#any hints/tips/pieces of advice welcome

[heartsofminds]

and at every table, i’ll save you a seat -  part i

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” or you invite Bradley to a wedding but your big fat crush on him won’t let you actually. . .invite him. 

“and at every table, i’ll save you a seat” - tunes of the gossipy Hard Deck patrons and liking someone so much you feel like you can’t breathe 

A/N: hey guys!!! so in the midst of writing this, i realized how long it actually is and how many dividers i had on my google doc? anyway, i thought it would probably work out so much better if it was released in parts rather than just one, big, fat, HUGEEEE piece that would probs crash on mobile. listen along to the playlist (that will be updated with each writing update) and relish in overly flirtatious bradley with me! which btw, he’s the lover album personified with a dash of red and a hint of fearless! 

“I’m not asking him.” 

Phoenix rolls her eyes before she takes a sip from her Ultra. The thought of it tasting revolting because of its lukewarmness crosses her mind despite her head pounding unceremoniously. She almost speaks up to answer you, but closes her mouth. 

She softly places the bottle back down on the counter instead. 

She can’t quite tell if the pain in her temples is from the sound of excited chatter all around her, the sound of Mickey, Javy, and Bob shittily singing Go Your Own Way on the karaoke machine in the corner, or the sound of your blue glitter gel pen scratching away at the scrap paper you have by the register; frantically carrying decimals for tip calculation and pathetically adding and subtracting since Penny’s “older than dirt” cash register bit the dust an hour prior. 

She almost concludes that the pounding ache working its way to the forefront of her brain is because of your absolute and utter refusal to do the simple and the obvious. But wait. 

I haven’t eaten at all today. Yeah, that’s it. 

A deep breath fills her lungs before she exhales. Her elbows find themselves on the lip of the bar top and her forearms come up to rest her head on her hands. She notices that the scribbling stops from what she assumes is you looking at her. 

An uncomfortable beat passes which is unusual for you two. There’s always some sly remark made or interminable giggling filling the gaps of silence. 

You pop your hip on the corner of the table. Your magenta tank top was far too bright of a pink to be welcome in the warm-hued bar. Your bracelet screams “graduation gift” and you can feel the oil on your face contorting your makeup as your time in the muggy air passes. 

Out of place is always in your thoughts but doesn’t become an insecurity until you’re left alone with them. The absence of Phoenix’s voice makes this fact more obvious to you. 

“You good? Not gonna hurl all over the place?” you cautiously ask, “Because it’s fine if you gotta puke, but I’ll murder you if you make me clean it up.” 

Natasha lets out something short of a laugh but too informal to be considered a huff. “I’m fine,” she says, leaning her head into her hand and adjusting herself in her seat. 

You nod, returning to your scribbling when the man sitting next to her hands his card to you. “You know, if you write any harder, you might permanently etch,” she pauses, leaning over to get a peek at what you had just written, “ten dollars and eighty-three cents into the counter.” 

“Maybe it’ll convince Penny that a new cash register is a need and not a luxury.” 

Natasha scoffs. “Could say the same about your plus one, but hey, if you don’t want my advice, then certainly don’t take it.” 

You hand the gentleman back his card with a smile and a small “thank you” before returning your attention back to Natasha. She digs her teeth subtly into the plush of her bottom lip. 

“I already told you. I’m not asking him.” 

She groans, pushing herself to stand up from her seat. Even dressed in civilian clothes, she looks like she belongs. Her aura demands respect; even in a lacy wine-colored top that Hangman had tried to tease her about earlier when the brood of rowdy pilots had first arrived. 

“Well, you said no to Jake.” 

“You say it like he would be willing to say yes.” 

“You said no to Rueben.” 

“He’s in a situationship with that girl from my spin class. Going with me to a wedding and her seeing the pics on Instagram would just make shit weird,” you start scrubbing at the permanent water stain near the beer taps anxiously, “Especially when I set them up.” 

Natasha rolls her eyes again. She swears that by the end of the night, she’ll know exactly what the inside of her eyelids look like. 

“Whatever,” she huffs, “You said no to Javy and Bob.” 

“Javy would rub the fact that I asked in Jake’s face and they’ll start a pissing contest on how to woo me…and Bob,” you look around to make sure no one who knows you all is within earshot, “He’s sweet. Like, sooo sweet.” 

Natasha tries not to crack a smile before you get your words out, but she certainly knows where the tail end of your sentence is going. “But it’s definitely not believable that we would be together and my aunt is one hell of an FBI agent and I’m sure he’d crack and rat us out and I’d have to sit there and eat my weight in tiramisu to drown my embarrassment.” 

Business is painfully slow for a Thursday evening despite the upcoming weekend. Your eyes dart around the room to look for anyone to come and rescue you from this conversation (and even volunteer to be your date to your bitchy cousin’s wedding next weekend without you asking, but you know to only hope for one miracle at a time). And when your eyes turn up empty for an ample opportunity, your shoulders droop while Natasha snickers at you. 

“Cut your losses and just ask him. I know he won’t say no,” she says, coy smirk at home on her face. 

“No. Absolutely not.” 

“What is so wrong with him that you don’t wanna do it? Huh?” 

You ponder on her statement before shaking your head. You’d rather be shot in the foot with a nail gun eight times than expose your silly little schoolgirl crush in the middle of the Hard Deck in front of his best friend turned your best friend since moving to the area five months ago. 

“Why not Neil or Brigham? Or hell, even Mickey? I know he’s like, engaged, but Mariella is so freakin’ sweet and I know she’d understand so like-” 

“Mmm-mmm. No, no, and hell no.” Your frown plasters itself on your lips faster than you can comprehend at her words. “Rooster or bust.” 

Your spine straightens as you begin to engage in protest before you’re cut off by the man himself. 

“Rooster or bust, what?” he asks, lips coming out to lick the dryness of the San Diego sun away. Your knees start to buckle and you can hear Natasha stifle a laugh as you try to conceal your lack of balance. 

He stands in front of you, hand on his hips and sunglasses tucked on the tight, white tank top underneath his button-down shirt. Today’s print was red with cream-colored hibiscus flowers and you wonder how he could pull them off so well. If it were anyone else, you would have had to try your hardest to keep it together with Natasha in front of you; the jokes about touristy dads and low-budget porn actors in the works. 

You realize he’s waiting for an answer as you see Natasha getting called away to sing karaoke with Javy and the gang out of the corner of your eye. 

Great. Just fucking great. 

“Taking bets on who the best pilot is or?” Bradley speaks, trying to get to the bottom of the small fragment of the conversation he had walked into. 

“I-,” you stammer.

Fuck. Can someone just come to the bar and order so I can avoid this? 

“You?” he looks at you through his eyebrows comically. Everything he does makes you nervous. 

“I-,” the lines in his forehead raise with the infliction of your voice, “I need a favor. Like a big one.” 

“Okay,” he laughs, “How big are we talking?” 

“Umm-” 

“Like ‘giving you my other kidney’ big or letting you borrow my car big?” he interrupts. 

“Well-” 

“Or do you need me to house sit? Dogsit? Babysit?” 

You inhale as you place your hands on the countertop. Your eyes find his honeyed-colored ones and you almost drown in them before your pride kicks in. 

I cannot embarrass myself in front of him. 

“I need you to come to a wedding,” you speak gently. You can see the wheels turning in his head without him having to say anything. Bradley’s face always gave his thoughts away. 

“If you don’t have plans, of course.” 

The realization of what you had just said starts to kick you upside the head the longer you look at him. He doesn’t say anything. His face doesn’t move at all. You’re pretty sure he hasn’t even blinked yet.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! 

“And if you’re comfortable! Obviously!” you start to ramble before you can convince yourself to shut the hell up, “It’s next Saturday in Long Beach near the seaside. You don’t have to say yes or anything but I just thought I’d ask because I had a plus one when I had a boyfriend eight months ago and now-” 

“I’ll go.” 

“-we’re not together anymore and my bitchy cousin is the one getting married who, by the way, makes everything a competition but that’s beside the point. But I know my mom is gonna be pissed if I don’t bring someone because my aunt is her sister and she’ll bitch about how they wasted money and how my mom is running out of time to become a grandma because I’m not married yet and that’s totally not true because I’m not even thirty so my biological clock hasn’t even started ticking yet but -”

“Hey!” he raises his voice slightly, amusement hidden in his tone, “I said I’d go with ya, kid.” He steps forward to put his hands on your bare shoulders. You try not to melt into his touch. 

“S’all good. I love weddings and the beach. Promise it’s not a hassle.” 

You’re dumbfounded by his response and how collected he is about your word vomit, not to mention being invited to a wedding where he’ll meet not only your parents, but your entire extended family in a little over a week. You know for certain you wouldn’t have handled the situation as calmly as he had. 

“You - you’ll…go?” The sound of Britney Spears’s “Toxic” and Jake absolutely murdering the high notes in the back of the bar is the only thing keeping you from spiraling into another dimension. 

“Well, I’m not a liar,” he sits down on the seat Phoenix was previously occupying, “I don’t just say things I don’t mean.” 

Your head nods solemnly in silent understanding, your hands grabbing a glass to pour him a whiskey on the rocks. He raises his eyebrows in suspicion at you knowing what his usual drink is, but throws away the thought to comment on it before it can even develop all the way. The subtle pang in his chest of you taking that much notice of him makes itself known. He would be lying if he was to say he didn’t hold a brightly lit candle for you.

You’re a regular, Bradshaw. Get your head out of your ass. 

“To be honest,” you start, placing the chilled glass in front of him, “that sounds a lot like something a liar would say.” 

He gives you a soft smile as he reaches into his back pocket to grab his wallet. “Well good thing that I’m not one then, right?” 

Your heart flutters in nervousness and with about as much grace as a stampede of elephants. You’re positive that Bradley can see the outline of it beating out of your chest. 

“No, no, no. Your drink is on the house.” 

He shakes his head, forcing the twenty dollar bill that lays in between his fingers next to the scrap paper you have laying near the register. “No, I insist.” 

“No, I insist. It’s on me, Bradley.” 

He cracks a soft smile as he forces the money into your hand. His fingers wrap yours around the beat-up bill that has definitely seen better days. “That just won’t do ma’am.” 

“I”m awaiting Bar results, not living in a shoebox on I-405. I assure you that two dollars and sixty cents won’t break the bank.” 

The loud scrapping of a bar stool against the hardwood floor (which will probably leave a noticeable scratch in the hardwood flooring that Penny will pretend not be upset about) interrupts the cocoon of the world that existed with just you and him. Just you and Bradley…and Jake Seresin’s loud ass mouth yelling, “Bradshaw! What the hell, man? Get your ass over here and sing some Journey with me!” across the bar. 

He shakes his head in disbelief and if you didn’t know any better (didn’t feed into your delusions, is more like it) you would almost think that he was…disappointed? That he didn’t want to leave you and that he was almost as desperate as you to give each other attention; eyes fully and ears solely attuned to the other. 

Hoots and hollers and the sound of his call sign being screamed from his rowdy group of friends make the delusion hard to manage, and the reality finally kicks in that he’s not here for you. He’s here for them. 

You wish you weren’t so good at hurting your own feelings sometimes. 

“Your spotlight awaits you,” you sigh, trying not to show how dejected you felt to him. 

A beat of silence passes before he slides his palms on the front of his jeans. 

“Here.” He snatches your blue glitter gel pen off the table, his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth as he begins to write. “Text me the details?” 

He offers a slight smile that makes your words catch in your throat; the butterflies dinging around in your stomach begging you to reach out and touch him. To lean forward. To say something. To do something. Anything. 

But before you can he’s zipped across the bar and the sound of Call Me by Blondie inflates the room. You look down at the cerulean ink with specks of shimmer in it. 

xxx-xxx-xxxx  Call me, kid!  Bradley B 

You’re definitely not gonna call him anytime soon…

“Sweetheart, I love you, but if you dry those glasses one more time I think I’ll have a brain aneurysm.” 

Penny snatches the dish towel from your hands as your mouth gapes in silent protest. She throws it lazily on the countertop and snags the crate of beer glasses that you were going to town on away from you. The clinging sound of the dishes makes your head droop with disappointment. 

“I wasn’t done yet! They still feel slippery! ”you complain and she just teasingly shakes her head. 

“So?” 

She winks at you and you have to find it in your heart not to be a little annoyed at her for cutting your task off mid-attempt. 

Perfectionism fuels your life and she knows this. She knows that you’re using the glasses to stress clean. She knows that your cousin’s wedding weekend starts on Friday and you’re fighting the urge to tear your hair out. She also knows that you have Bradley’s phone number on a slip of paper that’s burning a hole through your nightstand because you still haven’t called him. 

“So?” you ask, lightly mimicking Penny’s statement, “Someone’s gonna drop the glass because they’ve never learned how to hold it the right way and then there’s gonna be glass shards everywhere and they’ll get hurt and-” 

“You are such a worry wart, my dear. Reeelaaax,” she interrupts, placing her warm, nimble fingers on your shoulders. 

The subtle sunburn you had gotten this past weekend is slowly starting to calm down, but the initial sting still startles you. She can see the small happenings of a frown starting to form on your lips and she decides to frown along with you. She spins you to face her and holds your forearms in her hands, offering them a gentle squeeze of encouragement. 

It’s not a secret that Penny Benjamin takes pride in knowing her staff well and loving them even better. In the five months she’s gotten to know you, she’s taken you in as one of her own without making her love for you about her. That was kind of her thing; knowing all without having to be told and giving so selflessly without having to ask if you were in need. 

Penny just got it, and it’s hard to find people like that nowadays; people who love you genuinely and truly expecting nothing in return. 

The thought of her warmness makes you sniffle, and you’re sure that if the jukebox wasn’t turned on and playing some Beach Boys tune, the tears would’ve made their way down your face at a speed that Formula One drivers would envy. 

“I know what it feels like to have your every movement judged and not being able to say anything to defend yourself,” she starts, “But you’re smart. You’re kind. You’re so important. And you’re nothing less than amazing, so don’t let anyone treat you like you aren’t.”

You can’t muster up the words to keep the conversation alive. You’re sure that all that would come out of your mouth is a blubbering mess you don’t feel like trying to force out in between choked sobs. Besides, the car doors closing in the parking lot alert you both to the Wednesday night crowd making their way in. 

You settle for a small “thank you” before she cracks another smile at you; lips quirked up in amusement. She saunters off to the back to grab the bucket of prepped lime wedges. 

“You never have to thank me for the words you deserve, sweetheart. Those are on the house.” 

You snort before wiping your nose with the back of your hand. Only she could manage to subdue the mini meltdown brewing in the depths of your chest. But Penny was just like that. 

Always calm, cool, and collected. 

The night moves slowly in a frame-by-frame manner (one that emulates the night you asked Bradley to be your date, but you shake the thought whenever it tries to enter your head because you think you may actually puke). It’s nothing too out of the ordinary for a Wednesday night. 

Mickey and Mariella pop in for mango margaritas after their weekly date night. Mickey gives you a small “hello” before flashing you a knowing smirk. You try to ignore Mariella swatting at his chest, but the imagery eats you up inside. You know that he knows and that she knows, and not taking the steps to actually ask Bradley to a wedding you invited him to makes you feel guilty. 

He picks up on your guilt when his eyes catch you twisting your ring around your pointer finger. His eyes soften and he almost considers apologizing to you before he thinks about it. Bringing more attention to it would embarrass you more, he figures. The apology sitting on his tongue is swallowed down with a sip of his drink and Mariella’s kick to his shin. 

“Well, we’re about to head out. We’ll see you Friday?” Mickey declares as Mariella narrows her dark eyes at him. 

Your heart stops and your fingers feel numb. 

Fuck. He wants to bring up Bradley. What do I say? Fuck. Shit. Wait. How does he even know? Has Bradley brought me up? Fuck, wait. He wouldn’t do that. Why would he even be talking about me? He probably told them that I’m obsessed with him and he was cornered and couldn’t say no and- 

“Uh? Are you good?” Mickey looks at you with soft eyes and waves his hand in front of your face. 

Mariella slaps it down from in front of you. “Don’t do that. She’s not a fucking dog, Mick.” 

He rolls his eyes playfully. “Duh. I know that. I just wanted to make sure she wasn’t having a seizure or anything like that.” 

“A seizure?” 

“They’re called absence seizures. Went down a whole YouTube rabbit hole about them a couple of nights ago.” 

You chuckle at their antics and can’t wait for the day they finally have their wedding. At least when the time comes you know you won’t have to forge a story about having a boyfriend. And it’ll be a wedding filled with people you actually like; ones that don’t make you order water out of feeling insecure about how many calories you’re consuming or ones that gossip about the shade of blush you wore making you look too “flushed” behind your back. 

“I go down rabbit holes all the time,” you chide, “I watched this documentary about the Pentagon Papers and the atomic bomb from World War II the other day, and now I’m confident I could get my Ph.D. in like, Historical American Screw-Ups.” 

Mickey and Mariella let out chortles at your statement before starting to head toward the exit. 

“Well, we’ll see you later then. Tell us about that wedding on Monday?” 

Your mouth hangs open as they stride out the front doors of Hard Deck. The shock of what just happened makes your heart beat erratically. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! He told. 

Mike Metcalf sits at the corner of the bar top on his regular stool with his sweating glass housing a whiskey neat. He sends you a teasing smirk as you move near him to wipe the countertop down. 

“Still haven’t texted him?” he asks. 

The shock continues to run through your body. You have to place your hands on the edge of the table to keep yourself from stumbling over. 

Why does everyone in this bar know what’s going on? 

Admiral Metcalf was friendly with you - one of those regulars who offer you engaging conversation, tidbits of grandfatherly affection, and generous tips. 

You would tell him not to tip you so much for a single drink, but he would always insist; quoting something along the lines of you reminding him of his granddaughter and that you treated everyone with such kindness and respect that you deserved it back tenfold. 

You take a deep breath, arms pushing you up slowly to stand upright. “I’m scared to ask how you know.” 

He chuckles, a real belly laugh, and you struggle to find out why you can’t piece together a logical explanation for how he would know. 

“Well, apparently Baby Goose’s been losing his mind ‘round the base about how this really smart and sweet girl invited him to a wedding and won’t text him about it.” He shrugs before taking a long drink from his glass. “Thought it sounded like you. I meant to ask about it the other night, but once you turn eighty you forget things at the drop of a hat.” 

“Smart and sweet?” you want to ask, but you know that it would confirm rather than get you the answers that you want. You shake your head to dislodge the thought before furrowing your eyebrows. 

“. . . Baby Goose?” 

The older man plays with the paper coaster underneath his drink. A soft smile blooms on his lips. “We’re talking about Bradley Bradshaw. Correct?” 

You start to drum your fingers against the lip of the bar top. The thought of lying briefly crosses your mind until the sound of James Brown’s shriek at the beginning of “I Got You (I Feel Good)” startles you.  

“Uhh, hello? You still there, kiddo?” 

I have got to get better at answering quicker. 

You straighten your spine and pop your hand on your hip. “Wouldn’t the correct terminology be ‘gosling’?” 

He raises his brows, “Rooster. Baby Goose. Bradshaw. Gosling,” he rattles off, counting the phrases on his fingers, “Does any of this ring a bell?” 

You chew on your lip. The toe of your sneaker slides underneath the sole of your other one. The fidgeting tells Admiral Metcalf all he needs to know. 

“Maybe,” you say under your breath. 

“Maybe?” he questions. He leans forward to investigate your expression with his eyes. 

Another sigh exits your lips. “Okay, well, maybe a little.” 

You sound defeated, he thinks. He decides to investigate even though he can hear his wife’s voice in his head telling him not to. If he turns his head just a little bit to the right, his hearing aid catches the sound of the jukebox. He can’t focus on you talking and his wife’s voice if he also hears the jukebox. 

Sorry, Carrie. 

His chair swivels a little bit and he wipes his hands on his jeans. “It’s certainly more than a little, kiddo. Especially if you asked him to a wedding.” 

You scoff, annoyance painting the inside of your brain. Nosiness is one thing you absolutely cannot stand, and it’s the reason why you insisted on not moving back in with your mom after law school. Working yourself to the bone to study for the Bar during the day while mixing drinks and popping caps off of beer bottles at night seemed worlds better than having your privacy invaded constantly. Tired or private. From where you stand currently, it’s safe to say you picked the latter. 

Or so you thought. 

“So is this just a thing?” You can feel your heart rate speed up as you start to become defensive. “Like, a trend where all you Hard Deck patrons like to gossip and spread rumors?” 

“It’s not a rumor if it’s true.” 

You almost roll your eyes but the politeness you were raised with paired with your people-pleasing won’t let you. 

“Yeah, but it’s technically gossip if you didn’t hear it from me,” you state directly, “How do you even talk to all these people on the base? Aren’t you retired?” 

Admiral Metcalf chuckles. “I may be in bed by 8 every night but it doesn’t mean I’m not social, my dear.” 

“Okay, but why would your connections be talking to you about Gosling?” You lean on your forearms and glance at the cash register to make sure someone isn’t waiting to be served. Your eyes glance back to the older gentleman sat in front of you. “Aren’t you guys like. . .fifteen generations removed from each other?” 

He gently pats your arm with his calloused palm. “You’re a funny girl.” 

“You’re dodging my question,” you frown, sitting up straight and grabbing him his usual glass of water he drinks before he decides to go home. 

He mouths a quick “thank you” before taking a sip. “Did it ever occur to you that I was a pilot?” 

The wheels in your brain start turning to decipher why he would say that and how it would mean that he and Bradley know each other. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“And a Top Gun instructor.” 

“Okay. . .?”  You’re starting to get the hint now, but it still just seems like a lot of abstract events put together. 

“I taught Maverick and Goose.” 

Penny’s “boyfriend, not-boyfriend” who comes in to pick her up or hang out on days when the crowd is as dead as a cemetery. Maverick. 

But who’s - 

“Goose?” you ask, finishing your question out loud.  

“Bradley’s father.” 

And shit. Oh shit. Fucking shit! 

“I- You- Wait-” you stammer. He simply sips on his water, amusement painted on his features at the signs of your internal panic. 

“So that’s how I know. I keep in touch with Maverick and he just happened to mention the absolute mess Rooster’s been the past couple days about this wedding,” he declares, “Which, by the way, is kind of rude to invite someone and then not go into detail about it. Don’t you think?” 

Your mouth opens and closes in shock, the magnitude of your recent revelation being endorsed by the silence coming from you. 

Your brain can’t even begin to wrap around all the degrees of separation and acquaintances and friendships Bradley has from the bombshell of information that was just dropped on you. This place is just littered with people who probably knew him before he was Rooster; all puppy fat and awkward haircuts. You bet there’s probably a series of his prom and high school graduation photos that circulated from eye to eye. 

But this also means that if you go through with it, that if you actually bring him with you to Long Beach this weekend, you’ll become part of that essence of knowing - everyone knowing what Bradley told them and your entire weekend spent with him being a topic of discussion. 

You try to get over the dehumanizing feeling that will come with being called “Hard Deck Girl” after this weekend when he inevitably tells Maverick about his weekend who will then tell Iceman who will probably tell Admiral Metcalf. You can’t bear to think about all the snickers and teasing that will come from Bradley’s group of friends. 

Hangman loves to tease you already. You don’t think you’ll survive more “pigtail pulling” if word gets out about Bradley having to hold your hand and awkwardly slow dance with you on Saturday. 

Admiral Metcalf lets out an impressive-sounding whistle that catches your attention and brings you back to Earth.

“That’s one gorgeous Bronco,” he comments, head turned to look outside the windows of the bar. “Used to have one just like it years ago.” 

Your eyes follow his gaze to see the cobalt blue vehicle parked in one of the empty spaces of the parking lot. The headlights fade as the owner steps out of the vehicle and - 

Fuck! 

He has a soft bounce in his strut. His Raybans are tucked into the collar of his white t-shirt. The light-wash denim of his jeans hugs his legs just the right way. His slightly rosy cheeks and tanned forearms bulging from his shirt make him unmistakable. 

Bradley Bradshaw is about to walk into the bar. On a Wednesday night. While the crowd is drier than the Mojave. 

And there’s nowhere for you to run. 

He has a slightly faster pace set to his walk than he usually does. . . Not like you spend your time watching him walk (even though you do, and you’d rather roll over and die than admit that to anyone). 

“Good luck getting him back on that perch,” Admiral Metcalf speaks up. He opens his worn leather wallet and fishes out a fifty-dollar bill. “He won’t fly back up there once he gets off.” 

You follow him to the cash register to ring him up. The drawer is opened and the bills counted for his change before he stops you. 

“Keep it. Part of your tip,” he says, “Least I can do for all the trouble I’ve caused you tonight.” 

You begin to thank him before the saloon-style doors open and Bradley stands dead in the center, hands on his hips and eyes grazing the surroundings. 

“Good luck, kiddo. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it,” Admiral Metcalf says before turning on his heel. He claps Bradley on the shoulder as a brief greeting and continues his stride outside to the parking lot. 

Your heart starts beating in your chest erratically; a tell-tale sign of white hot panic that makes your knees buckle and heat grow on your scalp. 

And you’re. . . starting to sweat? 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Bradley spots you while you stand paralyzed at the cash register. Your fingers are shaky and a lump in your throat starts to form. You feel like a deer in headlights when he begins to stalk forward to approach you. 

“I’ve gotta bone to pick with you, missy,” his voice booms, his steps coming to a halt. 

His hands spread and turn as he leans on the table; eyes locked on your face. 

Your adrenaline kicks in and your feet start to move faster than your brain. A harsh swallow plagues your throat before you book it to the kitchen; french braid slinging heavy on your back and the bucket of lime wedges on your mind. 

Bradley zips around the oval-shaped bar top and grabs your waist before you make it out of the opening. His hands squeeze your sides softly. If you were in your right frame of mind, your cheeks would have flushed.  

“Uh-uh,” he says, whipping you around to face him. His grip falls to your forearms; holding you firmly but not enough to hurt. “What’s your deal, kid?” 

His breaths are exasperated. When he left work today, he had no idea that he would be chasing you around the bar like a goddamn dog who had gotten off its leash. Despite being in good shape (which he takes pride in, given the number of shirtless runs he does in his neighborhood) he still finds himself a little winded. 

Your eyes are almost bulging out of your head. His touch feels electric and you feign the ability to even think about opening your mouth to respond. Bradley Bradshaw is here, right in front of you, and almost holding you hostage. 

Hostage is dramatic, you think. But so is chasing me. 

“I-” you start. Another harsh swallow forces its way down your throat. At this point, you think that swallowing your spit is the only way you can remind your body to breathe. 

Bradley’s eyes soften at your frazzled state. He takes his hands off of you and drops them back to his sides. 

“I- I need to get the lime wedge bucket,” you rush out, the entire sentence sounding like one phrase. 

“Let me come with you,” he says. 

Your eyes widen in surprise. “You’re not allowed back there.” 

“Yeah well, you’re not allowed to ghost me about a wedding you invited me to, but look where we are,” he counters back. His legs start toward the kitchen hidden behind gray steel doors near the back. 

You stand frozen; trying to catch your breath and looking around to still see an empty bar with no signs of life. 

“Are you coming or not?” he calls out, a smile on his face juxtaposed to the annoyed expression he wore a few minutes ago when he caught you. 

And if it were anyone else, you would be utterly annoyed. You would refuse and start rattling off how it’s a health code violation for patrons to be in the back serving area or how it was inappropriate or how you didn’t want anyone to come in and clean out the Hard Deck while you were distracted. 

But because it’s Bradley and because you have this stupid big fat school girl crush on him, you don’t say anything even though you so badly want to. 

He’s already a little annoyed with me, you think. He doesn’t want to hear me ramble on top of that. 

Your sneakered feet follow him into the terracotta quarry-tiled kitchen in the back. He moves to the side to allow you to step in front of him in pursuit of the infamous lime wedge bucket you had your heart set on. 

The silence between the two of you is deafening, but you can’t even rub two of your brain cells together to form a coherent sentence that won’t leave you hunched over in embarrassment. Having a crush as an adult is downright embarrassing. But having a crush as an adult on an older, more refined adult is absolutely humiliating. 

The industrial refrigerator stands sleek and tall. The door weighs as heavy as it looks and you damn near pull your shoulder out of socket every time you attempt to open it. More than often, Penny has to come save you and open it because you can never seem to get the resistance of the rubber door gasket to give way. 

Thankfully, the door opens with a heavy tug and the bucket of limes was left on a shelf you could reach. You pop the fridge door closed with your hip before you start a fast-paced walk back to the bar; leaving Bradley behind to scramble up to you once again. 

In hindsight, your body language and lack of talking makes you seem furious and annoyed. And maybe you are, but it’s mostly frustration and annoyance pointed at yourself because you can’t just be fucking normal. 

No, because you have to be the odd one out of your family. You have to be the one cousin who got dumped by her “perfect” dentist boyfriend (who treated you terribly, but you never complained aloud to your family for your fear of being called ungrateful and unbecoming). You have to be awkward and sensitive and young with a silly-ass schoolgirl crush on a gorgeous man who David of Michelangelo envies.  

The bucket of lime wedges is slammed on the counter before you realize what your hands are doing. 

Bradley rounds in front of the cash register, a sheepish look on his face. “Hey, kid,” he whispers, “I’m sorry for barging in on you like that. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

A wave of guilt breaks the tide in your brain. He’s apologizing, and it’s sincere. It’s certainly not anything you’re used to. Usually, everything is your fault and you find yourself pushing your feelings aside to accept a half-assed apology. 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have invited you to something that’s such a big deal and then refused the details,” you say. 

And you should stop there, you know, but you do that stupid thing you do about having to over-explain everything and keep going. Word vomit to the maximum. 

“I mean, I think I kind of bombarded you about it? I know you said that you would go and that you didn’t mind, but it’s really a lot to ask of someone to come with you and fill in for your ex in front of your shitty family who has a cow because you didn’t get married right after undergrad.” 

You rock back and forth on your heels and you pinch your fingers together to help soothe yourself. The anxiousness exuding off of you is obvious and Bradley can’t help but feel extremely guilty for making you feel horrible on top of what feelings you were already dealing with. 

“You can really say no, Bradley. My feelings won’t be hurt if you do. Honest,” you whisper, finishing your statement. 

Feeling small isn’t foreign to you in the slightest. 

His eyes soften even more. He recognizes the doubt written all over you. He’s felt that way so many times before. 

“I said what I meant, and I really wanna go to that wedding with you. Honest to God, I mean it,” he says, taking a seat on a stool nearby. “I just need to know what the plan is so I can pick you up and everything. Don’t want my suit to clash with your dress now, do we?” 

A small giggle leaves your lips. “Alright, Casanova. You’ve convinced me.” 

He extends his hand out to you. “Deal?” The large palm looks inviting, but you’re sure the adrenaline coursing through your veins has made your hands clammy. 

Your brows knit together and your lips pull themselves into a straight line. “What the hell are you doing?” Suddenly, you’re self-conscious about the potential armpit stains that may have soaked your tank top. 

Goddamn nerves. 

He contorts his expression into one of faux offense. “Making you shake on it. What the fuck does it look like?” 

You let out a breath through your nose. “I mean, exactly that, but don’t you think that’s too. . .” 

“Sophisticated? Formal?” He grins as if he had just won the lottery. 

“Little Rascals -esque.”  

Bradley kisses his teeth before laughing. “You’re never too old to relish in the magic that’s The Little Rascals.” 

“What happens if I don’t shake?” you question, fingers drawing circles on the surface near the cash register, “Will I be a target of the He-Man Woman Haters Club?” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t confirm but I can deny only if you shake on it and promise me a dance.” 

You shake your head before he finishes his sentence. 

“I’m a terrible dancer.” 

“Then I’ll make sure my dress shoes are steel-toe,” he reasons, shrugging his broad shoulders. His biceps subtly flex and you almost bite your lip but the fact that he’s so close and can see your expression makes you withhold. 

“You really wanna go still?” 

“How many times do I have to say yes, kid? I want to go with you and I promise you that we’ll have the best time ever. Is that clear enough?” 

Penny waltzes back in before you can answer. Her eyes hold a mischievous glint as they look at the interaction going on between you and Bradley. She sends you a soft wink before she joins you behind the bar. 

“Bradley!” she greets with a grin, coming to come rest next to you and in front of his seat. 

“Hey, Pen. Mav taking you out on the bike today?” 

She subtly bumps your hip with hers. She’s about to stir up some trouble. 

“No, no,” she sighs, “I have to close up here tonight so we’re going this weekend.” 

Bradley nods as you stand frozen next to her. 

“Speaking of weekends,” she chirps, “What are your plans, Bradley?” 

I love Penny. I love Penny. I love Penny. If I say it enough, I won’t wanna kill her. 

“Oh, the kid and I were planning on going to her cousin’s wedding in Long Beach. We were actually just talking about it,” he answers as Penny lets out a dramatic sigh. 

“Oh thank God. The suspense of if she was actually gonna talk to you about it was killing us.”

“Us?” you ask, voice filled with irritation and concern. 

“Me, Pete, Tom, Mike,” Penny lists, “Jake and Rueben started a money pool. Guess Hangman’s a hundred and twenty dollars richer now.”  

You groan and pinch your nose between your fingers as Penny takes your shoulders into her palms and rubs them. She picks up a crate of shot glasses before turning to leave. 

“Bradley?” she calls, and his ears perk up. 

“Yes, ma’am?” 

“Stay out of my kitchen,” her eyes narrow playfully, “That’s a health code violation.” 

He holds his hands up with a grin. “You got it.” 

“You kids have fun this weekend. Gonna have to take tons of pictures and show them to me!” she exclaims before disappearing behind the same steel doors Bradley had followed you into earlier. 

A beat of silence passes; partly because you’re so stunned by what had just occurred. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “Now that I know you’re old enough to have watched The Little Rascals, what’s the plan? Like is this an overnight thing or a reception thing or?” 

You perk up at his question. 

“Oh, umm.” You subconsciously pick at your cuticles before forcing yourself to stop. Your mom and aunt would be disappointed to see them ripped to shreds. “So I kinda - well, it’s an overnight thing but we definitely don’t have to stay overnight.” 

He nods his head, ears intently listening to what you’re saying. You think he’s nodding his head to queue up a firm decline to your plans despite his insistence on going with you. 

“I mean, you don’t have to! You can like, drive home and come back the next day? Or not go to the rehearsal dinner and just meet me at the wedding? I just know that sleeping in the same room is gonna be weird and I think my room reservation only has one bed because like I said, I had a boyfriend whenever they booked it and I never changed it after we broke up and-” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he interrupts your word vomit, “Breathe, kid. Breathe.” 

You take a deep inhale in and you want to kick yourself for doing it at his request. 

Are you just gonna do whatever Bradley tells you to do, or do we actually have a fucking mind of our own? 

“Why would I leave you hanging like that? Huh?” He licks his lips subtly and you have to keep from drooling. “You asked me to come with you and I’m gonna go the whole time and have a blast.” 

You nod your head. Your thoughts and emotions have been bouncing off the wall in a vapid fashion from the two hours you’ve been clocked in. 

“Okay,” you whisper shakily. 

“Okay,” a laugh jumps from his throat and he leans in closer. “Can I get your number, at least? So I can call you instead and make it easier?” 

You’re reaching beneath the bar and grabbing aimlessly at the mason jar full of random gel pens and a roll of open receipt paper that was too short to be put inside the machine but too long to be thrown away. 

Lime green glitter ink spells out your phone number on the stark white paper before you wordlessly slide it over to rest near Bradley’s fingertips. 

He sends you a smile before pulling out his phone and typing the number into the keypad. You have to look away because if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll start hyperventilating. 

Your cell phone buzzes in your back pocket once, twice, thrice. 

“Are you…calling me?” you ask, head tilting to the side to meet his mischievous glint. 

“Context clues, kid. C’mon,” he replies. He holds his phone to his ear as he listens to the dial tone. 

You stand in disbelief in front of him. 

He shoos you with his hands. “Go on! Answer!” he urges. 

You sigh and playfully roll your eyes before slinging your phone out of your back pocket. You click the green phone icon on your screen before bringing it to your ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Alright, missy. What’s the address I’m picking you up from Friday afternoon?” 

Bradley Bradshaw may not be your boyfriend and probably will never be, but he sure knows how to play the part well enough to fool your family. He may even have you fooled too.

“Shit!” you yelp. Your upper body tenses up and you slam your curling iron on the countertop of your bathroom sink. 

The strong vibrations of your phone ringing move your device closer to the edge. You scramble to pick it up and bring it to your ear. You didn’t bother looking at the caller ID before answering. Odds are, it’s either your mother or your only cousin that you can actually stand, Hallie.

“Fuck,” you whisper before clearing your throat, “Hello?” 

You flash your neck in the mirror, fingers dancing around the irritated baby pink skin surrounding the already darkening magenta wound. The skin feels hot to the touch and you know that its placement makes it look more like a hickey than anything. Your mind starts to wonder if putting makeup on it would be a bad decision. 

“Hey, kid.” 

Fuck. Bradley. It’s Bradley. I forgot about Bradley! 

“I’m outside.” You take a deep swallow that you pray he can’t hear over the phone. “You said the house with the purple hydrangeas near the front steps. Right?” 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Am I this fucking stupid that I can’t even think of another word to use right now? 

The long pause doesn’t make Bradley hang up. 

“Kid? You okay in there?” The sound of a car door slamming can be heard through the receiver. You listen to the Carlsons down the street mowing their lawn. A few dogs are barking and the sound of Bradley’s shoes hitting the pavement plays a symphony with the bliss of what is a Friday afternoon at 2 PM encapsulates. 

His knuckles rap against your front door and you audibly gasp. Your finger hangs up the phone before sprinting to let him in. The flutters in your stomach make you feel like you might projectile vomit any second.  No amount of pep talks you had given yourself in the past two days can prepare you for the events of this weekend; not to mention Bradley and your big fat crush on him being the cherry on top. 

You swing the door open; a shocked Bradley staring at you and a frenzied heart damn near beating out of your chest. 

“I’m not ready yet!” you exclaim, turning your back and rushing back into your bathroom. You move so swiftly that you don’t even notice the bouquet of flowers clutched in his right hand. 

Fuck! The curling iron is still on. 

Bradley lets out a laugh. “Well, hello to you too.” 

You pick the iron back up and finish curling the piece of hair you had started on before being interrupted. 

“Sorry!” you shout back, “Give me five and I’ll be ready to go.” 

Bradley lets out a puff of air he didn’t know he had been holding in. If someone had asked him a month ago where he thought he would be spending a Friday afternoon in mid-March, he probably said he wouldn’t know for sure. 

Which is true. 

He’s worked out a schedule where he’s able to leave work by 11 AM on Fridays and what he does is often a wild card; his Fridays range anywhere from mundane errands to impromptu skydiving endeavors with Coyote and Phoenix. He might even go for a quick afternoon surf session if he feels up to it. 

He’ll admit, sometimes he imagines spending his Friday afternoons with you. In one timeline, he convinces you to ride down the coast with him at sunset. Another has you laying on your stomach at the beach with your nose shoved in a book pretending not to be ogling him while he surfs. 

Bradley even lets his mind wander to the possible tan lines on your hips and how he would graze his thumbs just beneath your bikini bottoms to feel the fullness of the skin there, but then he realizes how inappropriate that may be, and he lets the thought sit in the back of his brain unwatered and underdeveloped.

Besides, he was raised better than imagining women naked. . .Even though he thinks you’re absolutely stunning both clothed and naked. . .And would love the opportunity to see you na-

That’s beside the point. Get it together, man. 

His eyes survey the surroundings of your living room. Throw pillows and blankets. Candles on the coffee table. Books everywhere. Open windows create sunspots on the carpet. A vintage record player on the shelf of your bookcase and your Tango in the Night vinyl playing softly. 

He likes to think that in another life (he’s hopeful for this one, but he’s learned what having too much hope does to a person) your blue fuzzy blanket has a home on his cream-colored couch or that your Fleetwood Mac vinyl finds solace next to his Otis Redding and James Brown records. 

Bradley takes a seat on your couch. The brown butcher paper holding together the peony floral arrangement he had picked up crunches in his hand. The other pats along to the soft rhythm arrangement in time with “Mystified.” He can smell the faint scent of your perfume and the sounds of life you make, the small gasps and soft humming and whispered curse words, fill him with endearment. 

He’s so wrapped up in melting into your aura that he doesn’t even realize that you had left the bathroom until you stood dead in front of him; curled hair, makeup on, and an electric blue dress laying flawlessly on the silhouette of your body.

You make his mouth dry and any words that he wants to say disintegrate with how amazing he thinks you look. Him not saying anything makes you panic and you wonder if you forgot to blend the bronzer near your neck or if your blush was too pink or if there was a piece of hair you had forgotten or if the dress you had on actually made you look like a frumpy version of Aquamarine (a lot of or, or, ors). 

Bradley, please say something. 

He sits up straighter upon seeing you. The navy blue dress pants on his long legs bring out the green in his hazel eyes. Your heart feels warm at the thought of him matching you; especially after offhandedly mentioning that you were thinking of wearing a blue dress to the dinner rehearsal. 

Your eyes glance to his non-dominate hand and spot the pink peonies wrapped in butcher paper. The simple notion of him getting you flowers makes your knees weak, and the fact that he didn’t get them from the grocery store - that it was an arrangement that he had gotten from a florist - makes you wish you were a better woman and weren’t thinking of dropping to your knees right there in front of him and thanking him with a blowj- 

He doesn’t even think you look pretty enough to say something. Don’t get too ahead of yourself. 

“Oh,” he wipes his empty hand on the fabric of his pants, “These are for you.” He pushes the bouquet forward for your observation. 

A smile is center stage on your lips as you grab them from his grasp. “Thank you. This is really kind of you, Bradley.” You turn to head into your kitchen to grab a vase. 

She didn’t say they were pretty. Does she even like peonies? 

The silence surrounding you both is deafening. If you could ignore the slightly prickly feeling of heat eating away at the hairline on the back of your neck, you can almost forget that Bradley is even here. 

But the thing is, Bradley is here. He’s here and so present and you’re gonna have to give your poor heart a break from beating so fast if you want to survive this weekend without having a stroke. 

All the thought does is make you even more nervous (as if that’s even fucking possible at this point). 

“Okay, kid. If we’re gonna be together all weekend, this,” he points his finger between you and him, “Ain’t fucking happening. We need to tallllkkkk.” 

You swallow. “I -We are talking.” 

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” 

“Okay,” you whisper sheepishly, your bare toe grinding into the carpet. The friction sends a wave of heat to your otherwise numb toes. It’s unconventional, but at least it’s helping you feel something other than anxiety. 

He nods his head before standing up. His eyes glance at the gold watch on his left hand. “Well, it’s 2:30 and the rehearsal dinner is at 5. We need to get going if we wanna beat traffic.” 

“Okay.” 

He sighs, watched wrist coming down to lay his hand flat across his stomach. “Talking means more than just saying ‘okay.’ That’s not a conversation.” 

You pause for a moment. The flowers he had brought still rest in between the crease of your inner elbow. More silence ensues. You just don’t know what to say. 

He starts heading down your small hallway. The whiff of his cologne kickstarts your reaction. 

“Hey!” you say, starting to stalk after him, “What the hell are you doing?” 

He snickers. “Grabbing your bags? I was serious about getting a move on. Don’t want your folks to think your boyfriend is a slacker now, do ya?” 

Bradley grabs the two bags you had struggled to set outside your bedroom door with ease. You never forget how strong he looks (oggling at a guy three days out of the six you work will do that to you) but you always seem to forget how strong he actually is. 

You close your mouth before you begin to drool. Bradley will for sure be talking about this weekend with his friends and uncle. You don’t want to add any more embarrassing details to the story. Besides, your awkward preteen pictures from your mom’s Facebook hadn’t even been brought up yet. Some room needs to be saved for your utter humiliation. 

Your feet slide into the pair of heels you had set aside before you scramble to grab your keys and purse. How Bradley can move so quickly is beyond your thinking capacity as you haphazardly take the needle off of your record. Your eyes do a quick sweep over your living room to make sure that everything is turned off so you won’t magically come home to a fire safety example at the conclusion of your weekend. 

Now, if you can just make yourself stop feeling so jittery, you might be able to actually manage to fit your key into the lock of your front door. 

After what feels like three years (and the embarrassment of knowing Bradley probably watched you struggle), the keys are stuffed back into your purse before you pause on your porch. 

A black Ford F-150 sits curbside to your driveway. It doesn’t fit in with the SUVs and small sedans that make up the neighborhood you live in. You had never seen a car like this where you lived at all. Come to think of it, you had never seen this truck ever. 

Doesn’t Bradley drive a Bronco? 

Your eyebrows remain wrinkled with your puzzled expression as he rounds the back of the car; the resounding noise of the back door shutting makes his entrance known. He opens the passenger door for you and stands next to it. 

He squints as he looks up at you. The sun is blazing and he forgot to grab his sunglasses from his side of the door. 

“Cold feet?” he calls. 

You start to head down the stairs and onto the pavement. “It’s seventy-six degrees. I think cold feet is kinda ill worded.” 

“It’s a saying.” 

The crossed arms over your chest signal your apprehension. Bradley stands before you, leaning against the truck and his arm slung on the top of the cab. He raises his brows at you and does a gentle motion of his head to the seat, inviting you to climb in. Even next to the large vehicle, he still looks. . .huge. 

In a good way! In a good way. He’s actually really fit and I’m shaking inside and I’m sure I’m sweating and I have got to stop wearing light colors in front of him because he can probably see the sweat and - Oh God. Oh God, the seats are leather. What if I sweat all over them? 

The lump in your throat is swallowed as you stand before him. “This isn’t your car,” you say lamely. 

He scoffs. “Spying on me? Do you have my license plates memorized too?” 

You know he’s teasing and that he doesn’t mean it literally, but you almost answer, “yes” because you do. Thankfully, you’re in the stage of your anxiousness where you clam up instead of puking your words out. 

You cock your head to the side, eyes narrowed because of the bright sun. 

“How do I know it’s not stolen? What if we get pulled over because it’s stolen?” you wonder, and then the word vomit picks up and - “ I can’t go to jail! I had nothing to do with it and the ABA is gonna pull my Bar application if we get arrested and I spent too much damn money and worked too damn hard to let an F-150 ruin it for-” 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters into a small laugh, “I know you love the Bronco,” he gives you a teasing look, “But the Bronco has no air and I figured that since we’re driving two hours on the highway, you would appreciate not having to ride with the windows down the entire time.” 

“You still haven’t confirmed that it’s your car.” 

“You know, for someone so smart, you are extremely bad at picking up on obvious context clues. Why the hell would I steal a pickup truck and then drive you to a wedding in it?” 

You scrounge your brain for a reply. “. . .For the plot?” 

He whistles and crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking your current stance. “Wow. I have a comedian for a date.” 

“I’m serious. It could be a possibility!” 

“Well I don’t think “felon” looks good next to “painstakingly handsome,” so I’ll pass.” 

You remain standing in front of him. Stubbornness was a quality that your mother both loved and loathed and you know it, but Bradley has yet to see this side of you yet. Your arms wrap around your torso tighter and your eyebrows are raised every so slightly. 

Bradley knows what you’re doing. He used to do it to Maverick all the time when he was growing up. You’re digging your heels in. 

“C’mon. Don’t start poutin’ on me before I even get to disappoint you with my dancing,” he quips. He brings his face closer to yours before flashing you a toothy smile. 

You sigh dramatically before letting him help you into the seat. The gentle “Atta girl,” he gives you pinkens your cheeks. You pray he won’t notice your flushed face when he sits on the driver's side of the car. Every interaction you’ve had with him has kept you tossing and turning at night because of your nervousness. 

So many things you wish you could take back and so many ways you wish you could act normal; a never-ending cycle of “could’ve, would’ve, should’ve,” and the thought leaves a small seed of sadness in your stomach. 

[figliving]

How Pendant Lights Can Transform Your Living Room

How Pendant Lights Can Transform Your Living Room

It might be as easy as adjusting the lighting in your living room to transform it. The elegance and adaptability of pendant lights can drastically alter your room. A new living space can be created with the correct illumination, regardless of whether you're looking for origami lamps, linen lamps, or any other kind of pendant lamp. This post will discuss how to choose pendant lights for living room may make it more unique and represent your own style.

Introduction

Although lighting is frequently disregarded in interior design, it is essential for establishing the tone and practicality of a room. Have you ever thought how your living space could be totally transformed by something as basic as a pendant light? Let's explore the enchantment of pendant lights and see how they can improve the style of your interior design.

The Magic of Pendant Lights

Pendant lights are ceiling-mounted fixtures that are suspended from the ceiling by a metal rod, chain, or cord. They are sometimes referred to as hanging lights or drop lights. In addition to being useful, they also bring style to any space. Consider pendant lights the finishing touch of sophistication and elegance—think of them as the jewelry of your house.

Types of Pendant Lights

To accommodate diverse preferences and fashions, pendant lights come in a variety of forms. Among the well-liked choices are:

Origami Lamps:The exquisite and skillful Origami lamps add a hint of Japanese beauty and expertise.

Linen Lamps:Gently glowing and understated, ideal for establishing a warm ambiance by Linen Lamps.

Scandinavian Lamps:renowned for their practical and simplistic designs.

Ceiling Lamps:A great way to make the most of available space and light up any room.

Choosing the Right Pendant Light

Think about your living room's design while choosing a pendant lamp. Which style—more classic or modern—are you looking for? The ideal pendant light should improve the room's overall look and go well with your current furnishings.

Placement and Design Tips

An important difference can be achieved by positioning pendant lights correctly. The following advice is provided:

Above the Coffee Table: Highlights the room's center section and establishes a focal point.

In Corners:Gives the space more depth and a sense of spaciousness.

Grouped Together:Arrange several pendant lights at various heights to create a more striking visual impact.

Origami Lamps: Art and Light

Not only can origami lamps provide lights, but they are works of art. These lights give your living area a distinctive touch because they are made of folded paper. Their unique style and unexpected element make them especially suitable for contemporary settings.

Linen Lamps: Soft Elegance

A cozy and welcoming ambiance can be created with the help of linen lamps' soft, diffused light. The texture of the fabric lends a touch of sophistication and elegance, which makes them ideal for living spaces that want to feel stylish and comfortable.

Scandinavian Lamps: Minimalist Beauty

The minimalistic style and straight lines of Scandinavian lamps are well-known. Those who value practicality and simplicity will love these lamps. They frequently include organic materials that give your living area warmth and character, like metal and wood.

Pendant Lights for Modern Homes

For lighten your home an absolute necessity is Pendant Lights for modern homes. They are easily found to match your modern decor because they are available in a variety of types and designs. Pendant lights add a modern touch to your house, whether you go for a strong, geometric shape or a sleek, metal design.

Hanging Lights: Versatility and Style

The versatility of hanging lights is immense. They are adaptable to different environments and setups. Hanging lights can be customized to fit your demands and design choices, whether you're looking for a single statement piece or a group of smaller lights.

Ceiling Lamps: Maximizing Space

For places with little space, ceiling lighting are great. Small living rooms would benefit greatly from them because they take up no floor area and offer enough of lighting. Furthermore, a space might appear bigger and more airy with the help of ceiling lamps.

Creating Focal Points with Pendant Lights

You can utilize pendant lights to make focus points in your living area. A dramatic pendant light over your coffee table or in a noticeable location can attract attention and improve the room's overall decor.

Combining Pendant Lights with Other Fixtures

Mix and match different kinds of lighting fixtures without fear. A layered lighting effect that adds depth and character to your living space can be achieved by combining pendant lights with wall sconces, floor lamps, and table lamps.

DIY Ideas for Pendant Lights

Make your own pendant lights if you're in the mood for something artistic. You may personalize your lighting fixtures with the many DIY kits that are available. DIY pendant lights may give your home decor a unique touch, whether you want to paint a simple lampshade or put together an intricate origami design.

Maintenance and Care

To maintain the finest possible appearance, you must take care of your pendant lights. Dust the lampshades frequently, and examine the cords for signs of wear and tear. If the fabric shade on your pendant lamp is attached, you might want to take it off sometimes to give it a deep cleaning.

Conclusion

Pendant lights are more than simply lighting fixtures; they are room-transforming accessories that can improve your living room's aesthetic and practicality. You may design a room that is not only gorgeous but also distinctively yours by selecting the ideal pendant light and positioning it properly. Discover the ideal accent to your home by browsing the extensive selection of pendant lights at Fig Living.

FAQs

What is the best height to hang pendant lights in a living room?

About 30-36 inches above a table or seating area is the perfect height for pendant lights to be hung. This makes sure there is adequate light without blocking the view.

Can pendant lights be used in small living rooms?

Absolutely, pendant lights are a terrific option for small living rooms since they create the illusion of more space without taking up any floor area.

Are LED bulbs suitable for pendant lights?

Without a doubt! Because LED bulbs are energy-efficient and available in multiple brightness levels, they are perfect for use in pendant lights.

How do I clean my pendant light?

Dust the lampshade and clean the cords with a moist cloth as part of routine maintenance. Remove the fabric shades and wash them as directed by the manufacturer.

Can I install pendant lights myself, or do I need a professional?

Installing pendant lights yourself is possible if you have some experience with basic electrical work. But it's advisable to contact an expert for installations that are more complicated.

know more > https://www.figliving.com/blogs/news/pendant-lights-can-tranform-living-room

[propertytocharity]

The Art Of House Gifting: Tips And Ideas For Giving The Perfect Gift

Welcome to the wonderful world of house gifting! Whether you're celebrating a friend's new home, attending a housewarming party, or simply showing appreciation to your host, finding the perfect gift can make all the difference. Join us as we explore the art of house gifting and uncover tips and ideas that will help you become a master gift-giver for any occasion.

The Importance of Choosing the Right Gift

Choosing the right gift for someone's new home is more than just a gesture; it reflects your thoughtfulness and consideration. The perfect housewarming gift shows you understand the recipient's style, needs, and preferences. It conveys a sense of care and appreciation for their new space.

A well-thought-out gift can also help create lasting memories and strengthen your relationship with the homeowner. By selecting something meaningful or valuable, you are celebrating this milestone in their life and contributing to their comfort and happiness in their new abode.

Moreover, choosing the right gift demonstrates your attention to detail and personal connection with the recipient. It showcases your effort to find something that resonates with them more profoundly, making them feel truly valued and understood. So next time you search for a housewarming present, remember that it's not just about giving an item—it's about showing how much you care.

Tips for Choosing the Perfect House Gift

Choosing the perfect house gift can sometimes feel daunting, but it doesn't have to be! Start by considering the recipient's tastes and preferences. Think about their style, hobbies, and interests. If you need clarification, don't hesitate to ask for hints or advice from mutual friends or family members.

Personalized gifts are always a thoughtful choice. Consider customizing an item with their initials, a meaningful date, or a special message. This shows that you put time and effort into selecting something unique just for them.

Practical gifts are also appreciated. Think about items that can be used in everyday life, such as kitchen gadgets, home decor pieces, or cozy blankets. These types of gifts not only show your consideration but also add value to their daily routine.

When in doubt, opt for experiences over material possessions. Concert tickets, cooking classes, and spa vouchers create lasting memories and moments of joy rather than adding clutter to their home.

Remember that it's the thought behind the gift that truly matters. Put yourself in their shoes and choose something that reflects your relationship. Happy gifting!

Special Occasions for House Gifting

When it comes to house gifting, various special occasions call for thoughtful presents. Whether you're celebrating a housewarming party, a birthday, an anniversary, or even a simple gesture of gratitude, choosing the right gift can make all the difference.

For a housewarming party, consider practical gifts like kitchen gadgets or home decor items that can help the new homeowners settle into their space. Personalized gifts such as custom-made doormats or monogrammed towels can also add a special touch to their new abode.

Birthdays and anniversaries are perfect opportunities to give sentimental gifts that reflect the recipient's personality and interests. From handmade crafts to subscription boxes tailored to their hobbies, there are endless possibilities to show your thoughtfulness.

And let's remember to express gratitude with a heartfelt thank-you gift. A beautiful plant arrangement, gourmet food basket, or scented candles can convey your appreciation meaningfully.

No matter the occasion, the recipient will surely cherish taking the time to select a thoughtful and personalized house gift.

Unique and Unexpected House Gifts

When it comes to house gifting, the key is to choose something thoughtful and meaningful that will make a lasting impression. By considering the recipient's taste and needs, you can select a gift that genuinely resonates with them. Whether it's for a housewarming party, a holiday celebration, or just finding the perfect gift, it shows that you care.

Remember that unique and unexpected gifts often leave the most significant impact. Think outside the box and consider personalized items, experiences, or handmade gifts that show your thoughtfulness. No matter what you choose, giving a house gift is not just about the item itself; it's about showing your appreciation for someone's home and creating cherished memories together.

So next time you're invited into someone's space or want to congratulate them on their new abode, consider selecting a special house gift. Your gesture will not only be appreciated but also remembered for years to come. Happy gifting!

[onetooneto2]

Interested in Gambling Tips and Advice? Have a go with These Starter Ideas

A quick look at the earth of gambling guidelines reveals at least a couple general categories to get guidelines and tips to help you win profit online. Long-time article author and casino guru Gayle Mitchell supplies a list of single-sentence points that leave your thinking to the person. This sort of tip is usually self-explanatory and simple follow. 토토사이트

For example , Mitchell's workshops and workshops advise casino game enthusiasts to change $1, $5, $10 and $20 bills into gold coins, then carry a coins in a suitable container so that you can judge a bankroll based on the elements of the bucket. It might be great recommendations for someone whom finds it too easy to snap that will folding money journey roll.

If you're some sort of online player, there are actually similar gambling recommendations, such as setting targeted limits for each visit at the computer. Like a player might have 1, 000 points or even dollars in the profile and set your limit of the loss of 100, or two hundred. (The idea of when ever to quit is the area of interest of numerous articles, classes and blogs. )

The other category which fits under the betting tips umbrella might possibly be gambling strategy. These hints may require more than number of words to really come to be useful. But methodology tips are also fundamental to success in a are living casino or on the internet.

An example: You can't create a straight in on-line poker without a 5 or simply a 10. That may look simple enough as it is actually, but when you are investigating two hole bank cards and the three-card loser s in Hold them this small piece becomes part of your strategy. This is also true if you end up playing video holdem poker and have to decide that cards to hold on top of.

Of course, these two lists may not cover many of the descriptions of internet casino tips, but they must be enough to start almost any player on the road to additional success. Any guidance is welcome if you find yourself trying to win funds online, right?

Some Good Tips

With this subject, thousands of web pages have been written, in addition to thousands of words are spoken. It's impossible to protect even half of the good gambling tips along with casino tips in a single sitting. However , let's list a few of the most effective bits of gambling system in the interested getting started.

In the movie poker world, Mitchell suggests asking that moneychangers where online casino employees play online video poker. This could connect you with the best two or three devices in the building. This lady also urges video-poker enthusiasts to know approximately full pay together with short pay. Full-pay machines offer highest payback for the style of game - $99 out of each $100 that is bet, by way of example. Look at the payout furniture and see if you are on a full-pay machine (nine coins for a extensive house and 6-8 for a flush. )

In video internet poker, you can throw away many five cards. Certain experts gambling approach say that a gamer will, over time, pitch out all six cards once in each and every five or five hands.

Key casino tips: Among the best gamble in any casino, as reported by Mitchell, are a decide upon number of slots plus the full-pay video poker-online games. The best solution for blackjack can be described as table where the automotive dealer has to stand with 17. According to this approach expert, keno, massive wheel and double-zero roulette should be towards the bottom of everyone's engage in list. The bottom set for every player: Come to be an educated casino targeted visitor. Check out the Frugal Gaming books by Jean Scott.

When it comes to authentic gambling strategy, this thinking cap may need to go one as well as the player must expend a little more time to every single issue. Let's take a look at a great example coming from John Robison concerning slot play along with the issue of having fun with full coins.

Essential gambling tips: Robison and many have expected whether the additional probability of full-coin spots is rewarded along with higher payback. Seeing that this guy has a masters degree in laptop or computer science and exploration, his study of greater than 1, 000 slots might be a good warning of what to believe.

In the interest with keeping things uncomplicated for now, here are a few involving his recommendations.

to With a straight multiplier machine, you are blowing time if you insert more than one coin with at a time. Same applies to bonus multiplier.

i Play full gold coin on buy-a-pay units, multi-line and at hybrid machines.

u Play full gold coin an progressives.

Involving gambling tips, hundreds of systems have been constructed and tried within the gambling strategy. Such as, the Martingale method included the assistance to double your bet after each and every loss, so that together with the first win you would recover the thing that was lost previously. This may work, but seeing that each gambling happening stands alone, it could take a minute or a life time to hit that earliest win.

Of course you can find probabilities and predicted value and so on, if you are chances are 1 within 10, 000, it's likely you have to wager 9, 999 times cascade over that one win. You should also lose 100, 000 times before impacting ten in a short period. The best advice involving gambling tips could be: do just what the winners undertake and hope for the most beneficial.

References Gambling https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gambling

[ladyarrowhead]

I really wanna get back into Pathfinder: Kingmaker because it is so beautiful and I only played the first chapter but...but I remember kingdom mode and my whole body just tenses because I am scared to do something wrong.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

The Banana Club Auditions

Audition 1: August "The Hammer" Walker

04/24/2022

Pairing: stripper!August Walker x strip club owner!reader (2nd person)

Word Count: 1,835

Warnings: August's hammer in a tiny thong, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, doggy style, slight dom!August, bodily fluids, hint of breath play, language, possessiveness

Summary: August Walker wants to join the Banana Club squad, and as we know, The Hammer is pretty passionate about his work.

A/N: Here we go. And what a treat to start with. Thank you @ashesofblackroses for your advice and encouragement to post this.

Picture by Martin Führer via Twitter

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. Please don’t copy, repost or share my work on other platforms. 

Audition song: I Put a Spell On You by Garou

“August Walker,” he introduced himself at the beginning of his audition, “but everyone just calls me ‘The Hammer’.”

You hardly managed to stifle a laugh as you took in the tall showoff and his pornstache, but seeing him now, stripped down to his last piece of clothing, you can’t help but acknowledge that the nickname is more than well deserved. He is huge, straining his teensy little thong, making your mouth water while he sways his hips right in front of your face. There is no way he hasn’t noticed your ravenous gaze on his huge bulge once he revealed it to you. He smirks, knowing exactly what he is doing to you when he places your hands on his hips, your desire for him setting every fibre of your body on fire. 

August doesn’t utter a single word of permission, but his raised brows say it all. Slowly you peel the last barrier away and his half-erect hammer springs free, bobbing before your face teasingly, making your pussy throb and your mouth water. Still you’re holding back, not sure if he’s just taunting you, if this is part of his show, or if he actually wants you to proceed. 

He does, it seems, judging from his hand that grasps your chin, thumb gliding over your bottom lip before he breaches the barrier of your lips effortlessly and dives into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around it, cheeks hollowing to suck him in deeper and he can’t hold back a heady moan. His free hand grabs his cock, stroking it to full size and you swallow hard as you realise he is probably the biggest you have ever had, long and thick, veins decorating his shaft, crowned with a delicious pink tip. 

Reluctantly, he pulls his thumb from your mouth and holds your gaze while he exchanges it with the moist tip of his dick. Eagerly your tongue darts out to lick the salty drop from its head as soon as it touches your lips. While you enjoy his taste, he watches you, not even the slightest sound falling from his lips, but his breathing gives him away, quickening with every swirl of your tongue around his member. It is more than apparent that he waits for you to welcome him into your mouth, but it is your time to tease him now, a payback for making you so unbearably wet for him. But August isn’t the most patient of men and it doesn’t take long until he snaps, flashing his gritted teeth, pressing out a feral, “Just take it. Take it all.”

And as soon as you obey and open up, his fingers weave into your hair and he sheathes himself in your mouth, his head lulling back upon the velvety heat that engulfs him. 

“Fuck.”

You let him enjoy the new sensation for a moment before you start moving. His eyes can’t resist the sinful sight in front of him any longer and a fevered spark ignites them as he watches himself vanish between your pretty lips over and over again in the perfect rhythm. 

“That’s it, princess. Nice and slow. Such a good girl for me. Making me feel so good.”

You moan around him as his praise makes your walls flutter, the emptiness inside of you painfully obvious. You want to release him from your mouth, tell him to put that hammer inside of you already, but he is not done with you yet. Fingers tightening in your hair, he holds you in place and drives in deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat. August groans, a low, primal sound that reverberates in the pit of your stomach. Set on hearing it again, aching to experience the rush of white heat it sends through your nether regions, your hands find his hips, pulling him just a tad deeper and he finally yields. 

With another delicious pop he pulls himself from your sweet prison as he takes a step back, watching you like prey while his mind races to think over his next moves. He could ask you to spread your legs for him and touch yourself, first through your panties until he can see your arousal leaving a promising stain on them, then he could make you pull them aside to show him your pretty pussy, watch your fingers glide through your glistening folds until they are coated in your juices to prove that you are ready for him, but his hunger for you is too strong, and so he lets it take the reins. 

“Turn around,” he hears his mouth order and you are more than willing to grant his wish. Kneeling on the sofa, hands digging into the backrest, your ass is on full display for him. He is licking his lips as he steps closer and you can’t help but feel like one of the three little piggies about to be devoured by the big bad wolf. The greed in his eyes makes your head swim and a heady moan escapes your lips when he first pushes your skirt up then pulls your panties down to expose your primed core to him.

A hum of appreciation echoes through the room as he takes you in, your slit glistening in the dim light. The sound is making you dizzy with anticipation, forcing down every last bit of shame that might stop your eyes from begging him to make you his.

Instead of an answer, a wicked smile plays on his lips and you know he won’t make this easy for you. But then suddenly his hot tip presses against your entrance and you can’t think clearly anymore. You sigh his name, hoping it’ll be enough to make him give what you yearn for, but all he does is pull you up against his chest, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat.

“Look how eager you are for me, princess. So wet.” His whiskers brush against your ear as he whispers and your eyes fall shut. “You’re aching for me to fuck you, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you manage to pipe up, your voice sounding pathetically needy to your own ears.

“Then beg for it.”

“Please,” you whine desperately without ado, “please fuck me, August.”

“Good girl,” he rasps, his index finger pressing against your jaw to make you face him. His breath is scorching hot as it drifts across your lips. “Now claim your reward.”

And you do, sinking back against him you spear yourself on his length. Inch by inch he conquers you, forcing you open and moulding you to his size. A gasp turns into a whimper and his lips press to yours to ease the first sting. You hold, fearing you can’t take anymore and still he is not fully nestled inside. But that won’t do, and so his hips snap forwards, squeezing every last inch of him into you. You cry out, the high-pitched sound muffled by his mouth on yours as his girth threatens to split you in half. 

He stays like this with you, enjoying your tight grip on him until he witnesses the tension of the pain his vigorous stretch of your walls has caused subside and you relax in his arms.

“There you go. Now let me make you feel good, princess.”

He loosens his grip and you sink forward, catching yourself on the backrest again as he begins to retreat. The emptiness he leaves makes you want to protest, yet the way his head glides along every single ridge inside you lets you forget how to form any words at all. Your head sinks down as you revel in the unique sensation, just to fly back up in a cry of ecstasy when he slides back in all the way. He repeats his slow torture for a while, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips whenever he hits deep before he finally falls into a perfectly even rhythm.

It is then that one of his hands leaves your hip and glides along a path of silky skin until it reaches your folds. He is not teasing anymore, at this point he just wants to make you come undone, to enjoy the moment you fall apart around him and so his fingers dive into your crevice to find and tend to your sensitive pearl.

Soon, the first signs of losing control over your body become apparent as the promise of complete and utter satisfaction grows stronger inside of you with every thrust of his hips and every roll of his fingers. August can sense it too, your nearing high, and he pulls you up against his chest again, your head lulling back onto his shoulder. Skilled fingers flick open a button or two of your blouse, clearing his way, and you’re on the edge already when he cups your breast, two fingers twisting your pebbled nipple just as you like it.

“August,” you sigh, his name now the only word remaining in your vocabulary.

“Let go, princess. I’ve got you.”

His low baritone is all you need to spiral over the edge at last. Head turning to seek his lips in your moment of completion, you moan into his mouth as the shockwaves pulse through you and you know you owe it to his strong arms alone that you don’t topple over. 

You feel sublime around him as you come, pulsing and fluttering, gripping him so wonderfully tight. He refuses to stop his hips, fucking you through your orgasm, kissing you, devouring you, relishing in the wild thrum of your heart against your ribs induced by the pleasure he keeps on coaxing from your body. 

There is only one thing left to do now, to make you his entirely, to mark you as his own, and the mere thought of you granting him that privilege for this one moment in time is enough to start the rush inside of him. Instinctively, he pushes himself as deep as he can, tightening his embrace, crushing your body against his so he can feel all of you as he claims you. And then he does, shooting jet after jet of hot cum into you until your walls are thoroughly coated with him.

You stay like that for a moment, lips refusing to part as your breaths gradually even out and your minds take over again. Slowly you turn, pulling a hiss from his lips as he slips out of you in the process. With a grin as wicked as the one he has flashed you mere moments ago when he made you beg for his cock, you step around him, taking in his naked form one last time. 

The rich echo of a smack is still hanging in the air, matching the sting that pulses through one half of his meaty backside as you walk away and the smile on his lips widens into a Cheshire grin when your words reach his ears.

“You’re hired.”

Audition 2: Steve “Captain America” Rogers

Tag List: please let me know if you want to be removed or added by either ask or DM - thank you!

@summersong69 @myloveforhenrycavill @dorothea-hwldr @omgkatinka@ashesofblackroses @amberangel112 @icarusblinders @zealoushound @asuni921 @endofalldays01 @nerra75 @indigosaurus @nowyouseeme098 @cap-just-said-language @miss-rebel-without-applause @wheretheriversrunintothesea @maan24 @mochionly @introvertedmouse @sofiebstar @kebabgirl67 @marytudorbrandon @littleone65 @thoughtfullyfurryangel @mimi-just-living @themanfromu @liecastillo @agniavateira @enchantedbytomandhenry @lumiousmoon @tumblnewby @crazybutconfidentaf @viking-raider @thorins-queen-of-erebor @aletheladyinred @blavikennbutcher @luclittlepond @diegos-butt @gearhead66 @justjulie1105 @lyrarodriguez

[edie-baby]

to have and to hold | juri vips

summary: Juri Vips was a bastard of a teammate. Mostly just because you were insanely in love with him and his flirtatious ways. Juri senses a change in your behaviour and when things begin going back to normal, Juri just fucks it up again. (Similar premise to the Mr & Mrs imagine with Liam, but different[?])

word count: 2894

warnings: swearing, still. i don't think i should have to put warnings about swearing anymore, it's basically a given.

Working with Juri Vips was a fucking trainwreck. There was no light way to put it, it was messy, it was painful, and yet you could never stop fucking staring at him. Being his teammate in F2 for the past year and a half, the two of you had gotten quite close, to the point where his family invited you on vacation with them when they were going, and you had joined them once, but realised about two hours in, that it was a thinly veiled attempt from literally his entire family to get the two of you together.

And while you were all for it, being forced to spend so much time with Juri, while he was shirtless nonetheless, was a literal dream come true, it was also incredibly painful for you to stop from pouncing on him at any given moment. Because as much as his family thought there was something between you, it was purely Juri’s charisma and character to be almost constantly flirting with you.

You remember the first time the two of you, a few other F2 drivers had come along as well, had gone to the beach and he had seen you bust out the bikini you knew made you look like a hot piece, he hadn’t shut up about it, or you, for weeks afterwards.

“Well look at you, little miss supermodel. I would have thought you’d be walking catwalks with legs like that, not pushing pedals like the rest of us. God, you look like you just stepped out of my dreams and onto this beach. If you keep looking like that, I think I might have a problem to deal with later in the shower.” He had hollered, and many of the guys around you either joined in or had nothing to say but gawk. Juri’s comments had cemented themselves in your brain however, calling back upon them whenever you felt less than top dollar, which you had to admit was becoming more often in recent months.

Juri had noticed your slowly waning confidence, of course he had. His gorgeous view of you in crop tops, little skirts, and tight shorts had turned into oversized shorts, hoodies, and ill-fitting jeans. All of which still made you the most beautiful girl in the world, but there was something missing from your aura, a general happiness that had been lacking since the new season started a few months ago. In the entire time Juri had known you, you were never one to listen to other’s opinions of you, whether they be good or bad, the only people you had ever listened to and taken words to heart from were himself, your parents, and your boyfriend.

Somehow in the span of about three minutes, Juri had tracked the four most likely culprits of your diminished ego. He knew he hadn’t said anything harmful or damaging to you since the season began, as many of your conversations had revolved around racing, other drivers in the paddock, or your family. Your parents, he was confident in, he had met them many times before, and they were always genuinely warm and welcoming, he supposed there might have been another side to them, though he believed he would have picked up on it by now. Which leaves only your boyfriend, whom Juri had zero confidence in.

Tye was nice, almost disgustingly so, but he was also much too proud of being nice for it to be genuine. He would open car doors for you, give you flowers every few months, and once bought you a necklace with a pendant of his name. But you would never forget that he did those things for you, because as soon as you would mention something relatively negative, those few acts of kindness were shoved down your throat.

Juri, of course, was not privy to that information. All he knew was that Tye’s possessive behaviour and complete lack of care for your wishes meant that there was something beneath the surface Juri was sure was the reason for your confidence, or lack thereof.

So when you came into work one day, to continue shooting some videos for the YouTube channel, wearing a gorgeously fitted pair of jeans, and a halter-neck singlet, Juri knew something was afoot. Also notable was your lack of gold necklace and your beaming smile toward the Estonian.

“You gonna keep staring like that, or do you want to take a photo?” You asked, your voice holding the teasing lilt Juri had missed in the past weeks. Without breaking his gaze from your body, Juri reached into the pocket of his shorts, his hand retrieving his phone and taking a photo of you standing there, tight clothes and bright smile in all its glory. He smirked when he saw your barely concealed smile.

“You’re in a much better mood than usual. What happened?” Juri couldn’t help but ask, the drastic shift in your mood was more than intriguing to him. Your smile widened, taking the last few steps toward his position in a chair behind the large conference table.

“I lost 80 kilos last night.” You whispered, leaning in closer to Juri, the glint in your eyes, the proximity and the tone were all so familiar to him that he couldn’t help but meet you halfway, barely three inches between your faces as the words processed in his mind.

Juri glanced down at your body confusedly, trying to figure out where exactly the 80kg had disappeared from. Then, the pieces began clicking into place. The lack of gold necklace, the tighter clothes, the glowing smile, none of which would have been staring Juri in the face if Tye had a say.

“You dumped Tye?” Juri questioned, his eyes lighting up, his raise in volume betraying just how excited he was for you, and himself. You nodded, eyes softening as you watched the pure joy cross Juri’s face. Him being happy was something that always warmed your heart, but Juri being happy about you finally being happy? You were sure your knees were about to buckle.

“I’m glad. I can have you all to myself now.” Juri grumbled, reaching for your hands that were braced against the arms of his chair. With a sharp tug, your balance was offset, and your body was tumbling toward Juri’s. You landed with a giggle in Juri’s lap, his own laughter joining yours and the two of you simply enjoyed each other’s presence after having an intangible wall built between you during your relationship with Tye.

Juri couldn’t hold a taken woman like he loved her, not when that taken woman wasn’t his to hold. And you, how could you revel in the feel of man’s touch that was anyone’s but the man you supposedly loved. You couldn’t break out in goosebumps, or have a shiver roll down your spine when you felt the familiar pressure of his calloused fingertips pressing into the skin of your back, desperate to keep you close. You weren’t allowed to sigh in content when you felt the warmth of his body seep into your skin, or whimper when his hot breath rolled over the skin of your neck.

But now you could. Now, without the moral implications of enjoying another man, you could sink into this all-consuming feeling you have when Juri is near.

“Morning you two. We’ve got a video to film in the garage if you want to follow me?” The social media manager, Georgina,  a lovely woman in her 40s whom you always went to for advice and style tips, poked her head into the room you and Juri were tangled in, a cheeky smile on her face when she spotted the somewhat compromising position. A blush fell heavy on your cheeks, and you were quick to try and scramble away from Juri.

He had other ideas though. When Juri began moving, you clutched onto him for dear life, terrified of falling to the ground even though it was only about two feet. Your arms circled around his neck, your legs fully wrapping around his hips from where you were straddling him on the chair. His large hands came to rest on the underside of your thighs, hoisting you up higher on his body. Your legs clenched around his middle, the feel of his fingers pushing into the soft skin of your legs was electrifying, and you were sure if you didn’t have a video to film, you would have been telling the Estonian to find an unoccupied office to take what he needed from you.

But alas, you had a job to do. So, still wrapped around Juri like a vice, he carried you through the Hitech office, nodding to other staff you passed, and occasionally nuzzling his nose into your neck to get a good whiff of your perfume. Juri had said multiple times the scent was intoxicating and could bring any man to his knees. You may have gone out and bought an extra bottle to ensure you never ran out after that.

After a few minutes, you stepped into the garage with Juri, well, he stepped in you just kind of floated in. The scent of grease, rubber and a slight hint of fuel invaded your nostrils, and you sighed in content. Juri chuckled at your actions, he always loved watching you step into a garage, or out onto the pit lane to take in the smells of burnt rubber. You told him every time he laughed at you that it evoked a calm feeling within you, it was nostalgic, filled with happy memories from your childhood and the memories of races you shared with Juri on track.

“Alright lovebirds, can we get you in these chairs and we’ll start explaining while we finish getting set up.” Georgina stated, smiling fondly at the love between her two youngsters. Juri sat you down in one of the chairs sitting before the cameras, not leaving your side for long as he planted himself in his own chair and dragged you as close as possible.

Georgina explained the rules of the game, and the way you would be playing it, choosing you to sit in the background listening to music whilst Juri answered questions about you. First, they gave you a list of questions about yourself, asking to circle the correct answers and they would be compared to Juri’s during the game.

“Ok Juri, the first question. How old was Y/N when she started karting?” Georgina questioned. She watched you in the background closely to ensure you couldn’t hear anything, but you were blissfully unaware of everything around you, headphones in your ears, legs tucked up on the chair, scrolling through your phone with the occasional giggle escaping your lips. Each time Juri heard the angelic sound, he would turn to look at you with a look so soft it made the entire team’s heart swell.

“Uh, I think she was 10, I know she started late because she had to argue with her parents to let her do it with her brothers, and I think 10 is about the right age.” Juri answered, looking as though he was thinking quite hard about it. It had been a long time since the two of you discussed your start in karting, it was one of the first conversations you had together, and since then you hadn’t had to talk about generic teammate topics. Juri was proud that he remembered something seemingly insignificant from a year and a half ago, but supposed when it came to you he could never forget a thing.

“Alright, next question. What is Y/N’s biggest fear? Is it A, the ocean, B, goblins, or C, heights?” Juri’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head when he heard the second answer, trying to figure out why it was even an option in the first place. His eyes focused on one spot on the floor, his brain moving a mile a minute to analyse conversations he had with you.

“Well, we’ve been to the beach together a few times, and thinking back I don’t think she’s ever gotten into the water. So maybe the ocean, but she also said once when we were looking at a castle that she doesn’t like gargoyles, so goblins could be a thing. But she’s definitely not scared of heights. She’s gone skydiving, bungee jumping and climbed bridges and things like that. So I’m going to say the ocean. I feel like I would definitely know if she was scared of something like goblins.” Juri laughed, his eyes still glued to the spot on the floor, his thoughts flowing through his mouth with little consideration of how they could be interpreted.

“What is something Y/N never leaves the house with?” Georgina was hopeful for this question, she was sure it could be the catalyst for the two drivers to finally own up to their feelings after reading your answer. Juri listened to the multiple choice answers, but none of them sounded just right.

“So, the rings sound the closest, but sometimes she will wear lots, and other times only a few, and when she can’t wear them on her hands, she’ll thread it onto a necklace to wear under her race suit, or something so yeah, I’d say the rings.” Juri answered, turning to look at you behind him, wearing the exact ring he was talking about on the ring finger of your right hand.

“And what ring is the one she wears on her necklace?” Georgina probed, knowing the answer and just wanting to see the way Juri heated up when he talked about it.

“Uh, it’s a diamond ring that has a J engraved on the inside.” Juri answered, his cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. A smile broke out on your face as you watched Juri, his flustered state always made you giggle as he was such a confident and put-together person usually. As a habit, you began spinning the ring on your right hand around, feeling the shape of the diamonds and knowing the initial carved into the inside was a claim over you.

“Do you know where she got it?” Georgina asked. She was getting frustrated, Juri was much more calm about revealing the intimacy of the ring than she had hoped.

“I gave it to her. About a year ago, and then she gave me a necklace with an (your initial) on it. I wear it every day, and it’s the only piece of jewellery I wear while I drive.” Juri answered, his fingers reaching up to toy with the thin gold chain hidden beneath his shirt. He looked over his shoulder at you, spotting the spinning ring immediately and smiling at you.

You looked up at him, a dazed look as you stared at the gorgeous man in front of you. He could see the stars in your eyes, staring at him as though he hung the moon, and if he was honest with himself, if you asked, he would. There was nothing you could ask of him that would be too much, even if you didn’t ask, he would do everything for you. No one had ever held this power over him, he wasn’t even sure it would feel this good if it were anyone else, but you just did something to him. You unlocked a part of him he didn’t know existed.

You were just, everything. To him. You were everything he ever wanted, ever needed, even everything he didn’t know he needed. You opened him up, poured sunshine into his life in the form of your smile, happiness penetrated his bones because of your laugh. He didn’t want to lose that again, didn’t want to lose you to another man. He needed you, and he needed you now.

It was like slow motion, the way Juri surged out of his chair toward you, his hands cupping your jaw roughly as he guided you to your feet. The laptop on the ground pulled the earphones from your ears, your phone clattering to the floor in your surprise. Your hands reached up to fist in his shirts, not wanting to lose this proximity. You had him in your grasp and you’d be damned if you ever let him go again.

Juri pressed his lips to yours, as soft and warm as you’d imagined them so many times before. You kissed him back with ferocity, the eighteen months worth of emotion poured into a kiss to communicate your feelings in a way that didn’t need words. He kissed back just as fiercely, his hands holding your face still to allow him to do exactly what he needed. You were pliable to his every demand, putty in his hands. Juri had always had this effect on you, every fleeting touch or brush of a hand on your waist made your knees weak and your stomach flutter with the force of a thousand butterflies.

Juri pulled away, barely a breath between your lips as he panted slightly. Your eyes were trained on his lips, the fullness of his bottom lip, the redness from your assault on them making them look all the more kissable.

“So, how about we switch that ring to the other hand and really make this a Mr & Mrs video?”

[kyuuppi]

Personal Duties

Pairing: Xiao x Reader (gn)

Contents: ...fluff ig?

Word Count: 2.8k

The morning had begun uneventfully, giving no hint to how strange of a day it would inevitably become.

You had risen with the sun, as usual, and taken the time to double check the contents of your inventory before leaving for Liyue harbor. On the way you stopped by Wanmin restaurant for a simple skewer, returning Chef Mao’s enthusiastic greetings as you indulged in the quick breakfast. He rattled on about a few new recipes he wanted to try, insisting that you would be the one to sample them before they became an official part of the menu, and his beloved daughter’s latest adventures in Springvale. Chef Mao was always rather talkative but he was kind and one of the first locals you had become friends with when you first arrived in Liyue.

You finish the meal quickly and thank him before continuing your short journey. As you walked through the open streets of the harbor you breathed in the freshness of the sea, salty and foreign but comforting in the way only a land as mysterious as Liyue could feel. Despite having only lived in the city for a few months, you feel at peace here, safely cradled between mountains tall enough to break through the clouds, dotted by qingxin flowers that seemed to sparkle in the evenings after a good rainfall. The first day you arrived in Liyue you were left speechless, awestruck by both the vastness of the natural valleys and mountain ranges as well as the crumbling ancient ruins scattered across the lands, telling of a time you had only read about as a child in your faded copy of Records of Jueyen. The locals immediately recognized you as an outsider but offered nothing but hospitality, providing useful advice or large discounts on some of their finest products. Thoroughly enamored, you had immediately decided you would stay in Liyue for as long as you could. That same night you had rented a modest room at the highly regarded Wangshu Inn, a decision that cascaded into several life-changing events, including the meeting of a certain long-term resident and fabled legend of the inn: adeptus Xiao.

Meeting and then even befriending Xiao could be described as nothing short of a miracle. Meeting him has been unexpected—an accident really—in which you foolishly ventured to the vacant top floor of the inn in the middle of the night and nearly fell to your death trying to lean over the railing for a better view. Xiao had, very reluctantly, saved your life in that moment, gripping your upper arm firmly the second you realized your weight was tipping forwards. When you looked back to meet his gaze he had advised you, quite harshly, not to be so careless before vanishing without another word.

Naturally, your interests were immediately piqued and you sought out more information about the mystery man on the top floor of Wangshu Inn who could conveniently blip in and out of existence.

Most of the locals provided minimal information aside from a few rumors and the story of a masked figure told by the owner of Second Life. Piecing together snippets of information from locals and a few of the tales you remember from books, you were able to conclude that the man who saved you was not a man at all and rather the revered conqueror of demons and vigilant yaksha, Xiao.

The most useful source of information, however, turned out to be Wangshu’s very own boss, Verr Goldet. While the woman was hesitant to reveal anything at first, she eventually opened up at your persistence to the point it almost felt as if she wanted you to make progress with the adeptus more than you did.

“Rumor has it he becomes a little more friendly when he is presented with a fresh helping of almond tofu,” she had suggested not so subtly one evening.

You had happily taken the hint, pestering Smiley Yanxiao to teach you how to make the delicate dish before taking said dish to the top balcony as an offering of thanks to Xiao.

Expectedly, Xiao did not appear at all that night but you were nothing if not persistent. You returned with a fresh plate of almond tofu every night that week until on the seventh day, as you were nearly dozing off while leaning on the rail, Xiao finally revealed himself to you, if only to ask if you were trying to make a repeat of your near death experience from last time. He claimed he wouldn’t save you a second time but the way his eyes sparkled when he finally received your plate of almond tofu made you think he was bluffing.

After that night, your relationship with the adeptus rapidly developed. You found yourself on the top floor of Wangshu Inn every night, Xiao obediently appearing a safe distance beside you even if he liked to pretend you didn’t exist or that your presence annoyed him. The fact he still showed up and, as evident by the occasional question he would ask in the midst of your chattering, actually listened , was enough for you. He did not share much about himself but you understood well enough that his life was not without significant hardship or suffering and, if nothing else, you liked to think you could at least offer a small distraction to the hardworking yaksha.

“Ad astra abyssosque! Welcome to the Adventurers' Guild,” Katheryne greets as you finally arrive at her desk.

You return your own greeting before discussing the details of the day’s commissions.

It would be an uneventful day, you quickly gather. Two of your assignments are merely deliveries: a mother near Dongsheng’s general good shop needs her daughter to take her medicine but the little girl refuses unless there is a fresh plate of almond tofu to eat it with and a letter addressed to Granny Chu in Gulli Plains that need to be delivered. The third assignment is a complaint about a particularly rowdy group of hilichurls close to the main road. Lastly, a small clan of treasure hoarders seem to have stolen one of Jifang’s most prized artifacts.

Reasoning to yourself that a day of boring commissions is likely better than a day of dangerous commissions, you set off.

You finish the first two assignments rather quickly, as expected. The little girl had excitedly complimented your almond tofu several times, swearing it to be the best thing she had ever eaten while her mother profusely thanked you for getting the girl to finally take her medicine. Likewise, Granny Chu had immediately brightened the second you handed her the small envelope, explaining it was a message from her grandchildren who seemed too busy with their own families to stay in contact very often. The elderly woman insisted you took a couple of ripe sunsettia as thanks for delivering the letter before you were once more setting off, prepared to face the rambunctious cluster of Hilichurls.

It is then that your uneventful day takes a turn.

While hiking through the marsh on the way, you quickly notice how disturbed the land looks, barren of the common lizards, loaches, and small mammals that usually occupy the lands, scurrying away the moment you step too close. Instead, patches of bare land break up the once lush and seamless grass, jagged cuts along the blades as if a strong force had ripped through them. Evidence of chipped cobblestone and patchy grass seem to only get worse as you approach your destination and a small part of you feels anxious, wondering if the camp of hilichurls will be much more powerful than you had expected. Subconsciously, you grip your claymore a little tighter as you walk, glancing around cautiously as if you could be ambushed at any moment.

Instead of a rowdy group of fearsome monsters, you are met with empty space when you reach the location Katheryne had described. The air is eerily quiet aside from the soft chirps of distant cricadas, not a hilichurl in sight as you slowly survey the area. You almost would have assumed you had misheard and went to the wrong place if it were not for the obvious evidence of a large group of hilichurls once residing there. Shoddily built wooden huts and tilted towers surround the open space, the structures seeming barely able to support themselves as half of them had been caved in or ripped apart as if by a tornado. Strewn across the ground near the unlit campfires lie various meats, vegetables, and wheat. A few water pots and cauldrons lay tipped over but still partially filled with water as if they were being used mere hours ago.

Someone had clearly exterminated this hilichurl camp before your arrival, not even bothering to rummage through the chests, undoubtedly filled with valuable treasures, sitting in the far corner of the camp.

You are far from the only adventurer in Liyue. There are others, many of which are stronger and more skilled than you, who are assigned similar and even more dangerous commissions, taking down hilichurl camps like this on the daily. However, Katheryne always keeps meticulous records of who the guild assigns to do what and, in your five years as an adventurer, mistakes made by the adventure guild are almost unheard of. Surely Katheryne didn’t assign you to a task someone else was already assigned to—but then, who would complete something as tedious as clearing a hilichurl camp without seeking the rewards the adventure guild offers, or even the unguarded chests around the camp?

None of it makes sense to you but the sun is already beginning to set and you still have an assignment to deal with treasure hoarders on the opposite side one the city. Reluctantly, you take advantage of the untouched chests and pick up anything of value you find among the wreckage of the camp, not a single hilichurl body in sight.

The oddity of your last commission is nearly forgotten by the time you reach the treasure hoarders’ hideout, chest slightly heaving and thighs burning from hours of hiking through the uneven terrain. Above you, the sky has already turned a deep lavender, a speckle of stars glittering above the mountain peaks. You lean against a large rock at the entrance of the valley, too tired to even consider the glittering tangerine of cor lapis peeking out between the rocks. It is in that moment, as you are catching your breath, that you catch the murmurs of male voices carried with the wind.

“Look—I think that’s them…!”

“A-are you sure? If we mess this up that m-masked man might come back and…”

You abruptly straighten up, brows furrowing at the words and fearful tone of the voices. Why did they sound so afraid? Was it because of this “masked man?” The only masked man you can think of is...

“Just hurry up and give it to them so we can get the hell out of here!”

You are startled into a fighting stance at the sound of footsteps coming towards you.

Finally, a small group of burly men round the corner of the large rock you were just resting against, all wearing the familiar variations of martial arts or farming clothing and masks synonymous with treasure hoarders in Liyue. To your surprise however, rather than angry or smug as the hoarders usually looked, the men before you all appear disheveled and wide eyed, some even visibly trembling as if they’d seen a ghost. All look at you with wide eyes, as if you personally had struck the fear of the archons within them. The largest man, who you presume to be their leader, steps forward and you take a cautious step back, raising your blade in defense.

“No, wait—we don’t want to fight you,” the man quickly says, causing you to furrow your brows in skepticism.

“H-here, this is all of it, we swear!”

You fumble when the man throws a large bag at you, nearly dropping your sword to catch it. The bag itself is unassuming, a brown and slightly stained burlap sack, but you can already guess the contents based on the weight and clunky shape. Glancing up you find the men all staring at you expectantly, seemingly awaiting your approval as if their life depended on it.

Cautiously, you open the bag, finding a single blue and silver goblet inside along with a few bird’s feathers and a silver cricket lined with jewels—Jifang’s stolen artifacts.

“Y-ya see? It’s all there! We learned our lesson—we promise we’ll never steal again,” one of the men stammers, the group already stepping back as if ready to bolt.

“Wait a second—” you try, stepping forward.

To your shock the men startle like wild animals, recoiling from you as if you’ll attack them at any moment.

“H-here, take these too,” one of the men in the back shouts, throwing down a bronze coin. You immediately recognize it as a treasure hoarder’s insignia—something a hoarder only gives up if they have been defeated in battle. And yet, soon all of the men are throwing their own down as well, letting them land around your feet like an offering before the men all turn heel and abruptly book it, running down hill as if an evil spirit were hot on their tails despite your calls.

Thoroughly baffled by the whole exchange you crouch down to pick up the tokens—that is when you realize the land looks familiar. The same patchiness and jagged cuts plague the grass here as it did the hilichurl camp you had seen earlier. In fact, the pattern felt familiar to something you had seen only a few times before: the aftermath of a particularly powerful anemo used by a particularly powerful masked “man”...

“Xiao!”

Your voice echoes slightly around the wooden hallway as you stumble your way to the top balcony, eager to confront the adeptus. Your chest is heaving as you attempt to catch your breath, having practically ran all the way to Wangshu Inn from Liyue harbor after hastily collecting your commission rewards.

The air is silent for a few moments, the only sound coming from your own harsh breaths before a calm, deep voice startles you from behind.

You whip around to face him.

“You’re so noisy, ” Xiao complains, arms crossed and expression mildly annoyed.

While the greeting would be hardly encouraging under any normal circumstance, you feel you have grown close enough to Xiao to understand his words hold no true malice—or perhaps you’re just really good at ignoring it.

“Xiao,” you repeat much more calmly than before. You eye him cautiously as you speak your next words, trying to gauge his reaction.

“What did you do today?”

His expression gives nothing away, remaining neutral and closed off—unreadable—as he replies monotonously.

“The work of the adepti is not something mortals could ever understand nor need to know.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the typical, very Xiao-like response.

“Well did you happen to decimate any hilichurl camps in the Dihua Marsh? Or mentally scar any treasure hoarders around Jueyen Karst? The hilichurl camp I was supposed to take down was already gone when I got there and the treasure hoarders I talked to were acting really weird—there was also a lot of collateral damage. It almost felt like someone was sabotaging my commissions…”

Xiao’s expression promptly sours, seeming slightly offended by your unspoken accusation.

“I have no interest in the work of an adventurer, ” he spits out, the word itself seeming to leave a bad taste in his mouth, “I am dedicated to my adept duties, nothing more and nothing less.”

Xiao speaks in a way that leaves no room for protest and you finally give up with a small sigh, turning away from him to gaze over the view from the balcony instead. It was true—there would be no reason for Xiao to trouble himself with doing your dumb little daily commissions when he faces much larger, more powerful monsters on the daily. Moreover, why would Xiao target you specifically? As much as you like to think you’re special, you’re really just one of many humans and Xiao does not seem like the type to hold personal vendettas or enjoy watching people suffer. It was foolish to even think he had anything to do with what happened today, you mentally scold yourself.

Despite the summer season, a cool breeze rustles through your hair and clothing, encouraging your shoulders to release a tension you didn’t even realize you had. Your smile at the calmness of the night, oblivious to the watchful eye of the adeptus next to you.

His duty as an adeptus is to defend the people of Liyue but somehow along the way ensuring your protection has become a personal duty he takes very seriously.

[perriewinklenerdie]

Waiting (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x Claire Herondale

Word count: 2,4 k

Summary: OH3 Chapter 5 added scene. Ethan and Tobias talk as they wait for the surgery to be over. ft. cute moments between Ethan and Claire

Warnings: None

A/N: Tobias and Ethan friendship will happen. If PB won’t let me make this happen (they will but still), then Imma make it happen myself.

Tobias took a deep breath as the air of the early autumn ruffled his hair. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm light on his face. He dug his hands into the pockets of his white coat, closing his eyes for a moment. A slight smirk tugged on the corners of his lips at the memory of the meeting he just got out of. He’s always enjoyed teasing Ethan and at some point, that teasing escalated to arguing and one-upping him – he enjoyed the latter even more.

A surprised shriek pulled him out of his wonder, prompting his eyes to open. The sound was filled to the brim with happiness, not raising the alert in his mind, so he calmly looked around in search of the source. And found it rather quickly.

His eyes fell onto a couple, standing in the middle of the garden near the hospital. The man had his arm wrapped tightly around the woman, keeping her close to him. His shoulders shook slightly as he laughed at something she said, then their lips met in a kiss so intense that it made Tobias want to look away. But he didn’t.

Because it might have been the very first time he’s ever seen Ethan Ramsey this relaxed around someone. This happy. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, but upon blinking a couple of times, he was sure – it was Claire and Ethan.

They pulled apart slightly, enough for Tobias to see a wide grin on Ethan’s face as he said something to her, staring into her eyes. He dove towards her right after, caressing the side of her neck tenderly, his other hand gripping the fabric of her white coat at her back.

Their lips meet again, softer this time, gentler, like he was savoring the taste and the feel of her by his side. Come to think of it, he probably was – Tobias himself knew that these two had their fair share of experiences, so it wasn’t all that surprising that Ethan would behave like this, even if it wasn’t what Tobias came to expect from him.

The same intensity, coupled with softness, could easily be found in the way Claire’s arms wrapped around Ethan’s neck, pulling him downwards so they were at a similar height. That made him laugh, breaking the kiss for a second before he adjusted his grip, pulling her upwards, the tips of her shoes barely touching the ground.

When they eventually separated for good, Tobias could very clearly notice their heavy breathing and how they held onto one another despite the fact that the intense moment was behind them. What was left was the tenderness in their smiles and the gentleness of Ethan’s touch when he traced the corner of Claire’s lips with his thumb.

Tobias didn’t need to observe the pair any longer, feeling not like he was invading their privacy – they were making out in the middle of the public garden, for god’s sake – but like he’s seen enough. He’d tease his old friend about this later. With one final look at the pair, he turned back around and went into the hospital.

~

Ethan walked back to the table in the office, balancing three cups of coffee in his hold. They’ve been waiting for two hours already, with no news regarding Francis. He stopped by Claire’s side, letting her take two cups out of his hands before he turned to Tobias, handing him the third one. His old friend eyed the coffee, then looked up at him with surprise in his eyes and hesitation in every move he did and didn’t make. A short while later, he accepted the cup with a nod, watching Ethan as he walked back to his seat.

Knowingly to both men or not, Claire seated herself between them for a reason. If they were supposed to spend the next couple of hours in that office, they needed to not kill one another in the meantime. If she had to be a buffer, then so be it.

Sitting down, Ethan took his coffee from his girlfriend, her inviting smile eliciting one of his own. The rich flavor helped his tired body wake up a bit, caffeine speeding up his heartbeat a little. He heard a soft hum of appreciation and approval from Claire, his lips curling upwards at the sound.

None of them said a word for the next couple of minutes, finishing their drinks in silence. It allowed Ethan to finally sit down and process what happened that day.

He’s working with Tobias again.

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have come up with such an idea. Nightmares, sure, though he didn’t let such ridiculous notions occupy his mind. Tobias would be the last person he’d consider for a spot on his team, considering both their professional turmoil and the personal one. If they couldn’t hold a civilized conversation outside of work, how the hell were they supposed to put everything that’s happened aside to work together as a team?

He should have known that Bloom would pull something like this – he’s never trusted the man. He wouldn’t trust him with his coffee order, not to mention something as integral as the choice of the member of the team. Every time his new boss inserted himself into their work, despite not knowing a damn thing about it, he wanted to shove a piece of paper down his throat. But he couldn’t – and Claire wouldn’t let him, no matter how much she agreed with him that Bloom deserved that and so much more.

But he didn’t have any choice in that matter now. Tobias was the member of the team. Whether he liked it or not, they would be seeing each other every day and they would have to put their differences aside. If not for the sake of their sanities, then for the sake of their patients.

Perhaps it was time to finally sit down and have a mature conversation about everything that went down all those years ago, like he wanted to do before. They will never go back to what their friendship used to be, too many things have happened. What they could do was resolve the past and try to move forward – Claire’s advice rang in his ears at that idea.

All that would have to wait, however, because in that moment, they had bigger issues than their personal problems. Francis was lying on the table in the OR as Harper raced against the time, and all they could do was wait – he always loathed that part.

His attention has been stolen by the subtle movement near his hand. Claire took his empty cup out of his hand, standing up to take Tobias’s too to get rid of them. Ethan’s eyes followed her as she deposited them on the tray by the coffee machine and walked back to her seat. As soon as she was within his reach, he took her hand into his, tangling their fingers together and giving them a gentle squeeze. She smiled at him, turning her body towards him wordlessly. Her thumb traced the line of his bones, the motion soothing him.

“I can’t decide if I’m tired or restless.” Tobias breathed out deeply, drumming his fingers on the table. The break of silence was welcomed by his other two companions – they were all getting tired of the quiet tension that filled the room to the brim, getting thicker by the minute, making it harder to breathe.

“I’m stressing out, but I don’t think I can keep my eyes open any longer.” Claire concluded, letting her head fall onto Ethan’s shoulder softly. He wrapped his arm around her pulling her into his embrace, a hint of a helpless grin stretching his features.

“You just drank coffee.” He argued, turning his head to look at her. She glanced up at him, scrunching her nose adorably.

“That’s the best way to have a powernap. Scientifically proven.”

“By who?” Tobias asked, smirking suspiciously at the younger woman. She retorted without missing a beat, turning around and leaning out of her seat to look at him.

“By me. Works wonders.” Having finished her line, she fell back into Ethan’s waiting arms, nesting herself into her boyfriend’s embrace once more. He nudged her head with his nose as he mused under his breath.

“If you say so.”

Not much later, her breathing evened out and she fell into a light slumber, burying her face into his neck. Ethan looked down at her with adoration sparkling in his eyes, closing his own eyes for a moment. It didn’t last long, though.

“If you told me years ago that we’d both be on the Diagnostic Team together, I’d call you an idiot.” Tobias started speaking, seemingly innocently, but there was something to his tone that indicated that it was only the beginning.

“If you told me I’d have to work with you despite everything you’ve done, I would have called you an idiot too. Or perhaps something else, more suitable for the occasion.”

“Hey now, E, there’s no need to be so dramatic. If we’re going to be seeing each other every day, we need to be friendly.” He grinned brightly, his eyes falling onto the woman in Ethan’s arms. “Look at Herondale and I, we can be very friendly.”

Ethan scoffed at him, trying to ignore the pang he felt at the last words. He adjusted his grip on her, hugging her just a tiny bit tighter, more securely.

“We have to be civil long enough to get our work done, but don’t think that you walking in here, smiling, will erase the stunts you’ve been pulling all those years. It doesn’t work like that.”

Silence hung between them as their stares tried one another, daring the other to break first. For what must have been the first time, Tobias relented, looking away with tension in his eyes.

“I am aware of that.”

Ethan, convinced that it was the end of the conversation, twisted his frame the slightest bit, allowing Claire to get more comfortable in her sleep. He gazed at their joined hands, her grip secure despite not being aware of that. Her closeness relaxed him like nothing else, his exchange with Tobias suddenly a thousand miles away from his mind. With a private smile, he pressed a gentle kiss to her hair, letting out a deep breath.

Tobias watched the pair silently – not for the first time. But it was the first time that he got to see them from such a close proximity. Even in a situation as tense as the one they all were in right now, they somehow managed to find peace in each other. He’s known Ethan for over a decade and he’s never met a person that was able to lead him away from seeing red with just one look. It’s like she somehow put a spell on him, and to Tobias, it seemed that Ethan was well aware of that – and did nothing to change it. He welcomed it with open arms. “She really got you good, huh?”

Ethan slowly turned his head to face him, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, come on. Ethan Ramsey, the notorious workaholic, going home after work on time every single day? Walking around the hospital with a grin on his face?” he started pointing out everything he’s noticed during only his first day of working on the team, as well as things he’s heard from the nurses. Ethan remained silent, unsure where this was going.

“Making out with his girlfriend when he thinks no one’s looking?” at that, Ethan’s eyes widened slightly, a hint of a blush climbing onto his cheeks. “Yeah, we all saw your little escapade yesterday. Very charming scenery, red roses suit her.” Tobias nodded towards Claire, then looked at his old friend again. “Not you, though. Red is not exactly your color – I would know, since that’s exactly the color of your cheeks right now.”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you.”

“We both know that I am, E.”

They shared a look and for a moment, they were back at university, thick as thieves. Two friends who could talk about everything. Then the reality caught up to them and Tobias cleared his throat, falling quiet immediately after. The next time the silence was broken, it was Ethan who did it.

“I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked you.” his voice was deep and low, overcame by emotions of unknown to Tobias origin.

“For what?”

“For saving her.”

Both men looked at Claire, sleeping, blissfully unaware of the conversation that was happening right over her head. Ethan’s eyes softened at the sight of her, safe and sound in his arms.

“I don’t know what I would have done if I lost her.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Tobias responded, his hand rising on its own to pat Ethan’s shoulder, but he refrained from doing so. Instead, he offered a timid smile that was accepted and eventually mirrored.

“Just… do yourself a favor – hold onto her. And hold on tight.” He continued, saying all the things Ethan already knew. “She’s an amazing woman and, god help her, she sure wants you.”

“Believe me, I don’t know what I did to get this lucky either.” Blue-eyed attending sighed thoughtfully, choosing to ignore the obvious dig directed at him, staring at his girlfriend with a look of wonder in his eyes instead. The new doctor in the team gave him a moment to himself, focusing on the wall in front of him.

And then, in true Tobias Carrick fashion, he threw in a line to break the tension. “She could make any man feel like he’s on top of the world, so I’d watch out if I were you.”

“You’re no competition for me.” Ethan countered, grinning at his old friend, letting the wave of nostalgia wash other them both. Tobias punched his shoulder lightly, faking offense at the words. For hours, they would wait for Harper to emerge from the OR, talking quietly about old and new times as the youngest member of the team lied in her boyfriend’s arms, having heard every word since she closed her eyes.

Notes

The trick actually works wonders, I would know, it saved my ass more times than I care to admit. Well, it works 9 out of 10 times. My girl C landed herself in that 10%. Good for her, some delicious subjects were discussed :D

Tagging separately

[steves-on-a-plane]

The Ambassador

Words: 1613 Square Filled for @buckybarnesbingo: Bodyguard Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Reader is a young ambassador tasked with setting up with a new US embassy in Wakanda. She is less than pleased to find out she's been assigned a body guard to watch over her.

"Enjoy your flight!” The attendant said as they handed you back your ticket. They waved you through the ramp and assured you that your luggage would be taken care of. You texted your boss, letting him know you were about to board your almost thirteen-hour flight to Wakanda. It was just the first item on a laundry list of tasks you’d have to complete in order to set up the first US embassy in Wakanda.

till tapping away at your screen, you sat in the nearest plush leather seat. You had a few emails you needed to send before the flight crew made the rounds and asked everyone to turn off electronic devices. The same attendant from before came by and took your drink order. You took note of the five other passengers on board. Traveling in a private jet might not be cheap, but so far it was more comfortable than commercial.

“Ambassador [Y/L/N]?” You looked up from your phone when someone called your name. Standing in front of you was a handsome man with neatly cropped chestnut brown hair. He was wearing black jeans, a black moto jacket and black leather gloves. Not your typical diplomat’s style. “My name is James, it will be my job to keep you safe while you’re in Wakanda.”

“I wasn’t aware I was in any danger.” You told him in a bristly tone. “It was my understanding that the Wakandan government was in full support of us building an embassy.”

“It’s standard protocol apparently.” He assured you.

“I don’t need a baby sister, James. I suggest you get off the plane now before they start to taxi us to the runway.” You advised.

“No disrespect, Ma’am, but I’m staying.” He sat down in the chair across from you. The bag he had slung over one shoulder was tossed to the floor with a thump. “I’ve been assigned to protect you and I’m a man of my word so that’s what I’m going to do. At least until the embassy is up and running and you have a full security detail.”

“Well then I’ll have you reassigned.” You took out your phone again, but the cabin crew had already closed the doors and seatbelt indicators had been turned on. It was too late to turn back now. You were stuck with him for at least the next day.

You rolled your eyes and swiveled your leather chair, so you were facing the window. It would be at least thirty minutes before you’d be allowed to use your phone or laptop. You looked out the window and watched the earth descend below. You began running through your mental checklists. You had a checklist for everything that needed to get done once you landed. You had a checklist for the welcome dinner the first night you were in Wakanda. You even had a checklist of work you wanted to accomplish during your day long flight.

What you didn’t have a checklist for was the new bodyguard you’d been saddled with. Protection details were common with embassy work, but usually the team was cleared well in advance. They weren’t just thrown onto a plane with you in the last minute. Still, it wasn’t this guy’s fault he’d been stuck with you. You swiveled your chair again to face him.

“Have you ever been Wakanda, James?” You asked, trying to make conversation.

“Once or twice.” He nodded. “You?”

“No.” You confessed. “Have you ever worked security for an ambassador before?”

“I won’t get in your way Ma’am.” He assured.

“You’d better not.” You smirked. “But I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I just think if we’re going to be working so closely together, we might as well get to know each other.”

“No thanks.” He reached into his bag and removed a book. “Kumbaya isn’t my thing.” He opened the book and began reading. You took out your laptop and got to work. You had checklists that needed tending too.

The flight crew came around and brought everyone their drink orders. When a cool glass of whiskey was placed in front of the bodyguard, he put his book down and sipped slowly. He watched you over his glass.

“Why Wakanda?” He questioned suddenly.

“I thought we weren’t talking.” You commented before drinking from your own glass.

“I don’t want to braid your hair or talk about our hopes and dreams. Sorry.” He rolled his eyes. “I want to know why an ambassador with such little experience was chosen to set up a new embassy with the US’s most important ally.”

“Not that I owe you any sort of explanation,” You sighed. “But from what I understand I was the only one who wanted it. Those ambassadors with more experience don’t want to put in the leg work needed to set up an embassy. They want to go somewhere already established, to bring their wives or mistresses somewhere romantic like Italy or France. Not to mention they aren’t dedicating their spare time to learning about the culture or the people in the nation they're assigned to.”

“And you are?” He raised his eyebrows and sounded surprised.

“You might not think so, but I’m not an idiot.” You huffed. “I’m not going to Wakanda to bring the America way to them. Wakanda’s made more technological, medical, and overall scientific advances in the last decade than we have in the past three. The US needs Wakanda far more than they need us. But it’s my job to make this whole experience feel like a mutual partnership. It’s not something I take on lightly.”

“You know.” James yawned, reaching for his book again. “I’m willing to bet if you gave that exact same speech to the king, that might be all he needs to hear.”

“Thanks for the input.” You huffed sarcastically. “I don’t know why you asked if you were just going to mock my answer.” You looked back at your computer screen.

“I wasn’t trying to mock you.” He said earnestly. “This is a genuine piece of advice, so do with it what you will, but T’Challa would rather you be honest with him. He’s very good at reading people.”

“So he’s just T’Challa to you?” You couldn’t help but smirk. Surely this man wasn’t implying what you thought he was. You looked over at him again. “Are you trying to tell me you’re on a first name basis with the King of Wakanda?”

“As a matter of fact,” He said, turning the page in his book. “I am a close friend of sorts. The royal family really helped me out of a bind a while back.”

“I thought you said you’d only been to Wakanda a few times.” You remembered.

“I said once or twice. I didn’t say for how long. I’m going to back to this now.” He said, pointing at the book.

You weren’t sure if he was bluffing and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to be or not. You thought about spending some time researching James Barnes trying to see if you could verify his story but decided that it would be better to take him at face value. After all, he had no reason to lie to you. Instead you’d sped as much time in the next ten hours as possible reworking your dinner speech and some of your other talks planned for the week. It never hurts to have a backup plan.

Six hours into the flight, Bucky had finished his first book. You’d been tapping away at your keyboard aggressively nearly the entire time. As he read the last sentence on the page and closed the book, he realized you’d gone awfully quiet. His eyes flashed to you, you were sleeping.

It didn’t look like you were sleeping comfortably either. You were still sitting upright, your head lolled to one side. If he left you like that, you’d wake up with a neck cramp and probably be even crabbier than you were before. He picked up a cashmere blanket off one of the vacant seats.

“You’re not so scary when you’re sleeping.” He whispered to himself. He leaned over and saved the document you were working on. He caught a hint of the perfume you were wearing. It smelled like Jasmine and sandalwood. He secured your laptop and reclined your seat ever so gently. The last thing he wanted was to be caught in the act of being nice to you. After ensuring that you were still asleep, you draped the blanket over you before tip toeing back to his own seat.

You awoke with only an hour left of your flight. You stretched your limbs and opened your eyes. You noticed someone had covered you with an incredibly soft blanket. The urge to snuggle up to it and go back to sleep was strong but you still had a lot of work to do. You looked to your right and James was still there, reading his book.

“What time is it?” You yawned.

“Just about three.” He told you.

“Three?” You exclaimed. “You let me sleep for six hours?”

“You looked like you needed a rest.” He explained logically.

“No what I need is…” You stopped yourself. “Look I’m under a lot of pressure to make this work. If you’re planning on being glued to my side for the foreseeable future. You’re going to have to get used to my…”

“Bristly attitude? You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got thick skin Ma’am.” He said, casting his eyes back to his book.

“You can just call me [Y/N], James.” You told him.

“Buck.” He corrected you. “My friends call me Bucky.”

[writeblrfantasy]

excerpt from of blood drawn, book three of the revolution of nimath: amberberry jam on brown bread

word count 1497 (long I know but this scene is very near and dear to my heart)

welcome to your first excerpt from the blood series!! book 3 has been getting the most inspiration from me, though now book 1 is close on its heels, which is good for nano purposes. i have been working on this scene for about a week, and finally finished it now that ootp is done. enjoy your first glimpse of tanil (yes his name is tanil not talin yes it's a long story) and leal as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

~

I was taking a walk one afternoon, hands in my pockets on the cool spring day, when I came across the terrace where I had seen the emperor so many times before. I hadn’t seen him for the last four days, so I wasn’t expecting to find him there. I wasn’t seeking anything but some quiet, some respite from the world. I leaned my forearms on the balcony railing and looked out over the mountains.

At the call of, “Hello, Talin,” I turned sharply in shock.

The emperor sat on the edge of the railing to my right, smiling. He had somehow escaped my notice.

I took him in. His color was paler than usual, even as the afternoon sun painted gold onto his face. He sat on the edge of the railing without a problem, like it wasn’t a sheer, bone rattling drop to the bottom of the foggy mountain valley far below us.

He was swathed in his usual bright red coat with the open front, long sleeves hugging his arms and wide coattails flaring around his legs like a skirt. The coat would always trail behind him when he walked, swimming around him like an ocean of blood. Blood. I couldn’t not associate it with him now. Bloodlord.

The coat was the same, but the paleness to his cheeks and his drawn brown eyes were different, as well as his messy hair. It was never perfectly arranged, but now it was apparent that his unkemptness was born out of exhaustion, not purposeful defiance of what an emperor should look like. Despite his usual ruggedness, he always perfectly attained the air of an emperor, at least in my opinion. I always thought he looked perfectly like an emperor. Perhaps not as an emperor should, but there would be no mistaking what he was, even now.

His messiness, however regal, showed his tiredness. Judging by how I hadn’t seen him since the night he came out of some kind of fit covered in blood, immediately falling asleep in his wife’s arms, I could only assume it was because of that fit that he looked so tired. Not just a look—it radiated off every inch of his bones, in the shape of that smile. I wondered how much of it was forced for my sake, if he had been sitting slouched and sighing before I showed up.

“Would you like some?” he asked, holding something to me. I peered at it closer—it was a slab of bread, covered with some kind of dark orange jam. “Amberberry jam. I grew up eating this every day. In times of distress, it brings me comfort.”

I raised my eyebrow. He was offering me a hint about himself and his elusive past, as well as a hint about his mood. I took the nuggets he offered me and stored them greedily in my scholar’s mind, though I tried to find a part of me that wasn’t utterly enraptured with him. I wanted so badly not to give a flying care about anything he did, but the part of me that had served in the Talthean court for three years demanded I keep and store all the data I could about everything I could.

“I think you would like some,” he decided after I failed to answer, taking a fresh slice of the pale brown bread from the table beside the railing and slathering it with jam from a pot on the tip of a knife. He handed it to me like one would an offering of peace, a great boon. I accepted it, still silent.

While I bit into it, exploring the explosion of sharp, bitter tang from the jam and the soft sweetness of the bread, he asked, “Any insults for me today, Talin?”

“No.” I could hardly decide what to think of him. No amount of looking at him, observing that his eyes were very starkly brown instead of blood red could help me determine what exactly I was looking at. So like himself, and so unlike it.

Some parts of me told me this was a shell of the man I was used to, others told me this was his true form, hale and exhausted. I wondered what façade of his he showed me, if any part of him that I had seen was real. The truest example I could think of was the man I had seen three nights ago, bleeding from nowhere in his wife’s arms.

“This is very good,” I said, about the bread he had offered me.

He brightened, the life returning to his face for the first time. “I knew you would. Would you like to try some jam by itself?”

“Sure.”

He didn’t reach for the pot of jam immediately. Instead, he stared into the distance, acting like I wasn’t even there. I wondered what he was thinking. I was always wondering what he was thinking. He didn’t volunteer any information about what I had seen in his room three nights ago. I didn’t ask—not because I respected his privacy, but because I knew he wouldn’t give me an answer. Or so I told myself.

“What would you do, Talin,” he asked quietly, “if you were presiding over an empire of fools who all thought you were the greatest fool in their midst, badly enough that they started a civil war with you over it?”

I blinked. I hadn’t expected him to be so direct with me. My scholar’s mind provided an answer quickly. “That depends on what you’d want to get out of them, Your Majesty.”

“Oh?” He looked at me while he ate like I was the most riveting man in the world.

I also hadn’t expected him to take my answer seriously. I thought he was just asking a rhetorical question, talking to the wind, as they say. I knew he was just placating me by allowing me speak—he couldn’t possibly want my actual input. Of his empire of fools, I was one of his most prominent. I had solidified my fate the day I saved his life.

I swallowed and continued. “If you want them to respect you, that’s a different issue. But if you simply need something out of them, you would use the law against them, or simple diplomacy. But if it didn’t matter what they thought of you, only that you got what you wanted, you wouldn’t have to make them like you. Getting someone to like you is infinitely harder than getting them to give you what you want.

“Of course, that wouldn’t be a permanent solution, because rulers who unite like that always get bitten by their lack of compassion, but for a temporary means it would do.” I took a breath, remembering where I was. But the emperor didn’t seem offended by my presumptuous advice. Nothing ever offended him.

He snorted, running his thumb over the crust of his uneaten bread slice. “I find myself forgetting at times that you served in your own court. You sound like Ahnias.”

This compliment warmed me; I respected Ahnias a great deal. To be compared to them by none other than the emperor himself was greater than my deepest desires.

He tilted his head, looking at me directly again. His eyes were an endless, deep brown. “Actually, no, you don’t.”

My heart sank.

“Ahnias wouldn’t suggest something so merciless,” he said. “Ahnias would search every angle to find the kindest one that worked in the favor of every party, even if that party was your enemy.”

A deep sort of shame washed over me. I existed in this court to defy the emperor, to snap at him, to act as none should. I searched for an insult or an instinctive retort to bite back at him as I always had, but I couldn’t think of anything. And I found, inexplicably, that in that moment I didn’t want to hurt him. He had never looked so delicate and yet so powerful at the same time. I didn’t want to shatter it. To realize this was startling, it shocked me into silence.

He finally handed me a spoon with a glob of jam on the end. I licked it off, then grimaced at the unfathomably bitter taste. I wished I had some drink to wash it away with, but I was stuck licking it out of the corners of my cheeks for minutes after.

He laughed at my expression. “It’s foul by itself, I agree. But with this”—he slathered more on a piece of bread and handed it to me— “it turns into something beautiful and delectable, digestible and pleasant, with just the right amount of tart. A bit like you and me.” He popped another piece into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, scanning the sky with his eyes like it held all the answers he sought.

I was glad my mouth was full, so that I did not have to reply.

[kanene-yaaay]

Guardian Angels

Kanene’s notes: This universe is basically: Emile is a kid and the sides + Remy are his tiny angel guardians. They’re smol. They can shapeshift. They have wings. They can do magic things. They’re all soft.

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* Lee!Emile and Ler!Logan, Ler!Patton and Ler!Remy. Original AU.

* Hmmm… This is a Tickle-Fanfic! If you don’t like this kind of stuff, please look for another blog, there are plenty of amazing art in this site!! ‘u’).

* This have about 2.000 words. Everything is platonic.

* Tiny/Giant tickles.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! I didn’t proofread that one very well, so I will probably be correcting a few things later. Any advice is always very, very welcome!

* A versão em português brasileiro irá ser escrita, ainda. Eu espero! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Take a break, rest, be kind (especially with yourself) and drink water! Byeioo!~

                             [~*~]

“And the botulism… botulism, botulism, b…” Emile bit the tip of his pen, trying to remember the words he wrote on his flashcard yesterday, his mind spinning his thoughts and attempting to run into other fields of memory, but he was sure he could remember that one! Botulism… he used that glittery pink pen his friend gave to his and… “BACTERIA!” He bounced on his chair, “Botulism is caused by bacterias who, as they eat, release CO2. That is why the cans get all-” Emile gesticulated with his pen, poofing out his cheeks and continuing as the small angel waved in a gesture for him to keep going, “-poof! Also, it’s not an infection nor an inflammation when they harm humans and yes an intoxication.”

“Correct. Although you forgot to mention the name of the bacteria, which is Clostridium botulinum.” Logan flew in his direction, passing to the boy the flashcard he carried, ignoring his snickers since the guardian and the piece of paper had almost the same height, saved by a couple of inches, and landed smoothly on his shoulder, wings shaking for a second behind him.

“Okay dokey!” Emile uncapped the pen and began writing on the air, imagining the letters slowly forming the scientific name, murmuring it to himself the entire time. When the last ‘m’ was formed, his voice spiked, a squeal escaping from his mouth.

“Logan!” Emile controlled his urge to shake his head as the feathers continued their lazy grazing on his neck, the smallest opening and closing his wings with a hint of a smirk on his expression, totally unfazed by the titters already building up their way to the boy’s lips. “Lo, noho!”

“I am very proud that you finished your studies for the day. We can of course, advance on your homework if you want, or make some research on a topic you’re curious about but-” Emile scrunched his neck, quickly regretting his decision as the tip of the wings started to tease the sensitive skin behind his ear, soft snorts cutting his high-pitched giggles, “- I believe a break is in order. Besides, Patton also asked to be called on this occasion, if I am not mistaken.”

“Nonono!” The kid yelped, kicking. “Not Patton! Nohohot-”

“Hello, kiddo! Did you call?” Patton’s smile only increased when the new guardian, a tad taller than the first, saw the predicament his ‘kiddo’ was. “Aww, is Logan tickling you pink?”

Emile hid his face behind his hands and Logan may or may not have moved closer so he could tickle that spot right under his jawline, gathering a couple of squeaks. “Oh, yes, Patton, we would like to inform you Emile finished studying for the Biology test.”

“That one he has been stressed about those days?”

“I believe so.”

“Gasp! Congratulations, kiddo!” Patton flew around him, his wings fluttering at highest speed as he maneuvered to stay still in front of the cartoon lover, even if the aforementioned continued to hide, his kicks getting faster. “I am so proud of you. You already did so well!” He hugged his left cheek, resting a small, fond kiss there.

“Pat-Pat!” His smile was so big he could see a piece of it even behind his fingers, the tip of his ears getting painted red as well. “Thahahanks.”

“You’re welcome!” The guardian angel beamed, only leading Emile to giggle harder, completely aware of what comes next. “Now, can I see your hand?

“No!” It was the squealed answer, the boy sliding some inches out of his chair. “Lo, no, n-not there!”

“Not there? Where? Here?” Logan fluttered his feathers under his chin, keeping his voice neutral even when a chuckle fled from Emile’s mouth, “Or perhaps here? Or right here? Maybe you’re talking about this specific, very, very ticklish and unprotected tickle spot here?” He went from one spot to another, keeping his fast pace so the younger wouldn’t guess where his precise, soft strokes would attack next, scribbling on his ears and entire neck as Emile wiggled in protest, laughter increasing with the playfulness of the activity. “I believe you’re asking me to stop tickling you silly, as I believe you humans say, but since the instructions you gave me were unclear, I have no option except continue with my task.”

Emile just squealed - in an extremely cute manner, if you ask them, - shaking his head.

“Come on, Emile, please give me your hand?”

“I-Ihihi can’t!”

“And why not, kiddo?”

“You’re gonna to ti-tickle it!”

“Well, of course I will! But don’t you think you deserve some rewarding tickles after so much work?”

The boy tried to pout, an impossible task with all the snickers bubbling from him as he lowered his right hand in direction of his guardian angel, who shook his wings until a lovely feather fell of them and was quickly caught, its owner passing his fingers across the stem and making it longer, fluffier, ticklier. After a few seconds he finally looked satisfied with his creation.

“I am going to tickle-tickle-tickle yooou.~” Patton sing-songed, approaching his feather inch by inch, trying to not get overloaded by cuteness when Emile yelped and squirmed, yet keeping his hand still. “I am going to tickle-tickle-tickle-tickle you itsy bitsy silly! Aren’t you excited for some tingly tickly tickles, sweetpea?”

Logan slowed his attack, the laughter becoming an aired giggling.

“Pat-Pat!” He kicked harder.

“Okay, okay, kiddo.” Patton fondly smiled, starting to follow the lines of his protected’s hand with the tip of the feather, fluttering and dancing the bristles across every single inch of skin amidst the peals of high pitched laughter from the boy. “Aww, kitty kitty coo! Kitty kitty coo, kiddo!”

Logan and Patton continued their playful reward, filling the room with a music of laughter, yelps, squeals, snorts and giggles for a few more minutes before stopping, patting Emile’s hair as he slid from the chair on the floor, pretending he was dead, an eventual titter bouncing here and there.  

A poke on his cheek made him open his eyes, a smile still plastered on his expression as he huffed Patton’s and Logan’s hair – ignoring the latter’s scoff with his usual roll of eyes at the motion, even if the winged tiny made no move to escape from it - with his index finger, protesting.

“You’re two are like thohose cats from Thehe Lady and the Tramp. Working together to be mehean.”

Patton hugged his cheek and Logan pretended he wasn’t looking fondly at them.

[...]

“I will not tell this twice: grab. The. Coffee. gurl.”

“No. Pat-pat said you can’t have any more coffee for the day!”

“Yes, however…” Emile narrowed his eyes at Janus, who seemed to smirk more under his gaze, “your so loved snacks are under the coffee pack and it seems that you won’t be able to retrieve them without moving the coffee, oh, such a pity.” 

Emile crossed his arms, a hand holding his chin as he seemed in deep thought. “If I move, you won’t try to get it?”

Remy combed the boy’s hair with his fingers, still laid on his favorite spot on the top of his head basically since the human had arrived home from his playdate, a spot, by the way, which granted the perfect opportunity to the two winged beings to exchange looks without being caught. “Uhh, yaas! Duh!”

Emile turned to look at Janus, who stopped his gesturing mid-air, hiding his arms behind him, turning his attention from Remy back at him with a couple of naïve blinks, a toothless smile resting on his expression. “What?” Was his soft question.

He pouted, crossing his arms tighter.

“I already say I won’t try to get it, gurl, relax!”

Emile knew a trap when he saw one, especially living with his guardians since he was born. He recognized the exact gleam, now clearly resting on Janus’ golden eyes, they all got when they were planning something, the way Remy’s hands couldn’t stay still, the way the bat of wings would get too much slow and their forms would swing slightly in the air… Buuut they didn’t know that Emile knew, the kid thought, loosening his position, so he would use this to make a plan to vanish their evil plan!

“Okay. I’m getting it then!” Cute smiles. Hidden meanings. A plan, ok, he needed a plan. A very good plan. The best one.

“Please,” Janus gestured to the cupboard with his hand, “the floor is yours.”

“I’m getting it right now.” Ok. He was getting out of time. Come on! A plan. He needed a plan! “Very, very right now.”

“Wo-hooooo,” Remy lazily cheered, rolling onto his hair, “you go, gurl.”

He would run. And call Roman if anything happened. The exuberant guardian always loved to save him and he was his hero in a shiny armor, after all! Emile nodded confiantly to himself. He extended his right arm, his eyes nervously flicking from Janus to the cupboard. As his fingers grabbed the bag, his attention turned to watch every movement from the one with golden eyes and a big smirk, who waved at him to continue. His other hand followed to catch his snack, legs tensing to run with both items at the slightest hint of a move from his guardian.

Then something poked and vibrated on his ribcage, making his body jump with the ticklish sensation, the snack forgotten as his hands crashed down to protect his sides, only to be stopped mid-air when Janus attempted to pry the bag of the called ‘life bean juice’ from his fingers. 

“No!! That is not fair! You said you won’t do that!” They were basically in a tug war. The kid planting his heels on the ground and Janus summoning his six arms to pull at the coffee with all his strength.

“I said no such thing, dear. I think you’re mistaking me with Remy.” His tune would have seemed as a velvet soft if the words hadn't floated from his grittered teeth with the effort he was currently doing.

“Noicee. Just keep his arms up like that and we will have the victory in a few secs.”

“No! Remy! Rehemy!! Go ahahaway!”

“He is just too much ticklish for this, isn't he?” Janus remarked.

“Noho! I am nohohot! Nahaha! Don’t!”

“Yup! Like a baby! See? I just need to poke here, here and hereee and he goes all cute-cute wiggly-wiggley everywhere.”

“Aw. Poor him.” Janus said, not a single drop of guilt in his tune. “Attack the center of his armpits, he will totally lose it.”

“NO!” 

A sound cut the comments, making all the three stop on their tracks.

“Wait,wait. W a i t, did you just snort? Oh. my. god. Adorable. Gurl, I need to see it again.”

“Oh, yes, just my favorite sound in the entire world. Don’t you agree, Giggle Bug?”

Emile just shook his head, struggling to low his arms to protect the sensitive spot but refusing to let go from the bag stubbornly still trapped by his grip, which got weaker and weaker at each pinch, prodding and kneading the tiny guardian delivered at every centimeter of his armpits, flying from one to another while Janus waved with one of his hands, as if they were conducting an orchestra constituted primarily by their playful teases and his wheezed laughter and bubbly snorts.

“The itsy bitsy spider climbed the waterspout…~” The one with sunglasses began to sing, changing his tickles to a spidering motion which followed the patch to the boy’s upper ribs in the rhythm of the song, grinning as the younger kicked in a frenzy, his smile widening.

“Uncle! Uncle!!” He shouted before letting go of the coffee, his body falling to hit the ground. Remy immediately shapeshifted to a taller, adult-human like form in order to catch the child on his arms, giving him a brief hug and safely returning him to the floor as reminiscent giggles still escaped from him.

“Tickling is cheheheating.” Emile proclaimed with a pout, turning his back at them and pretending to ignore both guardians. Janus let the coffee rest on the countertop and flew to the younger’s eye field.

“What if we make a deal? We can help you to make a hot cocoa as a proper apology for our attack. How does that sound?”

Emile’s pout started to disappear. “With magic marshmallows?” He hoped.

“And magic whipped cream.” Remy changed back to his tiniest form, sparkles falling from his sunglasses as he adjusted them. “Just the best to our favorite little monster.”

“I am not a monster, I am the avatar!” Emile’s smile shined bright, gleaming just the perfect amount to melt the coldest heart, the kid bouncing to get his favorite mug from the cupboard, the joy of the delicious treat erasing any pout that one day habited his expression.

“Be careful!” Janus hissed, alarmed. He frowned when a snort came out from his friend’s lips. 

“You’re getting soft.”

“Sorry, sorry, mister ‘anything to our favorite little monster’. You lost your touch.”

“Yeah, but I never tried to deny it.”

“Ssshut up.”

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

The boy on the farthest table

Kanene’s Notes:

So, I’ve been reading all the fluff content with Dadzawa I could find and I am very surprised I didn’t manage to stumble in a Dadzawa running a Cat Café so I thought ‘h e y’ why don’t I make it??? SO here we are!!

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* That fanfic has Dadzawa and Yamadad and their relatonship can be seen as romantic, if you wish.

* This happens in the same universe as This Fanfic Here and you can also find it on AO3.

* No warnings this time!! Only fluff and a bit of hurt/comfort.

* This characters do not belongs to me. They all belongs to the amazing the manga/anime Boku no Hero.

* Something around 2.500 words. -w-)b.

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any advice is very very welcome!

* Tô com preguiça de postar a versão em português brasileiro aaaa! Thankys for reading, my lollipops! Eat a delicious snack, sleep a bit, take care and drink water and sleep well! Byeioo!~

                         [~*~]

Aizawa doesn’t really care about his clients more than the strictly necessary amount. He arrived where he is because of the cats and the coffee. If people paid more because he decided to mix both together and open a business with that premise than better for him.

 So, yes. Aizawa doesn’t care at all about his clients. Neither held any favorites above the others, don’t matter what Yamada tried to imply with his ‘discrete’ smug eyes and knowing grin as, for the second time today, the black haired worker narrowed his eyes at the boy sitting on the farthest table, lost in his deep thoughts as he stared intently at his notebook just like he has been doing for the past two hours, lazy scribbles fulfilling the lines in a tired, yet determined attempt to keep going.

 The owner of the Cat Café didn’t really care about what his clients did as long it didn’t annoy his cats or him.

 However, that doesn’t mean he kept himself completely oblivious of what happened at his establishment nor the persons who attended there.

Perhaps he wasn’t the most enthusiastic worker there – that is why him and Hizashi had an unspoken agreement that he would stay firm on his place making drinks and serving pastries, sometimes scaring some insufferable clients away, while the louder, social friend would focus in talking and getting the orders, – but he knew enough to not be a bad one.

 He knew that the girl with yellow bright eyes and nuts and bolts shining in between her curls liked strawberry muffins, tended to not be able to stand still for much time, and visited on Fridays, so he always kept one baked sweet hidden for her on these days.

 Just like he always recognized that tall, skeleton-like adult as soon as his form crossed the door. A client who came especially for the cats and the Jasmin tea, although always sneaked a couple and more glares to the cat-themed cookies, so he made sure to “accidentally” drop one with the donuts he always asked to go for “- a friend! He loves them but is often very busied with work… So, I thought I could try and treat him a bit after everything he already did to me!” And also, who, in the next day, came back to attempt to pay for the free cookie but was, day after day, defeat by Hizashi’s stubbornness and convincing abilities, leading the loyal client to make sure to put a generous tip on the Tip Jar as a revenge, making sure to stare intently at the pouting worker during the whole process.

 Or the young girl with red eyes full of curiosity and a tongue full of questions which him and Yamada took turns to answer, eliciting shy smiles, bright excitement and a glare full of gratitude from her older brother, who used the free time to study while she ate and played with the kittens, sometimes even falling asleep when his two friends – an extremely quiet boy with a gigantic sweet tooth and an electric smiley girl who always convinced the younger one to help her to gather the biggest amount of sleepy cats to nap on the blond teen before he wakes up in the middle of purrs and laughter - accompanied them.

 That being said, Aizawa liked to be informed and, above everything else, was good at getting the information he needed. He mastered the skill of analyzing details and understanding situations others used to ignore, making connections and arriving to conclusions that seemed foreign to others, that is why he continued to cast quick frowns and glances to the boy, doesn’t liking at all how his brain continued to run and turn, seeking for any answer or hints of what happened to him, only to get at nowhere. He was, obviously, just trying to assert the situation, which had nothing to do with the fact that the boy – always shining, always with such a bright smile every time he ordered anything – was alone on this Saturday. A not so rare occasion, since even though the café was a common place for him and his friends to meet – an occurrence impossible to ignore due how full of energy and joy and chaos and energy they all were, - he also seemed very keen to spend hours writing and studying on his own.

 However, there was something different today. Something to do with how quiet, concentrated, calm, lethargic the teenager was acting the whole time, which worrie- no, intrigued him.

 Because Aizawa wasn’t worried. Of course not. That would be illogical and preposterous. He wasn’t anything to the child, not his family, not a friend, not a relative, just the guy who grunted a one-word answer every time the younger tried to make small talk and pretend to not notice him and Hizashi trading cute cat videos and pics during the blonde’s breaks.

 Hell, he didn’t even share more words than the necessary with the green haired boy. The longest interaction they ever had was when the younger one came to him on his first time visiting the place and asked for more cat toys, since all the available ones were already being used. Which maybe or maybe not led to Aizawa leaving his friend to deal alone with the orders while he took his time to show and explain the favorite toys of every cat the green boy pointed.

 Which was, sure, only a revenge on his boisterous coworker since the aforementioned interrupted his morning nap by tripping on him on his way to the kitchen (and yes, it was Yamada’s fault for not looking at where he’s going and obviously not Shouta’s because he decided to ‘JUST FREAKING PASS OUT ON THE FLOOR. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO SEE IT?’) and, not content with his actions, decided to lock the other out of his own establishment,  only letting him come back after lunch and, consequently, at least five hours of sleep, leaving him on the care of Nemuri, who proceeded to tease him unmercifully for the whole length of yesterday.

 Consequently, it was only a payback, of course. The gleam on the smaller’s eyes as he took notes on a well worn out notebook and the fact that, on the next Saturday, the boy distributed all the correct toys between his friends and their favorite cats were two completely ignorable things and therefore unrelated with the quick, barely visible smile appearing on the corner of his mouth on the respective day and every time he remembered that occurrence.

 But, when a quiet sniff reached his ears, Aizawa almost felt his neck crack with how quickly he turned on the other’s direction, just in time to see the ending of the teenager’s action of wiping a few tears away. The one who definitely didn’t get enough sleep on his entire life to deal with it sensed his left eye twitch.

 That. Is. It.

 “Shouta…” Hizashi whispered behind the usual smile he plastered for the customer in front of him, nodding while writing down what she said and chipping excitedly for her to just wait a little bit to get her order, deviating his attention to his friend when she moved away to sit in one of the unoccupied tables, both taking the opportunity of having no more customers in the line to held some private words. “Do you want me to go there?” his voice was bathed in worry, because his coworker was emotional like that.

 “No.” And Aizawa didn’t know why he was so fast to answer, however he was already washing his hands, mind running, seeking to remember how other people - besides his friends, who were barely humans, - worked. “You know I hate being the cashier.”

 “Riight.” His way-too-smug-grin was fast to become a snicker when his friend aimed a kick on his shin, which he promptly dodged. “Hey! I didn’t even say anything!”

 “Your thoughts are loud. I will be right back.”

 His eyes were focused on the kid, who now was curled on his chair, chin resting on his knees as his arms firmly hugged his legs, making him look even smaller.

 Aizawa grunted, part of him feeling inclined to just drop an entire gallon of water on his head to successfully wash all his problems way, or maybe shake all the bad, lying thoughts taking over his mind and resulting in a few tears to escape what, on its turn, made a strong feeling of protectiveness, which was immediately ignored, shines on him. But Shouta knew he couldn’t act on any of those two options because it wasn’t “socially acceptable” – nor very useful, but he ignored that part, - and “problems” and “people” tended to be more complicated to help than that.

 The older sighed, kneeling on the spot before the front door where the sun passed through the window and made a perfect warm piece of floor for the big, - extremely big - messy pile of purple fluff lay and nap without a single worry in the world, not even stirring as the customers had to tiptoe around him to get in and out of the establishment.

 Shinsou hissed when Shouta first petted him, although was fast to purr louder than a machine as the human began to scratch behind his ears, going back to his peaceful sleep. He was the most calm, chill and snarky cat he has ever seen. His hobbies consisting on getting on the highest shelves to watch the entire place with a judging, tired glare and napping on people’s laps, especially when they were about to head out, which made his customers to order something else and stay for at least more fifteen minutes, not having the heart to interrupt the purple’s sleep.

 Needless to say, he and Aizawa got along just fine. Even with the animal’s habit of climbing him to nap on his shoulders and teaching the younger kittens to do the same thing, knowing very well the one with dark hair would never have the heart to put them away, the human knew he sustained a soft spot for him.

 Nemuri and Yamada liked to tease him, affirming that Shinsou was his cat form and Shouta would never admit he agreed with them.

 He also ignored the implications of that when he remembered Shinsou was one of the green haired bag of energy favorites.

 “I have a mission for you.” It was the only mumbled warning the cat had before being carefully scoped on the human’s arms, melting on the embrace, hissing, yawning and then proceeding to melt even further. Shouta huffed, amused.

 ‘Brat.’

 Another signal that the teenager was much more trapped in his mind than the normal was the fact he didn’t realize the adult coming closer, nearly jumping three feet in the air as Aizawa’s command hit him.

 “Sit correctly.”

 The teenager yelped, looking at him, at himself and then at him again, a strong shade of an ashamed red taking over his features. “O-o-of course, sir! I am sorry!” He bowed, putting his feet on the ground and straightening his back, a slight tremble on his movements making the adult frown.

 “Don’t think too much about this.” And before any protest could come out of the other’s mouth, Aizawa laid Shinsou on his legs, leading the boy to freeze completely, eyes locked on the cat, who just blinked lazily at him and started to knead his thighs, low, rumbling purrs escaping, demanding the new human as worthy.

 A barely suppressed squeal flew from the younger, who already seemed ready to cry again, although for different reasons.

 The cat café’s owner hid his amused smile by catching a kitten who approached with curiosity, petting him and proceeding to flop him on the soft, green curls. Ojiro meowed, purring and immediately attempting to eat his new environment.

 “I…” His wide, wobbly smile increased further as Shinsou butted his head on the teenager’s palm, his voice, a whisper, lapsing for a beat. “I love them.”

 There was no way for the adult to hide his snort at his words, but the Problem Child seemed unfazed with his reaction, turning to him with shiny eyes and smile.

 “Thank you so much, sir!”

 After a nod, Aizawa turned away and came back to his spot behind the counter. And if talking and taking orders when Hizashi uses part of his break to “discreetly” take a few pictures of a beaming boy smiling to the camera and pointing the cats on him to send to him later, is much more bearable than before? It has absolutely nothing to do with the young figure on the farthest table sporadically giggling as he plays with an Ojiro who is fiercely convinced he can win the battle against the red laser.

 […]

 “Excuse me, Yamada-san. I’m sorry, but my order was 476 yens and you only charged me 200.” Aizawa knew the boy was going to lose the fight the moment Hizashi only grinned and locked the cashier, completely ignoring the two pieces of paper on the other’s hand.

 “Don’t worry about it, little listener! Don’t worry! Take this as a thank you for letting Shinsou and Ojiro sleep on you for one hour, okay?”

 “B-but sir! It was no problem at all!” The way he moved to prove his point made Aizawa picture a small, energetic bunny. “I really like them and I was going to stay here longer anyway!”

 “Now, now, young boy.” Hizashi pointed a finger at him, trying and failing miserably to see or sound at least a tad chastising. “Refusing a ‘thank you’ is a serious offense, I wonder if I will need to give you a free blueberry muffin to go because of that…”

 “No!” Aizawa huffed, turning away from them and heading to the tables, taking the opportunity of how low the business was to clean and prepare them for the next customers, stopping right on his tracks, mid step as a wide, pleading glare found his. “Aizawa-san,” he shook the 276 yens at his direction, puppy eyes staring right on his soul, “please.”

 The dark-haired one scoffed, looking away from the powerful graze. “Don’t bring me into this. Fight your own battles, problem child.”

 Hizashi laughed at the pout he received in response, having pity on the loyal customer. “Okay, okay. I give. You can pay for this.” Aizawa glared at him, one eyebrow up in a non convinced expression. His friend winked, big grins as the younger turned to him, much more smiley. “With a hug.”

 Problem child seemed surprised, especially when the flamboyant employee jumped across the counter and stopped in front of him, arms open in an invitation. “Only if you’re comfortable, of course.” His voice was softer. “I can always accept 100 yens if you really want me to, little listener.”

 He didn’t understand the magic thing his friend always managed to do. The way he succeeded to dance around someone’s barriers, finding openings and walking through them, asking no permission to get closer yet always attentive when to stop and retreat or to talk about every or anything. The same magic he showed when they were teenagers.

 Tsuyu meowed and Aizawa kneeled down to give her attention for as long as the embrace lasted, pretending to not notice the two hugging behind him, the taller lightly swaying them while the younger relaxed, melting on the touch.

 A few seconds later the anxious bunny was bowing, thanking them and getting out with a gleam on his face, hugging happily the notebook next to his chest and petting Cloud before going away. Shouta came back to his spot, Yamada followed and the green hair disappeared on the corner.

 “We’re not adopting the Problem Child.”

 “But he already even has a nickname! Shoutaaa, it’s meant to be! And you’re already soft for him as well, don’t deny it.”

 He scoffed. “Shut up. You try to say no to those fucking puppy eyes next time.”

 “You fought well,” Hizashi patted his shoulder, his own gaze getting a dangerous, gleaming light. “Dadzawa.”

 The rarefied clients distributed across the café jumped when, between laughter and dramatics cries of pain, the blonde fell on the ground, a half pleased, half evil smile presenting itself on the shorter’s face in a flash before his impassive expression took over and he calmly continued with his usual chores, pointedly ignoring the ‘It was so worthy it’ snickered by his friend, still laid on the floor.

[tricksters-captain]

Birds of Prey/Roman Sionis Imagine - In Debt - Part 2

(First Part Here)

Overall Summary: You run your luck whilst running from the GCPD and straight into Roman Sionis’s club – but will he save your ass or let you walk? (Based off Lonely Gun - Cyn)

In This Chapter: Roman tries getting you on his team but there’s something holding you back

Pairing(s): Roman Sionis x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3,052

Warnings: Violence, Roman being Roman, Angst

You left the police department to see Zsasz stood outside, leant up against a car with a smirk on his lips.

“Boss says you’re welcome. Now get in the car.”

You smirked and shook your head, of course it was Roman Sionis. 

You didn’t fight against Zsasz’s orders and climbed into the car beside him. You tightened your leather jacket around you as his eyes scanned down your body briefly before he took off with a speed.

It wasn’t long before you were back at the Black Mask Club. You were curious to know whether entering the club that night was a curse or a blessing and you had a feeling you were about to find out. 

“What's this about?” You tried to ask Zsasz as he walked you up towards Roman’s loft above the club. 

“You owe Roman a debt. Two now. Let’s hope saving your ass won’t be an often occurrence.” Zsasz looked down at you with his head tilted back as he opened the door. 

“I never asked to be saved.” You hated that a phrase. You never needed to be saved. What Roman had done for you was just a favour, brushing a rock in your way off the path, not saved you like you couldn’t have gotten out of it eventually yourself. 

“Miss (Y/F/N)!” Roman opened his arms wide in celebration as he saw you saunter down the corridor towards his main living area. 

Roman wore an eccentric yet handsome suit as he rose from his dining table, buttoning his blazer as he did. 

“Roman.” You smiled back at the man but you were fully aware of the fact this wasn’t a meeting to do with friendship. 

“How lovely to see you, my dear.” Roman clasped your hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“I assume you didn't bail me out of jail from the goodness of your heart, Mr Sionis.” You didn’t hold back as you withdrew your hand. 

“Please! Make yourself comfortable! Take off your jacket, that thing looks terribly uncomfortable.” Roman ignored your remark as he gestured to your leather jacket. You complied, removing the constricting fabric to reveal the dark colour tank you had beneath and the bruises from recent jobs on your arms.

Roman didn’t hide his eyes darting down to your chest before he sat and offered you a seat beside him on the couch. 

You could feel Zsasz hovering behind you as you approached the couch and sat beside his boss. 

“Now, Miss (Y/L/N)––”

“––Just (Y/n) is fine.” You interrupted Roman before he could even start and whilst Roman would never usually allow someone to cut him off like that, he only found it more intriguing with you. 

“Now, Miss (Y/n), I have a proposition for you.” Roman didn’t waste any more time. “You caught my eye after your little stint in the club a few days back and I’ve had some of my guys do some research on you and I was surprised to find out you weren’t working for anyone here in Gotham City.” 

“I’m not for hire. I’m sure I won’t be sticking around here much longer anyways.” You admitted. It was just what you did. You did as much damage as you could in a city and just before everyone wanted your head, you bounced. You completely disappeared. 

“Well you'd be safer than you are now with someone looking after you, watching your back, greasing the cuffs when needed.” Roman’s leather clad finger brushed against your shoulder as he rested his arm on the top of the couch. 

“Someone like you? Penguin? Joker? I’m sorry but I'm no Harley Quinn.” You tried to stand up but Roman’s hand caught your wrist. 

Your head snapped round to his to see his eyes dark, almost desperate. 

“I can do much more than they can. I know you can do much more than little miss Harleen Quinzell. You have talent, passion, a skill much like Mr Zsasz here.” Roman’s hand opened towards Zsasz who was stood close by with his hands behind his back. 

“You think I’m just as good as your Victor Zsasz there?” You turned to stand in front of the man’s knees. 

Zsasz frowned at your almost mocking tone. 

“Mr Sionis. I’m better than anyone on your team.” You climbed on top of the man, straddling him. 

Roman’s eyes were locked on you, his hands immediately taking hold of your hips as you settled on his lap, knees either side of his thighs. 

“Your team is full of men.” You leant forward and whispered against the man’s ear. 

Suddenly, Roman became aware of the small silver blade pressing against his neck. 

Clever, he thought.

Zsasz went to lunge forward to help his boss but Roman rose his hand in protest, stopping Zsasz in his tracks. 

You leant back and smirked at the man. 

“I’m better than your team because I’m a woman. If I wanted you dead, Mr Sionis... You’d be dead.” You pressed the tip harder against his skin and he laughed. 

“You are...spectacular.” Roman announced with a wide smile as you withdrew your knife.  

You removed yourself from on top of the man and turned to leave.

“You will work for me, (y/n).” Roman’s voice stopped you. 

“Why’s that?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“Because you owe me, little bird.” Roman’s words made you shiver. “I made the GCPD go away, I can easily make them come back.” 

You knew he was right. He was one of the most powerful men in Gotham. 

“You are mine now, little bird.” Roman stroked your cheek with the back of his fingers when he neared you. “And you’ll do as your told, kay?” 

And with that, Roman walked away. 

You met eyes with Zsasz across the room who only stared back at you. 

“Be here tomorrow. 9 sharp.” Zsasz’s shoulder nudged yours as he passed you to follow his leader. 

You sighed and snatched your leather jacket up before leaving. 

“Roman’s fresh meat, huh?” You heard a voice as you lit your cigarette. 

You rose your eyebrows to see a tall and beautiful woman with dreads leaving the building beside you. 

“A piece of advice; just don’t get on his bad side.” The woman smirked slightly but you could see the hint of concern in her eyes as she walked towards her car. 

“Don’t worry, I’ve heard all about Mr Sionis pension for peeling faces. And I can handle Victor Zsasz if I have to.”  You sucked a drag from your cigarette as you replied. 

“Good luck with that.” The woman climbed into her car and drove off quickly. You made a mental note to find out who she was. 

You made sure you were on time the next morning, you didn’t want to ‘owe’ anymore of your time to Mr Sionis and his knife-wielding sidekick. 

You walked into the large loft space to see Roman and Zsasz sat at the dining table eating and seemingly bickering over something. 

“There she is! Right on time! Good morning, my little bird!” Roman rose from the table as soon as you caught his sights. 

“Roman. Victor.” You greeted the men. 

“I have an errand for you, Miss (Y/L/N).” Roman announced, circling the table to stand right in front of you. 

You remained silent, waiting for Roman to continue. 

“We have a very important meeting tonight at the club and I need you to run along and get something pretty to wear.” Roman explained, “Also, feel free to get some new toys, I’d like to see more of what you can do.” 

“I’ll go with you.” Zsasz stood, nearing you and Roman. 

“Excellent idea! Zsasz you can look after my card, make sure (Y/n) gets something perfect for this evening.” Roman dug into his robe pocket and pulled out a credit card, handing it to Zsasz. 

“I’d prefer to go alone.” You voiced your opinion but it was quickly blown off. 

“No, why would you go alone when I can have Zsasz take you around and make sure you are getting exactly what’s needed for tonight.” Roman clearly. didn’t trust you yet and you weren’t surprised, you just didn’t want to spend the day with his little minion. 

“Let’s go.” Zsasz grabbed the car keys and started down the corridor to the exit. 

“Run along! I’ll see you tonight.” Roman smiled widely at you as he hurried you along and so you went after Zsasz. 

When you pushed open the door to the stairs you felt a strong grip grab the back of your neck and pull you forcefully backwards so that your back hit the wall beside the door. 

Zsasz was quick to jump in front of you, pressing his forearm against your chest and holding a blade against your throat. 

You chuckled at the attack and exhaled deeply. 

“I get the feeling you don’t like me, Zsasz.” 

Zsasz pressed the knife harder against your neck, glaring at your amusement. 

“You think you’re so clever. Roman may like you but I won’t have a problem slicing up this pretty face of yours if you bother putting a foot wrong.” Zsasz’s golden teeth glinted through his warning sneer, “Roman’s the only one in this town that can help you. Don’t you wanna go far? Stop running from whatever you’re running from?” 

“I’m not running––”

“––Shhhh...” Zsasz leant his face closer to yours as he shushed you. 

“Now, are you gonna be a good girl or a bad girl? Cause you may have slipped through some ‘big shot’ crime dogs fingers before but if you do anything, I mean, anything wrong, you won’t escape me. I will find you, no matter how hard you hide and I’ll make you fly away from this world, away from Roman.” Zsasz warned you, an intensity in his eyes told you he wasn’t exaggerating. 

“Back off pretty boy. If I do decide to go against Roman, I’ll look forward to the hunt.” You retorted, staring the man in the eyes.

Zsasz withdrew his knife and his arm from your chest, taking a step back.

“Go get the car.” He tossed you the keys and you made the point to linger a second before descending down the stairs. 

Shopping with Zsasz wasn’t unbearable, he kept his distance but kept his eye on you and the credit card in his clutch. Dress shopping was quick but weapon shopping was harder. You kept criticising Zsasz’s choices which was only making him dislike you more. 

When you returned to Roman’s apartment, Roman was having a face/head massage so didn’t want to talk like he usually did and instead just gave you a time to be at the club later. 

You went home, showered and dressed and did as you were told by entering the club at exactly 10pm.

The woman you had spoken to a couple days back was stood upon the stage in a beautiful gold and black midi dress as she held the microphone. 

You couldn’t help but smirk at the song she was performing just as you entered the club and made eye contact with Roman. 

‘I put a spell on you’ 

You sauntered towards the man who lowered his martini glass away from his lips as his eyes devoured you. 

Roman wore a dark green suit, almost dark enough to be black but the lights hit the fabric to reveal the true colour. A black shirt lie underneath his blazer whilst his dark green and gold leather gloves gripped onto the glass in his hands. On inspecting Roman’s appearance you realised why Zsasz insisted on the dress you were draped in that evening.

You two were matching, you almost rolled your eyes at the man’s attempt to tell everyone you were his but instead you couldn’t help but smirk. 

“You look exquisite tonight, (Y/n).” Roman kissed your cheek in greeting when you finally came face to face. “I assume you came fully dressed?” 

Roman was talking about the weapons that you were required to wear by his instruction. 

You pulled back the slit in your skirt to reveal the knife holster wrapped around your upper thigh. 

Roman swallowed, clenching his teeth together before he looked back up at your face and smiled. 

“Boss.” Zsasz came forward and made Roman aware of a man entering the club with a large bouncer beside him. 

“Shall we?” Roman held out his arm for you to take, to which you did. 

Roman put on one of his award winning smiles as you both approached the short man that Roman was meeting with. 

You zoned out for most of the meeting, you sat in between the two men in Roman’s favourite booth. You only needed to act if Roman gave the signal which Zsasz had explained during your shopping spree.

Roman reached across you to touch the man’s shoulder as he cracked a joke and laughed loudly. 

You knew this was the signal, you readjusted as Roman pulled back giving you time to subtly remove the knife from it’s case and not draw any attention to it.

You froze when Roman placed his hand on your bare leg, gripping your thigh with his fingers. 

Something inside you ignited at his touch but you knew you couldn’t be distracted by it. 

Roman’s eyes met yours as you glanced to him for further instruction. 

Roman’s wink told you what to do. 

You smiled brightly at Roman’s guest and reached up to touch the collar on his shirt, making some comment about it as you positioned the knife on his ribs. 

You saw the bodyguard look away as you neared the mans ear, now applying pressure against him with the tip of the blade. 

“You don’t want to make this mistake.” You whispered against his ear, “Take the deal.”

The man glared at you as you batted your eyelashes at him. 

You pressed harder. 

He hissed as the blade drew blood, his bodyguard was now aware of the threat but Zsasz stood in front of the guard, smirking up at him and shaking his head. 

“I don’t stop until we get a deal or he tells me to.” You warned the man as you continued applying pressure. 

“Okay! Okay! Okay! Deal!” The guy, almost crying, gave in pretty quickly and Roman rejoiced. 

“Wonderful news! It was wonderful talking to you. Let’s get together sometime next week and discuss this further, sign some contracts and what not. How about Tuesday, here at the club, ‘kay?” Roman shook hands with the man whilst he struggled to hold a napkin up against his wound. 

The bodyguard rushed his boss from the table and towards the exit whilst Roman celebrated, taking two martinis off of a passing waitress. 

Once the man reached the doorway to leave the club, you threw the knife towards him, hitting the doorframe by his head, seeming skimming his ear. This was the final warning. 

The surrounding people including Roman’s newest victim all stop to look at you before quickly dispersing. 

“Great work, my dear. Truly thrilling watching him sweat whilst you worked your magic.” Roman winked at you as he handed you one of the martinis he held. 

“Would you care for a dance?” Roman asked after sipping on his celebratory drink. 

You pursed your lips into a thin line, contemplating whether it was a good idea to say no. 

“I don’t really dance.” You admitted, more interested in downing the martini in your hand and then going to find some hard alcohol to shoot back. 

“Nonsense!” Roman took hold of your hand and pulled you towards the space in front of the stage where the woman from earlier was still performing.

You heard the music change as she began to sing a cover of ‘never tear us apart’. 

Roman’s hand found your waist and you entertained him by taking holding of his shoulder. 

“See, you’re dancing.” Roman smiled as you swayed with the music. 

You could feel your stomach tense as the song became intense and the lyrics flowed around your head. 

‘Don't ask me what you know is true, don't have to tell you, oh, I love your precious heart... I was standing, you were there, two worlds collided... And they could never ever tear us apart...”

“You truly are an exquisite creature, miss (y/n).” Roman spoke loud enough for you to hear as he pulled you tighter against him, his hand moving from your waist to the small of your back. 

You closed your eyes to stop the lightheaded feeling you had from where you looked around the room to see all eyes on you and Roman. 

“If you stayed with me, you’d never have to worry about where you’re going next, how you’re getting your next pay check... You’d be free.” Roman’s voice echoed in your ear. 

“I wouldn’t be free. Not if you owned me, Mr Sionis.” You whispered back, 

“You’d belong to me, little bird but you’d be safe. Safe from whatever crazy past you’re running from.” Roman’s words made you repulse away from him.

“I’m not running.” You argued, just as hit the music reached its peak note. 

“Little bird––” Roman tried to step towards you but you took off, pushing the door to Roman’s private stairway open and racing up the stairs to escape the club. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. 

Your hands grappled the back of your dress, desperately trying to pull the zipper down in order to feel less constricted.  

You leant your hands on Roman’s dining table, dropping your head down as you tried to control your breathing. It felt like the world was closing in around you as Roman tried to tie you to him; to Gotham. 

Roman had followed you up the stairs after making sure the club was running smoothly. He found you with your back to him, hunched over the dining table, your zipper undone, revealing the smooth skin of your back. 

You could hear his footsteps approaching you but you remained still. 

Roman’s leather clad hands brushed down your arms from your shoulder, the cool fabric sending goosebumps across your body. 

“Miss (y/l/n).” Roman said your name in a quiet voice. “What are you afraid of?” 

(Next part soon)

[mellifluoushood]

Today, I Saw The Whole World, And It Was Right In Front Of Me - C.H.

Inspired by @ammwritings​ custom moodboard

A/N: So, I was inspired by Anne’s moodboard that she made for me about getting stoned with Calum and listening to records, so I thought I would write a fic about it. As always, let me know what you think and send requests if you have any! I’ll be finishing ships tonight. xx Genre: angst / fluff / smut Type: blurb / imagine / series Warning: heavy mentions of drug use (smoking weed), some sexual content (not sex, but very close) Word Count: 6k (I got so unbelievably carried away. I wish I could say I was sorry. But I’m not.) Taglist: @gigglyirwin​ @loveroflrh​ @ammwritings​ @calumscalm​ Playlist: Weed Music

Red eyes watch as she throws her head back, laughing at some meaningless joke thrown around the room. Her laugh echoes with others, bouncing off the painted white walls surrounding them. Her head swims back around when someone elbows her gently and hands her the joint. She smiles, bringing it to her lips and inhaling hard. She feels the toke sit in her mouth before filling her lungs with another breath. She holds it, gently opening her mouth and allowing the smoke to spill out of her mouth. She sits, shivering slightly, focusing on the joint and sparing a glance around the room.

Her friends sit, smiling amongst their newly formed conversations. She watches languidly, lazily repeating her motions a few more times before passing it to the person on her right. She feels her body begin to melt into the sofa underneath her, slowly relaxing. She can feel the way her muscles welcome the plush couch, the black, soft fabric brushing against her bare thighs and warming up her body even farther. Her mind eases into its far corner, letting the high slowly crawl its way into her system.

She hears the end of a conversation before starting a new one with Crystal, sitting to her left. She smiles and asks about her day, listening to the accent drip around her slowly. She watches as her friend talks with her hands, her thick American accent capturing her attention. She listens to the pronunciations and lilts in her tone. She sits and listens and listens.

The anxiety that had made a home in her shoulders slowly rests, her neck tilting to the right and letting out a satisfying crack. She repeats thoughtlessly with the other side, feeling the way that her body is responding to her high. Her toes begin to tingle lightly whilst the warmth bubbling in her chest spreads through her bloodstream, occupying the tips of her fingers and her lower tummy. She still concentrates on her friend, responding only when needed.

She hears the start of a song, another one of her friends, Ashton, connecting his phone to her Bluetooth speaker that had fallen silent a few moments before, letting the song play out. Her focus turns to the music when her friend receives another joint and stops talking. She can feel her head tilting back against the cushion behind her head, resting as her blood pumps at its own pace. She soaks it in.

Her eyes switch between the people in front of her, observing mannerisms in the way they sit and express themselves that she was always aware of when sober, but particularly aware of as she sits high.

“You okay over there?” Ashton asks her and she chuckles at his question.

“I’m fine,” her voice is smooth, low and raspy from the smoke that had been brushing her airways a few moments before then. The friend on her left passes her the joint and she smiles at her with thanks, “Do you guys know how much I smoke?”

Ashton shakes his head and she looks over at Calum, “Have you not told them?”

“No,” Calum shrugs from her right side, “Didn’t want to air your dirty laundry.”

“Dirty laundry, my arse,” she chuckles again. Her motions are languid as she brings the roach to her mouth, over and over, sucking down the smoke with ease, “I’m not ashamed. I mean, c’mon, I wear marijuana socks and post pictures and videos to my private story.”

“Guess we’re not on your private story then,” Michael jokes and she rolls her eyes at him.

“Didn’t think you wanted to see what a pothead I am,” she comments before passing her joint to Calum. She slowly stands up from her spot on the couch, stretching slightly, her long sleeve shirt riding up, exposing her belly button piercing and tattoo on her left hip. She leisures over to her purse sitting on the dining room table in the other room, rustling through to find her bag, tobacco, grinder and papers. She returns to her spot on the couch, opening her bag and lifting it to her nose. She inhales, noting the strong hints of pineapple and she smiles,

“God, I love my dealer,” she shakes her head, taking another puff before picking out a few nuggets and placing them in the grinder. The boys and their girlfriends watch with intrigue, surprised at her mannerisms.

“I feel like I’m really getting to know you right now,” Ashton mutters, looking at a girl he didn’t expect to be such an avid smoker, rolling a joint like a professional. She looks up at him and shakes her head with a small smile, grinding the weed down to small pieces. She puts the grinder on the living room table before taking a paper out of its packet and a piece of cardboard from the same packet, rolling the cardboard to form a roach. She places it in the paper on the far left side. She opens the pack of tobacco sitting in her lap and begins to sprinkle strands along the paper.

“You use tobacco?” Luke asks.

“Yeah. It helps it burn better and slower. It also makes the high go straight to your brain. You Americans don’t know how to smoke,” she chuckles, “Blunts without tobacco or a roach. A disgrace,” she criticises and Ashton’s eyebrows raise, realising that she’s much more experienced than any of them would have guessed. Calum sits to her right, watching her hands move for the grinder and fill the paper with the weed. She sprinkles a fair amount before beginning to smooth it down by rubbing the ends of the paper together. He watches as she tucks the edge into the joint, rolling the paper over itself until it formed a cylindrical cone. He swallows slightly, the own high seeping through every centimetre of his brain when her tongue pokes past her lips licking the adhesive of the paper and secures the glue against the joint. She smooths it out, running her fingers up and down, making Calum look away before a tent formed in his sweats at the thought of her fingers elsewhere.

She taps the bottom of the joint against the hardwood surface of the table before taking the base of a pen and packing the weed firmly. She sticks the joint in her mouth and lights it up when she’s finished. She sparks the paper and it burns quickly, the emptiness allowing the flame to consume it before it hits the packed weed and tobacco. She inhales then, taking three tokes straight off the bat. She lets the smoke linger out of her mouth before she sucks it in through her nose, exhaling again after.

“Also, you don’t puff-puff pass. You take your time, you enjoy yourself. You end up with the same amount of weed in your system, but you’re not in a rush and you enjoy smoking,” she comments, smiling around the roach in her mouth, pinching the spliff in between her thumb and forefinger. She takes a strong toke, letting it sit her lungs for a few moments, taking the joint from her lips and admiring her handiwork, “God, this is some good green. Pineapple express. It tastes so good,” she brings the joint back to her lips.

“How often do you smoke?” Luke asks the question on everyone’s mind. She thinks to herself, sitting back against the couch again after grabbing the ashtray off the table and resting it on her knees that she’s resting against her chest.

“I smoke every day. I have at least one joint... bare minimum. But, usually, I smoke about 2 or 3... if I meet up with my other group of friends,” she inhales again, “I can smoke upwards of 5 or 6.”

“Jesus Christ,” Michael mutters as she takes her last toke and hands it over to Calum.

“Don’t rush, enjoy it. Feel the music, feel the buzz,” she comments. Calum takes her advice, reclining just like she was and balances the joint in between his forefinger and middle finger like a cigarette. He inhales, admiring the taste of the green she had gotten from her dealer. He exhales, tasting the fruity, light aftertaste that lingers along his tongue and on his inner cheeks. He likes the heaviness of tobacco in the joint.

He throws his free arm around the girl to his left, pulling her to him. She rolls her eyes playfully, the high staining the whites of her eyes a deep red, her irises glassy. Calum’s own reflect similarly. When he looks down at her, she notices he’s a bit more stoned than her, his tolerance not quite as high. His pupils have dilated slightly and his body feels especially warm. She tucks her shoulder underneath his and leans her head on his chest. The people around the circle watch with a knowing smile at their affections. Not quite a couple, but not quite just good friends.

“Where’d you get this stuff?” Calum asks, exhaling the second toke he had taken. She shrugs,

“My dealer usually has a couple of different strains to choose from. If I bat my eyelashes at him, he usually will give me the best of the three and for less than what he charges other people.” Calum chuckles at her antics, ignoring the small twinge of jealousy that bubbles in the bottom of his stomach. He doesn’t want to picture the girl cuddled up to his chest fluttering her eyelashes at another man, a coy smile playing on her lips as she charms her way into good quality weed. He reasons with himself that he’d probably do the same if he was a girl.

“How often do you pick up?” Luke asks, watching Calum take his slow drags before passing it to him. Luke nods in gratitude before taking a drag himself and rolls the smoke around in his mouth before inhaling further and holding it. He exhales out of his nose, jutting out his bottom lip and raising his eyebrows, looking at the joint in his fingers, “This is some good shit.”

“Right?” She chuckles before paying attention to the question he had asked before, “Once or twice a week. Depends who I’m with that week and how much I charm him when I pick up.” Her eyes are hazy, looking around the circle at the boys and their girlfriends. Sierra’s legs are resting over Luke’s lap as she sits in between him and Ashton, Ashton’s back is pressed against the television stand and Michael and Crystal are cuddled up to his left. She notes Ashton didn’t bring his girl around and she makes a mental note to ask him about it later. He doesn’t seem to mind the couples around him, as the conversations tend to be open to everyone.

The joint gets passed around to everyone, reaching the owner. She takes another few drags before putting it out and rolling another one with the green left in the grinder. Conversations around her have bubbled up, gently humming over the distant lull of music in the background. She feels how relaxed the muscles in her cheeks are and the heaviness of her eyelids, but she basks in the relaxation and sensation the THC gives her.

Calum watches every single move she makes with hazy eyes and a small smirk on his face. His arm rests on the back of the sofa as he reclines into the cushions, spreading his legs covered in grey sweatpants. He kicks his feet up onto the living room table, his black socks matching the black tabletop. He pulls his hood up, over his platinum blond hair, the black hoodie blending in with the black cushions of the sofa. His eyes linger along the smooth skin of her bare arms, her breasts peeking out from the top of her tank top. Her legs are covered at the very top with shorts, black with white lining. Her socks have marijuana leaves on them as the hems tickle her upper calves. She looks relaxed. Her hair is down, cascading along her back and over her left shoulder.

He wants to push the admiration out of his mind, afraid of the rejection he was sure he would receive. He had heard her complain about a boy earlier to Sierra when she and Luke had arrived. He had peered around the corner of the kitchen entryway, her elbow against the kitchen counter and her face buried in her palm as she complained at his mixed signals and inability to not flirt with her, even after being rejected. He remembers the words she ended the conversation with: If only he would actually do something. He assumes there was a second guy involved, as she had explained to Sierra that she didn’t want to be with the mixed-signals guy. Sierra just chuckled and ran her hands through her hair to comfort her, who just sighed, I’m sure he’ll figure it out soon. He watched as she rolled her eyes, shaking her head, As fucking if. He remembers the feeling of his chest burning at her admission of having her eyes on a guy that wasn’t him. But, he pushed it away, focusing on the fact her right thigh was pressed tightly against his left.

When she finishes rolling her joint, she returns to her spot underneath Calum’s arm, relaxing against the couch and sparking the other joint. She bobs her head to the music in the background, closing her eyes and inhaling again and again and again. He’s addicted to watching her. He doesn’t try and hide the fact that he’s admiring every piece of her and every way she moves. When he looks away, he makes eye contact with Sierra, who had been watching the scene in front of her. Sierra sends him a nod, encouraging him. He shakes his head before turning his attention back to the woman underneath his arm.

Crystal and Michael strike up a conversation with Ashton when he sees Sierra lean over to whisper in Luke’s ear out of the corner of his eye. She says something to him and nods over to her. Luke’s eyes seem to make a connection with what she was talking about before he stands up and grabs his girlfriend’s hand,

“I think Sierra and I are gonna head up to bed,” he motions to the stairs that lead up to the guest rooms upstairs.

“Alright,” she smiles, “Night, babes,” she calls Sierra, her nickname for Sierra and her only. Sierra manoeuvres around the table to hug the girl on the couch. When Sierra leans down for a hug, admiring the blissed expression on her friend’s face, Calum watches as her lips move against her ear, unable to hear what she was saying to the woman under his arm. Calum turns his attention to Luke, who has a smirk resting on his lips as he quirks his eyebrows at him. Luke’s eyes are hazy, blurred with glassiness from the several joints passed around by numerous people. Calum slowly rolls his eyes and turns back to look at the woman next to him. Her attention is already on him as she hands him the second joint she had rolled, her own eyes complete glazed over as she looks at him. He smiles down at her, shaking his head and blowing air out of his nose as his way of laughing.

He listens as Sierra and Luke’s feet pad up the stairs and into the guest room they frequently stay in. Crystal follows Sierra’s actions from earlier, whispering something to both Ashton and Michael who don’t even question her. They repeat Luke and Sierra’s motions, sending Calum a look suggesting that he really should just make a fucking move. He has to resist the temptation of audibly telling them to ‘fuck off’, but he knows it would attract unnecessary attention from the girl next to him.

Once they’re alone after the last three have said their goodnights, Calum passes the joint back to the woman next to him. She hasn’t moved from her spot underneath his arm and he enjoys her proximity. He can smell the weed on her lips and the mix of her lavender shampoo. Her skin is tinted with a woodsy, pine smile, a musky perfume lingering on her pulse points as she rests her head even more on his chest. He smiles to himself, leaning his head against the back of the sofa and listening to the music on the speaker before Ashton cuts it off.

“Ah, fuck,” she mutters, sitting up, removing the warmth of her skin from his. Part of her is relieved she’s no longer touching Calum, but she feels the way his thigh burns against hers. Her heart feels like it’s about to beat out her chest, the small tingles he shoots up her spine sending her chest into an electric shock. She bites at her lip, her eyesight slightly blurry as she fumbles for her phone on the table. She switches on her own, smooth playlist and leaves the volume low enough that they can talk, but loud enough for it to not be awkward if they don’t.

She leans back again, not as close to Calum, afraid her heart might burst at the same proximity again, but Calum doesn’t seem to appreciate it. He pulls her to him again, murmuring, “Trying to run away from me, honey?”

Her breath wants to hitch, but she doesn’t let it. She simply rolls her neck from side to side, letting out a satisfying crack and settling into his frame. She inhales from her joint, just so she can exhale the nerves crawling up her neck and into her dry mouth, “No, just trying to be comfortable,” she hums. He can hear the teasing in her voice and he bites the inside of his lip, trying to keep himself in check because he’s not sure he can handle not saying anything or the rejection he’s positive will come after.

“Oh, am I not comfortable?” He teases in return and she turns her head up to look at him. Her lips are parted as she takes drag after drag from her joint, absentmindedly letting the smoke spill from the gap. He watches the trail of smoke fall from her cheeks and the way her eyes scan his face. She mentally memorises the place of his three birthmarks on his cheeks. She traces the five o’clock shadow along his jaw with her eyes and admires the slope of his nose. She notices the way his skin glows in the low light of the living room lamp. His platinum hair peeks out from underneath the hood of his jumper and her eyes trail down to his neck.

“You’re too comfortable,” she admits breathlessly, trying to hide the desperation in her voice. She quickly takes another drag off her joint, trying to cover up the tone of her voice. Calum doesn’t miss it, but he wonders if he imagines it when she passes the joint to him to finish. He takes it from her,

“Thank you, gorgeous.” He swallows once he finishes his sentence, bringing the joint to his lips, annoyed his filter failed him. He knows his guard falls when he’s stoned, but he didn’t expect it to fall around her. He hopes silently she won’t bring it up. But, he wasn’t that lucky,

“Gorgeous, huh?” She chuckles, looking up at him. He looks down at her, the plumpness of her cheeks and the glaze in her eyes. He traces the slope of her nose and curvature of her lips thoughtlessly, his pupils dilating at what they’re admiring. The weed lowers his inhibitions and he decides to just bite the bullet. If it goes badly, he can blame it on the green.

“You heard me,” he raises his eyebrows.

“I did?” She smiles lazily, sitting up a bit, turning to look at him. She’s scanning his body language, a languid movement of her eyes to see if she’s reading him right. If he wants what she wants. If he wants to pull her into his lap and have his way with her. He nods, taking the few last tokes in one go before leaning forward and putting the joint out in the ashtray. He surprises himself by grabbing the curves of her hips and pulling her into his lap. She rests her ass against his thighs, hers capturing his sides in between them. She bites at her lip and quirks her eyebrows,

“Whatcha doing there?” She teases, moving her hands up his chest and to the back of his neck, using the back of her hands to push the hood off his head. She exposes his platinum, glistening blond hair to the glow of the living room lamp. Her eyes admire the sides of his hair growing out, his roots a deep brown colour, contrasting against the bleached tips.

“Getting a better look,” he says thoughtlessly. Any inhibitions he had disappeared, the weed burying them deep in a part of his brain he can’t access in his high. He’s admiring the way she fits against his body. He runs his hands up and down the dip of her waist and the plumpness of her thighs.

“Didn’t think it was as good as a view as mine,” she responds, leaning forward slightly. Her hands began to brush along the back of his neck, her bare skin against his making Calum shiver.

“Oh, honey,” he chuckles, “Today, I saw the whole world. And it was right in front of me.”

She bites at her bottom lip to keep from her smile widening, but he watches as the corner of her lips. It causes Calum’s lips to quirk into a smile as well. Her eyes are stained red, just like his. She uses the tip of her fingers to run up and down his spine before he sits up a little more. His hands find themselves resting on her upper thighs, his fingertips digging just slightly into the flesh.

She has no response and he knows she wants him to make the first move. He removes one hand from her thighs, using it to brush her hair behind her ear,

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, licking his bottom lip and looking down at her lips. She repeats his actions before he hears a small, breathless, ‘Yes’ escape her lips. He leans forward, his lips just brushing hers, barely pressed. She pushes hers against him, harder. His lips are hot against hers and her mouth tastes like weed and tobacco to him. There’s an underlying sweetness to her skin and he loves it. He uses his hand to grip the side of her face, pulling her even closer to him. He runs the hand on her thigh up to her lower back, pushing her even further into his chest.

Their lips pull apart for a moment before slotting against each other again, her hands running from his neck to his hair, threading their way through his strands. Her heart is pounding out of her chest and her limbs feel like they’re vibrating. Calum’s heart is soaring as high as he is, his hands desperate to hold her as close to him as possible, not willing to ever let her go. She leans further into him, pressing her lips against his over and over, her movements becoming more forceful as he exhales every piece of his consciousness into her. Her chest burns with happiness and Calum’s lips can’t help but smile against hers.

With their heads swimming, they press closer and closer, lips slotting over and over, Calum’s grip on her never letting up. He’s the first to lick his tongue along her bottom lip. She parts them, welcoming the heat of his tongue into her mouth. She presses her tongue along his, their lips meeting time and time again. Their breathing starts to become laboured, desperate for the air the other is releasing, their bodies pressed together. They feel so warm against the other, their feelings bubbling to the surface at finally having their release of emotion.

Her hands move from his hair to the bottom of his jumper, tugging at the hem. His hands move to hold hers for a moment before breaking apart, just a second, to tug the jumper over his head and throw it onto the couch next to them. They’re panting and she grabs his face in between her hands, desperate to have her lips touch his again. They slot their lips over and over, tongues lingering within each kiss, familiarising with the taste of the other. Calum uses his hands to run up the soft skin of her stomach underneath her shirt. She shivers at the gentleness of his touch, memorising the way her ribs heave with each desperate breath she takes against her lips. He grabs at the hem of her shirt, tugging the way she had. She breaks apart from him, allowing him to pull the tank top over her shoulders. When the shirt is discarded, Calum leans back slightly, admiring the way her breasts are pushed up by her royal blue bra.

His lips meet hers, once, and then twice, before moving down to her jaw, running his lips along the bone. She tilts her head back, feeling the way his hands have imprinted themselves into her lower back, her hair tickling the back of his hands. His large hands take up so much surface on her back, feeling his warm skin against hers. Her hands grip at Calum’s neck, her nails dig into his shoulders as his lips move lower and lower, along the expanse of her goosebump ridden neck. She sighs, his plush, swollen lips leaving small wet, open-mouthed kisses. She rolls her lips between her teeth, moving her head to the side, her red eyes opening to look at the man who’s gently kissing down her neck.

“Cal,” she sighs and she feels the way his lips curl up into a cheshire grin. At the base of her throat, he wraps his lips around her skin, gently pulling and sucking, licking over the area. She rolls her hips against his without thinking and a deep groan rumbles underneath his chest. She rolls her hips again, satisfying the burning erupting between her legs as she feels how firm he is. He groans again, sucking harder against her neck and her throat rasps out a whimper. Every single movement is heightened, intensified as her high lingers in her veins, alighting her nerves, allowing Calum’s touch to cause explosions in her blood.

His hands run up from their space along her back, over her ribs and to cup her breasts through her bra. She lets out a small moan as he gently applies pressure, testing just how far she wants him to go. After suckling against her neck, he removes his lips, moves them a little higher along her neck and suckling, nipping and licking again. He wants to see the way the blood raises to the surface, bruising and marking up her pretty neck. He’s never seen that before and god, he thinks she’ll look beautiful with his marks all over her. Calum’s heart and stomach flutter at her touch, her fingertips pressing into him, the way that her body responds to his touches. He’s doing this to her. He’s pleasing her.

“Oh,” she moans quietly when he suckles particularly hardly and Calum applies more pressure to her chest. His hands move from the cups of her bra to just underneath the band of it, to ask if he can.

“Please take it off, Calum,” she asks breathlessly. He complies, hands wandering to her back to unclasp the bra. The straps loosen on her shoulders and shrugs it off. Calum removes his lips from her neck and leans back, staring at the perkiness of her breasts. He runs his hands along the underside, watching the way they move with the movement of his hands.

“Oh, fuck,” he mutters, admiring their shape. Her nipples are hard, poking against his palms as he runs the full expanse of his hand over her breasts. She takes his distraction as a chance to plant her lips to his neck. He sighs through his nose as she traces her tongue, gently, from the base of his neck to the space where his jaw and neck meet. She traces his pulse point with the tip of her tongue before sinking her teeth gently into the flesh. A groan rumbles from between his lips and he can’t help but knead the tender flesh with his hands, trying to focus on the way her body reacts to his touch. She suckles along his pulse point, feeling the way his body radiates heat against her face. She leaves mark after mark, scattering them along the expanse of her neck as Calum leans back and lets her have her way with him.

When she pulls away, their chests are heaving, bare and glowing in the light of the living room. The music in the background switches and Calum’s lips find hers again. Their lips are tender, swollen and red with friction, slotting over and over again. Calum uses his hands to press her to him as close as possible, their bare chests touching. Her hands wander along his shoulders, up to his neck and his hair, down again and repeating her motions, slowly as their tongues brush again and again.

Their highs are pushed to the back of their minds as they bask in the feeling of their kisses, their touches, their movements. She rolls her hips against his again, his cock straining against his grey sweatpants. The firmness sends tingles up her spine as she rolls her hips over and over again. Calum’s hands move from her back and to her lips, guiding her against him as his eyebrows furrow together. Warmth spreads in his stomach at the friction and she breaks away from him, letting out sigh after sigh with each roll of her hips against him.

“Cal-” she whines quietly, pressing her forehead against his, bare chest heaving with each laboured breath, her eyes pressed shut. He watches her with butterflies in his stomach, violently fluttering and fanning the flames in his lower tummy. She looks so beautiful, her eyebrows furrowed as her mouth drops open, feeling the way the friction of their hips moving both satisfying and aggravating the bubbling of lust in her belly. She opens her eyes, meeting Calum’s, who’s focused eyes and parted lips are hung on his face. He looks incredible with his glazed brown irises, plush limps plumped even more, red with blood linger at the surface. She leans forward and captures his bottom lip between her teeth without breaking eye contact and he lets out a small moan.

“I’m going to,” he sighs, guiding her hips faster and harder against his. She encourages him, smiling down with hooded eyes and her lips parted,

“C’mon, baby,” she sighs. Calum’s eyebrows furrow as the heat in his stomach intensifies tenfold, the friction sending sparks and fireworks off in his lower tummy. Her words, her voice, her sighs send him over the edge, his toes curling and throwing his head back. His orgasm is prolonged by the weed in his system, his brain swimming with nothing and everything. His limbs vibrate, tingles rolling up his spine as he releases in his briefs. He’s clutching her hips so hard as she continues to move with purpose. His eyes flutter open, the aftershocks of her movements tweaking every nerve in his body.

Her lips are rolled between her teeth as she bites down. She looks down at him with determination and he starts moving his hands again, guiding her over and over against his still hard cock.

“You going to come for me, doll?” Her eyebrows furrow as she nods, resting her chin against her chest as she feels the beginning of her climax rolling in waves between her legs. He presses a kiss to her lips, gently coaxing the orgasm that was so obviously ready to tip her over the edge, “I know you want to, doll. Cum for me the way I came for you.”

His words make her insides twist and release, dropping her orgasm on her like a bomb, “Oh, shit, Calum.”

Her jaw drops as he gently rocks her against himself, letting her bask in every single electric spark in her nerves like he did. Her shoulders tense and relax, her stomach muscles flexing against his torso as she finishes, her body spasming with each movement of her hips.

She presses her hands to Calum’s chest when she’s finished, feeling his pounding heartbeat under her palm. She looks at him in the eyes, blurry from her high and her orgasm. Adoration is woven in her pupils as they adjust to the light of him in front of her.

“Hi,” he sighs and she lets out a blissed-out giggle.

“Hi,” she repeats, resting her head on his bare shoulder. She curls up against his chest. Calum’s hands find their way up to her back, stroking the skin and rubbing her back as she evens out her breathing. He’s sitting there, in disbelief of what happened, with no complaints at all.

“I enjoyed that,” she mutters, sitting upright again, looking Calum in the eyes.

“I too enjoyed that,” his voice is raspy and he grasps her face in his hands, “I want that again. And again, and again, and again...” he trails off and she smiles down at him.

“How about a date first?”

“Deal.”

[fleckcmscott]

Another Decade

Summary: Arthur discovers Y/N's fortieth is just around the corner. He hopes to get the occasion right.

Warnings: Swearing

Words: 5,044

A/N: This request comes from @hhandley80​, who is an absolute sweetheart! Funnily enough, I got the request for this story and Another Year within a couple days of each other. Thank you so much for it! It was great to write.

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open! 

This morning's therapy appointment had boosted Arthur's spirit. Left him refreshed instead of worn. Dr. Ludlow had given him a break from discussing his negative thoughts and various neuroses. Rather, she'd asked him what he wanted to talk about. What was foremost on his mind. And he'd spent close to the entire hour diving into what it was like to live with Y/N.

Having a person who cared about him was fulfilling. Beautiful. Challenging. Struggles inevitably happened but she attempted to help him through them. (A stark difference from when he’d been on his own.) The faith she'd placed in him by inviting him into her home was exciting.

Fears he'd never be worthy of that trust or such a good, intelligent woman did tend to eat at him. Especially when he couldn’t sleep or suspected he was slipping. But he was trying. Doing his best to learn every day, every hour, every minute. To alter his view of himself to include intimate partner alongside mentally ill loner. “I- I thought it would fix me,” he’d said. “It’s hard. But I don’t feel so bad all the time anymore.”

The doctor had complimented his resolve. Said he was dealing with all the changes as well as could be expected. If he followed his treatment plan, she anticipated he'd continue to do so. Appreciating the recognition, Arthur had wondered how to keep her praises close.

And now here he was. Experiencing the ordinariness of sitting in a diner with his girlfriend. Talking about their respective mornings. Sharing a meal. The crinkle fry he grabbed from the blue-plate special in the center of the table was soggy. The corner of his mouth quirked up as he dunked it in ketchup, a possible punchline coming to mind. If he could just figure out the right-

An inviting caress to the back of his hand brought him back to the present. He hadn't meant to tune out Y/N. With an apologetic grin, he pressed back into the booth's plastic cushions and took another drag off his cigarette.

“I was saying I need to head back to work,” she told him. A smile slowly spread across her face, until it nearly blinded him. “And that I can’t believe we’ve been shacked up for almost two months. I know it’s been an adjustment-“

“A good one,” he interrupted gently, interlocking their fingers.

"I’m proud of you.” The pink on her cheeks was faint. “I wouldn’t have taken the leap with anyone else. I can’t seem to get enough of your company, Mr. Fleck.” With that, she signaled for the waitress, retrieved her wallet from her purse, and got out some cash. Rising, she turned to Arthur. “Get the change for me,” she said, heading towards the back.

Her suede billfold was open on the table, her Gotham City ID card in view. He tentatively picked it up to examine the photo. Her hair was uncharacteristically flat, shorter than it was now. The flash had turned her lovely eyes red, and her lips were agape, as though she was in the middle of a sentence. A giggle escaped him. Frumpy. She was frumpy.

Reading her details, his brow quirked at her full name: “Y/N M/N L/N.” There was a nice rhythm to it, one that would also work with “Fleck,” if they got as far as he daydreamed. Then he saw her date of birth and stilled.

Her fortieth was in less than two weeks: 4/6/1942. April sixth. Shit.

He’d learned so many facts about her: the names of her nephews and niece; which college she’d attended; her favorite bands. She’d told him her birthday was in the spring. How the hell had he neglected to ask her the specific date? Awash with embarrassment, a hiccup left him and he covered his mouth.

The waitress returned with a dubious look, a receipt, and coins. As he counted out the tip, he calculated what he had in his own wallet and checking account. He’d scrimped and saved to cover the electric and water bills (though he knew he’d have to pay them in secret to avoid Y/N’s finding a way to repay him). Could he afford a decent gift, too?

Arm in arm, they walked back to Y/N’s workplace. She chatted about that afternoon’s court process, and he puffed away as if he was going to Hoyt’s office for an impromptu scolding. When they reached the steps in front of her building, she tugged at him until he stepped closer. “You’re so stiff.”

Putting on a half-grin, he leaned into her. “Don’t worry about me.” He stole a chaste kiss, one she tried to turn into more before he backed off. “I’ll see you later.”

When he got home, he didn’t bother to change into his thermal shirt and pajama bottoms. Relaxing wasn’t an option. Stretching and pacing the kitchen, he breathed in and out, in and out. He needed to focus instead of letting himself be thrown off. Like a good partner would.

Plans. He had to make plans. And not the vagaries floating around in his head of what boyfriends were supposed to do. Special ones. Personal ones. Ones that demonstrated the depths of his love for her. This was important. The start of a new decade. And her first birthday with him.

Unable to conjure other options, he grabbed the phone from the wall and dialed Y/N’s office. His leg bounced harder with every ring. He hadn’t yet spoken with Patricia, Y/N’s friend and co-worker. But he’d heard she was nice. Any suggestions she could offer were welcome.

Thank goodness she answered before he lost his nerve. “Shaw and Associates. Patricia speaking.”

“Hi,” he pushed out, fiddling with the phone cord. “Um, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Y/N’s boyfriend?”

A smile lingered in her professional lilt. “It’s nice to talk to you, finally. But she isn’t here. I can take a message.”

“No, I know.” If he hesitated too long, he'd reveal his awkwardness. So he went for it. “Do you know what Y/N’s favorite cake is?” That question commenced a conversation that gradually became easier. Each sentence soothed. Consoled the irritation he’d aimed at himself.

Y/N liked hummingbird cake, a mix of pineapple, banana, and cinnamon. It sounded intricate and expensive. There was a bakery that sold it by the slice, according to Patricia. Y/N hadn’t disclosed what gifts she would fancy, but had said she didn’t need any knick-knacks, mugs, or other such trifles. As for activities, she was uncomplicated. She liked going to the movies and restaurants. Conversations and walks. The mundanity of domestic life, especially since becoming involved with him.

That lovely sentiment caused his eyelids to shut, an ember to glow in his heart. But it only confirmed what he already knew. “I want to make her happy,” he breathed. “I’m new at this.”

“We all were once,” she said, brushing his concerns off. “Arthur, she’ll love anything you do. Because you’re the one doing it.”

The kindness she was extending to him felt surreal. Not yet used to it, he tried to believe it wasn't a trick. He thanked her quietly, for her ideas and for listening to him. But as he was about to hang up, she gave him one last piece of advice. “Wear your button-up with the blue flowers. And your yellow vest.”

Blinking, he frowned. “But those are for work.”

Patricia laughed softly. “Yeah, well. She likes them. What was it she said? ‘They accentuate his sexy waist?’”

A burn rushed across his face and he rubbed his forehead. “...Oh.”

Well, that was a request he could handle.

~~~~~

It seemed as though newspaper adverts, television commercials, and even the damned billboards plastered around Gotham had an ax to grind. They all declared the same thing. Women needed to “mold their faces back to youth!” “Guard against aging skin!” Learn they could “look young again!” To be someone other than themselves.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N dropped the magazine she’d been reading in the trash can next to her desk. She’d be crossing into the “Fatal Forties” in a week. While she did use lotion before bed to prevent the formation of wrinkles, and the prospect of gray hair wasn’t one she relished, turning the big 4-0 bothered her less than she’d anticipated. Her looks were minor concerns compared to what she’d gained over the years.

The hardships she’d endured had mostly strengthened her. Allowed her, mercifully, to grow into a person who was comfortable with herself. It was said women were supposed to be set in their ways by now. And in many respects, that was true. She enjoyed her routines. She liked her career. She loved participating in life amidst millions of other people.

But meeting Arthur had changed her path. Started her on an adventure she treasured. A journey into actual partnership, rather than her earlier attempts to please and meet other’s expectations. Attempts she had failed at. Miserably.

He hadn’t cared she was five years his senior. Hadn’t hinted that he’d considered her a “spinster.” Never joked that she was an “old maid.” If she stood in front of the cosmetic counter at the pharmacy while he got his prescriptions, he’d slink up behind her and say, “You’re already pretty.” She’d never expected him to make her feel more desirable now than she’d ever felt in her twenties, stretch marks, moderately saggy breasts, and all.

During the past few days, she’d tried to piece together what he could have planned for her birthday. He hadn’t left any clues, though one night he had hurriedly tucked something under a couch cushion. He’d been a bit out of sorts, though. Biting his nails more than usual. Seeking greater reassurance.

She’d had plenty of good birthdays. There’d been parties and games. Presents. Hugs and well wishes. When she’d taken care of her father it had mostly been forgotten, apart from the cards she’d received from her ex-husband and sister. The passage of time had been marked by worsening dementia. And she had been fine with not caring.

In contrast, Arthur had stated he’d never known what it was like to matter to someone. Not until her. He’d told her he’d given Penny a blouse for her birthday once or twice. That had been years ago, however, before his mother’s reactions to him had gradually reduced to requests to send letters. Before her health had declined when he was a child and he’d had to take over every basic task. Before he’d become too exhausted to try.

Would it be fair to expect him to take much notice?

At the end of a long workday, she’d be satisfied with a quiet evening at home. Cooking dinner together. Drinking wine until she felt warm and fuzzy. Kisses exchanged here and there. Maybe some fooling around before she nodded off on the sofa with her feet in his lap. Such basic joys would be plenty.

~~~~~

The page in Arthur’s journal taken up by Y/N’s special day wasn’t atypical. He’d been writing about her since the grocery store. (“I wonder what her name tastes like. Less bitter than mine, I bet.”) Since they’d shared donuts. (“I shud have given Sara my number.”) Since she’d stared at him, then smiled at him, and he’d felt the whole world change. (“I hope Y/N likes the joke I rote for her. I practised it 100 times! Maybe she’ll let me touch her again. Shit. I’m nervos.”)

With it a mere four days away, there wasn’t much time left for gift hunting. So he pulled on his trusty tan jacket and headed out. He was unsatisfied with what his search had turned up so far. Flowers. Candy. Nylons. It had all been mediocre when she was beyond compare.

On the verge of desperation and distress, he finally managed to stumble upon the right shop. The name above the entrance, Nice Twice, was catchy. And there was a sign: “Personalization available!” Following a quick glance through the streaked shop window, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and opened the wooden door.

As he stepped inside a shopkeeper bell rang. The stench of sandalwood incense and mothballs was thick, causing him to wince. The place was overstuffed, filled with circular clothing racks, shelves of home decor and appliances, and furniture from the sixties. He tread along the faded, orange parquet floor. Squeezed between displays of bell bottoms and coats to reach a large jewelry counter by the cash register.

A man Arthur assumed was the owner popped out from behind a nearby shoe rack. He appeared to be what Penny had disdainfully referred to as a “hippie,” with his beaded headband and light blue jeans. When asked if he’d found anything he liked, Arthur answered, “Not yet.”

His shoulders tilted, drew together as he scanned the contents of the glass cabinet. Being able to get Y/N diamond earrings or a bracelet would have been ideal. He’d heard they were supposed to be symbols of commitment. Show her how important she was to him. But they’d never be affordable, even in a thrift store. There were some lovely brooches but they weren’t her style. She didn’t wear pins, anyway.

About fifteen minutes had passed when, at last, he spotted a suitable piece. The owner gave it to him to inspect. The heart, hanging from a long, silver chain, was a tad smaller than the end of his thumb. Purple, blue, and gold flowers, faded with age, were pressed under the pendant’s rounded, glass front. It was lovely, like her. And picturing her wearing it made his chest tighten.

The necklace was twelve dollars. For two dollars more, the heart’s silver back could be engraved. Arthur could definitely swing that. It took only seconds for him to choose what should be etched into it, having had his imagination sparked by a recent fifties sit-com. It would be ready Monday, the day before her birthday.

While Arthur retrieved his wallet, the owner asked, ”Hey, what’s your sign?”

Forehead furrowed, he tried to decipher the man’s meaning. He was sure he’d heard the question on television and in films. “My sign?” The man clarified and Arthur provided both his and Y/N’s birthdays.

The owner laughed. “Woo wee! That’s a powerful match.” He indicated a collection of astrology scrolls next to the register. “Your lady friend might like one of these.”

Waving dismissively, Arthur shook his head. “I don’t believe in that.” Seemingly determined, the hippie held out a rolled-up scroll. It was about the length of a cigarette, its title printed in a faux-ancient font: “Aries & Scorpio: Love & Romance.” Curiosity piqued, he pressed his lips together. “What does it say?”

“Only good things, man.” This was obviously a well-practiced pitch. And it was working The man retrieved a keyring full of unrolled, laminated scrolls. After flipping through the collection, he handed one to Arthur. He wasn’t the fastest reader, having had difficulties with it since he was a kid. But he scanned the page.

According to “the stars,” palpable chemistry existed between Aries and Scorpio. They were fun, passionate, and explosive in the bedroom. Snorting, he brought the scroll closer. “Your attraction to each other defies logic. Aries has a tough demeanor, but Scorpio brings out the compassion and love hiding underneath. Scorpio has an inner strength Aries finds irresistible.” Hm. What it said about Y/N was true. And she’d told him he was strong (which he didn’t really believe). He smiled, pleased this silly tract paid him such compliments.

He kept going. “As a pair, you are inhalation and exhalation in one. Two sides of the same coin. Aries is the sun to Scorpio’s moon.” Y/N was all those things to him. Even on days he wasn’t sure he wanted to feel better. Even on days it was easier to sink into the familiarity of misery than to strive for the unfamiliarity of feeling good.

It was after reading the final line that he nodded and dug into his pocket for two quarters: “You will be together for decades, even into the next life.”

~~~~~

Though she was standing in an overcrowded subway, squished between a man holding a dog and a woman using her as a vertical bed, Y/N felt giddy. Albeit tired. The day had been brimming with paperwork, phone calls, and running around. But it had started off well, and she was certain its upward trajectory would continue the rest of the night.

When she’d awoken, she’d discovered a pink envelope in Arthur’s place, laying haphazardly on his pillow. She’d boosted herself up on her forearm, ran her fingertips over her handwritten name, and taken out the yellow card.

There was a drawing of a man holding a woman by the waist. Lifting her until her hair touched the cheery, red “Happy Birthday.” The couple appeared thrilled. Taken with each other. And straight out of the forties. It wasn’t quite them, but it did reflect Arthur’s old fashioned romanticism.

No preprinted poem was inside. No famous quotes. Arthur had written a message instead. One which made her ache. “What do you get when you cross chocolat with something that goes thump-thump? A sweetheart. (That’s you.) My life is nicer with you in it. Even Gotham. I’m happy you talked to me. I love you a lot. -Arthur.”

He’d returned to the bedroom. Caught her mid-giggle as she’d wiggled out of her nightgown, hidden between the sheets. He was holding a mug. The same one they’d shared after the first of many lovemaking sessions.

Greedily, she’d ogled his damp hair and slender musculature. Light green eyes soft and serene, he’d sat next to her and pecked her cheek. At the flick of his gaze to her mouth, she’d flung her arms around his shoulders. Stubble burned her skin, her kisses to his dimples urgent.

“Wait,” he’d chuckled, putting the drink on the nightstand. “I made pancakes.” Even as he’d protested, he’d splayed his hand on the small of her back.

“To hell with pancakes,” she’d purred, pulling him under the blankets.

Work had been sentimental, which she’d neither expected nor wanted. Her new job would be starting in a week and a half. The small celebration they’d squeezed in served as both a goodbye and “Over the Hill” party, black balloons and grey streamers included.

Matt had been downcast as he’d shoveled red velvet cake into his mouth. “I’m sorry it turned out this way.”

A lame attempt to lighten the atmosphere had been needed. No one was going to start blubbering on her account. “You could come with me. Follow the conscience I know you have hidden somewhere.” He’d looked askance, turned towards his office. Trying to soften her joke, she’d patted his arm. “Don’t feel too bad. You could still lose the case.”

Settled on the windowsill, she’d gazed out at the streets of the city she’d grown to love. The city she called home, despite having spent only five percent of her existence in it. It was fitting to start this phase of her life here. The only period in which she’d felt whole, both professionally and personally.

A sheen had been in Patricia’s eyes when she’d joined her in the tight space, nudging her with her hip. “I don’t know what I’ll do without you here, accelerating Matt’s hair loss.”

“You’ll have to add it to your list of duties.” Elbowing her gently, Y/N continued. “I’ll only be a couple blocks away. We’ll meet for lunch. And you have my phone number.” Before her own eyes could water, she’d gone to her desk to cut another slice.

Patricia raised her hand. “You’re going to ruin your appetite.”

“Oh? Should I be expecting something?”

Finishing her own piece, Patricia crossed her ankles. “Arthur called for tips while you were in court. He decided I was an expert on you.” Y/N’s brows shooting up prompted a chuckle. “I didn’t give away all your secrets. Just some of your favorite sweets.”

The clench of Y/N’s throat was instant. And shame washed over her for assuming he wouldn’t plan much, if anything at all. He’d been considerate, even during tough times. Like at Christmas, which had been hard for him but turned out well in the end. He’d made it clear that what he coveted most, besides love and validation, was to be treated normally. Normal expectations were a part of that. She’d sought to give him a break when the benefit of the doubt had been what he deserved.

Y/N thought a bit. Surveyed the ornate woodwork in the corners of the room. Then she'd met her friend’s gaze. “Patricia, I want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Because he’s getting you cake?”

“I’m not that easy.” Laughing, Y/N sat on the corner of her desk. “Do you remember when I said I was almost forty and was going to grab what I want? Well, I’m forty and he’s what I want.”

Caution and kindness had softened Patricia’s concerns. “I don’t mean to be indelicate. But you’re his first relationship. Is he ready for that?”

Y/N sucked the frosting off her fork. “Our sixth month is soon. I’ll drop a hint. When he’s ready - if he’s ready - he’ll know I am, too.”

She’d been floating since that realization. Since admitting her devotion to Arthur aloud and thereby making it concrete. Since getting a supportive hug from Patricia. And reassurance from Matt, of all people, that she hadn’t entered a mid-life crisis.

That headiness continued as she fumbled with her keys. Upon entering their apartment, music reached her ears. Music with a faster tempo than the classics Arthur usually played. Hanging up her coat and slipping off her shoes, she recognized it as one of her “Best of Soul and Disco” LPs. She braced herself on the wall separating the kitchen from the living room, her cheeks breaking wide open.

Arthur had moved the television and its stand to the side of the coffee table. A blanket, folded into a square, lay in front of the windows. Two plates and two wine glasses were on it. As she approached, she saw sandwiches on a platter. There was pasta salad and potato salad, both covered in plastic wrap, from the deli around the corner. In the center of it all sat an empty vase.

When he came out of the bedroom, magic wand in hand, he stilled. “Oh. Hi. You’re back already?”

A giggle. “I ran.” Biting her bottom lip, she admired his tousled brown curls, feathery, light, and attractive as hell. His face was unobscured by make-up, allowing her to revel in his handsomeness. The top button of his white shirt was undone. And his yellow vest outlined his lean frame in all the right ways. He wore his usual trousers. “Did you have a gig today?”

“No.” He smoothed a palm down his chest and stomach, and she noticed he’d rolled up his sleeves. “Um, I heard you like it.”

She felt herself blush and nodded eagerly. Thank you, Patricia.

With a flick of his wrist, flowers sprouted from the end of the wand. “I wanted to do this outside. On the fire escape. But it’s too cold.” He knelt on the blanket to put the flowers in the vase.

Y/N cocked her head. The juxtaposition of him wearing his “Carnival Casual” outfit, the cutesy charm of the picnic he’d arranged with the music that was playing was ridiculous. The song went on repeatedly about miracles, need, and “sexy things.” She snorted.

As Arthur removed the cellophane from the salads, his shoulders tensed. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he breathed. “I got too much.”

“No,” she replied, sitting next to him, laying a hand on his thigh. “This is wonderful.” When their eyes met, she found his look at once bashful and flirtatious.

She served the sandwiches and salads while he poured the wine, following her request to fill the glasses to the top. Mostly potato salad ended up on her plate, the mix of mayonnaise, pepper, and egg just right. A majority of the pasta wound up on his - he liked the vinegary flavor. The red wine did not pair with the turkeys on rye he’d prepared, so she saved most of it for dessert.

When Arthur held out an orange roll of paper, she was dabbing her mouth with a cloth napkin. The title made her laugh. She never would have suspected he put stock in the zodiac; she certainly didn’t. Gingerly, she opened the scroll and squinted down at it.

It described her as determined, confident, and extroverted. And called Arthur a curious, emotional introvert. While mostly true, it wasn’t quite accurate. Arthur was only introverted in personal situations, while having the courage to perform as a clown and a stand-up. Those traits could belong to anyone, depending on the situation.

But the next paragraph clued her in as to why he’d bought the horoscope. And given it to her. “You were made for each other. There are times when it’s hard to know how you both managed to ever exist apart. The bond between you is unbreakable. You have much to learn from one another.” A lump formed in her throat when she read the last line, that they’d be together until the next life. She didn’t believe in that, yet longed for it all the same. “Thank you, Arthur.”

The scroll would have been enough. Dinner would have been enough. He would have been enough. But he placed a pink, velvet necklace box on her lap. She blinked at it, hoping he hadn’t spent too much on her. Then she forced that notion from her brain - he was a grown man who could buy what he chose - and cracked it open. Her breath caught.

The heart with pressed flowers was obviously vintage. The size was demure, like her other, few pieces of jewelry. And it was exactly her style: feminine and practical. She was grateful he hadn’t gotten her diamonds or other flashy gems. Her eyes darted to his as she took it out. “This is...” Gently, he turned it over in her palm, and she saw the engraving on the back: A+S.

A+S. Arthur and Y/N. It was a bold move from him. A welcome one.

“I think that’s usually done on trees,” he said. “But there aren’t that many in Gotham.”

Chuckling, she sniffed back her tears and shoved it at him. “Here.” She turned her back towards him. His fingertips dragged along her collarbone as she lifted her hair and he latched the chain. The kiss he placed above the clasp made her shiver. Wanting him to see how the pendant rested right above her cleavage, she unbuttoned the top of her blouse.

“It’s beautiful.” She pulled him in for a kiss. Traced his crow's feet. Let her thumbs wander to the slight puffiness underneath. The wine, along with her earlier confession to Patricia, was making it easier to open up. “You have my whole heart, Arthur,” she sighed into his mouth.

His palm went to her chest as he tilted his head, his other holding the nape of her neck. The tip of his tongue slipped between her lips and warmth enveloped her. She felt his fingers play with the necklace. Heard his ragged inhalation. Knew that pride and pleasure were emboldening him, because she was wearing what he’d gifted.

Eventually, he broke their connection, told her to close her eyes and pecked her nose. She concentrated on his steps to the kitchen. The clatter of him going through the silverware drawer. And then the chill breeze of the glass door being opened.

When she was allowed to peek, she stood and followed him onto the fire escape. A lit cigarette was already between his lips, and he was lighting a candle on a gigantic slice of cake. “You’re supposed to make a wish,” he said, smoke escaping his nostrils.

She snuggled his side, snaked an arm around him as he slung his across her shoulders. After eyeing the flame a moment, she sucked in a deep breath, pursed her lips, and bent closer...

Just in time for a split-second gust of wind to blow out the candle.

Arthur groaned and started to let go of her but she stopped him. “It counts.” She lifted the fork and fed him a bite, grinning at his pleased hum. “You won’t mind me turning grey, will you?”

“No. I won’t be the only one looking old.”

She nuzzled his temple. “You don’t look old. You’re refined.”

“Sure,” he scoffed. They ate silently for a bit, but then he squeezed her tighter. “What did you...” Trepidation lurked behind his question, even after their steamy picnic. “What did you wish for?”

“That we’ll keep loving each other, even through tough times.” She lowered the fork, already full. “That I’ll like my new job.” Letting go of him, she set the plate on the metal stairs, next to his ashtray. “That you’ll be healthy.”

He huffed. “You shouldn’t have wasted any on me.”

“You’re worth all of them.” She kissed his bicep, laid her head on his shoulder. The record playing in the background turned over, switched to a slower song, and she grinned. “Now,” she said, “may I have this dance?”

Delight in his eyes, he bowed. She giggled as he grabbed her around the middle and pulled her flush against his solid frame. He led beautifully, gazing at her as if she was the only woman in the world, guiding her to the beat she was deaf to. He even dared to raise her hand for a modest twirl, and she trusted him enough for it to work.

As they spun slowly, rotating in the lights of their living room and the city, he kissed her hairline. “Happy birthday. I hope you liked it.”

“I loved it.” She captured his thin lips with her own. “Promise you’ll be here for the next twenty.”

“The next forty.” He bumped their noses and lay his cheek on hers. Y/N cuddled deeper into his embrace, feeling more cherished than she had in years.

~~~~~

Hot Chocolate - You Sexy Thing

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