thing and anything. He was extremely easy to talk to and had been around the block a few times, to say the least, so he gave good advice.

“Y/N. How are you today, dear?”

You smiled. A real smile. “Good. Good. It’s my day off so I figured I’d stop in and grab a few things”

“Of course, good plan.”

You grabbed a basket and wandered the aisles, answering Mr. Lee’s questions as you went. Once you had everything you needed you went up to the till, you both chatted for a little while longer, as he slowly rang in all your items. You paid him then headed out, waving from the door as you left. By the time you finally got back outside the sun was just starting to set, and it was just starting to get dark out. You hadn’t realized just how long you had talked to Mr. Lee till this exact moment. God you missed the long summer days. These autumn days were just to short. And it got dark far to early.

You needed to get home, and fast. You didn’t want to be out, alone, after dark for long. You began to walk down the side walk, back towards your place but something just felt ...off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it but your gut was not happy about something. That much you knew. And you had this eerie feeling. Like something bad was about to happen. You paused your steps and looked over your shoulder, feeling again like you were being watched again, but not in a good way, however nothing really stood out to you. No one even seemed to notice you, let alone be starring at you.

You turned back around to face forward, pulling your hood up over your head and keeping your head down. Just a little further till you reached your apartment. Just a little further. You were almost there so you peered over you shoulder once more before turning back around to walk up the steps to the front door of your building, but just as you did someone bumped into your shoulder, hard and almost knocked you down. You caught yourself at the last second then quickly spun around to look at the person who had damn near shoulder checked you and a chill instantly ran down your spin.

You didn’t know who he was, but the look on his face was not a friendly one. That much you could tell. And he was build like a damn brick shit house.

“Oh, are you Y/N?” He asked, in the most fake friendly voice you had ever heard. It honestly gave you the creeps. And made you feel instantly uncomfortable.

“Nope, sorry dude.” You responded nonchalantly, trying to keep your voice even and confident. You needed to mask the nerves in your voice, they would have been a dead give away, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to take him if push came to shove. Not alone at least.

You turned and headed for the door again. You didn’t want to turn your back on him but you had to make him think you weren’t threatened by him as you had ‘no idea who Y/N was’.

“You sure?” He asked.

“Positive.” You said firmly. You prayed he believed you and just walked away. You pulled your keys out of your pocket and started up the stairs.

“Huh, that’s funny because you look just like her.” He clearly hadn’t gone away, you tucked the keys between your fingers in a closed fist, making sure to hide that from the shit brick house. You wanted to make sure if he pulled anything you’d have a slight advantage. Though not much and probably not for long,as he was fucking huge, but an advantage none the less.

“I just have one of those faces, I guess” you shrugged.

“No, I don’t think that’s it. But we will let him be the judge of that.” You froze. The words instantly sent a nasty chill down your spin again. And you felt like the wind was knocked out of you. He had found you. He knew where you were. And had clearly sent people to retrieve you—

Before you could think anything else you felt the man grab your left arm forcefully. You instantly dropped your bags and spun on your heels towards him on your left, arm cocked, the few steps you had gone up giving you the perfect height to clock him in the face. And using the momentum of your spin your fist collided with his jaw, and fucking hard at that. He let go of your arm and released a deep guttural sound as his hand flew up to cup his face.

“You fucking bitch!” He growled. The keys had broken the flesh and left some pretty nasty gashes in his face. At least from what you could quickly see through his fingers. But you weren’t about to wait around to get a better look.

You scrambled to take advantage of the brief moment and bolted up the steps for the door. You fumbled with your keys but just as you put it in the key hole you felt a hand on the back of your head. He grabbed ahold of your hair and yanked you backwards. You slammed into the stairs, your back taking the brunt of the hit, it damn near winded you. Then you felt him start to drag you down the stairs by your hair. You flailed and clawed at his hand in an attempt to get him to release you but it didn’t work. He was to strong. Panic began to sink in. You were no match for this man. He was so much bigger then you.

Just as he got you to the bottom of the stairs you hear the sound of tires screeching to a stop. Praying a random bystander was stopping to help you. But before you could even think about who may be in the car you felt his hand reefed off you, and you knew someone had, in fact, stopped to help you. You quickly pulled yourself up to your feet, but instantly felt light headed so you sat down and raised a hand up to massage the back of your head where he had grabbed you.

You could barely comprehend what was going on around you. It had all happened so fast. You heard another car pull up, a car door slamming shut loudly right after and then the sounds of quick foot steps towards you. You tensed up as fear fill your body at the thought of who was running towards you, you quickly looked up but then your eyes locked onto a very familiar figure and a set of piecing blues. “Y/N!” And just from hearing his voice all the fear washed away, instantly. Liam. You don’t know why, but something about him being here put you at ease. He was here. In front of you. You were safe now.

Before he could even get up the stairs, you sprung up and lunged yourself at him. It had clearly caught him off guard as he tensed up momentarily before finally wrapping his arms tightly around you. You buried your face into his chest and took a deep breath. His familiar smell engulfing you and taking over your senses. You don’t know why you hugged him, but you’re glad you did and in his arms was the safest you had felt in a while. Scratch that. Ever.

He cradled your head with one large hand while the other rubbed your back, soothingly. After a few minutes he released his hold on you and pulled back. You mimicked his movements, pulling your arms out from around him and taking a half step back. Instantly missing his warmth but also realizing just how intimate that moment was. Maybe you had overstepped? But then his hands went to either side of your face. “Are you okay?” He asked urgently as his hands cupped your face and moved your head around ever so gently so he could look you over. And you knew right then that you hadn’t overstepped.

Was he worried about you? You grabbed his wrists to pause his inspection of you, and lowered his hands from your face before you nodded and quietly responded “I-i am. T-thanks to you.” You were obviously still in shock. Still shaky and out of it.

He just stared at you, still looking you over with his eyes as if he had missed something the first time. A few different emotions ran through his beautiful blues before he nodded and looked away from you. You turned to see what he was looking at and watched as two people lugged the now unconscious shit brick house towards a blacked out Mercedes. They popped the trunk and threw him in, promptly closing the trunk as a woman turned around and nodded to Liam. You looked back at him just as he gave a quick nod in return to her then he looked back down at you again.

“You aren’t safe here anymore, you’ll have to come with me.”

You furrowed your brows “What do you mean? This is my house?” You questioned. Then reality began to sink in. How did Liam know where you lived? How did he manage to show up right when you needed him most? Who was that guy? Who were those two people, that woman? What the fuck was going on?

“I’ll explain everything but not here.” He turned and headed towards his car.

“What is going on? Who was that guy?” You crossed your arms and held your ground “Tell me right now or I’m not going with you.”

He paused his steps then turned back to face you “Either you come on your own or I’ll force you to. Your choice.” He threatened.

“What, so you’re just going to kidnap me then?”

He walked towards you and you stepped back until you bumped into the bottom of the stairs with him looming directly over you “Y/N, we don’t have time for this shit. We have to go. Now.” He commanded.

He crouched down and grabbed you around the waist, throwing you over his right shoulder, effortlessly. He wrapped his right arm around your upper thighs then squatted down to grab your purse and bags off the ground with his left hand. “Liam, what the hell! put me down!” You hollered “Right now!” But he just ignored you, and stood back up to his full height. He then turned and walked over to the car, he popped the trunk and you started to freak the fuck out “Okay! Okay! I’ll go with you, just don’t put me in the trunk! Please!” You pleaded. “I don’t do well in small spaces!”

You felt your body start to jiggle randomly and realized he was fucking laughing. The fucker was in the middle of kidnapping you and he was fucking laughing at you? What the fuck?

“What are you laughing about?” You growled.

He finally stopped laughing enough to speak “Y/N, I’m not putting you in the trunk.” he shook his head then turned his body slightly so you could see into the trunk. Or rather, so you could see the bags along with your purse that were now in it. “Oh” you said slowly as it clicked. Shit. You scrunched up your nose, feeling like an idiot. But what were you supposed to think!? He shut the trunk and walked to the passenger door. “Are you going to cooperate and get in on your own?” He asked. His tone authoritative. Reprimanding, almost.

“Yes.” You sighed out. Feeling like a scolded child.

“Good.” Then you felt his large hands grip either side of your hips and slowly pull you forwards off his shoulder. Your body connected to his the whole way back to the ground. It made you a little flustered, to say the least, and you felt the heat raise in your cheeks. Your feet hit the ground and you glanced up to see that fucking smirk in place on his face. You quickly turned to open the car door, needing to gain some distance from him but his hand beat you to the handle. He pulled open the door for you and you climbed in, mumbling a ‘thank you’ as you did. You heard him chuckle as he shut the door and made his way around the front of the car. You crossed your arms somewhat in frustration but also as a comfort thing. You were currently sitting in a car owned by the King of New York, as he was about to get into it and drive you to some unknown location. Shit was scary as hell. But not in the ways you would have expected. You weren’t scared of him. You were scared of how he made you feel, of what would happen if you let him in. Gave into him, fully.

He climbed into the drivers side, settled in then looked over at you. “Belt.” He commanded.

You looked over at him, confused. “What?”

“Put your seat belt on, Y/N.” He clarified. Though it was obviously still a command.

“Right.” you said then quickly did just that, once it was clicked in he nodded once then put the car in drive and took off down the road. To where? Who fucking knows. But even though he was the most powerful man in New York, and if you were honest probably most of America, you felt oddly safe. More safe then you had felt in months. Scratch that. Years. And you liked that feeling. A lot, actually.

Chapter 7 HERE.

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[lxgatus]

GENERAL.

full name.   Wahisietel nicknames.   Wahi, ‘Ali’

height. 6′10 / 208cm or 6′5 in human form age. 10,000 years give or take zodiac. Mahjarrat don’t keep track of birthdates, but this boy basically screams Virgo tbh languages. Freneskaen, common tongue, Infernal (canon verse), English, Japanese and basic ASL (modern as of right now), Romanian / Transylvanian-variety Romanian (Castlevania verse). 

PHYSICAL CHARACTERISTICS.

hair colour.   Mahjarrat are completely hairless. Chestnut brown with patches of grey in human form eye colour. Green.  skin tone. Pale. Tanned as a human body type. Mesomorph accent.  Sounds something similar to a weak British one dominant hand. Ambidextrous but favours his right. posture. Back straight with head tilted down slightly. Tends to shift his weight to the left side and arms are usually behind his back. As a human, he tends to slouch forward slightly and keep his hands in his pockets; tired with age. scars. Broken/torn spines on his back that no longer have movement to them, bite marks around his shoulders, neck and torso. Mahjarrat teeth are designed to mess with the body’s ability to heal so they appear ragged. Long, sweeping claw marks from below his navel to the base of his genitals and multiple faded cuts on the palms of his hands and soles of his feet. His finger/toe ‘beans’ are pretty beat up tbh.  tattoos. Mahjarrat are born with natural tattoo-like body markings. Red lines going down the length of his head and branching off on his back and torso. Lines are found everywhere except genitals and palms/soles.  most noticeable features. To humans, it’s probably his size. Tall and built like a professional strongman with a near-constant ‘resting bitch face’ makes him come off as frightening. To Mahjarrat, it's usually his face. Most Mahjarrat have a sharp and angular face but his features are a bit softer than normal and it raises eyebrows sometimes; especially when his little brother is around -- the younger looking far older, and being much taller than Wahisietel.  

CHILDHOOD.

place of birth.   Freneskae hometown.   Mahjarrat campsite? They didn’t have towns, just tribal camps.  birth weight / height. 20lbs 30 inches. Mahj babies are... huge.  manner of birth.   Natural first words. ‘Mah’ siblings. Sliske (half-brother, share the same mother) parents. Arzekyl  (father, deceased). His mother he refuses to name or even acknowledge tbh (deceased) parental involvement. Fathers generally don’t have much involvement so it’s the mother’s job to raise the child. Father taught him basic survival skills. Mother was a harsh and violent teacher that basically left him on his own until he was old enough to be sacrificed due to being a ‘broken / runt’ child with speech and magic delay. Only after he ‘proved’ that he was worthy of living by killing another chosen for potential sacrifice did his mother start to sort of give a shit. She was still abusive and violent, though. She wasn’t fond of either of her kids.

His father he holds no ill will against because it’s just their culture, but his mother he utterly despised. He physically dragged her to the ritual site himself, smiling as she was sent to the void. 

ADULT LIFE.

occupation. Scholar and historian. Ex-Legatus (general) in the Zarosian Empire  current residence. Nardah (canon verse), Earth (modern verse), Wallachia (Castlevania verse) close friends. Azzanadra. As of right now, no one else relationship status. Single financial status. Living paycheque to paycheque driver’s license. None. Doesn’t know how to drive criminal record.   Not technically. 

SEX & ROMANCE.

sexual orientation.   Grey-asexual / demi romantic orientation. Demiromantic preferred emotional role.   submissive | dominant | switch |  unsure preferred sexual role.  submissive  |  dominant  |  switch |  sex repulsed libido. Below average. He can go hundreds of years without needing release, but if you get him aroused its hard for him to shake. turn on’s.  Considering that Mahjarrat culture is really aggressive, he melts easily to soft touch. Trailing fingertips/nails feather-light down his spine or head ridges. While he doesn’t like his neck touched, breathing on it works pretty well. People trying to be dominant he finds really cute and if you’re lucky he’s willing to have a bit of a power struggle. (If you try and dominate him he’ll be disobedient as hell until you can prove yourself, so that's fun) He’s really into biting and marking but for the most part any sort of delicate contact. turn off’s. Going straight for his neck, especially if dominance/submission hasn’t been established since the neck is a sign of submission to Mahj. Degrading and ordering him around.

love language.  For the most part, he’s not keen on touching people. But if you’re the target of his affection, he’ll actually become really physical. He’ll seek out interaction and get really handsy. While to people outside of the relationship, it may seem like general friendly behaviour, but to people who are familiar with him, even something as simple as fixing a button or brushing the hair from the person’s face is a huge sign of intimacy. His embraces are warm and all-consuming and his touch will soft and gentle; Mahjarrat are strong, but he’ll touch his S/O as though they’re made of priceless material. He’ll open up to them, not bottle up his emotions around them if he feels safe enough.

Also, he’ll do silly things like pull his S/O onto his lap if they’re within arm’s reach, or he’ll just sprawl across theirs like a giant cat. He’ll get in your space like an affectionate pet.

relationship tendencies. Mahjarrat do not fall in love easily. Their culture is all about not trusting others, so feelings of affection are strange and foreign to them.  They choose mates based on genetics, not aesthetics. Fighting over strong mates to bear strong offspring, feelings aren't involved. The stronger the individual, the higher the chance a Mahjarrat will want you. While he does experience attraction, he doesn’t quite understand what it is he’s feeling. It’s like ‘when I’m around you I get a weird feeling in my gut and I don’t like it. But when you’re not here there’s an emptiness and I think I’d rather deal with the uncomfortable weight. I hate it but please don’t leave me.’ If he has a type, he’s unaware of it. Though he does seem to find comfort in people who have similar experiences. 

MISCELLANEOUS.

character’s theme song. Going to War - Pagan Fury. (for some reason I get really strong Wahi vibes from this tbh) hobbies to pass the time. Reading, book-binding, ‘cooking’ (more like burning), people watching mental illnesses/disorders. None that he’s aware of. He does experience some signs of possibly PTSD, but he doesn’t have a formal diagnosis and good luck getting him to sit down and talk about it with someone. Had some developmental delay but that was never looked into either. Freneskae wasn’t exactly a great place for health and development. physical illnesses. None that he’s aware of.  left or right brained. Left fears. Being seen as useless/running out of his use, thunder self confidence level. Surprisingly low. He’s good at faking it, but his fear of being seen as useless overworks and stresses him.  vulnerabilities.  As mentioned above, his fear of being seen as useless is a huge source of his stress. Implying that his use has run out is quick to break him because he feels as though his very life is in danger. His need to prove himself will make him overwork to the point where his own health and energy suffers. A stressed and worried Wahi is a mistake-prone Wahi, which leads to more stress and it’s a constant cycle. It’s one of the few times you’ll ever see him actually break down. 

tagged by: I stole it. Tagging: @fiulnoapte @timidplum and whoever hasn’t done it

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

All I Need~ Part 2

Pairings: Josh Dun x Pregnant!Reader

Overview: You move to Columbus, Ohio to live with your brother after your ex-boyfriend becomes abusive after telling him of a surprise pregnancy. You become involved in the church and unknowingly befriend the Dun family. After finally meeting Josh, there’s a connection between the two of you that lands you in some complicated situations.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse

Y/N = Your Name

Y/B/N = Your Brother’s Name

Part 1

You’d been living in Columbus for four weeks now and were finally settled in completely. You’d gotten a job working at a comic book shop of all places, were taking two classes at the community college just to continue your schooling, had gotten involved in the church more than you ever thought you would, and finally had your first ultrasound.

You sat on the edge of a hospital bed, leaning back on your hands to give your growing belly room to stretch a slightly. Your brother sat in the chair next to you while a nurse asked you questions, “How old are you?” She asked.

“23,” You responded.

“Are you on any medication?”

“Nope.”

“This is your first visit with Dr. Leslie, correct? When were you last seen by an OB/GYN?”

You had a feeling you’d be judged for the answer, “About four months ago. Not since I’ve been pregnant. I found out I was pregnant in the urgent care and left that town before I could see a specialist.”

She wrote everything down, “So no ultrasounds have been done or any other extensive testing?” You shook your head in response. The nurse wrote down the last few notes before looking up, “Alright, Dr. Leslie will be in in just a moment.”

About three minutes later, a middle aged woman with blonde hair tied up in a bun walked into the room, shaking your hand, “Hi, I’m Dr. Leslie and I’m your new OB/GYN. I see here you have a little something on the way.” Her bubbly nature made her seem younger than she was but it gave a good vibe to the room. As she prepared some things, bringing over a little sonogram machine on wheels, she kept talking, “So is this dad?” She motioned to Y/B/N and you laughed at the increasingly common misconception.

“No, that’s my brother. Dad isn’t in the picture.” You confessed.

Dr. Leslie smiled, “It ends up being for the best sometimes. But no information on the father’s family medical history?” She questioned. You shook your head. “Well that’s alright. Okey dokey! We’re gonna get started, if you could please lift your shirt up just to expose your belly. Brother, you can stand over here if you would like to see as well.” Y/B/N stood by your side as the doctor squeezed blue gel onto your exposed belly, making you shiver.

“We’re just gonna run this over your belly until we can see something.” She placed the small device on your stomach and the screen lit up, indistinguishable black and white marks appearing. “You said you’re at 8 weeks, correct?” You nodded, mesmerized by the image and trying to make anything out of it. Dr. Leslie’s face looked concentrated until she finally smiled, pointing at a white bean shaped object in a black spot on the screen, “There they are!”

Your heart swelled with joy looking at the picture. That was your baby. That was your child. She flicked a little switch and you could hear something that resembled a heart beat. Y/B/N stared intensely at the screen, holding your shoulder proudly. “The heartbeat sounds a little strange…” the doctor said, concern in her voice, “It could just be technical problems, developmental issues that will fix itself, or something more serious. We won’t know until we run more tests but as for right now, just take your vitamins and don’t worry too much until I tell you there’s something to worry about. But looking at the fetus otherwise, they seem healthy. We won’t be able to tell the gender until about 18 weeks, though. Do you want the pictures?”

You and Y/B/N left the clinic, pictures in hand of your baby-to-be. “Alrighty, to the Dun barbeque we go!” He said, opening the door for you.

Your heart stopped, “Wait what?”

He gave you a strange look, “What do you mean ‘what?’ You knew we were going to Bill and Laura Lee’s barbeque after your ultrasound for weeks.”

“No, did you say ‘Dun barbeque?’” You asked in momentary terror.

Y/B/N laughed a little, “Yeah.”

“You mean as in Joshua William Dun of twenty one pilots?” He gave you a stupid smile that confirmed what you were thinking, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?! I’ve known Josh Dun’s parents for a month and I had no idea! What the hell!” You ran your hands over your face, stressing out over the new revelation.

Your brother laughed, “They like to keep it kind of quiet. Everyone in the church grew up with Josh so it’s not a big deal to them but when new people come, they don’t like to make a big deal out it. It’s just easier that way. But yes, you are friends with Josh Dun’s mother and you are going to their home for a barbeque that he may be at.”

“Was the twenty one pilots shirt I was wearing the other day not a good sign for you to tell me any of this?! Have you ever met them?!” You hissed as he pulled out of the parking lot.

He put a hand up in defense, “It was exactly why I didn’t! I didn’t want you to freak out like this. And no, I’ve never met Josh or Tyler. I’ve heard about them but I never became close friends with Mr. and Mrs. Dun. You did this on your own, kiddo.”

You couldn’t believe it. You were going to the childhood home of one of your favorite musicians. Why you didn’t put this all together was beyond you. Columbus, Ohio. Bill and Laura Lee, the loving Christian couple. You weren’t a crazy I’m going to stalk them fan but still. Pregnancy brain, maybe? Yeah, that’s the story you would stick with.

You looked in the mirror, looking at yourself and realizing you looked like a wreck, “Can we stop by the house so I can change?” You asked referring to the wet spots on your loose band shirt for your favorite band (other than twenty one pilots) from where the gel wasn’t completely wiped off.

“No! It started half an hour ago as it is! You look fine!” He told you, turning up the radio to signal that the discussion was over. You rolled your eyes, trying to dry up the spots on your shirt.

Soon the car pulled along the curb and you stepped out, adjusting the flannel that was wrapped around your hips before grabbing an apple pie from the back seat that you guys brought. “I hate you.” You muttered angrily at Y/B/N as you walked directly into the backyard through the wide open gate.

“Y/N! Y/B/N!” Laura Lee said, running up to hug you guys.

You smiled awkwardly, finding the new revelation of who her son was all you could think about. It made your whole friendship seem like a lie. Of course it isn’t, you told yourself. “We brought a pie,” You told her, handing it to her.

“Awe thank you darling. You didn’t have to do that. Well anyways, this is the family! You know Jordan, Ashley, and Abigail so they’ll show you around. Drinks are in the ice chest on the back patio,” Something caught her attention and she waved frantically in your direction, “Ooh! Josh! Come here!” She glanced back at you as a familiar man walked towards your group, “This is my son Josh. Josh, this is Y/N. She just moved to Columbus recently.”

The world stopped for a moment. Josh Dun stood in front of you in all his glory. Faded neon pink hair stuck out of a snapback just like it did in pictures you’d seen online. His smile brightened the world around him. The ink on his skin was mesmerizing.

In the real world, though, time kept moving and thankfully you were composed enough to be civilized around him, “Hi! It’s nice to meet you.” You greeted, extending a hand.

“Nice to meet you too.” He shook your hand and it seemed to light up as his skin touched yours, “Where did you move from?”

“(where you would like to live/ currently live). I’m definitely glad to be living here though.” You chuckled a little bit.

He smirked. Oh goodness, that smirk, “That’s awesome. Welcome to Ohio.” You smiled back at him, trying to not be embarrassingly captivated by him. He’s just a person. A normal person, you told yourself. That was until you noticed that neither of you had said anything for a while and you were still looking at each other.

Laura Lee must have noticed the prolonged silence because she gasped and her eyes lit up out of nowhere, “How did the ultrasound go? Pictures?” She was nearly squealing with excitement.

A grin plastered on your face as you reached into your back pocket and handed her the stack of sonogram pictures. You pointed at the small white spot that was your baby, “He or she is right there.”

She put her hand over her mouth as she looked at the picture, “Oh my word, look at that!” She leaned over, showing Josh, “Look at that!” Josh’s eyes lit up with an adorable sparkle.

“You’re pregnant?” He asked with a smile.

Your hands found their spot on your slightly swollen belly, “Yep. About 2 months.”

“No way! That’s awesome. Congratulations!” His eyes flicked between you and your brother and you were scared that he also assumed that your brother was the baby’s dad.

You smiled warmly, “Thank you!”

Laura Lee held up the pictures up, “I’m gonna go show these off!” Before you could object, she ran, showing everyone she could the pictures.

The three of you couldn’t help but laugh a little bit, “Well while she’s doing that, I’m gonna go grab a drink. Does anybody want anything?” You offered.

“No, I’m alright. Thank you though.” Josh said politely.

“I’m good, thanks.” You brother told you. You turned and walked over to the ice chest, grabbing a soda. Somewhere along your journey across the backyard, you were also ushered into line to get some food. One can and a plate full of fruit and cookies later, you finally were allowed to grab a seat at one of the plastic fold out tables.

Y/B/N was talking to some of the Dun family that he did know, looking happily at the group around him. You sat alone but didn’t necessarily mind ot. Everyone around you had this vibe that made it impossible to feel lonely. You picked at your fruit, telling yourself to eat that first no matter how much you craved the various cookies in front of you. Being by yourself did allow your mind to wander and you found yourself unintentionally eavesdropping on people’s conversations. You weren’t sure who but a little girl’s voice yelled from somewhere, “STOP IT! The butterflies don’t want to smell your toes!” You almost choked on your mango out of laughter and you sat there silently choking into your napkin while laughing.

“You alright there?” A familiar voice asked. You looked up to see a smiling Josh sliding into the chair across from you.

You shot him a strained smile. Clearing your throat one final time, “Yeah, I’m okay.” You took a deep breath, “I’m okay.” You repeated, “Sorry, I just overheard something funny.”

“Nothing is funny enough to die over so please try to stay alive.” He teased.

“I’ll try.” You giggled.

He grabbed a chip off his plate, “Was anybody sitting here? I forgot to ask.”

“Oh no! You’re fine there.” You reassured him, “Did I really look that lonely?” You joked.

He shrugged sarcastically, “Pretty lonely, but I figured I might be able to fix that.” You both chuckled a little, “My mom’s talked a lot about you. Thanks for helping her so much at church, by the way.”

You ate another strawberry, “Of course! It’s great to have something to do. And your parents are such great people it’s really not any trouble at all. They’ve been so kind to me.”

“And that’s your brother over there, right?” He asked, nodding to Y/B/N.

You nodded, “Yeah. I moved in with him a month ago. He lives near the university.”

“That’s awesome.” He smiled, taking a bite of his burger.

Suddenly, you started feeling guilty. You felt like you were lying to him for some reason, “I just feel like I need to tell you, I, uh, know who you are. Oh gosh that sounded weird. I mean I… I like your music.” You stuttered over your words, trying to recover from the initial weird comment, “Sorry, I just didn’t want to get half through a conversation and be like, ‘Oh yeah, I’m a big fan.’” You tried to laugh away the awkwardness.

Thankfully, Josh was laughing too, “Don’t worry about it. And speaking of being weird, I hope this isn’t too out of line or anything, but why are you living with your brother with… uh sorry. Nevermind.” He looked away, realizing how personal his question was.

Even though he didn’t finish the question, you had a feeling what he was asking, “It’s fine. He’s not in the picture.” You told Josh, referring to your baby’s father.

“Do you mind if I ask why?” He asked, looking cautiously for your reaction.

You laughed slightly, “He was just a pig. Long story. I don’t want to bore you with the problems of my life.”

He leaned forward slightly, “I have time and an open ear if you’re willing to tell.” His eyes were so kind and he looked like he genuinely wanted to know.

You cocked an eyebrow and sighed, “Alrighty, if you insist.” You giggled before getting slightly more serious, “His name’s Marcus. We had a mutual friend who wanted him to meet our friend group since Marcus had just come back from spending ten months in Brazil. We hit it off and dated for a year or so. A little over a month ago I found out I was pregnant. When I told him, he got super pissed and told me to ‘get rid of it.’” You put air quotations around the last four words and Josh’s eyes got wide, “I refused and he stormed out and disappeared for a week. Heck, I even said he didn’t have to be around if he didn’t want to, I just wasn’t getting an abortion. When he came back he kept apologizing and said he wanted to make it up to me.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I believed him but he seemed sincere so I gave him a chance. He said he wanted to apologize for everything and even wanted to start pricechecking baby things. We drove over to the mall and looked around for a bit. The elevator was out of order so we started walking down one of those stairwells that are all concrete, like in parking lots. After I walked in, he shut the door and tried to shove me down the stairs.”

“Oh my gosh…” Josh looked horrified but couldn’t figure out what to say.

You scoffed, “Yeah, I know. Thankfully, I knew something was up when he made sure the door was shut all the way before walking in. I was able to grab onto the railing enough to not really fall when he pushed me.”

“What did you do?” Josh asked, disbelief carved into his face.

You laughed a little, “Once he realized I didn’t fall, I punched him in the face as hard as I could, called him some less than appropriate names, and left him on the ground. I stayed the night at a friends house and was on a plane here the next day.”

Josh just looked at you in horror. After a moment of shocked silence, he stuttered, “Wow. I am so sorry. That’s just… Wow.”

You raised your eyebrows as you sipped your soda, “Yeah, tell me about it,” You chuckled a little bit. It really was all you could do. “But now I’m here. Way better future for me and the little one. So many amazing, loving people like your parents have stepped up to help me out.”

“They’re pretty cool I guess.” His face lit up with laughter.

You tried to think of something to ask him, “So is there anything I just have to do while I’m in Columbus? Anything super awesome that I can’t miss?”

Josh leaned back for a moment in thought, crossing his arms over his grey t-shirt, “You’re already at the coolest place in this whole city. I mean the Dun barbeques are kind of legendary. We have a trampoline and everything so I don’t know why you would want to go anywhere else.” You shrugged in agreement, “But for a serious answer… hm… It depends on what you like. There’s a cool garden and German Town. Downtown has some pretty cool places too if you just like to walk around.”

“That all sounds really cool actually.” You told him, trying to figure out which one you would try first in your head.

“Oh! And if you go to downtown there’s this restaurant.” Suddenly he stopped talking, looking lost, “Oh my gosh, what is it called?” He asked himself, a laugh escaping his lips. “You know what? I’m going to remember this at two in the morning when it doesn’t matter.”

You hadn’t realized how much your face hurt from smiling until right now, “Just make sure you don’t forget it so you can tell me whenever I see you again. Or at least you can tell your mom to tell me.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, “I was wondering if I could actually get your number, that way I can wake you up in the middle of the night when I remember.”

“Hmm,” You mock pondered, “Sure.” You took his phone and put all your information in it before handing it back to him. Your heart was nearly bursting out of your chest. Did he really ask for your number?

Josh leaned back, stretching when a small blonde girl ran up to him, “Uncle Josh! Can you bounce us really high on the trampoline?” She asked, holding onto his arm and jumping up and down excitedly.

He smiled down at her, glancing at his arm that was nearly vibrating from her energy, “Does your mommy know how many cookies you’ve eaten?”

A mischievous little smile appeared on her face, “Nooo….” She sang.

“Do you even know how many cookies you’ve eaten?” Josh raised an eyebrow at her.

She didn’t even answer. She just laughed like what he said was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. Then she rolled her eyes and used all her tiny weight to pull on his arm, “Come on!!!” She whined.

“Okay! Okay!” He smiled, his eyes lighting up, “I’ll be there in just a second.” She ran off, yelling to all the kids that he was coming. He sighed, looking back at you, “Well sorry to leave you but maintaining favorite uncle status has its responsibilities.” He stood up, chasing various children on his way to the trampoline. You watched as he stood surrounded by several kids sitting around him. He began jumping and soon children were rolling and jumping all over the place. He leaned over to help one up and before anyone knew it he was being dogpiled.

“Stop making googoo eyes.” Your brother’s voice teased you from behind. He sat in the same seat Josh was just in a second ago.

“I wasn’t!” You yourself, putting your hands up.

“Um, yeah you were. But I think he was looking at you too.” He wiggled his eyebrows and you rolled your eyes.

“Shut up!” You hid your blushing face behind your hand. You glanced back over to Josh who was being chased in circles by a horde of young children. Okay… maybe you were making googoo eyes.

[embracetheshipping]

Hired Part Three - Conflict of Interest

@erikalyafter requested the following prompt: Trained as a sexual weapon Steve hunts the world’s best detective

Chapters (1) (2) (3)

In Steve’s line of work, referrals were the key to finding clients.  One couldn’t very well put out a flyer advertising mercenary-type services wherein sex (or at least the promise of sex) might be used to extort information or carry out an assassination.  More importantly, however, referrals gave him a minor measure of security, in that there was a six-degrees-of-separation element to the identity of his customers.  He had begun his career by working for people he knew and trusted, and they in turn recommended him to others.  And because the initial sources of the recommendations were reliable, he could feel more or less at ease in taking on new jobs.

It was for that reason, along with a general bad feeling in his gut, that he was currently preoccupied with mapping out an exit strategy rather than engaging in formal pleasantries with the group of well-dressed men seated around the table.

“I’m sorry – but how did you hear of me again?” Steve asked.

The group’s apparent leader, a tall, fit man in his fifties who identified himself as Ian Markova, waved away the question.  “I should think that would hardly matter, considering what we’re offering you.”

Steve begrudgingly agreed.  Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t have consented to a meeting with guys like these – mafia types, by the look of it – but he could easily retire on the compensation they were proposing.

“Fair enough.  What’s the job?”

Markova nodded to the younger man sitting on his right.  Steve was handed a manila folder, which he opened to discover the photo and dossier of an Interpol agent.

“Daniel Williams,” Markova introduced.  “Graduated with a major in Criminal Justice at Seton Hall, top of his class at the police academy, and generally acknowledged as a rising star in the law enforcement community.  Over the years, he’s worked for a variety of government agencies as a top notch investigator.  Two years ago, he was recruited by Interpol, where – presumably – he is still currently employed.”

“Presumably?”

“The nature of his job requires him to be constantly on the move and on guard.  Much of his personal history has been expunged in order to protect anyone who might be affected by his work, and very few can confirm his current status.”  Markova fixed Steve with a haughty grin, and his dark eyes shone with malicious humor.  “I, of course, am one of those few.

Steve frowned and closed the file.  “And what exactly would you like me to do?”

Markova folded his hands on the table.  “From what little information we’ve been able to gather, Agent Williams’s propensity for switching jobs so often may have also been due to prejudice, aside from his obvious talent for solving difficult crimes.  He has been openly bisexual since his college days.  And you,” he gave Steve an admiring once-over, “have both the looks and the skills necessary to get close to him.”

“And you know all this – how?”

“Never you mind.  The situation is this: Agent Williams has been, shall we say, interfering in my business affairs.  I could have him eliminated, naturally, but I think he could prove very useful, given the right incentive.  What I would like from you, is to find me some leverage.  Seduce him into giving up something I can use to secure his cooperation.  Complete this small task for me, and I will pay you the sum we spoke of - half up front, and the rest after you deliver.

Markova extended his hand.  “Do we have a deal, Mister McGarrett?”

“McGarrett.  McGarrett!”

“Hmm, what?”  

Daniel Williams – Danny, as he preferred to be called – shook his head in exasperation.  “I said – what do you want in your coffee?”

“Oh.”  Steve glanced at the self-serving refreshment station in the hotel lobby, wondering if they had any organic butter on hand.  He doubted it.  “Surprise me.”

“Black it is, then.”  Danny handed Steve a plain coffee in a disposable cup and sat down on the opposite end of the couch, facing him.  He turned his attention to the papers he’d left laying between them, all of them written in various eastern European languages.

“So, what are we up to today?” Steve asked.

Danny shot him a half-hearted glare, and Steve fought a grin.

Over the past several weeks, Steve had arranged enough chance encounters with Williams, subtly experimenting with different personas and hitting on him, that Danny eventually gave up trying to ignore  him and instead began to invite him along whenever he went out to run errands or complete other daily activities associated with life.  But every so often, Danny would disappear for several days, or he’d receive a call during one of their “dates” and would instruct Steve to drive his rented Camaro to some out-of-the-way location for a covert meeting.  Steve would then be forced to wait in the car while Danny spoke with someone on a disposable cell phone (a new one every time) or talk to a thin figure who consistently kept his or her back to Steve at all times.

While Danny’s clandestine operations, not to mention Markova’s frequent and increasingly impatient demands for a status update, kept him on edge, Steve had to admit that he was actually enjoying himself for the first time since – he couldn’t even remember.

Danny had this strange way about him that made him equally infuriating and endearing.  He had strong opinions about everything under the sun, from what was an acceptable topping on pizza to music to the ocean, and he had no qualms about sharing them in a remarkable and highly entertaining fashion.  He had a sharp tongue and an even sharper mind, quick with a joke, but just as quick with his fists (a fact Steve discovered when he’d pushed Danny too far and was rewarded with a right cross to the jaw).  

But more than that, Danny was kind and compassionate.  Steve witnessed it first hand when he “accidently” stumbled upon the agent in the aftermath of a raid.  He had been in the crowd gathered around a police barricade, watching in horror as Williams and the local police breached an abandoned building, only to exit moments later with malnourished, dirty and obviously abused children (victims of human trafficking) in tow.  He’d watched as Danny brushed the frightened tears off a little boy’s cheek, and draped his jacket around the shoulders of a nearly-naked girl.  

And once the smoke had cleared and all of the kids had been taken to several area hospitals, he had tailed Williams to a gym and watched him wail on a punching bag until his knuckles bled.

“Well, for starters,” Danny answered, setting aside his files, “Maybe you’d finally like to tell me something about yourself, something other than just your name and a bullshit backstory.”

Steve put a hand to his chest.  “You wound me, Danny.  I’ve told you TONS of stuff about me.  Why do you keep calling it bullshit?”

Though they’d achieved something resembling a real friendship, neither of them had been forthcoming with anything significant.  Steve continued to repeat the cover story he’d designed to attract Danny, who in turn talked and ranted in circles while never actually revealing anything beyond superficial details.

“Because it is,” Danny said.  He made himself comfortable against the cushions and laid his arm across the back of the couch.  “I’ve learned a lot about you over the last few weeks, and none of it meshes with the crap you’ve been spouting.”  Strangely, he almost sounded hurt.

“Yeah?  Let me guess – you’re one of those cops who run background checks on all of his dates, am I right?  Pray, enlighten me, officer.  Did you find something to contradict everything I’ve told you so far?”  Naturally, Steve assumed that Agent Williams would do his homework, but he had plenty of useful connections, including a hacker capable of revising Steve’s history to match whatever narrative he required.

Danny shook his head.  “Okay; first of all – no.  I did not run a background check on you, though in my line of work, that’s well within my right.  And second, I am a detective – agent – whatever, and a damn good one.  It’s my job to read between the lines and sort out the truth.”

“Okay, detective.  You think you’re so smart?”  Steve scooted closer and stared him down, his lips curved in a challenging smirk.  “What have you learned about me?”

“Well, let’s see.”  Danny placed the tips of his fingers to his temples, mimicking a psychic about to perform a reading.  He took an over-exaggerated breath.  “You either grew up in, or spent a significant amount of time in Hawaii.”

Steve’s smirk faltered.

“Swimming is your preferred method for staying in shape.”

Steve willed himself not to fidget.

“You have a dog, even though you’re more of a cat person.”

The smirk vanished altogether.  “How…?”

“You’re ex-military, probably U.S. Navy; your father is no longer alive, and you have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which I’m guessing you haven’t sought any sort of help in addressing.”  Danny lowered his hands.  “How am I doing so far?”

To say that Steve was dumbfounded would be an understatement, so much so that he didn’t bother to contradict anything.  “I – how could you possibly know all that?”

Danny sighed and met his glare.  “I also know that you’re incredibly thoughtful and gentle.  Those who are lucky enough to call you ‘friend’ would describe you as deeply caring and loyal to a fault.  And, in spite of this playboy act, you’re a hopeless romantic who desperately wants a family of his own – one that will never forsake him.”

Steve crossed his arms and scowled.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Danny inclined his head slightly and lifted a shoulder.  “You can deny it all you want, but we both know I’m right.”

“You keep accusing me of being dishonest and cagey, but you haven’t exactly been forthcoming yourself.”

“Fair enough.”  Danny studied him in silence for a moment.  Then he nodded to himself, as though he’d made some sort of decision.  

He leaned to one side and reached into his pants pocket, pulling out a glossy piece of paper folded into a square.  He offered it to Steve.

“What’s this?”  Steve straightened the paper.  

It was a photograph of two children, a teenage girl with long, brown hair, and a young, blond-haired boy with a wide-toothy grin.

“My kids,” Danny said.  “Grace and Charlie.  They’re the only good thing to have come out of my failed marriage.”

“They’re beautiful,” Steve answered sincerely.  He returned the picture.

Danny gazed at it, a sad smile on his place.  “My ex got custody of them in the divorce.  Then she got remarried to this real estate developer who’s been constantly moving them around the United States.  The only way I could keep up was to study and work my ass off to become a good investigator so that I could qualify for a job with the FBI, and later Interpol, which gave me the freedom to relocate with them.”

He carefully placed the photo back in his pocket.  “What sucks is that my current case poses a significant risk.  I can only video chat with them over secured lines at random intervals.  I haven’t gotten to hold them in over six months.  And even before this whole debacle, my ex-wife has been fighting tooth and nail to bar me from visitation.  She thinks that if she distances them from me, it’ll hurt them less in the long run if I get killed in the line of duty.”

“That’s – I don’t even know what to say.  Sorry, I guess.”

Danny smiled a little in thanks.  “That’s why this will be my last case.  Once I wrap this up, I’m going to quit and find some place stable where I can put down roots.  I’ll retire from law enforcement; maybe open a restaurant or something.  And once I’m settled, I’m going to sue for shared custody.”

Steve could hardly believe what he was hearing.  On the one hand, he’d just been handed the exact type of leverage he’d been paid to uncover.  Clearly, Danny would do absolutely anything for his children; probably even cooperate with some less-than-savory characters to keep them safe.  All Steve had to do was excuse himself, call Markova, tell him about Grace and Charlie, and he could sail off into the sunset with a full bank account.  

On the other hand, Steve wasn’t the type of guy to put kids in danger under any circumstance.  More importantly, how could Steve betray Danny after such a massive display of trust?  If he was being perfectly honest with himself, he had grown to like Danny very much.  In spite of the lies, they had real chemistry, if not enough for a relationship, then at least they might form a good friendship.

Then again, that point was moot.  One way or another, Danny would learn the truth about Steve.  And when he did…

One of Danny’s phones rang, disturbing Steve’s introspection and Danny’s quiet observation.

“Yes?  Okay.  I’m on my way.”  Danny hung up and gathered his files.  “I need to go.  Duty calls.”

Steve stood up.  “And I suppose I’m not allowed to come along?”

“Sorry babe.”  Danny got to his feet and took a few steps closer to Steve.  “You busy on Friday?”

He mulled it over.  “I’m not sure yet.  I have some – uh – stuff to take care of.”

“Okay.  Well, I’ll check in with you later.”  Danny hesitated.  Then he leaned up and gave Steve a peck on the lips.

Steve blinked.  “What was that for?”

Danny grinned.  “Meh.  Just felt like it.”  He left without another world.

Steve raised a hand to touch his lips.  It was a hardly a real kiss, certainly nothing to blush about, and yet Steve could feel his neck growing warm.

Oh god; he was so screwed.

[captainvictoryboat]

Behind The Scenes 4 (8/?)

Author’s note: I have been writing more and OMG i filed out a 6th composition book and Behind The Scenes has officailly moved on to a 7th composition book.

This whole thing is in Jin’s pov so the italics are a flashback.

WARNINGS: physical abuse, alcohol

Word Count: 2562

Summary: Jin isnt handling things too well

ALL PARTS

He sat at his desk all alone in his dim, stuffy bedroom. It wasn’t too late in the night, only 9pm. Everything ended early and the first thing he did was lock himself in his room as he had the past few weeks. He could hear the voices of the younger ones out in the kitchen, laughing and bickering, but he wanted no part of it. Instead he stared down at his cellphone that lay lifeless on his desk.

He stared at his phone, waiting for it to ring. All he wanted was a call from Mina yelling at him for more money or to say how horrible of a person he was. He didn’t care what she hated about him all he wanted was a call from her that meant that he wasn’t completely cut off from Jinjin. Even if all he would hear was her telling him that he couldn’t see Jinjin anymore and would only get updates, that was all that mattered.

The last few nights he has called, texted, emailed and did just about anything to contact Mina. It wasn’t to apologize to her, but to try and talk to Jinjin, explain to his son that he wasn’t a monster. All efforts to speak to his ex failed. He was sure he wasn’t blocked by her, but he knew that she wasn’t opening his messages and just not responding to him at all. “The fact that she hasn’t blocked me has to be a sliver of hope in all this, right?”

Jin sat in his chair dreading the idea of not seeing Jinjin. He once went two years without seeing him and it almost broke him. He didn’t know if he could go through that again. If it weren’t for the busy schedule, he would try to go back to their house and check on him.

He looked back at the phone. The lack of notifications taunted him. he turned on the screen and dragged his finger to where he brought up Mina’s contact. The image of her stupid smiling face photoshopped with a mustache and horns stared back at him. “I need to try some more.” He told himself. Things probably won’t be any different, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.

He clicked her name and the call began. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hi, you reached Mina. I can’t pick up but text me or give me a call later.” He called again. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hi you reached Mina. I can’t pick up but-“ Again. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hi you reached Mina-“ Again. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. “Hi you reached-“ he called again and again and again, but each time had the same results.

He sat in defeat, his sobbing face in his hands, fingers gripping into his scalp. It was no use. She wasn’t picking up and it was starting to drive him crazy. There was an ugly feeling inside him. He felt like he was going to throw up any second. He didn’t know what to do to make it go away.

“Maybe calling mom would help?” he thought. “Maybe she was able to get through to Jinjin.” He grabbed his phone and scrolled to her contact. Her smiling face made him feel warm inside. He pressed talk and within two rings she picked up.

“Hello?” her soft voice asked

“Hey mom, it’s me again.” Jin tried to cover up the fact that he had been crying.

“Oh Seokjin.” And there is was. That disappointed tone. She had been speaking to him like that for a while now. Jin hated it, it always made him feel like he was shit. No matter what he did he couldn’t bring back her sing song voice.

“How have you been?”

“The same.” Her voice was so cold and empty. It really hurt the way she spoke at him. Mother’s weren’t supposed to be this way. She was never this way with him, not before Mina.

“Have you been able to get ahold of her?” he was almost scared to ask. The last thing he did was want to bring her into their drama again but he felt he had no other choice.

“…Yes, a few days ago.”

“You did? Why didn’t you tell me? What did she say? Did you get to talk to Jinjin? Have you told her to answer my calls?”

She let out a long sigh. “She wanted me to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“… She wants you to leave her and Jinjin alone. There is no point in bothering them anymore, Jinjin wants nothing to do with you. She doesn’t want your money or anything else from you. She and Jinjin left the house. She didn’t tell me where, but don’t try calling them either because she is going to change her number.”

He felt his heart stop. “wha- wh- what?”

“You really fucked things up this time.” she spat.

“Mom!”

“What? You expect me to sit here and feel bad for you? You really want me to take your side in this?!? Do you think that I am really want her or Jinjin around someone like you?”

“What do you mean like me?”

“You’’re just like your father!”

Jin’s hand slammed down on the desk. “I am nothing like him!”

“You are exactly like him! I thought that after everything we went through that you wouldn’t-” she let out another sigh. “I don’t know where I went wrong with you.”

“Mom!”

“You know better than to treat others the way you do!”

He opened his mouth to defend himself but nothing came out.

“Seokjin, as you mother, I love you with all my heart, but there are some things i can’t overlook and this is one of them. For the sake of Jinjin and Mina, I hope they never see you again. If only I did the same back-“

That’s when he hung up on her. He gripped on to the phone as he began to cry again. His nose was too runny, he couldn’t breathe. Everything inside him was hurting. He felt like he was dying. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. He was too aware of the others out in the dorm. Instead, he gripped onto his phone tighter and began hammering it into his desk. He smashed it harder and harder as he sobbed silently. The bangs of the cellphone were probably just as loud as if he would have screamed, but pounding sounds would keep other others away unlike bloodcurdling cries. He could feel the screen giving out. He heard the crack and soon felt the tiny shards digging into his palm. It wasn’t until a single drop of blood landed on his desk that he threw the cellphone across the room. “I am not like him.”

-

Little seven year old Jin stood in his most favorite room in the entire house, the kitchen. Unlike other boys his age who loved their bedroom because “that’s where the toys are”, Jin loved the kitchen because that is where the food was made.

He was sitting down at the table doing his homework as mom moved all over in search of some aprons.

“Ah-ha!” she smiled as she found her two pink aprons hiding under the sink. She slid one on and then went over to him. “Here you go sweetie!”

“But it’s pink. That’s a girl color!”

“Oh please, you look adorable in pink! Plus, if you don’t put this on, I wont let you make the cake.”

He stared at the girly apron. He hated it, but what else could he do about it? The last thing he wanted to do was break the birthday tradition. He did a small eye roll and put it on (all by himself, he didn’t even need to mom to remind him how to tie it). His mother’s apron was still too big for him, the hem almost reaching the floor.

“Oh don’t you look so cute!” she quealed as she pinched his cheek, “Let’s get started. What flavor does the birthday boy want?”

“Chocolate!”

“Sounds great! Let’s get everything.”

His mom went over to the taller cabinets for the small stuff and he scurried to the lower levels to gather the bowls like the strong boy he was. They rendezvoused  back to the table and further prepared for the task ahead of them.

Just as they were about to start mixing, Jin heard the front door open followed by a familiar jingle of keys. “Dad!”

He jumped off his seat and ran to the door. “Daddy!”

There at the entrance of the home stood his father, hunching over to place down his suitcase. Jin went for the knees and hugged both his father’s legs as tight as he could.

“Hi seokjin.” His dad said with the huff from almost being knocked over.

“Hi dad!”

Jin could feel his father’s hands hooking under his arms and soon he was lifted in to the air.

“Dad, since it is my birthday, mom and I are going to make cake! Your going to eat some right?!?”

His father’s dry lips kissed the top of his head. “Oh for sure Seokjin, especially since you are going to make it!” his words sounded cheerful, but his face didn’’t show it.

Now in his arms, being carried towards the kitchen, Jin studied his father’s face. Greasy creased forehead, tired eyes, slightly messy hair. Yup, that was his dad and not some evil clone like he saw in the movie last night.

“Why don’t you help us make the cake? Making cake is fun!”

“Not this time, daddy is too tired today.” He mumbled as he walked into the kitchen. “Hi Jagi.” He said to his wife.

“Oh finally you are home!.” She went up to him opening her arms to give him a hug, a kiss being the second part of her greeting.

“Ew!” Jin gagged when he saw their lips touch. “Dad now you have cooties!”

His dad looked down at him and before Jin could figure out why his face was coming so close, his dad’s lips once again landed on his head. “Now you have them too!”

“No!” he squealed and squirmed.” Immediately he wiped away the germ infest slobber that was in his haIr.

His father let out a chuckle and that was when he set jin back down, setting him free to wander about.

His mother’s smile quickly disappear when she saw her husband walking towards the fridge. “How was work?” her voice was softer now

His father said nothing as he dug into the fridge, eventually pulling out a six pack.

“That bad huh?”

“I’ll be in front of the tv if anyone needs me.” His father said before he left the room.

Jin could see his mother fidgeting with her fingers, her lips tightened, the creases on her forehead grew deeper, her eyes widening. She always did that when ever she saw his dad with beer. “Awesome, she isn’t a clone either!”

As if a switch went off in her head, his mother’s face brightened up again. “Why don’t we get started on the cake.

Back to the battle plan, they worked together to get everything done. “Ok remember, dry with dry, wet with wet, then mix it all together for the perfect set!” she recited as she whisked the soon to be delicious concoction together.

“So how was school today?”

“It was fun! It was career day!”

“Really? Who went to your school?”

“Uuuuuuh, a doctor, a police man and a fire man and a chef and , uh, a nurse, and um, I forgot.”

“That’s so interesting! What did you think? Do you want to be like any of them?”

“Nah!”

“No? Why?”

“I want to be an actor! That way I can be all of them in different movies!”

Her smile widened. “Oh my baby is going to be such a handsome actor! I can see you face on posters already!”

He loved seeing his mothers reaction, now he wanted to see what his dad thought. “I’m gonna go tell dad!” he said as he jumped off the chair that allowed him to reach the counter.

“Seokjin, wait!”

He ignored his mothers words and ran for the living room. He followed the sound of the tv until he spotted his father on the couch.  He was quick to jump over the the five empty cans and made it to his fathers side with ease.

“Dad!”

“Uh?” his father didn’t look at him, he was too busy watching tv

“daddy, we had carreer day today! I want to be an actor when I grow up!”

Unlike the encouraging words his mom gave him, his father had a different reaction. The man’s lead hand slapped him across the face.

Jin let out a scream the second he felt the pain of thousands of needles sting his cheek

“No son of mine if going to be an actor!” his fathers tone remained groggy. “you’re going to be like me. You’re gonna have a real job.”

Jin continued to cry as the pain on his face intensified. No matter how hard he held his cheek, the throbbing wouldn't go away.

“Shut up! I cant hear the tv!” He father screamed. Again his heavy hand flew through the air and Jin was struck in the temple. He fell to the ground in a daze and the pain worsened.

“don’t hit him!” jin was able to make out his mother’s voice over his cries.

The tv turned off and his father stood up. “What did you just say?” he growled

Through his blurry vision, Jin could see his mothers feet in between him and his father. “I said don’t hit him!” she said with more authority

“he is my son and I do whatever I want to him!”

Jin witnessed his father push his mom to the side. Her tiny frame went flying, knocking into the book shelf. Jin felt his body being lifted up ,only to be knocked down again by a blow to the gut. Suddenly there was a fist coming at him and soon he felt pain all over. There was too much going on, he couldn’t process anything . all he could gather was his father’s enraged face and his crying mom trying to pry off this beast of a man. Jin was wrong. The man in his home wasn’t his father, just a monster that looked like him.

-

Three black eyes, a broken nose (that would later get fixed with plastic surgery), a broken wrist, and bruises upon bruises scattered from head to toe. Those were the injuries sustained from the first attack Jin could remember. Even after all these years he wasn’t able to erase that day from his head.

“Pft! “Evil clone” my ass”. He mumbled at that stupid coping mechanism of his youth. That being the only way his small mind could understand the asshole his father was “I’m not like him.”

Jin wiped away the last of the tears that ran down his face. He walked out of the room and to the next. His strong hand knocked on the heavy door at the end of the hall.

He waited patiently until Rap monster opened the door. His leader looked at him with an expressionless faces. “What do you want?” he asked with an annoyed tone

“I need a favor.”

*my next “update” might not be the next part. I think i am going to put together a playlist of songs that either inspired me to write certain scenes or songs that related to the story. Idk why i want to post it i just really want to haha. Just a small heads up that the next title/ the next thing i add to the masterlist might not be the next scene.