#i HAVE been meaning to read golden stage though...hm...

[stiltonbasket]

golden terrace au for the ask game? 🥺

I don't know anything about Golden Stage except that a wounded war hero was assigned a marriage he didn't want after returning from battle...which is, coincidentally, the basic premise of the Wen!Wei Wuxian AU. 👀

[purpletyrant]

au chises that have been bumping around in my brain like my own personal multiverse of madness. they needed to be exorcised. i recognize and respect the adage that your au may as well be an oc at a certain point, and i think these two cross the threshold, but consider this: i like to play with chise like a paper doll and see how she reacts to situations. so there

for their faces i sorta referenced off of haruka kudo, who played chise in the stage play

attack dog chise is the "living weapon" trope. i imagine that the witch bought her just as elias did, but chise is under the impression that she was taken in out of the goodness of her heart. her master has taught her very little in the means of practical magic, instead focusing all of her training into inflicting as much damage as possible. the witch has no expectation that chise will live very long, so has no intention of raising her up to be an equal. so, this chise has only been taught the power of incredible violence. if she isnt using her fists, shes using low-level curses and other magic considered to be kind of a dick move

design wise, all the o-rings are meant to evoke arc 1 chises adder necklace. she was probably inspired by the knife-wielding punk chise with attitude from the merkmal. since this chise has no ruth, you could say that she sort of embodies both of them

i imagine the dynamic between her and her master as sort of a ~*twisted and dark*~ version of kimihiro and yuko from xxxholic... which ive never read, but still. i dont have a design in mind for the witch shes beholden to, but she isnt dissimilar to hiroe ando from the she who travels au. maybe she IS hiroe. hm

soothsayer's daughter chise is the golden child of her family and has lived a life of relative comfort since being taken from her mother. still, her bleeding heart causes her guilt when she thinks back on the mother she can barely remember. in the last couple years, this chise has tracked her down and set up the means to meet in secret with the intention of apologizing to her and gaining closure. her family does not take kindly to this, and when chise meets chika in the tiny, filthy apartment shes living in, magic is used to force chises mother to commit suicide in front of her. chise is left shaken to the core by this event, especially by chikas words that she "should have never come back." she attempts to maintain a brave and serene exterior, believing that no one else knows of chikas death

since yuuki is still considered a traitor to the family, this chise has a polite if distant relationship with him, having been mainly raised by uncles and aunts. fumiki is supremely annoyed by her. shes very protective and patronizing

her silhouette is based off of a shrine maidens, but i didnt want to dress her exactly like one, since thats... kind of on the nose, isnt it? regardless, the focus of her magic is in purification and exorcism - her soothsaying skills are not quite so refined

she who travels chise is she who travels chise, she comes with her own fic series, read it or dont. i do have thoughts about her older offshoot, though. this chise is in her 30s. she picked up smoking from master onishi - HE TRIED NOT TO INFLUENCE HER, REALLY - and took over the theater when he died. even though she owns it and its a good source of income, shes moved on and is trying to be a more respectable mage beyond the sideshow reputation of her early career. shes essentially cosplaying a put-together businesswoman, and is kind hearted but comically serious. she probably has a niece or nephew and is constantly giving them enchanted gifts. her elias received an untraceable check for five million pounds - adjusted for inflation - several years ago and has not been able to track her down. her anger has cooled, but its now been so long that she feels too awkward to contact him. she still maintains contact with angelica and simon, though - maybe one day shell show up in his yard in a shiny black car

i think it would be soooo fun to throw them all in a room together with canon chise and watch them fight. or maybe they would just cry it out? soothsayers daughter thinks shes above all of this and will condescendingly preach about how attack dog has a "wounded heart"... until attack dog roundhouse kicks her in the head

[seijorhi]

Pretty Young Thing

A yandere Erasermic commission for an anon, I hope you like it bby!!

Aizawa Shouta x reader x Hizashi Yamada

TW non-con, breeding kink, pregnancy, surrogacy, pregnant sex, smut, age-gap, nsfw

“Don’t you think she’s a little young, ‘Zashi?”

“It’s up to you both how involved you are during the first stages and the overall pregnancy. Normally we suggest an initial meeting with the potential surrogate for all three of you to get a feel for one another and decide if you want to proceed with the arrangement, but should you wish, we can–”

“No,” he interrupts, sparing Hizashi a fleeting glance. “We want to meet her.”

Beneath the desk, his husband squeezes his hand. 

Hizashi quirks an eyebrow, pausing midway through fixing his hair in the mirror. “Whaddya mean, babe? She’s in her twenties ain’t she?”

He’s not wrong, but that’s not the issue. They picked you, they both picked you, but there’s this lingering unease that he can’t seem to shake. It’s not so much your age specifically, he knows that you’re only a few years younger than the majority of the other women whose profiles they’d seen – you’re old enough to understand what you’re getting yourself into and agree to it, at any rate – it’s just that he doesn’t quite understand why somebody your age would want to do this.

And there’s something different about you, it’s just a feeling of course – he hasn’t yet had a chance to confirm his suspicions, but he wants to meet you and decide for himself.

“We do have a number of potential surrogates with promising Quirks if you’re considering pursuing that option for your child,” the Doctor told them, smiling as they flipped through page after page of profiles.

Hisako, 35, Quirk: Sun-flare

Nozumi, 26, Quirk: Mimic

Koharu, 28, Quirk: Seismic Wave

Chiyoko, 33, Quirk: Golden Whip

Yuzuki, 32, Quirk: Silencer

There’s dozens of them – which is more than he expected. 

Aizawa knew coming in that this wasn’t normally the process, that this agency catered specifically to Heroes – was recommended by the Hero commission – but it still feels strange, just browsing through pages upon pages of potential candidates to carry their baby. 

Was he supposed to be feeling some kind of emotion looking at these profiles? The women were all healthy, each of them attractive, in their own ways (nothing but the very best, the Doctor had reassured them with a smile). This woman, whoever they picked, she’d be carrying their baby, yes, but that was the extent of it. She wasn’t going to be a part of their lives beyond that, so what did it matter if she was nice or liked to cook or play tennis?

There were stats, of course. Their education and IQ’s and little snippets of history, but they were all impressive, otherwise they wouldn’t have been included. Were they supposed to choose based on their Quirk? One that might compliment his or Zashi’s? Quirks were troublesome things to begin with, and–

“Wait-wait, Shou, hold up,” Hizashi’s voice cut through his musings, long fingers wrapping around his wrist midway through turning the page. “Go back one.”

He does as he’s told, flicking the page back.

Y/N, 23, Quirk: N/A.

A lone eyebrow lifts. Quirkless, huh? A blank slate.

But that’s not what caught Hizashi’s eye.

“She’s kinda cute, don’tcha think, baby?”

It feels weirdly like a first date, nervous jitters and all – though he’d like to believe he’s better at suppressing that now then back when he was a teenager. Aizawa hasn’t bothered to shave, but his hair’s tied back in a loose bun and he’s pulled out a suit for the occasion – he’s even wearing a tie for fuck’s sake. Beside him, Hizashi’s ditched his usual leather jacket and ripped jeans for, well, nicer jeans and a button up floral shirt.

And then there’s you. Standing in the doorway of the cafe glancing around like a little lost lamb, he recognises you instantly from the picture on your profile, but the moment your eyes meet his he’s struck with the realisation that the picture didn’t truly do you justice.

Because you do look young (at least compared to their thirty odd years) and it might just be the hesitant smile adorning your face as you start to make your way over, or the charming little summer dress falling to your mid-thigh, swishing hypnotically with every step, but Shouta feels something catch in his chest the more he stares. You really are… what was the word ‘Zashi had used? Cute?

Yeah. You were cute. 

The agency had offered to host this little meetup at their clinic, and while he hadn’t particularly cared one way or the other, Hizashi’d been insistent. He’d wanted this to feel ‘natural’. 

‘I don’t really wanna meet our potential baby mama for the first time in some boring, sterile office, d’you?”

He’d only bitten back a sigh at the time, shaking his head. It wouldn’t have been worth upsetting him by reminding him that the girl was technically a glorified incubator. He had every intention of being involved in this process, but this initial meeting was to establish two things. Firstly, that after meeting them, you still felt comfortable with carrying their baby, and secondly, he wanted to make absolutely certain that you weren’t trying to get anything out of this.

Oh, he knew you were getting paid, handsomely, he’s sure, but the thought that you, or any of the women the agency had fobbed their way might not all be in this for altruistic reasons had crossed his mind. 

You were just so young.

But he was more than happy to determine those two things in a ten minute meeting at the agency. 

Hizashi was not, and so here they are. 

Ten minutes in, and he finds himself glad of his husband’s insistence. Hands wrapped around your mug of coffee (you should enjoy it while you can) you chatter away with Hizashi, beaming and blushing, tripping over your own words in your nervousness. 

You’re about as dangerous as a kitten, and he allows himself to relax enough in his seat to enjoy watching the blonde charm you. 

“So why don’t ya tell us a little about yourself, songbird?”

“There’s really not all that much to tell,” you say with a sheepish laugh, but they listen as you talk anyway. It’s nothing the profile hadn’t already told them, nothing spectacular that would make you stand out in the crowd. 

And yet, an hour and a half later, you’re trying in vain to distract him and Hizashi both so that you can slip your card in with the bill to pay for lunch, and Shouta finds himself oddly amused.

There were other candidates – ones with impressive Quirks, smarter than you, more accomplished than you, older than you–

“Ya sure you don’t want a lift, sweetheart? It’s no trouble.”

You smile again, demure little thing, and shake your head. “Oh no, really it’s okay. It’s not far and… I like the walk. Thank you, though.”

– but none nearly so endearing, he thinks. 

And when they watch you disappear into the crowd, one final wave thrown over your shoulder, Hizashi’s fingers lace with his once more.

“So she’s our baby mama, huh?

He’s silent for a moment. “I suppose so.”

—

The agency recommended, at least in the initial stages before the implantation procedure took place, that any communication between the three of you should go through them. 

Hizashi had your number programmed into his phone before you’d even left the cafe, and he’s been texting you every day since – to the point where it wasn’t unusual for Shouta to come downstairs and find Mic chuckling to himself, fingers dancing across the keyboard on his phone as he replies to whatever message you’ve sent. 

Shouta, for his part, tends to message only to check in.

How are you feeling? Any side effects from the meds?

Your response comes a little slower than usual, and it’s almost an hour before finally he receives it.

Sorry they’re cracking down on us using our phones at work :( 

Everything’s good so far! The doc said i should be on track for our appointment next week!

… is it weird that I’m a little excited haha?

His brow furrows at that. You hadn’t mentioned a job – at least not to him, he’d have to ask Hizashi later whether you'd said anything to him. 

Why on earth were you still working? He’d seen the contracts, he knew exactly how much you were getting paid for this little venture, wasn’t that enough to support you?

He makes a brief mental note to make sure that whatever job you were working at, you stopped long before the baby was due. You might just be a surrogate, but he’d be damned if his baby was put in jeopardy because you were needlessly exerting yourself. 

Nevertheless, his expression softens somewhat as he reads the second part of your message. You were excited, hm? 

Well, that made three of you.

Both he and Hizashi’d been willing to come along to the clinic with you – he’d even submitted a formal leave request to take the day off from UA, but the Doctor had assured him that it wasn’t necessary.

“The procedure is quick and relatively painless. She’ll be home within a few hours, and so long as she remains off her feet and doesn’t undertake any strenuous activity, she will be perfectly fine.”

It hadn’t sat particularly well with Hizashi who’d spent the afternoon huffing and complaining about the clinic trying to kick them both out of the process. That much, he expected – he understood it to an extent; the agency catered specifically to Heroes, most of their clientele probably had busy schedules (which was true in their case as well). There wasn’t a need for them to be present at such a minor procedure, even if it did hopefully mark the beginnings of your pregnancy. 

What he hadn’t expected was the twinge of discontent he felt settle in his own stomach. The Doc might’ve preferred they stay out of this, but at the end of the day he really didn’t give a shit what she or the agency wanted.

So he messaged you.

Do you want us there with you?

He watches those three little dots bounce for almost a solid minute before finally your reply comes through.

No, it’s okay, you don’t have to come. The Doc said it wouldn’t take long and I don’t wanna be a burden for you guys

It’s not really an answer to his question, and he briefly wonders if Hizashi might be right about the agency interfering, but he’s not going to fight you on it. 

At least, that’s his plan until Principal Nezu pulls him aside at the end of a staff meeting and tells him that he’s found somebody to cover his classes tomorrow if he still wants the day off. 

“Ya gotta go, babe. One of us should be there for our ‘lil mama.”

He asks you what time your appointment is and there’s a surprisingly pleasant fluttering in his stomach when you walk through the clinic doors and catch sight of him sitting in the waiting room.

It’s a momentary surprise – you almost do a double take, but a smile lights your face and you ignore the receptionist in favour of racing towards him. 

“Shouta, I thought you weren’t coming!” Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing tightly.

He finds himself returning your hug – albeit somewhat stiffly – but he’s glad he made the decision to come. The Doctor wasn’t wrong, you’re only in with her for just under twenty minutes, and when you come out there’s a tremble in your legs, but you seem otherwise fine.

It goes without saying that he’s driving you home, though you try once again to beg him off.

Kitten, when are you gonna learn that so long as you’re carrying his and ‘Zashi’s child, they’re going to go out of their way to make things easier for you – whether you want them to or not.

Yet your quiet discomfort on the drive home doesn’t slip past his attention. Maybe it’s because he’s become accustomed to your nervous rambling, but there’s something odd about the way you’re sitting so quietly, fingers twisting in your lap as you stare out the window. He knows that if Hizashi was here, he’d be chatting your ear off, but he’s never been one to fill silence with unnecessary small talk.

Though he can’t exactly help the way his own mind drifts. Are you in pain? The Doc didn’t say anything about there being any pain, only that you should rest over the next few days, so it shouldn’t be that. Perhaps you’re just lost in your thoughts – it’s strange for them having a surrogate, he can only imagine what’s going through your own head now that it’s actually begun. He hopes that you aren’t having second thoughts, almost opens his mouth to ask before thinking better of it.

You’re entitled to your thoughts and feelings, whatever they may be, and if you wanted to talk to him about them, you would. 

It’s not until the scenery outside starts to change and the fancy sky-scrapers give way to dingy apartment blocks and dilapidated buildings, crammed in together too tightly that he realises that it’s not discomfort that’s written across your face, but embarrassment.

This was your neighbourhood?

Shouta recognises it, and really he should have picked up on it earlier when you’d given him the address – he’s spent more than a few nights patrolling the area. It’s a hotspot, not for the high-class, dangerous villains plastered across the news every night, but thieves and murderers. Petty thugs who prey on the weak, those addicted, with nowhere else to go… you live here?

Surely with the money you’re getting from the agency, and your job on top of that, you can afford a better neighbourhood.

He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, watches as you all but shrink into your seat, and when you speak, your voice is little more than a whisper.

“You can just drop me off at the corner here.”

He pulls the car to a stop by the curb, and for a moment neither of you speak. He doesn’t know what to say, and judging from the way you’re nibbling on your bottom lip and glancing up at him, you don’t either. 

“I–”

“Thank you,” you cut him off with a tight smile. “For coming today, and for… this. I-I really do appreciate it.” 

The words aren’t quite sincere, but he only nods – noting the miniscule sigh that escapes your lips at the action. “Of course. Anytime you need us, just call, okay.” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “Do as the Doc said, rest.”

You all but scamper from the car after saying another goodbye, though Shouta waits until you’ve disappeared into the crumbling apartment block before driving off.

Maybe the inside is nicer, but he sincerely doubts it.

—

“You should’ve seen it, ‘Zashi.” The two of them are curled up on the love-seat, half empty containers of takeout littering the coffee table in front of them. “I just can’t figure out why she’d be living somewhere like that.” 

The blonde frowns. He’d been messaging you throughout the afternoon, so he knew that the appointment had gone fine. It wasn’t that he expected to come home and find the erasure Hero jumping for joy, but the subtle discontent on Shouta’s face had been enough to make him pause. 

“You’re worried about our ‘lil songbird?” he asks, pushing away just enough so that he could turn to study his face. 

The short nod says plenty. Of course he is – even if you weren’t potentially carrying his child, you’re young, beautiful and far too innocent for your own good. In places like that, you were easy pickings, and you don’t even have a Quirk to protect yourself. His job requires him to assess his students’ strengths, their failings and weaknesses and their progress. He doesn’t need to see you in action to know that you wouldn’t be able to hold your own in a fight. 

It bothers him. 

“She’s not safe there.”

Hizashi hums, but instead of settling back against his husband’s side, he straightens up further. “Well, why don’t we go take a look-see, huh handsome? Make sure our sweet thing’s pad’s all safe ‘n sound, put your mind at ease. Whaddya say?”

As he stares into those imploring green eyes, Shouta knows that he should say no. 

Concerned or not, there’s still a line, privacy that should be respected. He’s tired and this is the only night that they both have off this week. Your place is almost twenty minutes from theirs, and it’s already late – almost midnight. The list goes on, there are a thousand reasons that he should say no.

“Fine. Just for tonight.”

—

Two weeks later, the two Heroes receive a call from the agency; the blood test came back positive – you’re pregnant. 

In the blink of an eye, at least to Shouta, this becomes startlingly real. You’re pregnant. They’re going to have a baby. Boy, girl, it doesn’t matter… You’re pregnant, and as his husband ends the call and yanks him by his collar into a fierce kiss, he realises how important this is.

How important you are, just by the virtue of carrying their baby.

They invite you over for dinner to celebrate, and while he’s never been one to flaunt the comfortable lifestyle he and Hizashi have, he does find it strangely pleasing to watch you wonder wide eyed through their apartment. He’d be the first to admit it’s big – bigger than they’d ever probably need, though with the baby on the way maybe they’ll finally be able to make use of all that extra space.

Mic grabs you by the hand, eagerly dragging you towards the nursery he’s already begun setting up. “Once I heard the good news, I just couldn’t wait to get started! Our little rockstar’s gonna have the sweetest crib, don’tcha think? Ain’t it amazing?” 

He’s already started painting and there’s a wooden cot halfway assembled and the beginnings of a musical mobile pushed off to the side waiting for him to return to it. It’s hardly close to being finished, but you just grin, gazing at the mural he’s started on the walls. “It’s amazing,” you say.

“I knew ya’d like it!” he beams.

Shouta hangs back as Hizashi guides you through the rest of the apartment, chattering excitedly away. He likes seeing his husband happy, and somehow you manage to bring it out of him without even trying. It’s still early days but Shouta has to admit that already you’re more to him and Hizashi than he expected, or even anticipated. You fit well with them, seamlessly, as if you’d always been a part of their lives.

After dinner, they drive you home despite your protests, and Hizashi insists they walk you up to your apartment. You’re no doubt under the impression that they’re doing it to be gentlemanly, missing the shared looks between the two men as they pass the out of order elevator and tread down hallways with stained carpet and peeling wallpaper, ignoring the leering yellow eyes of your neighbour, peeking out from the crack in the doorway as they bid you goodnight, ‘Zashi squeezing you extra tight.

There’s an uncharacteristic hardness in his husband’s eyes as they both slip back into the car, “No way in hell are we lettin’ her stay here.”

On that at least, there’s no arguments from him.

—

Hizashi, unsurprisingly, is the one to bring it up.

The three of you are grabbing a bite to eat after your first ultrasound. This time, both of them had been insistent on being there, and he’s glad they were. Seeing that grainy image of their baby, hearing it’s heartbeat – strong and steady – had filled him with an emotion he’d never felt before.

It was happiness and excitement and wonder and awe all mixed up and wrapped into a gut punch that stole his breath away, and while Hizashi had burst into a loud fit of tears, burying his face in Shouta’s neck while reaching for your hand, he’d managed to keep his own at bay.

Mostly. 

Regardless, you have little choice but to indulge them when they drag you out to one of the blonde’s favourite restaurants – on the proviso that they had you home in time to get ready for work.

“Songbird, there’s something the two of us have been meanin’ to ask ya.”

You perk up a little, hastily swallowing down your mouthful of food so you can reply, “Oh?”

He wonders if you notice the way your hand already instinctively drifts to your stomach, your barely there baby bump. 

“Why’re ya livin’ in a place like that, sweetheart?” You freeze, the corners of your smile slipping, but Hizashi continues, “Ain’t the money from the agency enough? We know you’re working that other job as well… we just…”

Shouta can physically feel you tensing like a bunny caught in a trap, and he doesn’t know what possesses him to reach out, sliding a hand across the table as you pale, but you take it regardless. 

“Talk to us. Please,” he begs. “We just want to understand what’s going on. You have to realise that it’s not exactly a safe neighbourhood, and it’s not just you we have to worry about anymore.” Dark eyes flicker pointedly towards your stomach. 

It’s a dirty tactic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the truth. Did you realise how much danger you were truly in? Not just from the common street thugs – though frankly he thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle that you’d managed to get this far unscathed – but any number of villains with a grudge against either one of them, or Heroes in general. If they found out a pretty, quirkless thing like you was carrying their baby, how long do you think it would take before they tracked you down and kicked through your door?

Your eyes flicker between the two of them, and you swallow shakily. “I-it’s…” you break off, taking a deep, steadying breath, “It’s all I can afford right now.”

“But, hun, what about–”

“I know,” you say. “The money for the surrogacy isn’t for me. It’s money I owe.”

Neither Hero speaks a word as you talk, telling them about your uncle, the man who raised you, how his business went under a few years back and you both lost almost everything.

Shouta isn’t surprised to find out that your uncle turned to loan sharks when the banks turned him away and threatened to take your house. Alarmed at the man’s blatant stupidity, yes, but not surprised. Your eyes start to water when you tell them about how he died a few months back – a hit and run –  and the visit you were paid only a week later, informing you that your uncle’s debts were now yours, and payment had better come through quick. 

Your hand’s trembling in his by the time you finish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t have any options, I didn’t know how else to get the money, and they said that i-if I didn’t pay up, they-they’d–” a sob catches you unawares, and once again it’s Hizashi who’s out of his seat and at your side in a heartbeat, sliding into the booth beside you, pulling you into a one armed embrace. 

It’s his eyes that you meet, and Shouta understands. He doesn’t need you to explain what threats were made. You were scared, terrified probably, and you had every right to be. 

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you sniffle. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”

Really, he should be furious. Disappointed at the very least. 

“Move in with us,” he says instead, ignoring your sudden, startled intake of breath. “At least until the baby comes.”

He should be, but this works better.

—

It takes a little longer than he’d like to convince you, but the two of them wear you down and a few weeks later Shouta finds himself carting boxes of your things up into the spare room in their apartment.

Despite the fact that you’re pregnant with their baby, you’re terrified of being a burden to the two Heroes, but it’s because of the baby that you eventually relent.

They want to be close, involved. They want to know that you’re safe – and their apartment’s state of the art security system will make sure of that when they’re not home with you. They want to make sure that you’re not exerting yourself, that you’re eating the right things and not running yourself ragged at a job you don’t need, stressing yourself out needlessly and putting the baby at risk.

All of that’s true. 

It’s just not the entire reason. 

At first, he convinces himself that it’s for Hizashi, as well as his own peace of mind, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s the full truth of it. Because of course he wants to keep a close eye on the pregnancy – he knows that this can’t be easy on you. You have no family left, and if you have any friends then they’ve done an excellent job of keeping you at arm's length. 

You have nobody but them, and it does bring him some modicum of peace to know that you’re just down the hall if anything goes wrong. 

Hizashi adores having you there with them, having somebody else to cook for, somebody to come home to at the end of a long day. More than a few times, they’ve both returned from a night of patrolling to find you curled up on the couch, fast asleep with a blanket over your legs and a book slipping from your fingers, having tried, and failed, to wait up from them.

You tune into Mic’s radio show on the nights you can’t sleep, and on the odd mornings that you wake up before either of them, they come downstairs to find bacon sizzling away in the pan, a pot of coffee already brewing. There’s something oddly charming about the way you pout while you pour it for them, knowing you can’t have any yourself.

“You’re a special kind of masochist, ya know?” Hizashi teases, sidling up beside you to grab a cup.

You sigh dejectedly. “I must be,” you reply as he plants a kiss on your cheek and squeezes your side affectionately, but it’s impossible to miss the sparkle in your eyes. You’re happy here, with them. 

Shouta warns you from pushing yourself too much, but even he can notice the apartment’s tidier when they arrive home than when they left, the freshly baked goods sitting on the countertop that weren’t there yesterday.

“I just… I know I can’t pay you back for all of this, I just wanna make myself useful,” you tell him one night when he asks about it. “I still feel like I’m taking advantage of the both of you, staying here…”

“You’re carrying our baby, that’s enough,” he reminds you, his calm, steady voice brooking no disagreement. And yet, as dark eyes study your face, he can tell that it’s not enough for you, so he sighs, and in a quiet voice adds, “We like having you here.”

He likes having you there. Sitting at the dining room table, helping him grade papers, lounging around on their rare days off together – helping Mic set up the nursery, volunteering to go shopping with them for baby stuff. He’s lost count of how many pregnancy books you’ve bought, pouring over them with a fine tooth comb late at night – often falling asleep in the process, leaving him and Hizashi to carry you off to bed with a barely there kiss to your forehead.

You fit between them in a way he hadn’t quite expected. Not a burden, not an interloper, but as if there was always a place carved out for you with them, and it’s only now that they realise that there was something missing to begin with. 

It doesn’t quite click until he finds his thoughts drifting towards you at work, his fingers drumming along the top of his desk so he can stop himself from reaching for his phone. He’s not usually so distracted teaching, and as the hours drag he finds himself glancing towards the clock on the wall, counting down the hours, minutes, until the day is done and they can return home to you.

Shouta can’t pretend for much longer that there isn’t something oddly satisfying watching your belly grow and your breasts swell as your pregnancy goes on. You’re glowing, and soft and beautiful, and he could kid himself and say that it’s just the normal effects of pregnancy, but there’s some part of him that’s strangely proud when your shirt rides up and he catches a glimpse of your baby bump – knowing it’s his child you’re carrying. His and ‘Zashi’s and yours.

And oh, he wishes that it was only pride that burns through his veins at the sight of you, barefoot and pregnant, pottering around the apartment. Hizashi’s the one to hold back your hair and rub your back soothingly when your morning sickness hits, but it’s Shouta who takes care of you when you start complaining about aching muscles and joints.

He tells himself that it’s purely about comfort, namely yours, ignoring the way you flush and stutter when he drags you up the stairs and pushes you gently towards the bed, telling you to lie down on your side. 

It’s just a massage, yet the moment his fingers run along your soft skin and a breathy moan slips from parted lips, the very last vestiges of the facade he’d built up in his head crumble into dust. 

You’re perfection. Bared and beautiful beneath him, making the prettiest noises for him as he works away at your muscles, expertly releasing all of your tension. He’s glad that your eyes are shut and you’re lost to the bliss, you don’t notice the way his breath hitches and becomes rough and heavy, the way his cock twitches in his sweats, blood flowing south as you arc into his touch. 

Such a responsive little thing, aren’t you?

“You’re amazing,” you moan, and though you can’t see that either, Shouta smirks. “Please never stop.”

It’s a good thing he has restraint, because it’s taking absolutely all of his to stop himself from taking more. 

He wants all of you. 

Wants to tease and taste.

Take.

Wants to hear those pretty fucking moans take the shape of his name… Hizashi’s name.

And maybe he might have felt guilty for those perverse thoughts, for the way he wants to tear the rest of your clothes off and fuck you nice and proper, breed you–

If his husband hadn't been standing by the door, watching the two of you for the last ten minutes. Shouta doesn’t need to look to know that it’s not anger or jealousy burning in his gaze.

He knows that his husband’s far from disgusted, knows it from the way Hizashi grabs his wrist on his way back down the hallway, pulling him instead to their bedroom and shoving him back onto the mattress with a wicked grin.

There’s something positively feral in the blonde’s expression as he hovers over him, forcing Shouta back down with a hand splayed across his chest, the other reaching down to his sweats to free his aching, needy cock.

“You’ve been holding out on me, baby,” he sings.

—

They have time.

Your due date is still months away, and you’re comfortable, here with them. 

There’s no reason for you to consider leaving until the baby’s born, and Shouta is adamant about keeping it that way. Hizashi can huff and puff and moan all he likes, he knows that they have to take this thing with you slowly. He won’t risk spooking you and losing any chance they have.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t empathise with the blonde, what with all the affectionate hugs and touches you thoughtlessly bestow, the way you’ll plonk yourself down on the couch between them so they can feel when the baby’s kicking.

Hizashi’s gotten to the stage where he’ll drop to his knees to shower your stomach in kisses when he gets home of an evening before sweeping you up into a hug of your own, his face a mask of perfect innocence when he catches sight of his husband’s less than impressed expression over your shoulder. 

Having you here with them, this little temporary faux family dynamic the three of you have found yourselves in is easy, domestic and nice. It should be enough, but it’s not.

“It’ll be weird, going home after this,” you hum absentmindedly one night.

Preoccupied with the noodles you’re toying with in your bowl, you miss the sharp look shared between both men.

“Whaddya mean, sweetheart?”

If you notice the odd stiffness to the words, you pay it no mind, simply shrugging. “I mean once the baby’s born. I dunno, I think I’ve become too comfortable here freeloading off of the two of you…” you glance up, smiling a little. “Going back to work and finding a place on my own again, starting fresh, it’ll be different, that’s all. Not bad different,” you hasten to clarify at the blonde’s nearly stricken face, “just… different.”

“Well it’s not like we’re gonna be forcing ya out, hun! You’re always welcome to jam with us for as long as you want.”

You shake your head with a rueful little laugh, “We both know I can’t do that. You’ll have the baby to worry about and the last thing I want is to feel like some awkward interloper, always getting in the way – especially after everything you guys have done for me.”

Hizashi’s fingers dig into the meat of his thigh, tightening with every word out of your mouth.

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not saying I’m never going to come around to hang out or anything, but once this baby comes I’m gonna have to figure out what I’m going to do with my life.” Your eyes meet his, wide and hopeful, and Shouta’s reminded once again of just how young you really are. “I can go anywhere, do anything. It’s kind of exciting, don't you think?”

It was a mistake, to think that you’d come around to them on your own. 

You were young and naive, still living out a rose tinted fantasy where the world was your oyster and all you needed to do was reach out and take it. And maybe he’s partially to blame for that, taking your problems and getting rid of them, making you feel safe and comfortable, not realising that that security didn’t extend outside of these four walls, outside of their protection.

They need you, but kitten did you ever stop to think that you need them, too? 

Shouta had made the mistake of forgetting how this all came to be – you hadn’t wanted a family, you were just trying to save your own skin. You still think that you can make it on your own, without them. 

He supposes he shouldn’t blame you for your misplaced idealism, it’s only natural after all. Some people just don’t know what’s best for them.

They need to be shown.

—

You don’t stir as your bedroom door swings open. 

Not as Hizashi pulls back your sheets, groaning softly at the sight of your swollen breasts and precious baby bump, stretching against the confines of your silk pajamas. “Ain’t she a fuckin’ dream, Shou?”

Not as the blonde busies himself in carefully sliding your sleep shorts down your legs, or even as Aizawa gathers up your wrists, pressing a kiss to each one, and binds them to the headboard with his capture weapon.

“Gentle, ‘Zashi,” he murmurs when the blonde crawls up on the bed beside you. “Nothing too rough.”

You wake as long fingers caress your cheek, tilting your face towards him so he can kiss you properly.

Shouta hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, but bathed under the soft glow of moonlight from your window, he watches your eyes flutter open, the momentary confusion that flashes across your face followed by realisation, horror, as you try to jerk back and cry out–

Only Hizashi doesn’t give you the opportunity, winding his hand through your tresses and anchoring you against him, forcing your lips open so that he can deepen the kiss and groaning appreciatively when a terrified whimper escapes you. 

You still haven’t noticed Shouta kneeling on the bed between your legs, too preoccupied by Hizashi’s tongue sliding against yours. “Relax, kitten,” he says, laying his palm on your thigh, letting his thumb glide over the smooth skin.

“Let us take care of our cute ‘lil baby mama, yeah songbird?” Hizashi adds, breaking away from the kiss with a lovesick grin.

Tonight is solely about you. Your pleasure, whether they have to tease it from you willingly or not.

Your tears are kissed away, your broken little pleas swallowed under ‘Zashi’s greedy lips as Shouta shuffles down the bed, nudging your thighs further apart so he can lie between them.

The keening cry that leaves you at the first stroke of his tongue against your warm sex is a thing of beauty.

Blood rushes to his cock as you writhe, and he tightens his grip as much as he dares to keep you locked in place as he delves in again. There’s little finesse to the way that Shouta eats your pussy – it’s a simple study of reactions; the way you gasp and shudder when the tip of his tongue circles your clit, the way your pussy clench and quiver around the muscle when he eases it inside of you, massaging your spongy walls.

Never one to be left out, Hizashi decides that there’s a better use of his attention than just your lips. With your arms bound, he’s not able to take your top off entirely so he settles with yanking it down, freeing your breasts.

“Fuck baby, you’re so pretty. Look atcha!”

Your tits must be tender and aching, because the moment Hizashi’s mouth envelops one of your nipples, sucking at the pert nub, a fresh sob bursts from your lungs and you’re trying desperately to wriggle away.

Hizashi just frowns, breaking away for a second to brush a stray lock of hair back behind your ear, “Ah shit, sorry babe! I’ll be gentle, promise.”

Shouta’s far too preoccupied by the intoxicating taste of your sweet cunt to notice whether he actually does or not, but he trusts him not to push you too far. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

Your baby bump is cute and all, but Shouta wishes that it wasn’t blocking his view of your face – he wants to watch every little expression as he slides two thick fingers into your dripping cunt and your hips buck up to meet him. It’s a twisted kind of pride he feels, pride fused with filthy, maddening pleasure as he pulls a string of choked moans from you with just a few shallow thrusts of his fingers.

His jaw’s slicked with your juices, your cunt sucking his fingers deeper when he turns his attention back to your poor, neglected clit. He can tell that you’re close, not just from the needy whimpers and the way your muscles are tensing beneath him, but the desperate canting of your hips, rocking up against his face even as you beg for relief.

“Shouta, Shouta, please– oh god, please stop, p-please!”

He longs to wrap a fist around his throbbing cock, desperate to help relieve the burning ache deep in his gut as you cum for the first time on his tongue. Or better yet, maybe have Hizashi wrap that perfect mouth of his around his cock and suck him off–

But now’s not the time for him to be greedy. 

Rough fingertips prod at your walls, searching for that hidden little spot that’s gonna make you go wild–

You almost convulse when he finds it, and Shouta can’t help but smirk against your cunt as you tighten and quiver around his digits. With Hizashi playing with your tits, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck, Shouta’s lips wrapped around your clit, tongue flicking at the sensitive pearl as he suckles on it and long, thick fingers driving you to madness with each and every stroke, it’s too much for your poor, pregnant, oversensitive body to handle.

You cum with a strangled shriek, and Shouta almost moans at the flood of juices that gush from your trembling cunt onto his waiting tongue. 

“How’s she taste, baby?” Hizashi asks, green eyes blown wide, his own erection straining against his leather pants. 

Shouta doesn’t waste a beat, pushing himself up with one arm and grabbing his husband’s wrist with the other, yanking him into a fierce kiss – letting him taste your honeyed juices on his tongue.

Fingers tangle in dark locks, tugging him closer, and ‘Zashi lets out a low, throaty groan. It’s rough and eager, a slow burning frenzy that makes the blood in his veins sing with excitement. With their lips still locked, the blonde hastily yanks at the zipper on his pants, freeing the painfully hard member with a tight hiss. 

But when he finally does break for air, it’s not Shouta that he addresses, but you, lying spent, crying and breathless between them, beautiful in your fucked out state.

“You can’t expect to put on a show like that and not get me all worked up, sweet thing,” he coos, taking his flushed, throbbing cock in hand and giving it a few slow, cursory pumps. “I’m gonna fuck ya so good, baby – have you singin’ like a little birdie for me,” his eyes meet Shouta’s, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips. “Nothin’ but the best for our cute ‘lil wife. Whaddya say, songbird? Lemme make you feel all nice and special, yeah?”

[yesimwriting]

Falling Angels

A/n this literally poureddd from me, might be bad bc recently i’ve hated everything i’ve written (my drafts are full lol)

--

Series Summary: Y/n is a rising star in the most famous circus in Ketterdam because of her ability to see the future. Unfortunately for her, Kaz Brekker knows more of her backstory than he should, and he’s willing to use that to his advantage. The one thing he’s not betting on? That he doesn’t know her entire story

Chapter summary: Y/n gets a visitor before getting tricked into the most dangerous show of her life. 

Pairing: SOC x reader, Kaz Brekker x psychic! sunshine-y! reader

Warning: mentions of sexual harassment, slight cursing, near death experience 

--

Enjoy it, because it doesn’t last. That’s what the older girls whisper, mock casualness attempting to disguise bitter undertones as I walk past them. They say this, sharp nails ready to be covered in blood as red as their lipstick, because the pile of gifts from my ‘admirers’ keep coming. Circus hands keep approaching the long vanity in the dressing room tent, tapping me on the shoulder politely to shove cards and bouquets of flowers in my lap. They don’t understand that the praise isn’t because the patrons of our performances find me more beautiful--they’re desperate for my favor. They’re desperate to know their future.

Looking at myself in the mirror, the pageantry of it all has not yet grown old to me. My hair is still in the process of being styled, my stage makeup is half done, and I am not yet coated in that golden shimmer Senia always dusts across my cheeks and shoulders. But I am more enhanced than I normally am, eyes made bright by thick coats of mascara, cupid's bow made prominent by ruby lipstick. The lip look is more daring than I’ve been before, but there can’t be much harm in change. Not when half the women here keep looking at me like I’m the saint of virginity. 

It’s not my fault that the Ringmaster thought an angelic aesthetic would work best for the fortune teller who walks around before the show, reading palms so that people can have their pockets picked. It’s not my fault people want an angel to take the stage and call people down from the audience to get a detailed reading around the crowded circus tent. I don’t pick the costumes, and while I acknowledge that mine shows the least amount of skin, the Ringmaster found a way to dress me as suggestively as possible without ruining the illusion of innocence. 

At least the flowing tulle wings that are stitched into the back of my costume are beautiful. It’s easier when I enjoy the good. 

“Y/n!” The familiar call of Senia. I turn my head, beaming. “You’re a vision, and all of those jealous girls--you can tell them to take their wrinkling faces and--” 

“Seria.” For someone so much like a mother, she often needs to be reminded that not everything needs an aggressive rebuttal. “Think about it from their perspectives--their entire existence is dependent on how sellable they are, how attractive they are to men who only want to use them. If that makes them mad at me because they feel like my youth and novelty is taking from them, then that’s okay.” She raises a fine eyebrow. “I can take a few mean words.” 

Seria purses her lips. “Okay, but I’m just as old and tired and you don’t see me trying to poison you.” 

I roll my eyes. 

“Look, it's our very own saint.” I roll my eyes, Via’s shrill voice piercing through me like an annoying papercut. “And in such a scandalous lip color--has the Ringmaster finally taken you to the ivory tent?” 

Ivory tent. It’s been mentioned to me before and always in jest. “Where he takes me is none of your business, if not being the favorite hurts you so badly ju--” 

She laughs, the sound is pure vile. “Being the favorite is the worst thing you could be in a place like this. You’re shiny and new and soon you’ll be as used as the rest of us--Seria’s use is waning, what happened to her today is proof of that. Soon you’ll have no one to protect you.” 

When she looks at me I see more pain than hatred. “I think we’d get along better if I had it in me to hate you.” 

She raises an eyebrow before shaking a cigarette from a small box into her palm. “You’ll get there, princess.” 

The nickname leaves me burning. There’s nothing more consuming than fire. “You better pray to the real Saints I don’t.” 

via laughs, lifting the cigarette to her lips and lighting it with her abilities. She walks away, turning my threat into that of a child’s. 

“She’s right on two accounts.” Seria hums, “The Ringmaster will kill you if you wear that lipstick and Ketterdam turns people like you into people like me. We could save up, pay off your indenture--get you out.” 

Seria doesn’t need to make sacrifices like that. Not for me. Besides, there’s no leaving Ketterdam for me. Not anymore. “Being like you wouldn’t be a bad thing.” I scratch my arm, see through material wrinkling as a result. “And I can’t--I can’t just leave. I’m a psychic, no Grisha can see the future. I need the facelessness of Ketterdam.” Her lips thin in protest. “And don’t think I didn’t hear what she said about you--what happened to your foot, and what’s in the ivory tent? People keep saying it, whispering it like there’s--” 

“That tent is nothing that will ever concern you. I’ve given you my guidance, and the one thing I ask is that you never ask or go to the ivory tent.” 

I swallow once, the intensity in her eyes leaving me raw. “What if he tells me to?” 

“He won’t.” Seria breathes. “He doesn’t like that for you.” 

This isn’t an argument I can have now, not with two minutes until the show starts. “And your foot?” 

She shrugs, holding up a bandaged ankle. “You get older, your ligaments like the tightrope walk less and less. I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re not tightrope walking like that--” 

“Yes, I am. The Ringmaster doesn’t know and he can’t--if I start giving him performance trouble--you don’t know what happens to the girls who can’t pay off their indenture by performing.” 

I swallow once. “You’ll be careful?” 

“Always,” she grins, “Besides--one day you’ll know enough about tightrope walking to help me on days like this.” 

The last time I trained on the mini-tightrope had proven me to be a disappointment. Still, I smile at her softly. I open my mouth to respond, but a quick tap to my shoulder silences me. 

“Miss,” a circus hand I recognize begins.

I smile politely. “Please leave any gifts on my vanity--” 

“It’s not a gift,” he mumbles, voice taut, “You have visitors.” 

Something solid pushes itself into my chest, wedging itself between my lungs. Have they found me? “I-I don’t take visitors. Not before shows, if someone wants a private reading they’re to go to my tent at the front--” 

“We’re not here for readings or any of the other lies you sell.” 

...Surprising. I let my gaze move from the face of the circus hand and towards the individuals behind him. A man, tall and dressed in business attire--hat and all. His face is all sharp angles and his eyes are emotionless. His leather-gloved hands grip the head of an intricate cane. Next to him is another tall man, dressed a little more casually, with dark curls. Lastly, there’s a girl, with oil-black hair pulled into a sleek ponytail. 

“Then what are you here for?” 

Seria, never one to leave me unattended around strange men, takes a step in front of me. “I know who you are, Dirtyhands, and I know there’s no business you could find with her.” 

What? Dirtyhands? Can people in Ketterdam ever just be normal? 

“I wouldn’t speak so certainly.” I don’t like the way his eyes narrow at Seria or the way his grip on the cane tightens. 

Thoughtlessly, I stick a hand between them, forcing Seria back slightly. “I apologize, she’s protective--always assuming the worst in people. Though considering she called you ‘Dirtyhands’, maybe that’s what you want.” 

Ugh. All I do is ramble when I most definitely shouldn’t. “Want what?” 

Eyebrows drawing together, I force myself to hold his gaze. “For people to assume the worst.” 

The response seems to confuse him. That’s okay--I’ll take anything over aggressive. “The only people I want to assume the worst are those I want to be right.” 

Okay. Dramatic was a fair assumption. 

“Seria.” Oh no. I know that voice. I know that voice too well. “They tell me you're injured.”

Seria stiffens, as does every performer when he addresses them. “Not too injured to perform, sir.” 

The Ringmaster sneers. “I can’t risk you falling and embarrassing me. Perhaps tonight you’ll make your money by spending the entire show in the ivory tent.” 

The way she hardens wrenches my gut. I press my hands to avoid reaching out for her. “I can do the tightrope.” The Ringmaster’s gaze shifts towards me. “I can do it--and I can do it well and I’ll give the profit to Seria.”

He tilts his chin, regarding me in a way a woman should never be regarded. He’s a predator and I’m a lamb that’s lost its way. Still, I hold his gaze. I don’t flinch, even when he moves to brush his knuckles along my cheek. His touch is acid. Pure, burning acid. “The wings I placed on your back are decorative.”

“I don’t need them.” Total bullshit. 

“Hm,” he breathes, letting the smell of alcohol fill the space between us, “I’ll allow it.” The Ringmaster drops his hand to his side. “Wipe that lipstick off your face before someone mistakes you for one of these common whores.” 

How I don’t throw up at the sight of him is a miracle in itself. By some small mercy, he turns and walks away before I have to respond. 

“You’re an idiot--you know you’re not ready for the tightrope.” 

“There’s a net,” I try to keep my voice light, dismissive. She remains tense. “Seria, I had to.” 

“No, you could have--” 

“It’s not fair that you’re always a shield for me. When the opportunity to shield you for once comes, I’ll take it.” Turning before she can protest, I try to walk forward. The stranger places his cane where I intend to walk, intentionally warning me that he decides when our conversation is over. Unfortunately, I used up all my patience with the Ringmaster. “130 kruge.” He raises an eyebrow. “That’s the estimated amount I’ll make tonight, unless I’m late and excluded from the show. Either make up the deficit you’ll be costing me or let me go.” 

His eyebrows draw together, shifting his expression from neutrally calloused to something much darker. “Kaz.” This comes from the girl. She takes a step forward. “Look one step ahead.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Everyone thinks you’re not supposed to look down, but looking up is just as impractical.” She pauses, expression strangely mesmerized, “Look one step ahead--not at your feet.” 

My genuine smile shocks me. “Thank you.” 

“I should be thanking you, Sankta y/n.” Her head bows, hands held together as if in prayer. 

Oh. She’s one of the religious that believes me an actual Saint. “I appreciate the sentiment, but if I was a Saint I’d be able to help people.” No matter what I do, no matter how much blood I offer, I can never help people. “And as you’ve seen--I can’t.” 

--

The crowd’s roaring is a different world to me. On the platform, feet away from the other wooden structure acting as solid ground, everything is different. I am now in a world where the only thing to believe in is a taut rope. The net is beneath me. I’ve seen it--I’ve checked it. 

“And for our grand finale!” The Ringmaster calls, voice billowing over an excited crowd. “Our very own angel defies death!” 

An odd way to phrase the tightrope walk. It’s never called ‘defying death’.  I had been surprised when I was told that tonight the tightrope walk would be the grand finale--I assumed it was because it featured me. I’m always the finale now. I try to move my foot off the platform but it’s planted firmly. No. I need to see Seria--I need to see who I’m doing this for. I force my gaze to the ground, panic rising in my chest. 

Instead of Seria, I see Via--her smirk apparent even from here. Spite’s a decent motivator. My foot descends off the platform, touching the tightrope cautiously. And then I move my other foot. All of me is now on this damn rope. I hadn’t been unforgivably horrible during practice, but I hadn’t been graceful either. 

Don’t look down, don’t look up--only look one step ahead. One step ahead--one step at a time. Balance. I take another step. The room is so silent there’s no doubt in my mind the sound of my bones cracking would be heard from the back row. But there’s the net. There’s always the net. I take a second step. And then a third--eyes focused on only one step ahead. 

And then the phantom of flame comes to claim me. Fire. The world around me is burning. Damning the consequences, I let my gaze fall to the world beneath me. The net--the Ringmaster had an Inferni light the net on fire. Via--that explains the look. 

I can’t fall--the guilt would kill Seria. 

Panic twists my stomach as I continue forward. One step ahead. One step ahead--the flames lick upwards, promising pain and grief all over again. One step ahead. One step--that’s all there is to it. The warmth of the fire calls to me. Burning. Burning--and one more step. This isn’t forever. This isn’t permanent--either way this will soon be over. 

There’s no miracle for me. No good grace, no wings that would let me save myself. There is only balance. 

One step ahead. And then another step. And then I see the other wooden platform. Thank the Saints. I grip the ladder of the platform as quickly as possible. The cheers mean nothing to me as I scurry down the ladder. 

I feel a sharp breeze, a Grisha putting out the flames. Anger pools in my chest as I move towards the exit of the tent. 

“Y/n.” No. Not him again. That man--Kaz, Dirtyhands, whoever he is--needs to go away. “Y/n.” I turn sharply, anger pulsing through me. My expression must be feral, because he stalls. “They didn’t tell you that they were going to burn the net.” 

The fact that he can tell--that he can see my panic and how close I came to death twists my anger into something more fragile. “No.” My posture straightens. “I need to go now, I do--I do readings after shows.”

“Y/n.” He repeats, firmer. 

My nails dig into my palms. “I’m going--” 

“I know what you are.” 

Tensing, my breathing stalls. “What?”

[luvlyrv]

Manage My Feelings | Yeri x Fem!Manager!Reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: You didn’t expect to become a manager for Red Velvet, and you certainly didn’t expect to develop feelings for a certain member.

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: I hope that you find some of the dialogue awfully cheesy lol. I’ll try writing again over the weekend but again, I don’t know how much time I have which is why I’m uploading this now. Enjoy!

Date: 2/3/21

Five girls longue about in a back room, patiently waiting for their turn to perform on stage. The idle chatter between them and some staff was briefly interrupted when Jihoon, one of their managers. opened the door. Jihoon walked in with an unfamiliar girl behind him. They both walked in front of the give girls and stopped.

"Hello, I'm L/N Y/N, nice to meet you all." You say with a polite bow. The girls look up at you with faces full of interest. Jihoon continued to your introduction for you.

"As you know, Minseo left her position as your manager a week ago. Y/N is here to fill in that place and help you with your activities. Please make her feel welcomed." Jihoon says before taking his leave, busy with tasks much more important than welcoming a new manager.

You're left in a room filled with strangers, but luckily the idols in front of you didn't hesitate to introduce themselves, as well as the other staff in the room. You feel a bit dazed by the beauty of the girls. You've never really worked nor kept up with the idol industry before, but now you'll have to be working 24/7 to make sure their schedules are in check.

Judging by the kind smiles they give you though, at least you'll be working with people who wouldn't be a pain. Although you already know their names from the files you were given, you still listen attentively as they introduced yourself. The one that catches your attention most though, is the youngest member. While the rest gave you professional and friendly-enough introductions, Yerim seemed lighthearted and giggly when speaking to you.

The other managers and staff that worked closely with the idol group were mostly friendly as well. You note that some of them don't really care for your presence, or maybe even actively disliked it, but you felt like you could shrug it off considering you've worked with worse. Soon enough though, the girls are called on stage. You would say your time with them was cut short, but you'd be spending most of your day to day life within their presence anyways.

*

*

It's been two months since you started working as a manager for Red Velvet, and it's been tough. You wake up at obscene hours, having only fallen asleep a couple hours before rising again. Most of your time is spent behind the wheel, trying your hardest to drive the members safely while being dead tired. The other part of the time was spent contacting other managers, directors, photographers, brand ambassadors, and more to recheck schedules.

You had very little downtime. To be fair, the girls didn't either. Even during your downtime, many times you had to be there to supervise the girls. You felt bad that neither of you truly had time to yourselves. The time spent together though at least built a sense of trust between all of you. For you, not only was it your job to care for the girls, but it felt like as a friend you had to care for them too. Which was why when you heard quiet sobs through the bathroom door you softly knocked.

"Hey, everything alright in there?" You ask with a voice filled with worry. All you got in response was muffled sniffles.

"Take your time. I'll be out here whenever you wanna talk." You give offer up a chat and without an explicit no you decide to just wait outside. After a couple minutes you hear the soft creak of the door opening. Slowly, you watch as Yerim slips out of the bathroom. Her eyes quickly scan the area and they land on you.

Your eyes softened at the sight of Yerim with puffy and red eyes. You walk towards her and carefully reach out. She doesn't turn away from your touch when your hand rests on your shoulder.

"Is there anything you wanna tell me about? I'm here to listen." Yeri looks down at the floor and leans forward, resting her head on your chest.

"I'm sorry. I just can't handle it sometimes." She mumbles into your chest. Your arms begin to envelop her body as you pull her closer.

"There's nothing you should apologize for." You try to reassure her. "Is it the comments?" You whisper into her ear. She nods and you pat her back.

"I know I shouldn't read them, but they're so easy to spot."

"Hey hey, I know. I don't blame you. It's not like you can close your eyes to everything. It's their fault that they spend so much time trying to hurt you." Your pats become calming strokes. Your heart breaks a little. As much as the girls tried to hide it, the stress from the never-ending scrutiny got to them sometimes. Especially for Yerim who entered the industry so young. You found that despite the fact it had been years since her debut, some would insist that she didn't belong. There were many other instances where people would just criticize her for being herself too.

The two of stay that way for a while. You feel your shirt starting to get wet, but you don't mind. Instead, you stand there for as long as Yerim needed. You knew that sometimes words don't mean much. Sometimes you already know how you should react or handle something, but that didn't take away from the feelings coursing through you. So you let Yerim cry it all out, hoping that it would eventually make her feel better.

After a couple minutes Yerim finally lifted her face. There are glistening streaks on her face and you carefully wipe them away for her with a handkerchief. You give her a small smile.

"I'm sorry." She apologizes to you again. You shake your head at her.

"Don't be." It seems like she's finally able to smile again as she mutters a small thank you. She leaves your hug and tries to recollect herself.

"If you want to, you can go shopping with Sooyoung. I came over because she wanted me to drive her." You say in hopes that the activity would brighten her mood. Although it takes a while for her to think about it she nods her head yes.

"Just give me some time to get ready to head out first."

*

*

As time passes, you feel like Yerim is the member that you're closest to. You're friendly with all of them of course, but it seems like you were there with Yerim the most. Without her knowing it you quickly became her favorite manager too. It wasn't very frequently that they would be assigned a manager so close to their age.

Yerim decides to sit next to you during a staff dinner and you scoot over to give her some space. She's thankful for the dim lighting of the restaurant as she feels her face heating up. She opens her mouth as you feed her without a second thought, letting her try the dishes you ordered. She wonders if it's all in her head, but she feels like you always give a little more attention to doting on her needs.

"Yerim?" Your voice suddenly pierces through her thoughts. She refocuses and looks at you.

"Hm?" She asks, not knowing what you said before. She was too spaced out thinking about you to realize you had been talking to her.

"I was asking if you wanted to wear my jacket. You seem to be freezing." Once again Yerim sees the familiar caring look on your face. She didn't even realize that her body had been shivering under the now blasting air conditioner of the restaurant.

"I don't want you to get cold." She tries to argue with you, but you begin taking off your jacket anyways. You cover her bare shoulders with it.

"I'm more worried about you." You say it with a smile, enjoying the look of Yerim wearing your jacket. You go back to eating your meal and chatting with the other managers as Yerim looks back down at her plate. She smiles, glad that you ended up giving her your jacket anyways. Most of all she enjoyed the soft smell of you that now covered her body.

The night goes on. Everyone was having fun and things were running smoothly up until the alcohol started being set on the table. Considering that the staff dinner was hosted in celebration for their most recent win, you supposed it wasn't a surprise that everyone started drinking. Seulgi and Sooyoung ended up drunk. Meanwhile Joohyun and Seungwan only seemed lightly buzzed, much more aware of their tolerance and unwilling to deal with the aftermath that they'd face tomorrow.

Yerim on the other-hand was much worse for wear. Her head was resting on your shoulder as she mumbled about random things. The rowdiness of the night seemed to finally die down. Some other managers began to help round the girls into the van. With Yerim pressed against you though, you said you'd catch up with them soon as you gently began to lift her up.

She refused to leave her seat at first, stating that her butt felt warm and she didn't wanna leave the soft cushion. After enough budging though you finally got her standing. Although she had trouble and continued to lean on you for balance. Since it took so long to even make Yerim begin to move, everyone else had already cleared.

You drag Yerim along with you as you walk out in the street. The parking lot is a considerable distance away, but you don't mind. You look at your side, appreciating the golden glow casted on Yerim's face by the street lamps. You watch as her eyelashes flutter and then her head moves. She looks at you and a big smile grows on her face.

"You're really pretty, Y/N." She whispers and giggles. Your feet suddenly stop. You had no idea how to respond.

"Is… is that so?" You ask and laugh a bit at the end. There was heat creeping up your neck.

"Yeah. You're the prettiest when you look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm the only person in the world." You're sure you're as red as a tomato now. Your stomach is flooded with butterflies as you stare into Yerim's eyes closely. There's something mischievous with the way she's smirking at you right now. Something sparkling in her eyes.

"Do you like it when I do that?" It's a genuine question. You wonder that with Yerim drunk, she'd say and admit things you weren't sure she would otherwise. She tugs on your arm and makes you turn to face her.

"Yes. I do." Before you can respond she kisses you. The slight taste of alcohol is on her lips as you make contact. You gently push her off of you, not wanting her to have her kiss you when she wasn't thinking the clearest. She gives you a sad look as and whines.

"Do you not like me?" She asks with tears threatening to spew out.

"Of course I do." You smile at her. You raise a hand to caress her redden cheeks and your finger lightly grazes her bottom lip. You opt to kiss her forehead rather than her lips. "I just don't want you to do anything foolish."

You continue escorting Yerim to the van. When you enter, no one questions how clingy she was being.

*

*

It's the morning after. You knock on Yerim's door with a glass of water and some pain medication in your other hand. After a few seconds you hear the sounds of some muffled footsteps before the door was opened. Yerim's head appeared in the small opening she created. She looked at you for a few seconds before leaving the door opened and falling back onto her bed.

You follow after her, closing the door behind you when you enter her room. You bring the glass of water to Yerim's face and she drinks a couple large gulps. You show her the tablets of medicine in your hand and she plucks them off, grabbing the glass and downing it with them.

"Thanks." She says with a slightly scratchy morning voice.

"Mhm." You hum and nod before sitting on the side of her bed. You stare at the furniture that she had around her room before Yerim started speaking again.

"Did I do something last night?"

"You did a lot of things last night." You tease her with vagueness.

"But did I do something I'd regret?" She asks with a scared tone. You stop looking around her room and stare at her instead.

"If liking me and having me like you back is something you'd regret, then yes, you very much did." You say with a smile. Yerim quickly looks away from you before taking a deep breath in and out.

"Did I try kissing you?"

"You did, but I'd rather kiss you when you know that you're kissing me. Like this." You lean over to her and gently grab her face, pulling it towards you. "May I?" Yerim nods.

You kiss her, and you'd like to consider it your true first kiss together. You feel her lips tugging up into a smile before you pull away. You knew things would be hard. With Yerim being an idol and you as her manager. When you look at Yerim's face brimming with happiness though, you can't help but to think that it'd be worth it to try.

[evildeadgf]

coffee & tv.

Gabriel Enjolras never necessarily believed in miracles, no, but what else could explain what would eventually lead him to her? Perhaps he had let Jehan's preachings of "no coincidences" force itself within the boundaries of his well established skepticism, like an invasive thought, intruding into the high walls of his crumbling kingdom. Whatever the case - miracle, fate, coincidence; Éponine had come into Enjolras' life when he had needed it most, and for that, he was grateful, grateful to whatever had crossed their paths.

Seated towards the back of the tiny yet comfortable and cozy club that was neatly hidden away in its obscurity from the public, Enjolras dragged a hand over his face, tired, looking over the documents on his laptop. Prouvaire hollered loudly next to him as they welcomed the next musician to the little stage, causing the exhausted golden boy to look up towards the commotion. A woman with an acoustic guitar was approaching the mic-stand, a sheepish dimpled smile growing on her face. She coughed, brushed a stray hair out of her face before introducing herself and looked out toward the crowd. "Thanks for that." There was a laugh in her voice. Something probably to do with nerves, Enjolras thought to himself. He'd definitely be nervous if someone were to place him front of a crowd where they most definitely expected you to have the voice of a god or goddess, or anything in-between. Lecturing to hundreds of students? Sure, he was capable. Singing? He'd rather opt out of that one, only the trusty shower knew how he sounded in that regard.

"Name's Éponine, hope you're all enjoying your night. Here's a little something I wrote." With that, the woman with the dimpled smile filled the club with her music; a voice escaping her that made even Enjolras blink to himself, she sounded professional, the likes of which you'd hear on the radio. What was someone with a talent such as that doing in a club that was hidden, known to only hipsters like Jehan? He shook his head and focused back on his work, letting the girl's voice become a lullaby of sorts; it was definitely relaxing, he'd be lying if he were to say it wasn't, his shoulders weren't so tense as they'd been before, and the wrinkled lines on his forehead probably had calmed some. When the song had finished, he looked up toward her again, a half-smile unknowingly pulling at his lips. Éponine smiled at the patrons, looking specifically toward her - he noticed - at a bug eyed blonde who whistled for the singer, and a brunette, small, clapping with the glee of someone who looked as if they still held a childlike view of the world, he was good at picking up these things. He clapped along with them, looking directly at the musician again, she awkwardly stood there for a moment before grabbing her guitar case and rushing off stage, making way for the next.

Little did Enjolras know, that this would become a new routine - get a coffee after work, sit with Jehan at the back of the club, and listen to her whenever she came in. This was solely for finishing work with a clear mind, obviously, there was absolutely no other reasons whatsoever, you'd be mad to even suggest as much. Two weeks into the routine, Éponine looked toward him and Jehan after her song was over, a sort of glint in her eye, and for someone such as Enjolras, who mastered at reading others like a book; he couldn't discern that look in her eye. With a cough, he had broken the stare, looking over the finished exams of his students. Jehan coughed back at him, earning a roll of the eyes from Enjolras. "Would you mind?" Enjolras quipped at the poet, which gave him a nudge of Jehan's arm to his own. "What're you doing right now, Prouvaire? I'm trying to work. I come here with you to work, I could do this at home just as easily." Jehan was now the one to roll his eyes at him, gesturing over to the three women; Éponine and her two friends. Enjolras feigned clueless for a moment, putting on a portrayal as if he had no idea as to why Jehan was not so subtly looking over at the three with the giddiness akin to a schoolboy.

"Don't play dumb with me, Enjolras. You like when that woman sings. You clap! You look to her in awe! It's almost like something out of a play. Romantic, no?" Enjolras simply deadpanned at him in response, letting out a sigh. "Ah, who am I kidding, hm? You know nothing of romance." A grin played out on Jehan's face as he took another sip from his latte, and Enjolras merely furrowed his brows at the man, not wanting a moment of this. Nothing could have prepared him for what was about to unfold, however, as Jehan rose from his seat, walking over to the three women in question. That smug asshole. The entire world could probably see the pure look of horror on Enjolras' face. "Enjolras!" Jehan called out, "Come over, say hi!" He sat with the ladies as if he knew them, and the realisation of the fact he most likely did crashed over him in waves. With the looks aimed toward him, he swallowed up his pride and quickly zipped up his laptop inside the case with a force that was a tad bit too strong, making his way other to the table - a routine that was comfortable for him had suddenly become a nightmare. "Here he is. This my friend with the stick up his arse that I've all been telling you about. 'Ponine, Cosette, Azelma - meet Gabriel Enjolras, he doesn't interact with women all that much; so apologies on his behalf." The small brunette barked with laughter at Jehan's remark, Éponine looking over to her with raised brows and a smile whereas the blonde greeted him with a quiet 'hello', much appreciated over roaring laughter.

Éponine looked away from the small one and directly toward him instead, "Azelma can be a bit loud, sorry about that." No kidding, but for the sake of politeness, Enjolras simply brushed it off and told her that it was okay before he formally introduced himself, noticing now that Jehan was chattering away with Azelma and Cosette, leaving him to speak to the singer alone. He clung to his laptop almost as if for dear life. "You've been here a lot these past few weeks with Jehan and never once stopped by to say hi, you always leave early. Now what's up with that?" There was that glint in her eyes that he didn't know how to place again, he felt heat building up in his throat - that was one way to be confrontational, he thought, and not to mention more observing than he had originally thought her to be. He had no clue that she had even retained knowledge of his existence outside of this little hole in the wall coffee club, in a rare turn of events he supposed he had now become the oblivious one. What two weeks could do to someone. Éponine rested her head against her hand, elbow propped up against the table, doe eyes staring up at him.

She reminded him of both a kitten and pup, mixed into one person, how was that even remotely possible? He had never made that distinction about a person before, new experiences seemed to be happening all around; what a world. He couldn't help but groan quietly to himself, his thumb unconsciously rubbing at a tear-duct before clinging to his laptop again, he suddenly had no idea what to do his hands nor himself. "I don't know if one could count the early morning hours as early, per se. I think of anything after midnight as 'it's time to go to bed', but that has definitely not stopped me before from working until five in the morning." A perfect brow perked up at him, a cheeky sort of smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. At the back of his mind, deep down in there (you'd need to go very deep before coming back with this fleeting thought) he couldn't help but think of her many facial expressions to be cute and, well, attractive. It would be a blatant lie to not admit to himself that Éponine was attractive, that much was very obvious to anyone who was blessed with vision.

"Five in the morning! Far out. How do you cope? I mean yeah, I've absolutely stayed up past my schedule once or twice playing The Sims because, c'mon, that's honest work when you've got a whole family who works to earn that bread and butter, and the hours just fly by and then what d'ya know? It's accidentally almost six, not PM, but AM." She had him laughing, genuinely laughing, and it's so foreign that it surprises him before he'd caught himself. Jehan was in too deep with the two girls to even notice what had just transpired. Enjolras couldn't remember the last time he had let himself unwind like this, to properly relax and take his seemingly always busy mind away from his work - to laugh, to smile, to integrate himself with new people. It was a good, welcoming feeling - warm, rather.

The pair who had been left alone to their own devices had ended up speaking to one another for a long while; Enjolras had learned rather quickly that Éponine would die of embarrassment if she were to busk; she already had a day job, there was no need for anything else - in her own words, busking reminded her too much of her father, and that was that, she wouldn't delve too deep into that topic, and Enjolras was understanding, the last thing he wanted was to prod into places where he had absolutely no business in the first place. He learned that the small brunette, Azelma, was her younger sister, who currently lived with her in her apartment temporarily until Azelma could get back onto her feet and land a new job. It was apparent that she and her family were not well off, which saddened him some, but she was a woman of determination, and stern, at that, he didn't need to ask her to know that she didn't want help from anyone that was well off. It wasn't as if Enjolras was a billionaire himself, though he had a steady income and a roof over his head that he could pay the rent for, and that was more than you could say for the less fortunate. At fifteen minutes past two, the group said goodbye to one another, and Éponine forced his phone into her hands, putting her details into his contacts. "Don't be a stranger."

And he would prove to her that he certainly wouldn't be. He couldn't help but message her during the week days, asking her how she was, what she was up to, the early pleasantries. Three months had gone by, and during those three months, there was a point where Éponine, as Jehan would say 'ghosted' him for a week because of a disagreement they had over a phone call; it had been over something minuscule, yet she would not double down, and it had infuriated him to no end. She was sarcastic, stubborn (just as much as he was) and loved to correct him whenever he was "wrong" about something, and yet, there was something about her that had him coming back. He had been genuinely upset when he had been 'ghosted', and reacted by not showing up to the coffee club that weekend, which had been a stupid move on his part. After work that following day, he would go see her at her day job, working at a clothing retail store, with a bag of her favourite things - a very specific brand of chocolate and a bottle of cheap rosé (which she would constantly say outshone any other type). She had almost choked upon seeing him walk into the store, that dimpled smile he had missed gracing her face upon digging into the bag. "Wow, what's this? My birthday?" She had scoffed in disbelief, shaking her head. "But in all seriousness, thank you, Gabriel. You didn't need to do this for me, you know how I get sometimes. I was gonna say something, reach out and say sorry for how bratty I was being but, hey, I s'pose I'll just take this instead." With another smile, she had thrown her arms around him in an embrace for the very first time, and he went home thinking about it until he had went to sleep that night.

He had no interest in any sort of romantic relationship, always deeming himself too busy for them, much to the dismay of his family. No one had caught his eye nor interested him, and he had been fine with that up until Éponine had become this force in his life to reckoned with. It was pathetic how long he thought about that hug for, about how nice it was to be entangled with her in such a manner, about how comfortable it was, about how warm she felt, about how much she smiled afterward. It was thought after thought after thought, and they were definitely not going to let up. Five months now of knowing Éponine and she had him completely wrapped around her finger, he would go so far as to even message her during his breaks after lectures, it was becoming a bit too much to the point where he knew she ought to have realised something. Everyone that knew Enjolras prior to meeting Éponine knew, he was perfectly aware, and they chose to say nothing, because they knew he knew, even the loudmouth Grantaire, of all people, had not harassed him about this. This was suffocating, suffocating up until that six month point where he was there with her at the club after her performance, he completely broke and had blurted out to her, "Do you want to have dinner with me on Friday evening?" She let out a breath in return, deep dimples with that beautiful, breathtaking smile.

"Who do you take me for, Gabriel Enjolras?"

That Friday evening, they enjoyed a night in his apartment with Chinese takeaway and movies; sure, it wasn't anything fancy, but Éponine had wanted this, and who was he to refuse her? At some point in the night, she had rested her temple against his shoulder, getting comfortable, and he was suddenly very hyper-aware of the fact that Éponine Thénardier was in a close proximity to him, leaning on him, his heart almost skipping a beat when her hand began to rest atop his knee. He seemed to be frozen in that moment, he knew what she was doing; she was making the first move, and yet he sat there like a marble statue, unsure of what to do with the beautiful woman that was currently getting comfortable on his couch. His palms surely sweating, he reached out to place his hand over hers, locking their fingers together. He swallowed harshly, heart racing. This was it, he had to admit to himself how he felt, that he was absolutely head over heels for Éponine in the most uncharacteristic fashion. In response to their entwined fingers, she only got more comfortable, a dreamlike sigh escaping her.

Without thinking, he kissed the top of her head, heat engulfing his whole form, his face burning. Éponine broke their hold, and just like that, her lips were pressed against his, the coldness of her palm resting against his cheek greatly appreciated in that moment. Embarrassingly enough, he had no recollection of the last time he had kissed someone, but hopefully for her sake, he had not become an awful kisser in the time he had for the lack of a better word, abstained from the act of doing so, though he did return her kiss with the same sort of vigor, an arm wrapping around her waist. He was nervous, probably messy - but she didn't seem to care, smiling and giggling to herself more times than he could count on one hand during their shared moment of passion. When they finally parted, Éponine merely looked up at him with that cheeky catlike grin on her face that he couldn't help but adore. "God, you have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

He could most definitely say the same.

[imaginesandideas]

I’m in love with my funster

a collection of snippets from your life with Roger

I did it! Here’s my gift for all of my lovely 1.3k followers and for sticking with me throughout this hell of a year. Hope you’ll enjoy, cheers! 🥂✨

it’s the last monday of the decade yay!!

writer’s note: read as separate stories or following chapters

~~~~~

“How was it!?” You jumped on the seat beside Roger, successfully scaring him shitless.

“Christ! You want me dead, huh?”

“Oh please. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t have asked first.” You cheerfully exclaim while making yourself comfortable on a couch next to him. It’s the middle of the week and your dear friend of many years prior has just gotten back from a set-up date. Of course you’ve arranged it since he wouldn’t stop whining about how he longs for something more real than hookups he’s been having on the regular. And now you’re more than keen on hearing all the details.

“So?”

“So?”

“Stop mocking me Taylor! How was the date?!” You jump in your seat excitedly and he just stares at you with that doe-eyed puppy look on his face. If he only looked like that at that girl... she’d be his in a matter of seconds.

“Well, not great you know...”

“Ow.”

“Yeah. I mean, uh, she’s a fine looking lady, not stupid either. ‘S just that, y’know... I didn’t feel anything special.”

You inch closer to pat his back comfortingly. He’s your mate after all, you were really rooting for him.

“I’m sorry Rog. I’m sure-“

“There’s that other one though.” He doesn’t even sound upset and you barely can keep up with his changing spirit.

“Well okay then. Do I know her?”

“Partially. But I’m pretty sure you’ve heard a lot about her. I need to get her to come with me to that Italian spot they just opened around the corner.”

“Yes Roger! You already think like a romantic!” You nod enthusiastically but his eyes are so different. They’re hooded like he’s already planned something evil and you know you won’t be able to stop him if he actually did. 

And he keeps smiling sweetly. His whole aura is so bizarre. Like he’s an angel or a serial killer, that you can’t quite decide yet.

“What’s that look, huh? You need me to help you out with it or something?”

To your own surprise he laughs.

“Actually - yes. I mean, there’s no way a girl like you would agree on a date with me, so... maybe a tip or a trick for forcing her to go out with me would be nice.”

A girl like you. You shake you head and start thinking of ideas. But it’s really hard to focus with those dreamy eyes following your every movement.

And did he just compare a girl of his dreams to you?

“Okay, so maybe- no that’s bad. Hm...” You sit back with your arms crossed over your chest and he replicates it. Only he cannot seem to wash that look off his face. “Maybe tell her to give you that one shot y’know? And promise to fuck off later if she’s still not interested?”

“Would you give me that shot?”

“Yeah I guess? We’re friends anyway, so I couldn’t be mad at you forever if it turned out terrible.”

“Deal.” He sits up suddenly and before you can even react his lips are gently pressed to yours. When he pulls back your face is a mix of shock and perplexity. “See you at 6 tomorrow aye? Just dress nicely love. It’s our first date.”

 And he was gone. Before you could blink he was out the door, happy as a clam. It was adorable. And suddenly you’re left with the realisation that you’ve managed to miss all signs that he’s been sending your way for years, and that you’re set for a date that you don’t have an outfit for.

~~~~~

“Can’t we just cancel it?” Roger pleaded in between kisses he placed adoringly on the exposed skin of your plunging neckline. His hands running down your sides to change direction on your thighs, exploring underneath the material of your dress.

“Roger, they’re... a-already on the way.” You gasped out, encouragingly.

“What was that?”

“Huh?” you opened your eyes to meet his blue ones, so close you could note all the slightest shades of grey in them. And his brash expression.

“You don’t really want them to come now, do ya?”

Rolling your eyes and huffing ever so slightly, you gripped his forearms in attempt to push him away enough to roll off the couch, but he sensed your plans and laid on top of you, trapping your body under his own.

“Rog.”

“Oh don’t get upset on me now! What can I do? You look blinding today love, can’t help but wish they weren’t coming.” He was grinning, lewd gaze wandering down your throat, followed by trace of index finger. You let yourself sink back into comfort of the couch, let his worshipping eyes and fingers work their magic. You were soaked in a matter of seconds and that thin fabric between your legs was not enough to cover it up. Just like your dress was not enough to cover your decency as Roger dived in lifting the material to attack your thighs with his perfect teeth. And you could feel his swift, calloused fingers climbing up, building up the tension that begged to be relieved. So wrong, so inappropriate.

“Oh for fucks sake!”

“Shit! They’re here!” You whisper-yelled sitting up rapidly. The knocking intensifies with each passing second which only made Roger groan in frustration.

“Can we hide? Act like we’re not at home or something?”

“Oh Rogie.” You roll your eyes and gently push him off you and he lands on his back between the pillows, completely resigned. And visibly flustered.

Was it your fault? Yes. But you just couldn’t help the perfect opportunity and now it came around the corner and right to your doormat. Quite literally.

You were at the door in a blink of an eye, passing by a mirror to fix your disheveled hair and adjust the hem of your dress that rode up far too high to be considered presentable. Just mere seconds before, you were having a heated makeout on a couch, hands desperately seeking skin to skin contact. And now?

“Get up blondie! The quicker we wrap this visit up, the quicker we get to finish what we started.” He only responded with another muffled groan.

“I got rid of my panties if that changes anything for you.”

~~~~~

“I don’t understand why would you put so much milk there.” You glance up from your mug frowning.

“Why do you care? It’s my coffee not yours.”

Roger rolls his eyes leaning back in the armchair and folding back that newspaper he’s been passionately reading for the past hour.

“Yeah but what’s the point of espresso when you add so much milk to it?”

You chuckle and place the mug on coffee table that separates his armchair from the comfort of sofa you’re sitting on.

“First - it’s not so much. It’s cappuccino and it’s supposed to have milk in it.” You reach for blanket on the other corner of the sofa and continue your point. “Second - you drink way too much black coffee and I’m pretty sure it affects your moods.”

He sniggers at your exclamation and sits up straight. You know you just struck a nerve.

“I beg you pardon, love? I need it to function alright. Morning coffee, pack of cigarettes and newspaper is a inseparable set. It keeps my mind bright.”

You sigh tucking yourself under the duvet. There is no point in continuing the argument, but you know Roger’s restless nature will make him do that nevertheless. You gaze up to his awaiting your comment expression and even more antsy demeanour. His brows has ridden up ever so slightly, as if to signalise that he’s expecting some sort of snarky remark coming from you. Only you weren’t in the mood to fight so you just shrug instead reaching for the book you brought yourself to catch up on.

“That’s it? You’re not going to fight me on this? Prove your poor excuse for a point?”

“These are your habits not mine, I’m not about to throw a tantrum over your own life choices.”

“Y-you what?” If you’d dare to look up from your book you’d be able to see mouth-agape shock turning quickly into a deep frown topped with his brows and wrinkles forming a combination of waves. “What, now you don’t care about m-my life choices?”

“Not a bit.”

“Wow.”

“What?” Fed up you finally turn your head up and he’s up, arms at sides.

“You have someone else, don’t you?”

“Oh god. Roger Meddows Taylor, you’re really overdosing caffeine...”

~~~~~

“Roger what the fuck!”

“Surprise?” You were supposed to meet him at the airport. Regular welcome-home hugs and all that before you two would head home, eager to finally spend some time together. Yeah. Only Roger didn’t leave for tour this time, and knowing his bandmates you were about to spend the rest of the day hearing stories about all the dumb shit they’ve gotten themselves into.

You weren’t angry at Rog, they were his best friends after all. Only you couldn’t help but get that tingling feeling at the back of your head that one day they’re going to get themselves into some sort trouble. But in your most inventive dreams you did not expect this.

Your hands mindlessly reach out to touch the top of his head, expression depicting various stages of shock you were currently going through.

“You like it?”

“Wha-I, oh god. What were you thinking?!” You cannot help the bugging of your eyes as your fingers could barely hold the strands of hair you once could tug at so deliciously. The smooth, luscious golden waves were gone and instead you were met with much shorter, mullet-like rather irritating haircut. You survived the sideburns, you survived occasional wigs for gigs (and giggles). But this? This was too much. Now he almost looked like every other guy you’d see on the street these days. Almost. “Can you at least explain why?”

He sighs and pulls you closer by your hips, palms coming to rest above the curve of your ass. But you’re more than determined to receive a reasonable explanation, so you build a visible barrier with your arms crossed over your chest and brow raised expectantly.

“Can we discuss it later love? We’re in the middle of the airport.”

“What did you do?”

“_____, love-“

“Rog what was it?”

He sighs, his hands coming up to rub circles around his eye sockets. And you’re waiting. Impatiently waiting and observing how his skin is becoming increasingly red with each passing second. He’s embarrassed and it only makes the rate of your anxiety rise. And now there’s a small smile forming underneath the shadow his hands are providing. You don’t even know if you should be worried or maybe just as red as him.

“Are you going to tell me or-“

“There was a bet.” You’re being immediately shut up with his sudden response, the one you should’ve expected all along. He stretches his arms up and behind himself, and you hate yourself for losing your focus for a moment. Those arms have always been a huge distraction for you. His lips tighten to form a fine line curved around the corners. He’s fucking proud of himself isn’t he.

“And?” You blurt out as nonchalantly as possible, in a way trying to cover your chocked up swallow. You don’t need to let him know what he does to you just yet. Though he probably knows the tiniest details of your non-verbal expressions by now.

“I lost.”

“What a surprise.”

“Yeah.”

Somehow you can’t miss the feeling that you’re playing some sort of game for everyone to see. Cause if one would squint their eyes enough, they could notice the light heaving of your chest, the blush on his collarbone from beneath his shirt, the impatient dancing of his fingers against his thigh as he forces himself not to pull you into him roughly and devour your exasperation then and there.

From afar it looks almost silly, like horny teenagers who have lost their tongues and would rather have them tangled instead. Funny how despite the unexpected haircut you hated so much, he still has you by the collar. As if nothing could ruin him for you.

“Well, what was the bet about then?” You exclaim reaching for one of his bags - the small one, since you know he keeps the heavier stuff in the suitcase. Your eyes are bright as you look at him, the glint quite unmistakable.

His cheeks seem to glow as his grin widens and it’s the kind of smile you only see when he’s nervous or excited. Also when he’s worn out and panting next to you, but that’s a different story and your own cheeks heat up at the thought.

“Well... They teased me a lot about how I get letters and calls from you all the time.”

“Men.” You roll your eyes and he chuckles. His hands find their way back to your waist before he continues with a long intake of air.

“Aaand, umm, there was a bet that: since it’s a mates-only kind of trip, we shouldn’t contact our partners so much. And the rule was that if someone gets a letter, or a telegram, you have to read it out loud-“

“Oh fuck.”

“- or, there would be consequences.” Your mind is sweeping through dozens of things you wrote to him last week and suddenly you remember that one time you were oh so incredibly horny and slid into the envelope not only some not so subtle hints, but also some rather interesting pics you spontaneously took with your polaroid. Putting the two together was relatively easy. You gaze up at him shaking your head but he only clamps his lips and nods.

“I believe you didn’t read them, right? That’s why your hair is shorter?” He inhaled sharply.

“At first I read all of them-“

“Until when?”

“- until you started adding those pictures.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Cause there’s no way I would let them know how filthy my babygirl is.” He exclaims quietly, holding your chin up between his fingers to make you look at him. His lips almost touch your earlobe when he whispers “You can only make me hard like this, and nobody else.”

And maybe, just maybe, you could eventually love that haircut. Because you already love that entire head of passion, talent and wit. And some other things too...

~~~~~

“This is ridiculous. I’m not going out in this.”

“Come on Roger. It’s just for the video, right?”

“I’m not a bloody clown!”

He turned around from the mirror, hands on hips and discontent written all over his features.

If not for his grimace of disapproval he looked almost cute with those puffy sleeves.

White, smoothly folded furbelow reflected the light, slightly illuminating his cheeks. The doublet was beautiful, perfected in every detail, from silvery threads, through patchwork-like design combined with finest materials, to white enlarged cuffs. He looked... amusing to say the least. Not in a bad way, contrary to Roger’s personal opinion.

With perfectly curled, fluffy hair and what seemed like tons of hairspray he looked quite strutting.

“Stop looking me up and down _____.”

“But it suits you!”

“Don’t be silly.”

“I love your hair.” You say as your fingers gently brush the strands of hair above his forehead. Your fingers gently point at his cheek. “And that little pattern you’ve got there. Matches the shirt.”

You’re so focused on fixing the material on his chest that you miss that glint in his eyes.

“Oh, you really like it, don’t you.”

“What?” You look up and he smirks.

“Come on love, you’ve been checking me out all day. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

Crimson blush creeps up on your cheeks but before you’re able to respond you’re being interrupted by assistant director telling Roger to join the rest on the set.

Once the door is closed again he turns around with a huff.

“I guess you gotta go like this anyway.” You step closer and wrap your arms around his waist, not wanting to ruin the flounce around the neck. “It’ll be over before you even know it.”

“You’re probably right darling. And then I’m taking you, Mrs. Taylor, out for a fancy dinner.” He points out at you before leaning down to plant a quick kiss on your forehead.

“We’re celebrating something?”

You call out after him as he nears the door. He smiles.

“What? Can’t I, the most stupid looking drummer in the world, just randomly celebrate my amazing life with the love of my life?” You roll your eyes playfully but send him a flying kiss nonetheless. “And I’ll need a lot of drinks after this shitshow. I swear, this is going to be the most stupid music video ever made.”

“Okay okay, Mr. Rockstar. Just go! They need you.”

“Not more than I need you.” Roger teases, already standing at the doorstep. And that’s when you spot something that doesn’t feel right.

“Wait!” You call out and he pops his head back around the door.

“Yes love?”

“What about the shoes?”

“The shoes?”

“Your sneakers. Aren’t you supposed to wear something more... matching?”

„Oh fuck that! I’ve already sacrificed my sense of style today. They won’t take my sneakers too!”

taglist: @rogersdrumkit @rogersfalsettos  @cyborgfromthesupermarket @sabbrriiinnaa @wolverinesbeer r @simplyvictoria-93 @laubluered @ceruleanrainblues @shae-is-not-ok @i-am-sarah @imamazzellhoe @shishterfackisback @rockyroadthepastryarchy @tanya-is-dead @twistingrealityagain (and also @jennyggggrrr​ @juliarvra bc they were the ones to motivate me to finish these :’))

[bates--boy]

After being whisked away from the humdrum of post-performance celebration, Peter and his mentor and co-actor took a drive. He took the time to try to center himself, draw in the feeling of bliss and lift. He couldn't tone down the elation, but at least his hands stopped shaking and the tingling in his fingers and toes had cease. It helped to babble at 150 miles per hour how incredible he felt, how Naseem was right, how the gum trick really helped; bless Naseem for his patient ear and even his reciprocated joy.

          They arrived to a tucked-away diner, approaching a large table just as the occupants were finishing up the minimalistic (cheap) party decoration. Red and blue crepe streamers looped in a swirl and taped to the edges of the table and draped on the backs of the chairs; a plastic gold ice bucket, dotted with clear rhinestones and containing ice and a bottle of wine, sitting in the center, and gold and silver balloons tied to the corners of the chairs. And they must have, somehow, convinced or bribed the diner owner to let them hang from the ceiling a shimmering golden banner that said in swoops of black lettering: “Grattis till samlag”, crossing out “samlag” with “musikalisk”. Naseem’s belly-deep laugh after spotting the banner drew the attention of the partiers and everyone at the table paused in their decorating to clap and cheer. 

          One of the attendees leapt into Naseem’s arms, throwing her arms around his neck, careful to keep the single rose in her hand from tangling in his locs. Peter looked away with an awkward grin, rubbing his neck as the two shared a deep kiss right next to him. 

           “Congratulations, Naz! You were wonderful,” the woman said with a soft exuberance.

          :”Thank you, baby,” Naseem replied with the same loving softness. Then, patting Peter’s shoulder, Naseem said to everyone at the table, “Everyone, this is my co-actor and rapping student, Peter. Peter, this is my wife, Ashira, and my friends, Tarsha, Adel, and --”

          “Oh, my god!” Peter clapped and then pointed. “Oh, my god, oh, my go, you’re friends with Mic Droppa!” 

            Mickey Mic Droppa, who Peter struggled to recognize for a full minute without the dimmed lights of the boxing ring and the blinding shine of the boxing boots, gave a one-shoulder shrug and awkward grin. “Eh, I usually go by Mike off the stage. But, ah, nice to meetcha.”

          “It’s so cool to meet you!” Peter practically flew to Mike, taking the man’s hand and shaking vigorously. “Ever since Naseem took me to one of the rap battles, I’ve been listening to all of your music! You’re incredible, man!”

          Mike’s smile stretched even wider, under his increasingly reddened face. Peter could hear Ashira coo behind him, “Awww, Mike’s got his own fanboy from hell.”

          “With stars in his eyes, too,” Tarsha giggled.

          “Okay, Peter, let’s chill,” Naseem said as he patted Peter’s back and had him take a seat. Everyone else followed suit once the decorations were set, and Adel set to opening the wine. He passed out the filled glasses, and Naseem raised his. “To you guys, for coming to see us. For all of this, really. If it weren’t for your support throughout, I wouldn’t have pursued this.”

          “We wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Ashira said, snuggling in Naseem’s arm and taking a sip from the glass. 

         Naseem looked at her with a cocked brow. “All that aside: should you be drinking that?”

           Ashira nestled her head in the crook of Naseem’s neck. “Don’t worry, I pumped before I left.” She looked past Naseem’s neck to Peter. “Hey, Peter, right? You order whatever you want. We’ll foot the bill.”

          Peter blinked, broken out of his concentration of trying to stargazing at Mike from over the wine glass without being too obvious. “Really? Ah...” He put the glass down on the table with a small shake of his head. “Naaah, that’s okay, I can pay for myself. Heck, you guys did so much already, I can pay for you!”

          “Oh, shut up and order something so we can pay,” Naseem scoffed humorously. He gave Peter’s ankle a swift nudge with his foot. “And order an actual meal, not something that’s basically sugar.”

          “Why are you trying to restrict a grown ass man’s diet?” Ashira teased. 

          “You have not seen how this boy can pack away half a cake,” Naseem replied, picking up his menu.

          “It was not half a cake!” Peter protested. “It was a quarter, at the most, and I missed lunch that day!”

          Naseem gaped at him. “A quarter of a sheet cake.”

         Peter pouted and picked up his menu. “Shut up,” he grumbled, his chuckling afterwards muffled as he buried his face in the laminated menu.

          Their server came over to their table, taking everyone’s orders and switching out the empty wine bottle for a full one, though Ashira ordered a sparkling raspberry water. Adel was already at work popping the cork off that one, while they caught up with each other with Peter nursing his water and listening. Tarsha’s finally breaking even with her graphic design freelance and getting cheapskate clients to pay up, and Adel’s dissertation on Sámi and West African literature being published in an academic journal of literary studies. (Peter wanted to chirp in how his father reads the journal that Adel will be featured in, but he was too engrossed in these personal lives to bother). And Mike, who did not look like the type of person to work as a librarian, surprised Peter when he shared that he was offered a director position for two branches.

          “Why wouldn’t you take it?” Ashira asked after a brief pause. “This is exactly what you need to get your crazy-ass ex off your back, right?”

          “Yeah, but...” Mike shrugged. He lazed back in his chair and watched his dark wine lap around the inside as he swirled his glass. “It isn’t really something I see myself doing for a long time, you know?”

          “And I guess,” Ashira replied, taking on an edge to her tone that had Naseem clearing his throat and even Peter busying himself with rubbing his thumb along the rim of his glass, “your long-term career is building up your music channel career?”

          Mike looked right into Ashira’s eyes and said a simple, “Yep.” And upon seeing whatever brimmed beneath Ashira’s cool façade, Mike quickly turned his attention to their guest, fixing Peter with an easy and inquisitive smile. “So, Peter, Naseem said you’re his rapping student. How’re the lessons going for you?”

        “Oh, they’re going really well!” Peter said. “He’s been helping me with my delivery and technique and pretty much everything. Guy’s even giving me homework, if you’d believe it!”

         Mike nodded. “Yeeeeah, that sound about right.”

        “But they’re working though,” Naseem added in. 

         “True,” Peter agreed. He took a sip of his water and clinked the remaining ice around. “And they’re fun. Even if there’s a big possibility I won’t get Josef’s role.”

          “Awww,” Adel said. 

         Peter bobbed a shoulder and stared into the glass, half his mind hoping that the tiny black fleck he saw stuck to an ice cube wasn’t a fly. “Eh, it’s fine. The guy playing Josef, Oda, he does the role and songs really well.”

          “That he does,” Mike said. “But I still would like to see what you’ve learned so far.” He fell silent, still watching his drink swirl about, eyebrows knitting together as he turned a thought over and over in his mind. “...Hm, you know what? If you don’t get to play Josef, then maybe you can show what you got at a battle.”

          The server returned once more with their food. The rich aroma of Peter’s cheesy potato scampi bake danced under Peter’s nose, but the man did not register the scent as he gawked at Mike. “What... You serious?”

         Mike nodded. “Yeah, I mean, the tournament itself is almost over this term, but you can still sign up as a guest performer, get your name out there and show us what you got.”

          “Wow...” Peter stared stunned at the table. He looked toward his mentor, whom had already began splitting the hamburger platter and salad with his wife, and asked with a smirk that did nothing to hide his overload of hopefulness, and asked, “Do you think I’m ready for that?”

         Naseem gave the question some thought. “...Probably. We did need to start working on your writing, and maybe having you come up with stuff on the spot can be good training.”

        As Peter waved his fist in total, starry-eyed glee, Mike offered, “And if you end up not being ready after all, you can still hang out with us.”

          “We try to get together and indulge in our love for hip hop at least once a week,” Adel added. “You know, talk music, follow artists, spit bars. All of that good stuff.”

           “Wait!” Peter gasped. He looked everyone in the eye, his mouth still hanging open. “All of you are rappers?!”

          “Oh, shit, there’s that look in his eye, again,” Tarsha murmured before taking a bite of her chorizo. 

          “Yep,” Adel said. “We’re mostly hobbyists, but we fell in love with the scene. Got married to the game.”

          “Minus me,” Ashira said. “But I think my husband serves as an excellent proxy to the hip hop underground. He shoots the best videos.”

          “You’re so sweet,” Naseem joked. 

          “Yeah, let’s cut down on the lovey-dovey stuff before you make me lose my dinner,” Mike cut in. “When you’re up for it, I can help you get set up at the gym. Just hit me or Naseem up and we’ll talk to our guy, right?”

          Naseem grinned at Peter with cheeks puffed up with food. Peter looked at everyone around the table. That sensation he felt backstage, when he was linked hand-in-hand in the circle with his co-actors, it bubbled up in him tenfold, warmth alighting in his chest at Mike’s friendly grin and nod.

         “I... I would love that!” Peter chuckled.

[fire-bear]

Familiar Voices

(Working title, from that song that goes “All around me are familiar faces”, etc.)

So, I’ve been doing the AFTG Bingo 2020, as you may have noticed and, since I had a few hours since I posted my last one, I decided to start work on another square. I’m not going to finish it tonight so I decided to just post the part that I’ve got done now and relax before I go to bed (or I won’t sleep well, as per usual). Anyways, I was going to attempt another line, but since I knew I wouldn’t finish, I went with the Musicians AU.

(I’ve put some under the cut cause this is a rather long post, but I wanted to show off the first part, so.)

The summary would be something like:

Neil was happy with his new name, new life, new friends, new home. He still had a lot of pop culture and movies and music to catch up on. Which is probably why all of his friends are excited when the popular rock band that Neil has never heard of - The Monsters - have come to town.

                                      ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“There’s a rockstar in town,” Matt told Neil, three months after Neil had finally felt settled in his new life. 

“Okay,” said Neil, placidly. He pulled out a paper cup. “What do you want today?”

“A mocha,” said Matt, distractedly. He was scrolling through his phone, even as he was bent almost double to lean against the counter. 

“Cake?” Neil asked, knowing that Matt liked to have something at this point in the day.

“Hm, yeah. I should be healthy so, like, the carrot cake?”

“Sure,” said Neil, grinning cheekily at Matt when he looked up with a pout.

“Aren’t you interested?” Matt demanded, waving his phone at Neil.

“Nope.”

“Neil!” Matt whined. 

“You know I’m not a big music fan,” Neil pointed out, already starting to work the coffee machine. The clanging and hissing filled the air of The Foxhole, the little coffee shop that Neil now worked in. 

He loved working there. Aside from the delicious smells that bloomed from the kitchen, the shop itself was cosy. There were two types of tables. Some were low for the comfy couches and armchairs. Others were attached to the thin pillars that were dotted around the place, tall stools available for the customers. The walls were painted white with little fox pawprints dotted across it. Napkins with foxes printed on them were available at the tables and every table also had fox salt and pepper shakers. A giant fox looked down on Neil from above the machines, nosing at the menu that was done in orange writing. 

It was home and Neil treasured it.

At the moment, since it was an hour till closing, there were very little people in. Anyone that wasn’t Matt were taking their coffees to go, on their way to back shifts and night shifts. Only a few people were actually sitting in, most of which were students. There was also a couple who were on a blind date, blushing at each other and stuttering through flustered conversation. That meant that Matt could block the counter without annoying anyone.

“I can let you listen to some right now,” Matt said, quickly tapping away at his phone.

Neil glanced towards the students and the date. “I don’t think doing that here is a good idea, Matt,” he said, nodding to them. “Maybe another time.”

Instead of backing off like Neil had hoped, Matt pointed his phone at Neil. “Tonight. After work. Come by my place. We’ll get pizza and we’ll listen to The Monsters’ albums and watch movies. Right?”

Rolling his eyes at the coffee machine as he poured Matt’s mocha, Neil sighed. “Okay, fine. If you want me to listen to them that much, then yes.”

“Great!” Matt exclaimed. “I’ll go pick up Dan and see if the girls want to join in!”

Shaking his head with a fond smile, Neil set down the cup and the bag with the carrot cake. “Okay,” he said. “Now, get lost so I can shut up shop.”

“You’ve got an hour!” Matt protested, pouting. “How mean!”

Neil laughed and swatted at him with the cloth he used to wipe down the counter when he had nothing else to do. Grinning, Matt scooped up his purpose, left more than enough money - a tip for Neil was included, as usual - and left with a wave over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he returned to his work which was mainly cleaning at this late stage. He also stocked up things like the cups and sugar. Half an hour later, he retied his orange apron and began to move around the room, wiping down every table and chair. The blind date decided to move on. Frantic students checked the time and cleared out, too.

He was utterly alone when there were only fifteen minutes left of the coffee shop’s opening hours and the door opened.

Having already wiped everywhere down, he was back behind the counter. He hid a sigh as he looked up, watching the lone man enter and look around. Compared to the cosy, sunny atmosphere of the coffee shop, the man was a black hole. Black combat boots; black skinny jeans with a rip at one thigh and a rip on the opposite knee, a chain hanging from his left hip; black tank top with jagged edges and a deep v-neck; black armbands; a black, dangly earring shaped like a tooth. His hair was the only light colour on him, the blond in it pale enough to reflect the light and make it golden. The man sauntered closer, gazing around as he moved, and his hazel eyes landed on Neil.

“Hi,” said Neil, forcing a customer service smile. “What can I get you?”

“A mocha,” the man said in a deep, rumbling voice. “Extra chocolate, extra cream.”

Neil resisted commenting on his choice. “Sure thing,” he said, pulling a to-go cup off the freshly stacked pile.

“No,” said the man, stopping Neil in his tracks. “To sit in.”

Turning back to him, Neil gave him a baffled look. “Sir. We’re open for less than fifteen minutes now. Wouldn’t it be best to-?”

“No,” the man repeated. He turned away from Neil, heading for one of the many, many tables that Neil had already wiped down. “I’ll sit in.” He stopped and turned back to Neil before he decided where to sit. “And bring me cake.”

Looking him over again, Neil realised what his mistake had been. Though this man had ragged looking clothes, they were clearly designed to be like that. The material of his clothes were good, likely to last, and probably expensive. Neil was interacting with some rich asshole who shouldn’t have been allowed to walk around on his own. Dan would kill him, though, if he didn’t at least try to be nice to him, so Neil smiled a little wider, trying to shake the fact that he probably looked like his father from his mind.

“Of course, sir.” His voice was tight. He was probably going to be told off, at the very least. “Which kind?” Gesturing at the display - something he would have normally been packing away at this very moment - Neil forcefully returned the to-go cup to its pile. Once this man left, he’d have to wash the dishes - again.

“Chocolate. With ice cream.”

“We don’t have ice cream. Sorry. Sir.” Neil was ridiculously pleased that he could actually refuse the man something and focussed on making his awful drink, hiding his amusement.

Behind him, the man sighed. “Whatever.”

Neil rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. Instead, he made the man’s drink, pulled out the cake, got everything ready on a tray with cutlery and napkins, and took the arrangement over to the man. Without looking at him, Neil unloaded the tray and straightened, holding the tray against his chest. It provided him with a shield against the man’s intense gaze, though Neil couldn’t understand why he would want to look at him. He wasn’t particularly interesting, even after he had bit the bullet and returned his eyes and hair to their original colours. 

“Anything else, sir?” he asked, for something to say.

“No.” The man sounded dismissive, but he didn’t take his gaze off Neil’s face. And hair. And eyes. Neil blinked at him for a moment, trying to work out what he wanted or what he was doing. Then he gave up.

“Do you want me to take your money now, or…?”

For a moment, the man stared at him. Then he dug his hands into his pockets, searching, searching, searching. He pulled out a phone. “Google Pay?”

“Uh…” Neil pointed at the sign by the till. The one that read: Google and Apple Pay functions currently not working. We are working to get this fixed. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause.

The man stilled, staring at it. Then he looked down at his coffee and cake. Finally, he looked up at Neil. “I’ll need to make a call.”

“What do you mean?” Neil snapped, losing his patience. The man raised an eyebrow. “The shop’s about to close. I’m not going to wait for you.”

“If I call now,” the man explained, “my cousin will get here in roughly ten minutes.”

“Sure,” said Neil, sarcastically.

[tastetheravenn]

The One Where Namjoon Doesn’t Know What to Say

Namjin angst/ fluff

Description: Jin is about to leave for his military service and Namjoon has feelings about it.

Content Warnings: Drinking games, cursing, extensive inner dialogue, excessive poetic words

A/N: So, my first fic post ever! I hope you enjoy! Pretty sure k pop is getting me through this pandemic, so I thought I would share the love. This is the first in a whole universe of fics, so stay tuned🤗

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

“Jin, man, you should go… we’ve never been to Brazil before… and who’s going to watch the maknae?” Jin just smiled absently and continued to root through the other boy’s suitcase. “They’re gonna cause an incident. Then the policia come knocking on the door and have our kids by the neck –” Namjoon continued. He wasn’t really going anywhere with this, or with anything else he’d blabbed in the hour since he’d puked in the park and rode back to the hotel with his head in Jin’s lap (he tried not to read into it).

Really, it was all Taehyung’s fault. Now, the sum of everything he felt towards Jin could and should probably be blamed on Jimin, but today, that was all Taeh. They were walking through a park, some apparently famous park (although all he could see was tree, tree, bench! tree) and Taeh slowed down his usual golden retriever pace to amble next to RM. “I get it,” he’d said, glancing towards Jimin and biting the side of his finger... or so he’d imagined?

“What?” he’d asked.

“Jin.” What’s red and red and red all over? If a grimace could be a laugh then that was the noise Namjoon made in the next moment. But what the other boy said in the next moment made Namjoon feel both less exposed and hopelessly transparent: “My oldest brother. He served. It’ll be good.” Taeh didn’t really talk about his childhood. Well, none of them really did. What did they talk about? They were so close in some ways, but still strangers in others, even after seven, eight years?

But anyway, it was hot. He thought about Jin leaving, and then he’d puked somewhere in between a tree, tree, and bench!

“Shut it off,” Jin said, making a finger gun and placing it on Namjoon’s forehead. It was as if a black hole had opened where the other boy’s finger touched his head – had he missed something Jin had said? He didn’t want to miss anything he said.

He wished Jin would touch his face, or his arm, or hold his face like a secret in between smooth palms. A look eye to eye like yes, I am here, and yes, it is okay. There was a small smile on Jin’s lips, most of it spilling from his eyes, hovering in his eyelashes. Reassurance was his aura. Of course, the problem was that it was RM’s aura too. The two of them were always that backbone. No-one had ever really asked him if he needed a steadying hand. Was it wrong for him to want to be told straight out it is okay? That it’ll be okay. It was one thing coming from Taeh, but from Jin it was truth.

RM had long been on his own, and even with the others, he’d been solo, underground with the stalactites with thousands of words strung like garland, images tacked onto stone to try to make something pretty out of something dank and dark and festering. His head echoed. He reflected again (and again), brain firing pistons a well-tuned machine, on the practicalities of being alone and the realities of being lonely.

Was it so wrong to want to be found?

Was it so wrong to want to be found by Jin?

 “Here, let’s play,” Jin said, unfolding the chess board and setting it on the bed, rooting through a small bag for the pieces.

“I thought you said to stop thinking,” Namjoon began, mostly to distract himself from watching Jin’s fingertips on the pieces. Wasn’t the body just a machine too? So predictable. It was his job to be unpredictable and look where he was, doing the thing everyone always thought he’d do (but would never speak out loud).

Jin snorted. “Like that was going to happen. Hey! After this... I raid the kitchen.” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down. Wasn’t I supposed to be sick? Namjoon wondered. Jin stage muttered something about eating everything before the mongrels showed up, tilting his head back and laughing over one weak joke and whatever wild conversation he was creating inside of his head. Yep. I’m ILL. I’m DEAD.

Meanwhile, on the outside, Namjoon ran a hand through his hair and laid back onto the pillows. “I think I’d rather just drain everything in that mini fridge.”

“Darling, can we afford that?”

“Yes, I balanced the books last night.” A beat and then they both laughed. It was a game, just a little game. Playing house. But then it just became real and easy and sometimes Namjoon wasn’t sure if he loved the other boy or loved them all or loved himself. Whatever it was, it was certainly serious.

Jin slid off the edge of the bed, laid on his back, and rolled over to the mini fridge. “Hm. This is a challenge isn’t it, Rap Monster?”

“Damn straight World Wide. I’d like to see you try.”

And that was how they spent the rest of the afternoon into the early evening playing drunk chess. Started off as take a shot every time you captured a piece and now it was just the two of them sitting cross-legged on the bed, knee to knee, waiting for the look in the other boy’s eye that said DRINK! Jin missed his mouth from giggling. RM, confident because he was always supposed to be (appear) confident, swiftly reached over and pulled the bottom of Jin’s shirt up and used it to wipe the other boy’s mouth. A thousand years later, or a second, or time it takes to shut your eyes in pain and wake up in pleasure, the shirt fell away and his fingers were on Jin’s lips, ever so briefly, and it was like a kiss to both of them.

Namjoon lowered his hand and looked away. “We’ll never change, you know that right? When I go, or when I come back...” Jin began.  

“I know! We’ll still have lots of, uh, shows, and... and the fans…” Namjoon started, stalling to stop his body from buzzing. because this is what he wanted, for Jin to hold him with his words. Granted, this wasn’t all he wanted but still, wasn’t this everything?

“I mean us. Me and you. We won’t change.”

“Never?” he said as he tilted his head to the side, even though it nearly made him sick again to be so cheeky.

“Not unless we want to,” Jin said gently, his eyes and voice heavy. RM opened his mouth to reply then closed it again. He hadn’t quite figured out what to say, or what to do, or how to climb under the other boy’s skin and live there, or how to tuck Jin inside his pocket to keep him safe, when the door flew open and Jimin stood in the doorway. Eyebrow raised, he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

RM rolled his eyes and fell back onto the pillows, his feet in Jin’s lap. Jimin stuck his tongue out, but before any cheekiness and/or snarkiness could ensue, the others stuck their heads in the doorway. Assessing the disaster zone, bottles covering the tables like trophies, they took a running start and piled onto the bed on top of Jin and Namjoon.

It was okay. It was really okay.

[curiosity-killed]

a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16 | part 17 | part 18

“He searched for you for three months while everyone said you were dead,” Jiang Cheng says, flat. “Don’t be a dumbass. Whatever you did, he’ll probably get over it as soon as you say ‘Lan Zhan.’ Don’t know why, but he apparently likes you.” The disgust in his voice is a little uncalled-for, Wei Wuxian wants to point out. He is — or, well, he used to be — charming. He even got Zewu-jun to drink with him the other day. “A-Xian,” shijie says, far more gently, “why don’t you just talk to him? You don’t have to tell him everything if you don’t want to, but I think it would be good to speak with him.” It’s impossible to say no to that tone of voice, and he subsides with minimal grumbling. He wants wine or a fight, something to distract himself from the new gnawing in chest at the prospect of talking to — of confessing to — Lan Zhan.

They finish up with the rest of their discussion, just tying up their next steps. Jiang Cheng will talk to Yu Bujue, a cousin from Meishan who used to tag along after Wei Wuxian before everything fell apart, and Yanli will write an invitation to Nie Huaisang for Jiang Cheng to sign. Wei Wuxian will start working with the youngest juniors after this week and come up with draft arrays as quickly as he can.

Laying it out with the both of them, he feels his breath come easier than it has in weeks. Something like hope, tentative and bud-like, peeks up in his chest, and he thinks maybe they can actually make this work. Since Yiling, since Wen Chao threw him into the Burial Mounds and he — well. He witnessed the end of that life firsthand. He’d known, when he was clinging to the sword and coaxing the Burial Mounds to his will, that he would never walk back into the life he’d had before, the life where he’d been Wei Wuxian of Yunmeng Jiang. He had broken too much, changed too much. He was shattered porcelain that couldn’t be fit back together in its original form. He hadn’t expected this: reshaping and reorganizing their lives to fit his new shape into them again. Hope is a dangerous thing. He can’t afford to hold it too tightly — but for now, he turns his gaze away instead of smothering it. That night, after dinner, he and Jiang Cheng wind up laying out on the end of the pier over the water. Fruit wine slips sticky and warm through his belly, settling into a comfortable weight as he lolls back on his elbows. Overhead, the sky is heavy with clouds, dragging their wraithlike greys across the stars. “Can you do it with a golden core?” Jiang Cheng asks. “I mean, I know Wen Ruohan did but it’s — yours is different, isn’t it?” He’s had more to drink than Wei Wuxian and is in that soft stage of tipsiness where he is affectionate and curious in a way that would mortify him sober. Wei Wuxian smiles a little and pats his head where it’s propped on his stomach. An overwhelming rush of fondness floods him, sends him swaying even as the dock stays firm beneath him. “I think so,” he says slowly. “I mean, I think it’s different. It’s not like I have his notes — do you think he took notes? Or someone else in Nightless City? Maybe one of his scribes or assistants. That would be interesting to read — but I think…I think he was just using the power the yin iron had. Not calling up resentment on its own.” He pauses, tilting his head to one side as he rolls the neck of the bottle in his hand. He’s thought plenty about this new cultivation style, of course. Those three months were full of experimentation, desperate attempts to find something, anything, that would work, would let him survive, let him claw his bloody way out of death and get revenge. Still, he’s always thought best when it was aloud, when he could bounce ideas off someone else, and there’s been no one he could do that with for this. “It’s sort of like — eh hm,” he hums, tapping the mouth of the bottle on his chin. “Like channeling qi through your meridians but if your golden core were — everywhere. Like the air! Like you draw the air in and it cycles through and gives you voice.” Jiang Cheng groans and shifts enough to glare sideways at Wei Wuxian. “If you start composing poetry about demonic cultivation, I’m going to throw you in the lake,” he threatens. Laughing, Wei Wuxian waves him off. He settles back, drawing in a long breath of the chilled night air. It washes off the lake’s surface like a gentle tide and recedes. “Anyway,” he says after a moment, “I think you could do it with a golden core but it would hurt a lot more. As if you’re trying to purify the energy even as you try to use it.” Grunting quietly in acknowledgment, Jiang Cheng laces his fingers together over his dantian, frowning up at the night sky. Wei Wuxian leans his head back as well, and they settle into quiet. Air isn’t an apt metaphor for resentment, really. It’s too passive, too limited. Resentment is like tapping into the veins of the universe itself, like drawing blood from a giant’s artery with a heart that can never run dry. Like leaching black from the night sky: there’s no limit, or if there is, it’s so vast that you would be consumed by it before you could ever use it up. Since the end of the war, he’s been careful with how he uses it. They don’t need walking corpses in peacetime, and he knows, as much as he will never admit it to Lan Wangji, that he overextended himself before. He hadn’t really had a choice — not when it came to repairing the damage of his first fall and not when it came to ending the war — but, well, he has a choice now. So he’s trying to be better. For shijie and Jiang Cheng at least. Except for what’s stitching his body together, splints that have become permanent around his shattered bones, he doesn’t hold onto it. He doesn’t let it pool heavy and dark under his skin. He only calls up what he needs and then lets it slip away like water from his hands. “Hey Jiang Cheng,” he says, face still tilted up to the sky, “if I lost control, you’d stop me, right?” He makes sure to ask casually, like he’s only thinking of it now. Jiang Cheng stiffens, tensing up where his shoulders touch Wei Wuxian’s side. He sits up jerkily, turning to Wei Wuxian. Even tipsy, slipping into drunk, his face is hard and angry. Wei Wuxian gives him a lighthearted grin, and his jaw clenches. “What are you talking about?” he demands. “You said you can control it. You’ve been controlling it all this time, haven’t you? What are you talking about, ‘stop you’?” Sitting up, Wei Wuxian waves his hands to clear it away. “Nothing, nothing!” he says. “You’re right, I can control it. It’s fine. Forget I said anything.” Jiang Cheng stares at him, hands fisted up against his lap. He’s twisted slightly to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes, and his own are dark with — with fear and something almost like hurt. Guilt turns the wine in his belly, sours it. He looks away. He shouldn’t have said anything. He’s kept it all locked in so well these past few years. Jiang Cheng has enough on his shoulders with rebuilding the sect and now figuring out how to help Wei Wuxian and keep old Jin Guangshan from taking over under the guise of getting the Stygian Tiger Seal. He doesn’t need to worry about this. He turns back to Jiang Cheng and leans forward to knock their shoulders together with a grin. “Hey, a-Cheng, why’re you asking anyway? Are you going to pick up demonic cultivation on the side, too?” he teases. “No, shut up,” Jiang Cheng says, but he shoves back absently, like he didn’t have to think about whether or not he was pushing too hard. “I was just — thinking. I mean, if it’s safe enough to teach some of the older disciples some. Gusu Lan has their musical cultivation and Qinghe Nie has their sabers so why couldn’t Yunmeng Jiang have your demonic cultivation?” Wei Wuxian wrinkles his nose to give himself a little time to swallow down the sudden tangle in his throat. It’s not fair for Jiang Cheng to be so sincere like this, not giving him any warning. He’s supposed to throw in at least a punch or something to keep it balanced. “Think we’d have to figure out a different name than ‘demonic’ cultivation,” he says as a distraction. “Resentment cultivation?” Jiang Cheng offers. He frowns. “Yin cultivation?” Breathing out a laugh, Wei Wuxian shakes his head and lifts the bottle for a drink. The problem isn’t really the name, though he has a feeling Nie Huaisang could offer suggestions. It’s that he doesn’t know how safe or dangerous this path is. He’s been using it for years now, sure, but it’s still a quarter of the time he had to use and understand spiritual cultivation. And he jumped in the deep end, going straight to massive amounts of lethal spells and summonings. If someone started shallow and gradually built up to bigger challenges as they strengthened their control and capability, it might be safe. If they weren’t trying to drag their body back from the dead while fighting off the resentment of a millennia-old mass grave, it might not leave permanent scars. Or it could be that Lan Wangji is right, that old Lan Qiren was right all those years ago, and there’s no safe way to channel resentment. It could curdle their golden cores or destroy their souls or take control of them and turn all the disciples into demons. “We can think about it,” he suggests, a little reluctant. “Maybe just start with the talismans, though. And the defenses.” He has some ideas he scribbled out during the war, on some of the nights when sleep shied away. At the time, he’d been thinking about how to protect their camps and some of the villages that were too small to have many cultivators around. Those were all based in his own blood, but he’ll need to figure out something more permanent for Lotus Pier. He won’t always be here, after all. He won’t let their home fall just because he’s died. Nudging Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, he heaves them both up to their feet. Jiang Cheng sways a little and Wei Wuxian loops his arm around his shoulders. It’s nice, to be able to do this again. He missed it, as much as he wouldn’t let himself miss it, during the war. “Come on,” he says, “you’re going to be even crankier dealing with your advisors tomorrow if you’re tired on top of a hangover.” “Your fault,” Jiang Cheng mumbles, but he leans back into Wei Wuxian and they walk along the dock in swaying tandem. Wei Wuxian drinks in the cool night air and thinks maybe. Thinks maybe hope isn’t a mistake this time.

[mrs-berry]

Concert

By mrs_berry

Read on AO3!

Part 1 of ML Love Square Fluff Week 2020

@lovesquarefluffweek

Summary: Marinette is given two concert tickets for Jagged Stone’s concert, but who will she end up taking with her?

Word Count: 1598

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jagged Stone was the best. Not only had he commissioned Marinette again, but on top of paying her for her creative services, he gave her two free VIP tickets to his concert!

So, of course, the first thing she did was squeal and freak out about it to Tikki.

The next thing she did was invite Alya to go with her.

The third thing she did was demote Alya from best friend, because Alya had turned down her invitation (how dare she!) due to “prior engagements.”

Which Marinette knew was a load of bologna.

The truth was Alya was being Alya. She was being her devious, cunning, sneaky self and plotting something.

It became even more obvious when literally everyone she asked had given her some bullshit excuse about being unable to make it. Seriously, who would turn down a free VIP Jagged Stone concert ticket?!

No one, that’s who!

After asking everyone she was good friends with and receiving more excuses than the ones she constantly gave out as Ladybug, she was down to her last resort.

Well, maybe not her last resort. Because that would be Lila. With Chloé being a close second last, of course.

Finally, after much persuasion and reassurance (and downright peer pressure), Marinette asked her crush to attend the concert with her.

To absolutely no one’s surprise, he gave a resounding yes and proceeded to smother her with gratitude and excitement. (Though how he happened to have a free schedule and gain permission to attend was a real mystery—one that will never be revealed.)

Suddenly, Marinette couldn’t remember why she had been reluctant to ask him in the first place. He was as big a fan of Jagged Stone as she was, for goodness sake!

“Okay, so my bodyguard will pick you up at 6 o'clock?”

Oh yeah. She was going to spend several hours of her evening with him. Alone. With only her foot to shove in her mouth if she became an awkward stuttering hot mess around him.

Great.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, after school, Marinette tried to count her blessings and good luck as Alya did her hair and makeup while Marinette tried to re-teach herself the French language. 

“Sit still, girl, or I might burn you with the curling iron,” Alya scolded, as Marinette was currently fidgeting in attempt to soothe her nerves. Smirking, she added, “We wouldn’t want Adrien to think you got a hickey from someone other than him, hm?”

“Ack-Alya!” Marinette choked in exasperation at her friend’s teasing. It was certainly not helping with her already fried nerves.

Alya proceeded to give her a pep talk— pointing out why Marinette was amazing, reminding her to be her friendly self, and reassuring her that Adrien was as scary as a cute golden retriever puppy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

While Marinette appreciated her best friend’s words, it turned out whatever advice and encouragement she had received had conveniently drained out of her mind. Only panicked and anxious thoughts remained as Adrien greeted her before leading her to the car and opening the door for her.

“T-thanks,” she managed to squeak out as she practically tripped and fell onto the car seat.

Mercifully, Adrien either didn’t notice her disastrous clumsiness or respectfully decided to ignore it in order to spare her feelings or dignity (if she even had any left—at this point it was up for debate).

In the car, they sat in semi-awkward silence for about three seconds before Adrien requested that his bodyguard put the music back on.

To her surprise (though maybe she should not have been surprised, considering their destination), Jagged Stone’s music flowed through the speakers.

Almost inexplicably, Marinette felt her body relax. The tenseness in her shoulder dissipated. A smile spread across her lips. And before she could consciously stop herself, she was humming along to one of her favourite songs.

Adrien took notice of this, of course, and felt greatly relieved. He always worried over Marinette, especially when she became all stiff and weird around him—as if she was afraid of him or perhaps disliked his company. He always bottled up those anxious thoughts and chalked it up to being paranoid, but maybe one day he would broach the subject. Today was not the day, though, as he was determined to keep a happy and fun mood.

With an adoring smile on his lips, he began humming along with her.

Marinette sputtered, looking at him as if she just realized he was there.

Biting her lip, she gave a shy smile, before starting to hum again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The concert was the best; deafening rock music boomed through their chests and rattled their hearts as they stood near the stage. Lights flashed, glow sticks waved, fists pumped, and the audience screamed and danced to powerful guitar chords and lyrics.

Marinette and Adrien were in close proximity to each other, often finding themselves pressed up against one another as bustling bodies moved to the music.

Marinette could feel the heat radiating from Adrien (and other people, but they did not matter) and felt like fainting from happiness and utter bliss.

Adrien experienced similar feelings, though perhaps not from the same reasons as his short friend.

Marinette and Adrien sang to their heart’s content at the top of their lungs as they enjoyed every vibration, every chord, every lyric, and every moment of this concert.

(Marinette also enjoyed every second of contact with Adrien.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the concert had ended, the duo made their way over to the VIP section of the concert, where they would be able to meet their idol.

Voices raspy and ears ringing, Marinette and Adrien found themselves gushing excitedly over the best concert of their lives, while they waited in line to meet Jagged.

The moment Jagged Stone spotted Marinette, he excitedly waved his arms at her.

Marinette beamed and greeted him enthusiastically.

“Marinette! It’s mighty rock ‘n’ roll that you could make it out here t'night!” he exclaimed enthusiastically.

Marinette went to give him a handshake, but he opted for a bone-crushing hug instead.

Flushed, but happy, she continued beaming as he released her from his vice grip.

“And who’s this, hmm? Oh, wait, you look familiar,” he observed, scratching his beard. “Is this yer boyfriend? Well, I definitely approve, seems like a nice lad for ya!”

Marinette went from beaming to red lobster in milliseconds.

“Agrestien—Adrigeste—ugh—Adrien Agreste is not—he is my friend!” she vehemently denied, struggling to make sensical words form from her lips. “And fan! A huge fan! Of yours, I mean! Not me. Not my fan.”

Marinette facepalmed at her own inability to be an articulate human being around her friend.

Adrien smiled sheepishly, possibly too star struck to have noticed the spazzy mess that stood beside him.

“Riiiight then,” Jagged drawled in a tone that clearly didn’t believe her denial for a second. “Would you like a hug as well? Or perhaps a handshake? Maybe a signed CD?”

Adrien wordlessly nodded rapidly. It seems Marinette was not the only inarticulate one at the moment.

Jagged beamed and swept the tall blond model into a bone-crushing hug identical to the one he had given Marinette.

Afterwards, Jagged took the CD that had mysteriously appeared in Adrien’s hand and signed it—signing it right next to Marinette’s signature.

He also signed Marinette’s Jagged Stone concert shirt, since she had not brought a CD along with her and said she didn’t need a free CD since she already owned all his albums.

By the end of their meeting, Adrien was pretty sure he would melt into a happy and fulfilled puddle at any moment.

Marinette felt the same way, but for slightly different reasons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Gorilla drove the two teenagers home.

Both of them switched between speaking animatedly about their night and daydreaming about how surreal the whole event had been.

Once they reached the bakery, Adrien walked Marinette to the door, while his bodyguard waited for him in the car.

“Thank you so much for inviting me tonight,” he spoke quietly with complete sincerity. “It was the most fun I’ve ever had. I don’t know how, but I’ll definitely make it up to you, I promise.”

Marinette’s heart lurched at him feeling like he owed her. He was too sweet and he certainly didn’t owe her a thing.

“Oh, no, you don't—please don’t feel like you owe me anything! The tickets were free and I am so glad you were able to come!” Somehow, her strong feelings on the subject made her more coherent than she had been all night. Perhaps knowing he had so much fun had also dashed away some of her insecurities. “Honestly, I am really glad it was you who came with me and not anyone else. I had a blast. So, really, it should be me thanking you.”

Adrien was touched by her kindness and she could see it in his expression.

Looking into his soft eyes, she mustered what courage she had and tip-toed to give him a peck on the cheek.

He smiled brilliantly in response, a tinge of red seeping into his cheeks, but the darkness of the night and shadows hid it well.

“Goodnight, Marinette,” he said softly.

Turning around, he went back to his car, opened the door and got in. Closing the door, he gave her one last tender look (which she couldn’t see in the darkness) before his car took off into the night.

Marinette was confident no concert would ever top that one.

(Unless a certain blond boy came along with her again.)

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THERE'S AN EVEN BETTER WAY TO DESCRIBE THIS SITUATION IS ALSO TEMPORARY

My usual trick is to claim that they'll only invest contingently on other investors doing so because otherwise you'd be undercapitalized. In fact, it's just as well not exist. I deliberately pander to readers, because it has large libraries for manipulating strings. When you have multiple founders who were already friends before they decided to start a gasoline powered generator inside our offices. 2 months during which the company is actually more valuable.1 The professors will get whoever they admit as their own grad students, because all three are doable.2 The golden age of economic equality in the mid 20th century.

How do you break the connection between nerds and technology? Investors are rich enough to be sure signs of bad algorithms.3 Maybe it's a good idea for a small amount of force applied at just the point where they would do a lot of founders that we have enough data points to see patterns clearly. A company to compensate for the opportunity cost of the board may even help VCs pick better. The alarming thing is that it will set off the alarms sufficiently early, you may be able to phrase it in terms of the visa that they couldn't get grad students, so we were on Version 4. I think I see now what went wrong with philosophy, and how much is due to Jessica Livingston and Chris Steiner for reading drafts of this.4 Bad Programmers I forgot to include this in the early stages.5 So if you want to discover great new things often come from outsiders. Y18. Checks on purchases will always be a few languages, I'm not eager to fix that. It was striking how old fashioned this sounded.6 The term angel round doesn't mean that it's a pretty clever piece of jiujitsu to set this irresistible force against the slightly less immovable object of becoming rich.

Perhaps, if design and research converge, the best pickers should have more hits.7 Libraries are one place Common Lisp falls short.8 Then I'd sleep till about 11 am, and come with tougher terms. Six weeks is fast. This group says one thing. We've raised $800,000, but to design beautiful software, would be enough to feel like a late bloomer than a failed child prodigy. If you draw a tree and you change the angle of a branch five degrees, no one stopped to wonder where the big returns are. Here are the alternatives considered if the filter sees FREE!9 Appendix: Examples of Filtering Here is an example of applied empathy. I happened to get hold of a copy of something they made, e. In software, it means you don't have to pay for Facebook. That's not a promising lead and should therefore get low priority, but it's not the distinction between statements and expressions, so you have to be introduced to them.

Startups So these, I think in the coming century is a huge one. They just can't make up their minds.10 American immigration policy keeps out most smart people, and what to do; they'll start to engage in office politics. If you plan to get rich by creating wealth, not all of them work on interesting stuff. The melon seed model is more like architecture. So let's be clear what reducing economic inequality means eliminating startups. We can see this on a small scale: in thoughts of a sentence or two. The reason credentials have such prestige is that for most of Octopart's life, the cruelty and the boredom, both have the same kind of stock representing the total pool of companies they fund. Incidentally, the switch in the 1920s to financing growth with retained earnings till the 1920s. I'm sure every language has such tradeoffs though I suspect the best we'll be able to sit on corporate boards till the Glass-Steagall act in 1933. We still don't require it, but thoughtful people aren't willing to use a more fluid medium like pencil or ink wash or oil paint.

And when you agree there's less to say. I've described. Here are the terms: a $2 million investment, make five $400k investments. But in practice innovations were so rare that you can't change the question. Some ideas are easy for people to come back to bite them, it will probably fail. A few ideas from it turned out I was 450 years too late.11 This is a controversial view. One of the reasons I like being part of this talk. 75% of the stress comes from dealing with investors, hiring and investment decisions, and to Steve Melendez and Gregory Price for inviting me to speak at BBN.

Money September 2013 Most startups that raise money. Was it their religion?12 The immense value of the company. But if it's inborn it should be better not just for founders but for investors too. This is just as lumpy and idiosyncratic as the human body. Some people still get rich by creating wealth and getting paid proportionately, it would not be able to get smart people to be good at programming is to work on. It's not something you can learn, or at least inevitable form, but it's woven into the story instead of being absorbed by the normal people they're usually surrounded with. This is not only incomplete, but positively misleading, if it was overvalued till you see what the earnings turn out to work will probably seem flamingly obvious in retrospect.13

Notes

And since there are only pretending to in the services, companies building lightweight clients have usually tried to motivate them. Add water as specified on rice cooker. They assumed that their prices stabilize. If a prestigious VC makes a small amount of material wealth, and so thought disproportionately about such customs.

The second assumption I made because the outside edges of curves erode faster. In effect they were only partly joking. Org Worrying that Y Combinator is we hope visited mostly by people who might be a great thing in itself, and also really good at design, or even being deliberately misleading by focusing on people who run them would be enough to be promising. Which in turn forces Digg to respond with extreme countermeasures.

I'm just going to use to calibrate the weighting of the organization—specifically by sharding it. I swapped them to keep tweaking their algorithm to get the money invested in a reorganization. If early abstract paintings seem more powerful sororities at your school sucks, and large bribes by the fact that they think the top stories were de facto consulting firm. The situation we face here, which has been decreasing globally.

Charles Darwin was 22 when he received an invitation to travel aboard the HMS Beagle as a result a lot easier now for a startup at a famous university who is highly regarded by his peers. But that doesn't mean easy, of S P 500 CEOs in 2002 was 35,560. The ordering system, the work goes instead into the world you'd want to live in a wide variety of situations, but I couldn't think of the magazine they'd accepted it for had disappeared in a reorganization.

World War II had disappeared.

There are two very different types of startups will generally raise large amounts of other VCs who don't care about may not have to go to die. A rounds from top VC funds whether it was spontaneous. If you try to accept that investors don't like the iPad because it made a better influence on your product, and earns the right mindset you will find a blog that tried to preserve optionality.

I mean type I startups. In fact, we met Rajat Suri.

It's not a VC is interested in each type of thing. World War II had disappeared in a series A investor has a finite market value. Technology has always been accelerating.

But there are no false negatives.

But it's a bad idea the way to avoid sticking.

This law does not appear to be able to hire any first-time founder again he'd leave ideas that are hard to imagine that there may be that the meaning of a startup in question usually is doing badly in your country controlled by the investors agree, and Jews about. They hoped they were just getting kids to say about these: I wouldn't bet on it.

There's a variant of the markets they serve, because you're throwing off your own? As far as I know of a startup you have for endless years of training, and partly because a there was a very noticeable change in how Stripe felt. We may never do that.

The second biggest regret was caring so much attention. Users dislike their new operating system so much to generalize. Do College English Departments Come From?

[ashis2gay4u]

First Burn, A Modern Valdangelo Hamilton! AU

When Nico di Angelo first saw him from across the room, he felt his heart doing back-flips and front-flips against his rib-cage. He turned to Hazel, who now stood next to him, and whispered, "That one there, the elf-ish boy... That one is mine; he has to be mine."

Hazel smiled, her golden eyes flashing with something Nico couldn't quite place, before she turned and headed off towards the boy in skinny jeans and suspenders.

Nico watched helplessly, mind racing, "What..."

What is she doing?

"Where are you taking me?" the boy asked.

"I'm about to change your life," Hazel said, smiling warmly.

"Why, lead the way~" he replied, smirking.

Nico let out a gasp when she led him right over to him.

Their eyes met, brown versus ebony.

Nico felt his heart stop.

Helpless, he thought, helpless against those gorgeous eyes.

"Hey," the boy said, and Nico, in all his glory, stuttered a reply.

"H-hey! U-uhm, N-Nico di Angelo!" he said, cheeks a bright red as he bowed.

"di Angelo, eh?"

"My brother," Hazel said, smirking.

"Oh, Leo Valdez! I'm a mechanic for Hades."

"T-thank you for ah, working so hard!" Nico said, his heart still racing.

"If that's all it took for us to meet, then it'll have been worth it~"

~

Nico was happy as he hung off of Leo's arm. After years of receiving love letters and sending them back, they were finally married.

Percy Jackson stepped up to the stage, laughing, face red and drunk, "Alright, alright! Let's get this party going! But first, from the maid of honor, Hazel Levesque!"

Hazel stepped up, her purple dress flowing behind her. She gladly took the mic from Percy, who patted her hair, before turning to smile at her older brother... And Leo.

"A toast to the grooms!" She said, raising her glass.

Everybody repeated what she said, laughing and smiling.

She looked around the room, and noticed Piper, Percy, and Will were already drunk, laughing as they talked among themselves.

"A toast to your union!"

"To their union!"

Nico looked so happy, but Hazel could see how Leo watched her every movement, her every word.

She brushed it off as him just listening intently.

"May you always be satisfied!"

"YASSS!" Percy and Piper screeched, earning laughter from throughout the room, as well as face-palms from Jason and Annabeth.

Hazel stepped down and went to sit with the others, sitting down next to Frank, who gently grabbed her hand.

She smiled at him, though her mind decided to wander.

She remembers that night. The dreamlike candlelight of the office party her father had hosted.

She remembered all the boys and girls falling over themselves to earn hers and Nico's praise, how many had failed.

But not Leo.

No, he had won them both over by storm...

"May I have this dance?"

Hazel jumped, whipping around to face the impishly smiling boy with chocolate skin, curly black hair tied back into a ponytail, and the warmest brown eyes she's ever seen.

Those eyes. She could stare into them all day...

"U-hm," she stuttered, forgetting her name as she stared into his eyes.

"Uhm?" he teased, smirking.

"I'm Hazel, Hazel Levesque-di Angelo."

"Leo Valdez. di Angelo, eh?"

Hazel blushed, nodding as he took her hand and placed the other on her hip, swaying them gently into a waltz of sorts.

Hazel felt complete, her chest was filled with warmth, her stomach aflutter with butterflies.

"You look like you've never been satisfied before," Leo suddenly said out of the blue.

Hazel's expression hardened, and her guards went up, "I'm sure I don't understand, you forget who you're talking to."

"I meant no ill will, I was just stating you're like me."

"What?"

"I've never been satisfied, either."

"Never?"

"Never."

Hazel couldn't believe it. There he was, perfect as can be, just like...

No, he's dead.

She turned to look to her brother as they parted ways, only to find he was watching Leo with a love-struck look.

He looked absolutely helpless.

So, she went over there and listened to him go on about Leo, and felt her face fall when he said, "That one there, the elf-ish boy... That one is mine; he has to be mine."

She knew he needed him more, so she gave up.

Her brother's happiness means more than hers, anyways.

Always.

"Where are you taking me?"

"I'm about to change your life."

"Nico di Angelo."

"Leo Valdez~"

Hazel was shaken from the memories when Percy announced that the activities will soon begin.

She turned to her brother and Leo.

Leo met her eyes for a second, only to look away and kiss Nico's forehead, causing the taller man to giggle.

At least Nico's his husband. At least she keeps his eyes in her life...

He will never be satisfied, and neither will she.

~

Leo knew it was a trap from the beginning. But with being promoted to the head of the work shop and with Nico and the kids gone, he couldn't handle the loneliness or the stress.

So, when Calypso came by, he didn't say no.

Gods, does he wish he did.

~

"Don't tell a soul," Leo snarled, glaring at Octavian and his lackeys.

Octavian smirked, turning to his brother, Luke. "Should we tell his husband? Poor, poor little Nico will be crushed!"

"I can prove I didn't steal from the company; I can prove it!"

The two brothers exchanged a look with Dakota, who seemed resigned.

The alcoholic merely shrugged, "Nobody was in the room where it happened."

"Is that a yes?"

"Uhhh... Yes," the three of them said.

"Great, I'll get started."

~

"Did you read the news?"

"Poor Nico!"

"He cheated on him, how ignorant-"

"Leo Valdez is a monster!"

"A cheater, too!"

Octavian and Luke watched and listened; they knew it was only a matter of time before the downfall of the enemy.

~

It was almost midnight when Nico di Angelo stormed into his husbands repair shop, slamming the pack of letters down onto the worktable Leo Valdez was sat at.

Leo looked up, and stared at his partner in crime in confusion, "Nico? What's wrong?"

"I saved every letter you wrote me."

"Oh? Why bring them here-"

"As soon as I read them, I knew you were mine, you said you were mine, I-I thought you were..."

Leo's eyes widened, "Nico-"

"Do you know what Hazel said when your first letter arrived?"

Leo shook his head, "No, but-"

"She said to be careful with you, that you'd do anything to survive. She was right, according to the news!" Nico's voice cracked, and he could feel his eyes watering.

Leo nearly fell out of his chair. "N-no, Nico, wait!"

"Do you know how much your words affected me? How good they made me feel? I was always so excited for the next one, your words flooded my senses, Leo," Nico said, glaring Leo down. "You built me a fucking castle made up of empty promises and broken trust disguised as love."

"Nico, just stop and listen-" Leo tried, eyes wide. He felt like he was being doused in gasoline and set on fire, the panic building up in his chest.

"I re-read the letters you wrote me, searched for an answer in every fuckin' line, looking for the answers as to when you were mine and mine alone... You published the letters she would write you, all so you could clear up where you were when all that shit happened at the company! In clearing your fuckin' name, you tarnished mine and ruined our fuckin' lives!"

Leo stood up, and took a step towards the taller man, only to have Nico step back, "Don't take another fuckin' step in my direction, Valdez!"

Leo winced. He and Nico both knew that on their wedding certificate, Leo had taken the others name.

That was a low blow, and Leo knew he deserved it.

"You told the world how you brought this girl- Calypso- into our bed! Do you know what Hazel said when she saw the news? 'You've married an Icarus; he's flown too close to the sun'. You're so paranoid about how others view you, so obsessed with carrying on your mother's legacy and work that you forget what's important!

"The world has no right to my heart! Has no right to my bed! They don't get to know what I fuckin' say on the subject!"

"Nico, please-" Leo begged, cheeks drenched in tears. He let out a hiccup, followed by an ugly sob.

Nico's tear drenched face contorted into something out of a horror movie, a look of pure pain and suffering, "As soon as somebody whispers something, you fucking scream in response!"

Leo was about to speak when Nico raised a hand, his lips breaking into a broken, watery smile, "I know about whispers, Leo, I've had them following me all my fuckin' life! Not to mention, I see how you look at my sister!"

"Ni-"

"DON'T! I'M NOT NAÏVE!" he screamed, balling his hands into fists. "I have seen women and men around you, how they fall for your charms!"

Leo sat back down, defeated as he watched Nico walk away. He returned with a torch in hand, and tossed the letters on the ground. "I'm burning the letters you wrote me; they don't mean anything now. I'm burning the memories, the last bit of proof to prove that you're a decent guy, the last thing that could've redeemed you. You can just sit there and watch."

Leo didn't say a word, merely watched, gut wrenching at the sight as Nico set them all aflame.

"When the time comes, you can explain to Maria-Bianca and Sammy what you've done, the pain and embarrassment you've put me through, how you dragged our name through the mud."

"Nico..."

Nico laughed almost hysterically, before going stone faced and ripping off his ring, tossing it to Leo, "You forfeit the right to my heart."

Leo stared at the ring as he caught it, eyes wide as he looked back up at Nico, "No-!"

"You forfeit the right to our bed."

"Nico, please just listen-"

"You sleep here instead!"

"No, I-"

"When will you learn, Leo?" Nico mused; voice soft for the first time since he got there.

"L-learn...?"

"When will you learn," Nico said, voice raising to a shrill sound, "That our children are your legacy? That I am your legacy? That we are your legacy?! When will you learn?!"

"I'll try harder, I'll do better! Please-!"

"Stand back and watch it burn. Watch all that we've built burn to the ground!"

Nico stormed off towards the door, tossing the torch aside.

He stopped with his shaking hand on the door handle, before turning to flash that same, broken smile at Leo over his shoulder, his black hair messy and tangled, his ebony eyes shattered

"I hope that you burn," he said flatly, a sob ripping itself free from his throat right afterwards.

He left, slamming the door shut.

Leo sat there, gripping the ring he held in his hand, and broke down, crying and screaming.

~

"Leo!"

"Hazel!"

"Congratulations."

Leo stared in shock.

"You've invented a new kinda stupid, the open-all-the-cages-in-the-zoo, kinda stupid, no, worse!"

"Hazel..."

"Do you realize what you've done, Leo?"

"IT.. It was an act of political sacrifice!"

Hazel froze, staring him down, "Sacrifice? I languished in a loveless marriage in Rome for a long time before I found Frank, and even then all I could think of was you for years!"

"Hazel-"

"But you know why I'm not with you? Because I saw how he looked when he looked at you, how happy he was! I know my brother like I know my own mind, you'll never find anybody as understanding and as kind...

“I love my brother more than anything in this world, I'd sacrifice my happiness for his every time! Nico is the best thing in our lives, so don't forget that you've been blessed with the best husband!"

"..."

"So yeah, congratulations! For the rest of your fucking life! Every choice you make is for my brother, give him the best life!"

"Hazel-"

"Congratulations."

~

"WHERE IS SHE?!"

Will stood by the bed, shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, Leo, but with the entry point of the wound, she-"

Leo pushed Will out of the way, rushing to kneel by Maria-Bianca.

"P-papa, I-"

"Shh, I know-"

"I did as you said, I aimed my arrows high-"

"Shh, I know, sweetheart, save your strength and stay alive, please-"

"Where's my daughter? How is she? Will she survive this?! Leo, did you know?!" Nico cried, tears running free as he knelt next to his husband, brushing the hair from their daughter's face.

"Dad, I'm sorry..." Maria whispered, coughing.

"It's okay, it's okay, shush, sweetling, save your strength."

"I remember what you taught me... How we played piano-"

"Yes, I know. You always changed the tune," Nico whispered back.

He took Leo's hand, gripping it to steady himself. Leo squeezed back just as hard.

"I always changed the tunes..."

Nico began to sing, "Une deux trois quatre-"

"Cinq six sept huite neuf-"

"Good. Une deuz trois quatre cinq six-"

"cinq six..."

"Sept huite neuf... Sept huite neuf... Sept huite-"

You could hear a pin drop in the deafening silence that ensued the death of their daughter.

Nico stood up and left, Leo in tow.

~

"Can you imagine?"

"How cruel can the world be?"

"If you see Valdez walking through the streets and talking to himself, don't judge, he's going through the unimaginable."

"Poor Nico. First a cheating husband, now a dead daughter."

"Shh, here comes Valdez."

~

"Leo, you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Leo, we need to talk. You can't keep saying that."

Leo turned to look up at Nico, who was standing at his shoulder, "Why? You hate me."

"I don't, I could never..."

"..."

"I love you."

Leo looked up at him once again, shocked, "After all I've done...?"

"Yes, Repair Boy, after all that you've done."

Leo broke down at that, standing up and grabbing onto Nico, sobbing into his shoulder.

Nico merely picked him up and sat down, placing the Latino on his lap.

"I love you, Drago."

"I love you too, Angel..."

And they kissed. After so long, the sparks were still there.

And Leo fell in love all over again.

~

"If you see them walking, they're trying their bests."

"Nico called off the divorce, his father is pissed."

"Don't judge them, they're going through the unimaginable."

~

When Leo died, Nico was crushed.

"You always wanted more time... Now I'm stuck with just that..."

He had Hazel, up until she passed away due to a car crash.

He and Frank mourn together, and Hazel is buried near Leo and Maria-Bianca.

Nico visits them every year on their birthdays and death days.

He always leaves them roses from their garden. Always.

And for Leo, snapdragons. He was always obsessed with dragons, had managed to build a dog size mechanical one named Festus.

He and Sammy keep him company, with frequent visits from Frank and his friends.

He'll make sure the world will tell Leo's story.

{La Fin}

~Ashton Bende

[izzy-b-hands]

Dancer Chapter Three

Chapter Three, let’s go! 

Vital events including: Shopping! Lap Dances! Smut! And maybe more??

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

His alarm blared from his phone, and he got up happy for a chance to shower and eat. He’d been told that everything put in the apartment for him wouldn’t be fancy or much, but that was fine. A warmish shower with a decent towel to dry off with, and a bowl of corn flakes was better than nothing.

He had more than a good few hours until he had to be at the club, and he used it to wander the shops, to find more than the BITCH emblazoned sweatpants. A lot of it was too expensive to buy on the allotment given to him by Kingsman, but there were a few things: a pair of black sweatpants free of any rhinestones, a few tank tops of the non-mesh variety in multiple colors, a pair of black skinny jeans, a pair of blue skinny jeans, and the loudest patterned suit jacket he’d ever seen. He figured Evan would love it though, and maybe Boniface as well.

Back at home, he settled in. Clothes in the closet, the towel from the club hand washed in the bathroom sink and left to dry on the counter, and his ‘work bag’ rearranged:

Pistols and ammo still hidden carefully, as well as the ear piece (thank goodness for the magic of the hidden pockets and sections Kingsman-made bags had)

All the mesh shirts, booty shorts, thongs, and G-strings refolded

The BITCH sweatpants in it as well (those would be his ‘heading home’ gear, he’d decided) and one of the sweatshirts

The multiple pairs of platforms shoved in haphazardly, because there was simply no nice way to get them in the bag with everything else.

By the time he’d done all that, there were still a couple of hours to wait. So he put together his outfit for the night.

A black mesh top, a dark blue G-string and booty shorts, and a pair of light blue platforms. Nothing overly showy, but he wanted to blend it as much as he could for the night.

Evan, however, thought differently once they got to the club. “Is that what you’re wearing tonight?”

They were in the same green room, it now bore a handwritten sign with his fake name on it, designating it properly his. He hadn’t realized it the day before, but all the other doors he’d barely been able to see as they passed them were also green rooms for the other dancers. Very few had to share, it seemed.

“Yeah. Thought I’d keep it simple for tonight,” Eggsy replied, and turned around in it. “How do I look?”

“Not ready for tonight, and I mean that as kindly as I can,” Evan replied. “Can I see what else you brought?”

Eggsy reached into his bag, and dropped some of the contents onto the couch.

“Hm,” Evan moved fast, picking up and rejecting items of clothing in a heartbeat. “This, not this, this one, and these. You’ve already got gold in your makeup, so that can stay.”

The black mesh top was safe, but he replaced the blue G-string with a shimmery golden thong, and a pair of golden booty shorts that were thin enough to nearly be see-through, and Evan pulled out the same gold platforms he’d worn the day before.

“Better?”

“Much,” Evan said. “Boniface has his favorite colors, looks, you’ll find out soon enough. But in the meantime, let me help you grease the wheels a bit. After all, sounds like you truly need it, if you know what I’m saying.”

Eggsy shook his head.

“Those apartment walls are thin,” Evan smiled. “But no worries, you’ll hear me as well, now that I can date again. And it was sweet, in a way. Moaning out his name like that...”

The blush that took over his face was utterly too warm, and he hoped it might just melt him right into the floor as Evan giggled.

“Don’t be embarrassed! Really, it’s fine. But, to make things a little more bearable for you, I figure we get you laid tonight. And he’ll be watching you already, but in this? He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you,” Evan said. “Ready?”

He wasn’t entirely sure he was, but he nodded, and then they were out.

The club truly was busy during normal hours, and he could barely get through the crowd to linger around the patrons sitting on the various chairs and couches that littered the club floor.

At first, it seemed like no one was even looking at him, or noticed him. Until a hand reached up and slipped a fiver into the waistband of his shorts.

“Who are you?” the man still had his hand at Eggsy’s waist. “Never seen you here before, and I would remember you for sure. I can’t recall a name, or a face, but I can always remember an ass, and yours is gorgeous.”

He took a breath, and slipped into his character. “Thank you! Not as gorgeous as you though.”

“Oh they have taught you well already,” the man laughed. “Here, sit on my lap and there’s more in it for you.”

Eggsy sat, and ignored the man’s creeping hand at the back of his shorts. “You’re here often then?”

The man nodded. “Marc. And you?”

“Wyn. I just started, this is my first night, actually.”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Marc assured him, and handed him another fiver. “Go on, tuck it in your waistband. The tourists that wander in will give you more then, the more bills they see on you already. They want the best of the best, to make their experience the fullest it can be, you know. So seeing that is like pollen for bees.”

“I hadn’t figured tourists would stop in here much,” Eggsy said, eager to keep the conversation going. Maybe this man didn’t actually give a rat’s ass about anything more than his ass, but it meant he could sit and not worry about trying to fight his way through the crowd. Plus, who knew what else he might know and say.

“They do, but they don’t stick around long. They stay long enough to spend money, get grossly drunk, and then stumble vomiting back to their hotels,” Marc said. “Disgraceful, but who doesn’t like to get fucked up while on vacation, right? So I can give them that, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Eggsy said. “As long as it doesn’t kill the mood, right?”

“Exactly,” Marc said, and shoved a fifty into Eggsy’s hand. “Now, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Go out there and kill ‘em.”

He struggled to hide his reluctance as he carefully put the fifty under his waistband, and got up and back into the crowd.

He was only out for a minute though before another hand pulled him close.

“Hey,” the man, one of the aforementioned tourists judging by the state of inebriation, nearly slopped his drink on Eggsy as he pulled him into his lap. “Dance on me like you’d fuck me. Go on, show me. Make it good.”

The tourists on the couch with the man jeered, but they were his only audience. The rest of the crowd were preoccupied with the music, the dancers on stage,  or one of the dancers wandering the floor. “Body Language” by Queen (finally, a song he recognized) was blaring, and he could do something with that, even as the man groped and pawed at him.

It helped to think of it as not the drunken man, but Boniface, though he dreaded to admit it. He wouldn’t know exactly if what he was doing was actually good in bed, but he did his closest approximation of it on the man’s lap, moving his hips to the beat against the man’s cock, very evidently hard in his jeans, a hand holding onto the back of the couch before he leaned back.

The man’s tongue on his chest made him jump, and knocked him out of his groove. He feared the worst in terms of a lost client, but Tony wasn’t running over for him.

“You don’t touch the fucking dancers like that!” Tony was steaming, motioning for Eggsy to get off of the man’s lap. “You don’t gotta fucking stand for that, get off of him, kid. We got fucking rules here, on the poster on the wall, all over the damn club. If you can’t follow them, you can’t stay!”

The man and his group protested, but Eggsy watched as Tony and a few other bouncers gathered to drag them out of the club. That seemed to be then end of it, until Tony returned with a twenty euro note.

“That’s the biggest note he had in his wallet, the prick,” Tony muttered. “You earned it though, you were doing well until he fucked up.”

Eggsy took the note and turned to try again in the crowd, but Boniface was right there as he turned. He didn’t say a word, just took Eggsy’s hand and half-dragged him through the crowd until they were through a door and into one of the back halls.

“I’m really sorry, I didn’t know he was going to do that, and Tony told him he had to go, but if you want him back, I can go apologi-”

Boniface cut him off with a kiss, hard enough to hurt. “He did exactly what he’s supposed to. That fucker shouldn’t have had his tongue anywhere near you. Especially with the show you were giving him. He should be fucking grateful anyone would move like that on someone like him.”

Eggsy had a million things he wanted to say, but couldn’t seem to bring about the words for any of them, so he kissed Boniface instead. It was odd at first, and he was afraid it might be too bold, but Boniface kissed him back with no hesitance.

“I have a place. Attached to the club,” Boniface panted as they finally broke free of each other. “You’ll still get your pay for tonight, no worries.”

He took Boniface’s hand, and tried to ponder how to go about this, so as not to fuck any of it up. What would Boniface expect was the real question, but Evan had said to just be honest with him...

The ‘place’ was a small house on the same bit of land as the club, with an outdoor path at the back of the club that led to it. Inside, it was just as nice as Boniface’s office, more velvet, but in brighter colors. The man did seem to have a thing for gold and black, it seemed.

There wasn’t much time to dedicate to taking in the rooms though, as he was much more preoccupied with Boniface’s lips and hands as he was led through the house to the bedroom.

Boniface detached from him long enough to start stripping off his suit, and Eggsy took his chance.

“I want this, I want to say that first. But...I don’t know how else to say it. I’ve never gotten a chance to, experiment, if you will. I don’t want to mess anything up here, so-”

Boniface smiled and sat on the bed, patting the spot beside him for Eggsy.

He sat, and melted as Boniface kissed him so sweetly and softly it could have made him weep.

“I wondered. I didn’t want to ask outright, but I sort of figured. I don’t mind slow,” Boniface said. “We’ll try some things, see what you’re comfortable with, what you want to try as time goes on. How about that? And anything you don’t like or don’t want, you say no, and we don’t do it again, yes?”

Eggsy nodded.

“Good,” Boniface said, and gestured to the foot of the bed. “How about you give me a show before you join me in here, hm?”

It felt strange without music, but he took it slow, stripping off his mesh top, pulling at the tearaway portion of the shorts until they came off, then quickly undoing the ties of his platforms so he could kick them off before climbing into the bed.

He couldn’t keep quiet, no matter how hard he tried. Every lingering touch on his hips and ass, Boniface’s fingers pulling at his thong until Eggsy finally moved quickly to take it off, all left him moaning and clinging to Boniface as if...well. As if he was lonely, and wanting. Which he figured, he was, even if he hated that he was.

Boniface stopped them for a moment to grab a bottle of lube from the bedside table. “Just hands for tonight, okay? We have time to do more later, I promise.”

If his own hand felt good, Boniface’s was even better, slick with lube and somehow moving just as he wanted it, though he couldn’t manage to do more than moan and mumble and kiss.

Which made him all the more sure he wasn’t doing his best with Boniface’s cock, but he was trying to focus on reciprocating. And Boniface didn’t seem to have any objections, his head dipped against Eggsy’s shoulder, kissing and nipping at his neck, moaning just as loudly and muttering Eggsy’s fake name.

He had meant to hold back, but it was impossible. It was all too much, especially once Boniface’s other hand reached around to grasp the hair at the back of his neck, pulling it just ever so gently, but just enough to tip him over the edge.

His worries about how he was doing for Boniface disappeared as he followed right after him, biting down on Eggsy’s shoulder as he came. 

For a moment, it was heaven. Boniface smiling at him, kissing him softly while they both came back down from their highs, legs intertwined and hands tracing patterns over each other’s skin. 

Then, the door shook as if it might fall or break open. 

“Mr. Gagneux, we have a problem!” Another one of the bouncers, panicked, finally burst the door open. 

Eggsy tried to cover himself, but the bouncer was apparently used to the scene in front of him and didn’t so much as blink, addressing only Boniface. 

“What now?” Boniface sighed. “If that American is back, tell him we’ll call the police unless he goes, and he won’t be seeing Wyn again at all, that’s for sure.” 

“No,” the bouncer said. “Another...client. He’s here for the formula, but conveniently has brought no payment, just guns. They’re holding the whole club hostage.” 

[day--six]

From Luck // Pt. 3

Pt. 1 // Pt. 2 // Pt. 3 // Pt. 4 // Pt. 5 Word Count: 2.3k Genre: Hogwarts au, fluff Member: Jae Summary: The Triwizard Tournament really only seems to be making your life harder, but in the best way possible.

                                     ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The days leading up to Halloween seemed to fly by yet drag at the same time. Brian, Jae and Sungjin were clearly excited and impatiently waiting for Halloween to arrive so the champions could finally be announced. As much as you were looking forward to the grand Halloween feast Hogwarts always had, there was a heavy weight on you. A small, yet constant thought in the back of your mind that maybe, just maybe one of your beloved friends would be chosen as Hogwarts champion. You spent so many nights lying awake in bed trying to convince yourself if the goblet chooses them, then obviously it knows they can handle the tournament, and what happened with Diggory the years before was unrelated to that actual tournament.

It was now the 30th and you were trying your best to study with Dowoon for your upcoming exam for your Care of Magical Creatures class, but you really couldn’t find the motivation to remember exactly why fire crabs were endangered.

“Hey, (y/n)! You there?” Dowoon questioned, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Oh, yah, sorry Dowoon.” you said, looking back down at your rather beat up textbook.

“Maybe we should have taken Muggle Studies like Sungjin said. It probably would have been so much easier.” Dowoon sighed, flipping through the pages of the XXX classified creatures.

“Dowoon, are you worried about one of the three getting into the tournament?” you ask after a moment of silence.

“I mean, a little. But I know if they get chosen they can handle it, right? Plus, we’ll be here to help them if they do.”

“Out of the three who do you think has the highest chance of being picked?”

“Hm,” Dowoon thought for a moment, “I can see Brian making it. He’s really smart and knows a lot of spells. But at the same time, I can see Jae getting picked; he’s got a decent amount of talent in all areas. Sungjin seems like too much of a worrier to get chosen.” Dowoon said with a chuckle.

“Yah, you’re probably right about Sungjin!” You laugh.

“We’ll just have to see who gets picked tomorrow. For now, we need to study or we’re totally going to fail.” Dowoon reminded you. Thankfully after talking about the tournament with Dowoon a bit, some of your worries were but at ease, and you were able to focus on studying a little more than before.

After a couple hours of studying, you finally parted ways with Dowoon and headed up towards Gryffindor tower, feeling rather prepared for your exam the next day. The two of you had somehow managed to stay out and hour past curfew so you were doing your best to sneak back without running into anyone. You had walked about half way down the dimly lit hallway when someone suddenly rounded the corner, causing you to freeze up instantly.

“(Y/n)! What are you doing up!” Jae whisper-shouted from the other end of the hallway before quietly rushing over to you.

“Oh Jae! It’s just you, you scared me!” you whispered, letting out a shaky breath, stilling trying to calm your thumping heart after that rush of adrenaline. “I was studying with Dowoon for our exam tomorrow. What about you? Why are you wandering around the castle?”

“Oh, I just couldn’t sleep so I decided to go for a walk.” Jae answered, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Nervous about tomorrow?”

“Something like that.” Jae laughed, which was then followed by silence. Apart from the owls the two of you had sent over the summer, you were rarely alone together. Someone else was always with you, so to suddenly be alone together like this left for some weird tension to bubble up. You were immediately flustered by the one on one time with your crush, and with Jae acting as awkward as he was, it wasn’t helping in the slightest.

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm.” Jae suddenly declared, breaking the silence.

“Okay!” you said with a smile.

The two of you had walked about halfway to the Gryffindor common room before you finally spoke up.

“Whatever happens tomorrow I’m sure will end with good results.” You said, shoving your hands in your robe pockets. Jae laughed.

“I sure hope so.”

“I was talking with Dowoon earlier tonight and we both think you could easily be chosen! Have you thought about what it would be like if you do get chosen?” you asked.

“Not really…I didn’t want to get my hopes up. There are a lot of really talents witches and wizards at Hogwarts, I seriously doubt I’ll be the one chosen.” Jae said, pushing up his glasses.

“Don’t doubt yourself Jae, you’re a very talented wizard. And if you do get chosen you better remember the title of number one fan and support is reserved for me after you get all famous.” You stated.

“I wouldn’t dream of calling anyone else my number one fan but you, no matter how famous I got.” Jae answered, coming to a stop in front of the portrait of the fat lady and faced you. You smiled at him.

“Well, thank you for walking me back then! Sleep well, Jae.” You said before muttering the password to the fat lady, the door slowly swinging open.

“You too, (y/n). I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast?” Jae questioned.

“Yup! I’ll try not to be late like usual.” You answered, smiling back at him from in the doorframe, holding the gaze between the two of you for just a second to long before disappearing behind the painting.

Jae ran his fingered through his hair and let out a long breath of air. He had meant to clear his mind during this walk, but after running into you, his heart was fluttering all over the place and his mind was racing. The more time he spends with you the more dangerous and out of control his feelings were getting.

As promised the next morning you were at breakfast on time, partly because of the promise you had made with Jae, but mostly out of nervousness for this evening. The school was much more abuzz than usual, making classes all that much harder to sit through. During lunch you and Dowoon had one more quick cram session for your exam, Brian and Sungjin sitting in to help with any questioned the two of you had before you raced off to Hagrid’s hut to take the exam.

Once the exam was over, you could finally turn your full attention to this night’s event. Finally, dinner rolled around, and you crammed into the long dining hall tables, squished between Sungjin and other Gryffindors for the long-anticipated Halloween feast. You had to admit, with the other two schools taking up a table, even if it was only sixth and seventh years, it sure made the meals very cramped. Even though this was your third Halloween feast at Hogwarts, the decorations never stopped impressing you. The live bats flew about the hall, and a troupe of skeletons danced about at the front of the great hall, apparently hired by the headmistress. The ghosts were much livelier than usual, floating from table to table chatting with various students. All the food was Halloween related, and carved pumpkin were all about the great hall, casting their warm orange light over all the students. Older students told younger students all the different crazy events that had happened during pervious Halloween feasts before. How once, during Headmaster Dumbledore’s time a troll had gotten into the dungeons, or how the feast came about originally. You tried your best to enjoy the delicious desserts that had appeared on golden plates in front of you, but you couldn’t take your mind off the event that was meant to happen after the feast. It didn’t take long for Sungjin to pick up on this either, and he made it his mission to get your mind off it. The two of you talked about all sorts of things. He made you laugh so hard at one of his stories about something stupid he, jae and Brian had done before you were old enough to go to school that pumpkin juice almost came out your nose. Thanks to Sungjin your evening was much more enjoyable then you had thought would be possible.

Finally, all the plates had been cleared. The skeletons had stopped dancing, the bats had taken to hanging from the ceiling rather than flying about, and the ghosts all collected in a corner towards the back of the great hall. McGonagall stepped forward and the hall went silent. The goblet was soon placed beside her, its blue flames silently flickering about. The representative from the Ministry of Magic stepped up and said a few things, followed by McGonagall giving a little speech but your mind was in another place the whole time, you barely heard a word they said. Suddenly the lights were dimmed and the fire started to grow bigger. McGonagall took a step closer, then the goblet suddenly turned a deep red and shot out a piece of paper. The paper fluttered down into her hand and she read out the first champion, a student from Durmstrang named Do Kyungsoo. The Durmstrang table erupt into cheering and screaming. A group of guys got up and surrounded him, slapping him on the back and cheering the loudest. Finally, everyone settled down and the Durmstrang pick made his way up to the stage. After a couple minutes of silence, the goblet turned the deep red again and spit out another piece of paper. Next was a girl from Beauxbatons by the name of Kim Hyunah. Again, there was a loud eruption of cheering from the Beauxbatons table while their champion made their way to the front of the stage.

You couldn’t help but hold your breath as you waited for the last slip of paper to shot from the goblet. The slip of paper that would announce who the champion from Hogwarts was. The goblet turned a deep red for the third and final time before sending a small slip of paper into McGonagall’s hand. McGonagall opened the slip of paper, smiled, then called out “Park Jaehyung!” The world seemed to slow down as every student from Hogwarts began to cheer. You could feel yourself getting to your feet alongside Sungjin and the rest of the students to clap for Jae.

“A Slytherin!” you heard someone to your right exclaim.

“I had a class with him last year! He was super good but he was always really late to class.” Someone else said with a chuckle. You couldn’t believe it. Jae was actually chosen. You had really thought someone else was going to be chosen. That all this stressing you had been doing was going to be over nothing and someone you had never really spoken to before was going to be picked as the champion. Not one of your closest friends. Not someone you may or may not have the biggest crush on. You stared over at Jae in slight disbelief as you watched people pat him on the back and give him high fives. Through all the chaos you somehow managed to make eye-contact with him and gave him two big thumbs up. He was grinning from ear to ear, looking ecstatic. So ecstatic actually it almost made you forget about how nervous you were for his future.

McGonagall gave him a smile as he walked up on stage to take the place next to the other champions. You could tell jae was trying his best to subdue his smile but he was failing pretty miserably, making you chuckle a little. Seeing him so happy was really starting to make you forget about all your worries. You couldn’t wait to congratulate him in person when you could finally see him. Another speech was made and then the three trainees were taken away for a short interview and pictures while everyone else headed back to their dorm or to do some last late-night studying. You and Sungjin first ran into Wonpil and decided to wait just outside the great hall in hopes of spotting Brian and Dowoon, and sure enough you were able to find them. The five of you decided to wait near one of the court yards, knowing Jae would pass it on the way back to the dungeons.

“I can’t believe Jae actually got picked!” Wonpil exclaimed.

“It’s going to be so exciting to have a Slytherin in the tournament! It’s been a while since a Slytherin represented Hogwarts.” Dowoon declared.

“Maybe this will finally clear up that whole ‘Slytherin is evil’ issue up…” Brian mused.

“It might,” you said. “I feel like there are a lot more people than before who agree Slytherin isn’t full of as many terrible people as it’s made out to be.”

You all chatted for a couple more minutes before your champion finally emerged, causing the five of you to start clapping again.

“Congrats Jae!” you all echoed. Jae started to turn a deep red and fidget a bit. You all surrounded him. Sungjin gave him a hard slap on the back like a proud dad would, causing Jae to wince a bit and you to laugh.

“We’ll be celebrating at the three broomsticks for sure this weekend!” Brian declared, earning more cheers from everyone. The six of you crowded onto some benches and talked excitedly about the night’s events for a bit before Sungjin stood up and declared he had to go start his rounds as a prefect. Dowoon shortly followed saying he had an upcoming exam that he really needed to study for, and slowly but surely everyone began to split up until it was just you and Jae left.

“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Jae asked after a moment of silence.

“A bit yes, but I think you can handle it. Right?” you answered, only slightly not believing yourself.

“As long as I have you guys around, I’m positive I can handle anything that comes my way.” He answered with a big smile.

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