#i feel like vallie’s personality really shines through in this one

[concreteburialplot]

VIRALITY // 08

08 - Play Along

pairing: noah sebastian x fem!oc / nicholas ruffilo x fem!oc

word count: 5.3k

masterlist/intro: here | crossposted: ao3

warnings; irritating moody noah lol, angry/jealous nicholas, alcohol, noah teaching how to play pool, creepy guy at bar, implied past SA experiences, physical fight, blood, love triangle a brewin', 18+ ONLY MDNI

a/n: don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

VALLIE

Noah somehow convinced me to drive us to a bar down the street from the warehouse where we were brainstorming with Bryan.

“So, remind me why you couldn’t have just driven here yourself?” I asked, looking over at him in the passenger seat of my rental car.

“I don’t have a car.” He replies flatly.

“You’re a world famous rockstar, and you don’t have a car?”

I hadn’t notice just how tattooed his hands are until I catch them moving up and down his thighs. The small action reminds me of ways I soothe my anxiety, especially in stressful work meetings.

“Not ‘world famous’, nobody even knew who we were til last month.” He’s quick to correct me and his grumpy tone makes it transparent that he’s still annoyed about getting kicked out by Bryan.

“Right.” I reply shortly.

I pull up to the small seedy bar Noah directed me to. It’s nestled within a larger strip of restaurants and shops. The random tiny city we’re in is not nearly as busy as LA and the buildings are all rustic and brick.

I’m not even parked a whole minute before Noah has already slammed his door behind him and headed towards the front door. At this point I should just expect to have to babysit every single grown man in this fucking band.

When I walk into the establishment, I’m smacked in the face by thick cigarette smoke and my face twists in disgust. It’s packed for 2pm on a Tuesday and almost every single patron is accompanied by a lit cigarette. I spot Noah at the bar already, just receiving his first full beer.

“A cosmopolitan please.” The words can’t come out fast enough, I need alcohol more than air itself right now. The bartender nods and starts curating my order.

Noah scoffs, “A cosmopolitan really? Could you get any more pretentious?”

“Oh my god.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Could you just shut up for literally like 5 minutes?” Right on cue the bartender places down a stemless martini glass with transparent red liquid. “At least it’s better that some basic ass beer.” I take a long sip of my ice-cold drink and alleviation begins the moment the alcohol meets my tongue.

He finishes the last of his beer and lands it hard on the wooden tabletop. “Fine. Whiskey and Coke please.”

“What is your deal huh, why are we here? What exactly are we doing?” I ask the obvious, finishing my own drink already and gesturing to the bartender for another.

He lifts his new glass, “You’re looking at it, Thornhill.”

My brows immediately scrunch together, “How do you know my last name?”

“You think you’re the only one who does their homework?” He asks ironically. “You do work with us after all.”

Both of our new drinks are halfway gone already with replacements on the way. Getting plastered midday on a Tuesday with my most infuriating client in some hole in the wall California bar was not on my bingo card for the week. But these boys keep surprising me, it’s almost refreshing. Almost.

Noah is quick to get started on the fresh drink in front of him, maybe too fast. The glass hadn’t even hit the table before it was half gone.

The numbing already growing in my fingers reminds me that all I had for breakfast was a green juice. Noah’s eyes travel over the bar and land on something across the room then back on me. His eyes are mischievous and playful, “You know how to play pool?” His lips spread into a competitive smirk.

I raise my brows at him. The man that was just 30 minutes ago arguing with me about music video lighting now wants to play pool?

“You want to play pool… right now?”

He laughs, which makes me realize I’d never heard him laugh. It’s nice. If I wasn’t already so exhausted by his bullshit already, it might’ve even made me smile.

“So, you don’t know how to play is what you’re telling me.” He slips off the stool and grabs my arm dragging me off my own.

“Hey, hey!” I smack his hand off my burgundy blazer, “This is designer, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t get your bourbon-y fingers all over it.”

His eyes roll so hard I think they might fall out. “Oh, so sorry princess.” He raised his hands up in defense. “Wouldn’t want to get your Prada dirty.”

While derogatory, the nickname makes my cheeks heat up but I’m not quite sure why. “It’s YSL actually.” I correct him, not that it matters but I guess when you pay almost $4000 for a jacket, it seems like it matters.

“See? Pretentious.” He points at me before going over to the table to set up the game.

I brought our drinks and my bag over to a wooden chair just behind the tables so I could keep a close eye on them. I decide that between the weak airflow in the bar and the sticky surfaces that it would be best to shed the jacket. I slip it off my arms and immediately remember that the blazer was essential to the look, since I only have a black lace corset underneath. But with the 4? 5? drinks I’ve had, I don’t care right now.

“Okay so since you don’t know how to-” Noah turns to look at me and seems to forget his words, he just blinks at me with a deer-in-headlights look.

I step closer to him, “Ya know, it’s not polite to stare.” I say in a hushed tone and poke his pointy nose. Whether or not he is actually looking at me like that, doesn’t matter, my confidence is boosted regardless. Surviving in an industry like the one we’re means walking a fine line between power and control. Men are easy to control when you know how to use assets correctly. And right now, he’s looking at the assets on my lace-covered chest.

“What were you saying again?” I ask, putting my weight on my palms at the edge of the table and leaning forward.

He clears his throat and diverts his eyes away from my cleavage. He directs me to a triangle filled with variously colored balls, some solid, some striped and all with numbers on them. “So basically, you want to get all your designated balls into the holes.” He hands me a long stick, “This is a cue, this is what you’ll use.”

“Got it.”

He perks up a brow above an eye, “You’ve really never played before?”

“Nope.” I take a sip of my potent drink without breaking eye contact with him. “Never thought I’d like it. I’ve watched exes play though. Seemed lame.” I say, sounding more apathetic than I actually am.

“Alright well,” He tugs at the hem of his long band shirt, “You might like it.” He knocks back the last of his drink and holds out a hand to me, “You want a refill?”

I drink the last bit of my own, letting the ice slide down the glass and sit on my numbing lips for just a second before handing it to him. “Please, thank you.”

The minute he leaves me, I become very aware that I’m the only female in the dark bar and every set of eyes is on me. I cross my arms over my chest and retract into myself.

Not long after Noah returns, we start playing. He explained how he “broke” the triangle and he ended up being solids which meant that I’m stripes. After a very bad attempt at hitting a ball, he decided I wasn’t doing well.

“No, no, no.” He waves me off before my stick touches the white cue ball. “Here, I can help.” He rounds the table and stands behind me. I obviously knew he was taller than me, but it isn’t until just now that I realize just how much taller he is than me – the top of my head barely meets his shoulders. And the boots I’m wearing have heels, making me even taller than normal. His sizeable hand runs down my spine and hooks it around my hip to readjust my position. His other arm goes to help adjust my arm that’s holding the stick. I can’t tell if it’s the alcohol, but my skin is burning anywhere he’s touching me and the way his hand engulfs my hip completely sends a buzzing between my legs. His fingertips are mere centimeters away from my core and I am extremely aware of it.

“See, not so bad.” He smiles, pulling away from me and it’s only then that I notice he actually helped me hit the ball.

My eyes linger on him longer than they should’ve. It must be this dim bar lighting and the copious alcohol I’ve had that is making see him through a new filter. His smile meets his eyes and he’s just so…bright. His chocolate eyes are so welcoming and kind, a stark contrast to how harsh and cold they are normally. He’s so much more attractive when he’s not scowling at everything I say.

“What?” He wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“No, no.” I shake the thoughts from my head. “I just don’t think I’ve ever really seen you smile.” I blurt out stupidly. “It’s pretty.”

He rolls his eyes walking over to the other edge, “Shut up.”

“What?” I ask walking over to where he’s lining up his cue to the ball. His tongue his tightly held in thought between his lips.

The cue ball clashes into a grouping and sends balls flying across the table, some landing in holes. “You’re still on your boyband bullshit.” His voice gained his usual attitude once again with a bit of drunken slur.

“What?” I shake my head, “No, no. I’m not talking about that.” I chase after him around the table. “I mean it.”

Though I should’ve taken the excuse he provided himself as to why I was even paying attention to his smile in the first place.

The long-haired boy holds his cue stick like staff looking at me with an unconvinced look. “Don’t say things you don’t mean, Vallie.” He says in a deep gravelly voice that almost sounds like a threat.

My eyes widen slightly when I look up at him. “I meant it.” I repeat softly, this time with a somewhat intimidated undertone.

He eyes me beneath a skeptical propped brow like I just told him something completely out of the realm of possibility. “Let’s just get back to playing.” He grumbles and walks over to finish off drink.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Similar to Nicholas, Noah also has a sort of whiplash duality, just different. I see tiny peeks of a sunshine-y Noah hidden beneath his grouchy storm-cloud persona. It makes me wonder what it would take to see more of the Noah that was just joking and smiling with me.

After another round or two and various refills later, I’m winning. Again.

“How are you winning when you just learned how to play?” Noah asks, pushing himself off the pool table. “Are you conning me or something?” His voice now has a thick, noticeable slur to it, but I don’t think much of it.

I giggle, “No. I just like to win.”

He scoffs playfully and grabs his own glass with my empty one. “You sure you don’t want another?”

I bite down on my thumbnail thinking, but ultimately refuse. “Nah I’m good for now.” I’ve hit the fine line of if I have another, I could get sloppy. Sloppy mixed with what I felt earlier with his hand on my hip could get me in trouble.

He nods and heads to the bar. I pull my phone from where I tucked it in the waistband of skirt and rest against the table as I scroll through emails I’d missed. Suddenly, I feel a presence that definitely isn’t Noah’s. It’s larger, meaner, and darker.

“That your boyfriend with you darlin?” Speaks a low southern accent. His words seem harmless, but I can tell by his tone that he’s not.

My eyes rise to meet him, he towers over me about as tall as Noah maybe an inch or two more. He might be as tall as Noah, but he’s about double his size, wide and muscular. His face is angular and sharp, adorned with middle-aged wrinkles. My gaze glances down to notice that he’s holding two drinks, one that looks like the one I’ve been drinking all day.

I keep an arm around my waist, my phone open facing me and prop a brow at him. “Maybe. What’s it to you?” I neither confirm nor deny out of caution.

“Well, I was thinkin’ you could have a drink with me.” He holds out the similar-looking drink. “The bartender told me you’ve been drinking cosmopolitans.”

I analyze the martini glass within a quarter of a second – the red liquid is dull, murky and the ice is bobbing at the bottom. I’ve lived alone in big cities long enough to know not to take drinks from strange men, especially when they look suspicious. I’ve dated enough men to know what this familiar uneasy feeling in my stomach means. My thumb maneuvers slowly and discreetly to my camera app and hit record. I would send my location to someone, if I had someone to send it to.

I smile politely, “I’m okay but thank you.”

As I predicted his energy shifts and he steps towards me, “Oh c’mon pretty girl, it’s not very nice to refuse a free drink.”

The fear coiling around my spine forces me to fake a laugh, “I’ve really had enough, but thank you.”

He steps even closer backing me into the pool table, the curved wooden corner digs into my lower back. The bar is so busy that nobody is taking notice of what he’s doing.

“I don’t think you heard me, it’s not nice to refuse a free drink.” He says lowly within the small space between us. “We could just play a round of pool and have a good time.”

The walls begin to cave in on me and air is vacating my lungs. I’m paralyzed, panicking and my heart is racing so fast I fear it may tear through my ribcage.

From the moment he was just near me I knew, I just knew.

I always know.

“I’m just not interested, I’m sorry.” The words slip from me quickly and I brace for verbal impact.

He bridges the little gap that’s left between us and sets each drink at each side of my hips, caging me in with my arms wrapped around my body and my phone still recording. “You think you’re better off with that toothpick of a date you have?” He hisses.

Right on cue Noah returns, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I must’ve really been working off survival muscle memory because I had completely forgotten Noah was with me until just now.

The mystery man pulls back from me with the biggest bullshit smile on his harsh face. “Oh, I was just offerin’ your friend here a drink.” He raises the drink to him.

I chuckle nervously and wave him away, “It’s alright Noah, it’s fine, he was just being nice.” I scratch my arm anxiously. I want the interaction to be over and I’m not expecting Noah to defend me, he barely likes me as a person.

“No Vallie, I saw him.” He sets down his beer and points a finger at him. “You were being fucking creepy.” His drunken voice is rising, and I’m scared that it’s only going to make the situation worse.

The man chuckles at Noah like he’s a puppy barking at mountain lion. “What is this your girlfriend or something?” He asks as though that it’s something he hadn’t already suspected.

Noah briefly glances at me then back at him, “Yes, as a matter a fact she is.” He states assertively but his poker face isn’t that good. I’m surprised that he’s even gone this far to defend me but I’m appreciative.

He laughs even harder, “Oh you really expect me to think a girly twig like you can pull a girl like her?”

Noah doesn’t skip a beat, “You think a meathead asshole like you could pull a woman like her?”

While Noah is scrawny compared to this traditionally “macho man”, I think that was the manliest thing I’ve ever seen a man do for me.

However, it is painfully clear how drunk Noah is by the way he chooses to get in this huge man’s face.

“You’d better fucking watch it, Toothpick.” He growls in his face, then breaks eye contact with Noah to look over at me. “This pathetic joke of a man is your boyfriend?”

Noah doesn’t waver, doesn’t back down with tight fists at his sides but I can’t take it anymore. I may not get along with him, but he doesn’t deserve to be insulted like this on my behalf.

“Yes.” I say confidently with a straightened back, even though it couldn’t be farther from the truth. “Yes, actually, he is. And I’ll prove it.”

I instantly realize that I have no idea how exactly to prove it. So, I go with the first thing I think of within a split second.

I give Noah a brief look that says play along – though, I’m not sure he had enough time to understand the message because when I stand on my tippy toes, take his face in my hands, and land my lips into his, he freezes.

It feels like time freezes too as my eyes flutter closed and I melt into the kiss. Drunk in this shady bar, in this shitty scary situation, right now, it feels like it’s just me and Noah. In this moment, with our lips locked, the bar is quiet, everything is calm, and it feels really fucking good to win at pool. I can’t tell if the swirling in my tummy is from the panic or from something else entirely.

When I finally pull from him, my brows can’t help but furrow together in confusion. He looks back at me with a similar expression – though it’s hard to really decipher any real reactions in his glazed over eyes.

What the fuck was that?

The asshole is visibly over the charade. “What the fuck ever. Maybe next time you shouldn’t let your slut of a girlfriend leave the house looking like a whore.”

Before I even have time to process what he just said, Noah’s fist swings and crashes into Mystery Man’s face.

“Oh my god.” I gasp and bring a hand over to cover my mouth in shock.

It takes a second for the muscular man to react, his hand immediately going to his now bleeding nose. He doesn’t fully realize his condition until he holds out his fingers covered in blood.

His mean eyes then land on Noah like he’s a bullseye target. “You little fucking shit.” The man charges at him and in the blink of an eye, he’s on top of Noah on the ground just pummeling into his face.

“Noah!” I run over to him, not really knowing exactly what I could do.

Luckily, we’d already garnered the attention of the whole bar, so other similar sized patrons were able to pull the man off Noah before he had time to do worse damage. They drag him to the opposite corner of the bar and they fade into the background with my focus now being on Noah.

“Fuck Noah.” I mutter as I land on my knees near his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I stammer frantically looking around at what I could use to help him. The workers near us must’ve read my mind because they brought over a huge stack of napkins. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He says nothing and flutters his glossy eyes closed when I start to clean him up. He winces when I dab the blood gushing from his nose. “I’m sorry.” I repeat breathlessly, trying my hardest to keep a panic attack away. He flinches a bit when I try to gently wipe his busted lip. “Sorry.” I repeat again, because what else am I supposed to say to someone who just got beaten up because of me. I don’t dare go near his already swollen eye until I get access to some ice… or maybe some frozen peas.

“Should I call Nicholas? Or Jolly?” I ask meekly, folding the napkin within my hands.

Noah groans. “Nicholas.” He brings his hand to his forehead. “Don’t call Jolly. He’ll kill us.”

Us

There’s something about that word in that statement. I can’t explain it, but it seems so much bigger than just Noah and I.

Before he finishes his statement, I’ve already texted Nicholas. I’m surprised at how quickly he responded and even more surprised when he says that he’s not even 5 minutes away.

“Nicholas is here? He said he’s visiting a friend at a tattoo shop in this strip.”

“How convenient.” He grumbles sarcastically and uses his hand to cover his eyes.

When I return my gaze to him, I notice his bloody and bruising knuckles. “Oh my god your hand!” I gasp and take his hand in mine. I urgently steal the condensation off a nearby beer glass to wet a clean napkin and use it to delicately clean each knuckle. An overwhelming sense of guilt fills my chest, and another even worse feeling wraps itself around my throat with thorns. My heartbeat begins thumping so hard I can hear it in my ears and I’m trying my hardest to steady my now trembling hands.

He peeks an eye at me while keeping the other scrunched closed. “Are you okay?” His voice is soft with an inflection reminiscent of concern.

My eyes begin to burn the minute he acknowledges my panic and only makes everything worse. I focus intently on where the napkin is meeting his skin. “Mhm.” I know the moment I open my mouth to speak any semblance of emotional control would disappear. I discreetly attempt to stabilize my breathing so that it might tether me back to earth.

“Hey,” His brows knit together and lifts himself up onto his elbows. I never let go of his hand. His other hand finds my chin and gently redirects my gaze to him. “What’s wrong?”

My eyes fill with tears but immediately screw shut in a last-ditch effort to keep my composure. I rarely cry and even more seldom do I cry in front of others. And here am I, about to cry in front of the person I least want to.

The lump in my throat is painful and I try to swallow it down in an attempt to keep my tears at bay. “I’m fine, just let me keep cleaning you up.” My cracking voice gives away just how close I am to unraveling. A tear escapes me and I’m quick to wipe it off with the back of my hand.

He sternly but gently grasps my wrist to stop me from continuing. “I’m not letting you keep going until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know… a panic attack maybe?” A couple more tears escape, and I swiftly wipe them away. “You don’t deserve this, this is all my fault.” My eyes fall back down to his bloody hand in my own. “You look like this, because of me.”

He sits up more, analyzing. I can feel him dissecting me – even though we’re both drunk, it feels like he can see right through me. “I think it’s more than that Val. What’s up?”

That’s the first time I’ve heard my name come out of his mouth without some sort of insult attached to it. It sounds nice. I wouldn’t mind hearing it that way again.

My breathing is slowing down marginally, and I choose to ignore that his touch might have something to do with it. Surely it couldn’t have anything to do with it, right?

I take a deep inhale in preparation to speak without crying. I hold his bruised hand carefully with both of mine. I keep my attention on my thumb that is grazing across the black ink on his fingers. “Um.” I press my lips together and take another breath through my nose. He gives me my time, doesn’t rush or interrupt. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I hear my own voice crack and it feels like I’m somehow betraying myself by crying. “But, it’s not the first time something like…that has happened.” I blink some tears from my eyes and still focus on his hand. My voice is small and quiet, not the way I ever like to hear it. “It’s not even the second or third. And they’ve all been so much worse.” I let out a sad, sobby chuckle. “Which is why me crying about this is so fucking stupid because this was nothing. Worse things happen to people all the time and this was just some guy being a creep and–“

“Hey,” He rests his free hand on top of my own that were fidgeting more than I’d realized. “It wasn’t nothing. It was something. Something worth getting in a fight for. Okay?”

“It just shouldn’t be this upset over something so small.” My voice is not even a whisper. “It’s my fault.”

Weak

Is the only thing that is repeating in my head over and over.

I could’ve gotten myself out of the situation sooner.

I shouldn’t have frozen up.

I should’ve just taken the drink.

It didn’t have to escalate to that point.

I could’ve handled it on my own.

I shouldn’t be crying.

I was weak.

I am weak.

Weak.

Weak.

Weak.

He sits up and takes my chin into his fingers, titling my face up to meet his. The growing swelling all over his face only makes me feel worse. “You’re not stupid and it’s not your fault.” I know he’s trying to keep it together for me, but I can tell he’s struggling to form and deliver coherent sentences. “I don’t need to know any of the other instances to know that you were never stupid or that anything was your fault. Okay?”

I nod but it’s not enough for him. “I need to hear it.” The look in his chocolate eyes is one I haven’t seen in him before. Even behind his drunken daze and black eye, his eyes are genuine, kind, and concerned. A warmth blooms in my chest – it reminds me of when you’re running from the rain, and you rush into the safety of your car. That feeling of reaching a warm, safe place, that’s what I feel.

“Okay.” I reply quietly. “Thank you.”

While Noah is mere inches away from my face with his hand on my cheek, I hear a familiar voice. “What the fuck.” States an already irritated Nicholas.

Our eyes snap up at him and Noah instantly pulls away as if he has something to hide. Nicholas’ eyes shift between us, seemingly trying to decide which to address first.

“What the fuck did you do Noah.” His tone is immediately defensive.

Noah sloppily falls back onto the floor. His eyes go back to focusing on the ceiling. With Nicholas here, he looks unimpressed, maybe aggravated – definitely aggravated. For the person he told me to call, he seems quite unhappy that he’s here.

“No, no, it’s my fault.” I stop him before he continues to blame Noah. “He was protecting me.” I lower my voice into a whisper for the second half, “He helped me.”

“Bull fucking shit.” He sighs then the crouches down to inspect Noah further. He carefully pushes some bloody hairs away from his face, Nicholas’ touch on him is gentler than even mine. He gets a clear view of Noah’s face, it’s adorned with a black eye, a bruised nose covered in dried blood and a gashed open bottom lip.

“Do you think he’ll have to get that stitched up?” I bring up my thumb and chew on a freshly manicured nail.

He tugs at the injured boy’s lip looking at it closer, “No he’s fucking fine.”

While Nicholas is visibly angry, he seems oddly calm, at least calmer that I expected. I suppose it makes sense though, I’m sure this isn’t his first rodeo with a drunken Noah in a bar fight.

He lets go of his lip letting it harshly snap back into place earning a whine from Noah. “Hey!”

Nicholas stands up straight and offers me a hand to get myself up. Once I’m up in front of him, he gives me a once over, probably questioning my outfit of a lace corset and a skirt. “What were you guys doing here?” He questions angrily and closes a bit of the space between us.

“It’s a long story.” Between the alcohol, the fight, and my fading panic attack, I don’t have the energy to go through it all. He goes to argue with me, and I shut him down, mirroring his low grumbly voice. “I’ll explain later.”

His thick brows fall straight, evidently not liking my answer. He takes a moment, as if he’s trying to decide on the next thing to say without pissing me off. “He could’ve gotten you hurt. He could’ve hurt you.”

I scrunch my brows up at him. Sure, I’ve seen Noah storm out of numerous doors, and I saw him get a little abrasive with Bryan earlier, but would he actually hurt someone? Would he have hurt me?

“He didn’t, Nicholas.” I place my hand softly on his chest in an effort to calm him down. “Believe it or not… he saved me.” The sentence surprises even me as I say it.

Skepticism plasters itself across his face. “Saved you from what exactly?”

My eyes flutter to the ground and the same panicky feeling from before spins behind my ribcage. “It doesn’t matter.” I wave away the technicalities. “Point is, he didn’t do anything wrong. You should let up on him.”

He gives me a you’ve-gotta-be-shitting-me look.

The man from before – which I learned from the guys that pulled him away earlier, that his name was Mike – is being escorted out of the bar by two men who look like security guards.

“Oh, so you didn’t just need one scrawny bitch you needed two?” He practically spits at me while wiggling beneath the guard’s grip.

“Excuse me?” Nicholas snaps immediately turning to narrow his eyes at the man.

He laughs, “This one’s even more pathetic.”

I’m not sure why that, out of everything, fills me with the most rage of all. Anger spreads through me like electricity and every cell in my body propels me towards him.

An arm hooks around my waist and recoils me backwards before my fists can reach his body. Even though Nicholas is shorter than Noah, he still towers over me, and I must look tiny in his arms.

Mike mocks me while the guards try to urge him towards the door.

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t fucking talk about them like that!” I struggle trying to escape from Nick’s surprisingly strong arms.

“Hey, hey calm down,” Nicholas hushes me with a little chuckle. “I got you.” His hand gives my side a reassuring little squeeze. “It’s okay.”

Once Mike is completely out of the bar a heavy weight is lifted from my chest and I can finally breathe again. Whether on purpose or by chance, Nicholas’ arm is still wrapped around me, but I don’t mind it. His warmth is comfortable against the frigid air of the bar. It feels nice, like a shelter.

Only then does it occur to me that any sort of panic or fear I was feeling before was soothed by him. In his arms I feel safe, and it reminds me of the way I felt with Noah earlier.

“C’mon asshole,” Nicholas snaps at Noah who’s looking half dead, still laying on the ground.

Noah covers his mouth and squeezes his eyes closed, “I’m gonna need a fucking trashcan.”

“Enough with the dramatics.” Nicholas rolls his eyes, and I can practically feel the impatience and aggravation radiating from his body. “Get the fuck up so I can get us home.”

There is that word again: us.

Us.

It’s a just small detail of wording but for whatever reason, I cling onto it like it means something.

Maybe my time with them won’t be as fleeting as I thought it would be.

next chapter -> 09 - Lavender Haze

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @kingdomof-omens @persuasivus @strawberryruffilo [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

A/N: The love for this story has honestly been so overwhelming (in a good way obv) and I couldn't be more grateful. I really thought this would flop lol so, thank you so much for every like, reblog, ask, or comment. It means the world to me truly. Thank you.

i love hearing your thoughts so feel free to share! (i'm really bad at responding to asks but i still love them 😅 i'm so sorry)

ALSO! Thank you so much for the love on my new series, Intertwined 💗 New chapter coming soon! 💗

[goldencuffs]

persuasion

@lamenweek day six: auguste lives au

It’s four-thirty on a Wednesday, and Damen is exhausted, worn down and irritated over the fact that he’s still stuck in the gym storage room, sorting through eight boxes of equipment.

The year seven kid in here with him, Peter, is slow and mullish: he’s only here because Huet gave him detention for not doing his homework for the third week in a a row.

Damen is here because his entire faculty is incompetent. These boxes were supposed to be unpacked a month ago, at the start of the term, but after Kallias walked out, things have been… hectic, to say the least.

In the stifling heat, Peter’s odour is unpleasant, because he’s thirteen, and thirteen year old boys reek.

Damen is seriously considering telling him to leave, but the extra pair of hands, no matter how small and slow, are still better than nothing.

Then, Damen hears the squeak of trainers across the shiny linoleum floor, and a tall, slim figure leans against the doorway, arms crossed.

Damen bites back a sigh, his irritation spiking.

Laurent says, “Hey you, fuck off.”

Peter balks. “Me?”

Damen has his back turned, but in the ensuing silence, he knows that Laurent is staring the poor kid down, unwilling to repeat himself.

“Mr Vallis…” Peter starts, voice high and whiny.

This time Damen sighs loudly. “It’s fine, Peter. You can go home.”

Peter does so, without a goodbye, and when the gym doors close once more, Laurent says, “Damen, I need to talk to you.”

Damen turns around, mirroring Laurent’s pose. “Laurent, I’ve told you a hundred times not to call me by name at school. It’s Mr Vallis to you inside these gates. Always.”

Laurent rolls his eyes. Everything about him, as usual, is immaculate. There isn’t a single hair out of place, he’s still wearing his blazer, and unlike the most boys in this school, he hasn’t loosened his tie or unbuttoned his shirt to wave off the heat.

The only indication that he isn’t a weird, strange robot is the pink across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

“Unless you’re planning on help me with this, I need you to fuck off too,” Damen says, ready to turn back around.

“Actually, Mr Vallis,” Laurent straightens, and Damen doesn’t miss the inflection in his name, “I need a favour.”

Damen unpacks the third box, almost bursting into tears when he sees they’re nets. Nets always go on the top shelf. His back is going to break by the end of it.

“What is it?” He belatedly asks, realising Laurent is watching him.

Laurent presses his tongue to his top lip. “I know there’s a spot open on the wrestling team, and it would look really good on my uni applications if I wrote that I’m—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Revere. I already told you before the holidays that if your grades don’t improve—”

“They have! I managed to get a B in Ancient History—"

“You need a B average, not just in one subject. I’ve already checked, and you’re barely scraping a C.”

Laurent makes an indignant scoff. “Yes, but it would be a B average if Auguste helped me out with Chemistry—which is the only subject I’m failing, by the way. And he doesn’t help me at all—what’s the point of him being the best Chem teacher at this school if he won’t put me in his class!”

Damen runs a hand over his face. “You know you can’t have your brother teaching you—it’s against school policy.”

“Fine, whatever,” Laurent shrugs. “But, I swear I’ve been trying Dam—Mr Vallis. Can’t you make an exception for me?”

“Absolutely not,” Damen snorts.

“Ugh! What’s the point of knowing teachers if they don’t help you out when you need it?”

Damen shrugs. “Tough luck, kid. If I gave you the spot, it might keep someone who actually deserves it from joining.”

“I deserve it.”

Damen rolls his eyes.

“Fine,” Laurent adopts a haughty look, head held high. “I’ll tell your boyfriend Auguste that you’re being a dick—”

“We’ve been over this Laurent; I’m not dating your brother.”

“Hmm, could have fooled me,” Laurent mutters in a dangerous undertone. “All that touching and cuddling and inside jokes—”

Damen knows that he shouldn’t rise to bait presented to him by a belligerent eighteen year old, but he’s tired, and it’s been a long, long day so he snaps, “Yeah, that’s what friends do, you little shit. Not that you would know what it’s like to have one.”

He regrets it as soon as he says it: Damen is the adult here (the proper one) and more importantly, he’s Laurent’s teacher. A professional.

Laurent’s face falls, and genuine hurt settles into his eyes.

The corners of his mouth droop, and his voice shakes as he says, “You’re such an asshole.”

Damen sighs, “Laurent—”

“Fuck you, Damen,” Laurent says, and turns on his heel in one smooth, elegant move.

*

Two weeks later, Auguste holds one last barbeque party to mourn the end of summer.

It’s not a crowded party: just four other teachers from school, two of Auguste’s uni friends, and of course, bloody Laurent.

He hasn’t said a single word to Damen all afternoon, the rude shit. Not that Damen expects anything less from the most prickly person he knows.

Laurent normally doesn’t even hang out with them, but since he turned eighteen over the winter, Auguste has been trying to include him in their gatherings a lot more.

It’s still a bit surreal to see Laurent easily holding down conversations with men twice his age, a beer bottle pressed to his mouth.

(That part is not so surprising. Damen caught Laurent guzzling an entire bottle of wine when he was sixteen, in this very kitchen).

Orlant touches Laurent’s knee, and says something that makes him laugh raucously.

Damen stands from the couch and makes his way over.

“Hey,” he says, “I think your brother’s calling you.”

Laurent frowns, eyes drifting over to the alfresco, where Auguste is belting Wannabe by Spice Girls and ignoring the grill, Lazar attempting to beatbox along with the words.

God, the steaks are going to burn.

“I don’t think so,” Laurent says.

When Damen doesn’t leave, Orlant says, “You good, man?”

Damen doesn’t bother to reply. He frowns at Laurent. “You’ve been drinking non stop since you got here.”

Laurent throws him a disgusted look. “You’re not my teacher outside of school hours. Fuck off.”

Orlant raises an eyebrow, looking between them. “You’re his student?”

“Barely,” Laurent mutters. “He just makes us do laps and teaches us abstinence like a pastor from the seventies.”

“The curriculum suggests that I—”

“And he won’t put me on his wrestling team because of a small technicality.”

“It’s not a small—”

“You should let him on the team, man,” Orlant says, smiling at Laurent.

Laurent smiles back, eyelashes fluttering.

Damen frowns again.

“Thank you,” Laurent says to Orlant. “I wish you were the coach. Nikandros spent all summer helping me perfect my form, and it’s all been for nothing.”

Damen feels his face crack. “Nikandros? Since when have you been hanging out with him?”

Laurent gives him a devious smile. “Oh, I can be very persuasive. He spent the entire time telling me how good I was.” He flutters his lashes at Damen this time. “It’s a shame you won’t be able to see for yourself, Mr Vallis.”

Orlant watches Laurent shamelessly.

Damen grits his teeth, blood rushing to his head, and grips Laurent’s bicep, ignoring his “Hey!”

He drags Laurent to the unoccupied living room, pushing him away in disgust the moment they’re alone. “What the fuck is your problem, Revere?”

“What the fuck is yours?” Laurent snaps, rubbing his bicep. “Have you lost it already? You usually go crazy around midterms.”

“Shut up,” Damen hisses. “What are you playing at? Did you seriously go to Nikandros for wrestling tips?”

Laurent is still rubbing his bicep, the drama queen. “Well, yes. You wouldn’t help me, so I had to look somewhere else for… expertise. And Nikandros was more than willing to help. Eventually.”

Damen can feel a headache coming on. “Nikandros is shit at wrestling.”

Laurent laughs. “Oh my god. You’re acting like a baby.” “And you’re being your usual intolerable self.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Now Laurent looks livid, his eyes flashing with malice.

“You haven’t even tried to get to know me for the last three years. When you told me I had to improve my grades, I studied my ass off. I got a tutor. I even went to fucking summer school. And yeah, I might only have a C average, but I’ve improved in literally everything. I’ve only failed one subject! At least Nikandros was willing to listen to me. You just behave like an ass.”

Damen swallows, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks away, down at the shiny, tiled floor.

He sighs, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“What was that?”

Damen looks at Laurent, at the sun shining down his head. “I said I’m sorry. Perhaps I have been… a little unfair.”

Laurent snorts and presses his mouth together,

“I didn’t realise how hard you’ve been working,” Damen says, appreciative. “I’m proud of you.”

Laurent goes red. He rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. “Whatever. You’re still a dick.”

Damen smiles. “Yeah, I guess.”

There’s a brief, awkward silence.

Then Damen says, “Okay, give me your speech.”

“My speech, Mr Vallis?”

“Yeah,” Damen raises an eyebrow. “Give me whatever speech you gave Nikandros. If it can convince him to teach you to wrestle, it might convince me to give you a shot on the team.”

Laurent stands straight, assessing him for a moment. “Are you sure, Mr Vallis?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

Laurent gives him a smile Damen has never seen before. It unleashes something dark in his eyes.

Damen swallows, his heart suddenly picking up pace.

Laurent saunters towards him, still with that smile. He comes close enough that Damen can see the small smattering of freckles on his nose.

Damen presses his back to the counter. “Laurent…”

Laurent bites his lip. “Everyone thinks you’re the hottest teacher at school, Mr Vallis. I’ve had a crush on you since my first year.”

Damen coughs, startled. “Laurent, what…”

“Do you want me to give my speech or not?”

Damen’s chest heaves with his breaths. He assesses Laurent’s beautiful face, his mind carefully shutting down.

“Yes,” he says quietly.

Laurent’s smile is sweet and shy.

He’s still wearing that smile when he gets down on his knees. His fingers are quick, nimble as they unbuckle Damen’s belt.

The clank of metal is loud, even amongst the drone of the party.

Damen should stop this. He should say something. Laurent is his student. More than that, he’s his best friend’s just-legal little brother. Damen should—

Laurent kisses the tip of his cock through the cloth, dragging his tongue over it, making it damp.

“Fuck, Laurent.”

Laurent pulls back and smiles at him, eyes half-mast. “I managed to convince Nikandros in about three minutes. Do you think you’ll last a bit longer?”

Damen grunts, hips moving in aborted jerks as Laurent slides down his underwear.

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

[songbirdstyles]

candy girl.

summary: you and harry have a picnic in your backyard.

warnings: a whole lot of fluff + smut

word count: 3.3k

song inspo.: candy girl - frankie valli & the four seasons

There’s something sweeter about the spring months - more than any other season, the air is soft and light like the skirts of the sundresses that you can finally pull out of the box you’d shoved them in the autumn prior. It’s the perfect mix of heat with no humidity, where sitting outside on a checkered picnic blanket for more than ten minutes doesn’t have you dripping with sweat, and you can lean into your boyfriend’s grasp without feeling your skin stick together uncomfortably.

It’s always been your favorite season and it’s a sentiment you share with Harry. The two of you seem to shine in the springtime and you’re in the thick of it, now. Your garden smells of flowers and perfume - the French cologne you’d bought him for Valentine’s day generously spritzed on his neck, even if you’re the only one to enjoy it - and you lean back against the blanket, supporting yourself with one arm while your other hand runs down your leg to brush off the stray piece of grass decorating your exposed thigh. Your dress had risen up when you’d perched yourself on the picnic blanket Harry had set up and, really, who were you to fix it?

Harry is as gorgeous as the season itself when you glance up at him, clutching one of the caprese sandwiches you two had made together earlier in the day. He’s not looking at you - eyes glazing over the wide expanse of your backyard, a haven of the seclusion and privacy that you’d both yearned for when you’d picked this house. It’s always been nice, feeling like you’re in your own little world with the love of your life even when you’re sitting in your yard, but especially now that the world has come to a standstill - you try to take advantage of your home as much as possible.

Picnics are a must. They’re one of your favourite things to do and plan, slicing watermelon and packing cookies into a basket only to carry it five feet into your backyard, grass between your bare toes, and take it all back out. There’s something distinctly more intimate about dining in nature than at the kitchen table and you’ll never stop appreciating it.

“What’re y’lookin’ at, doll?” Harry’s raspy voice brings you back to life. You’d been too caught up in gazing at him, you suppose, to focus on much else - but it’s a sacrifice you’re all too willing to make. “Don’t tell me I’ve got vinegar on m’face.”

You smile softly, leaning forward just enough that you can reach up to wipe off the spot of vinegar that, sure enough, had been gracing the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t notice it until you mentioned it, actually, but you did.”

Harry hums softly, puckering his lips to press against your thumb as you drag the digit lightly across the soft expanse of his bottom lip. “So jus’ lookin’ at m’pretty face, then, weren’t you.”

Yes, truthfully, and in a garden filled with flowers that the two of you obsess over taking care of, you think it’s fair to admit that he’s the prettiest sight to see out here. So you merely nod, shifting closer to him so he can land his palm on your exposed thigh, fingertips brushing against the flowing fabric of the dress you’d picked out just for today. In any other context you’d see his hand placement as a scheme but perhaps it’s the overwhelming innocence of your picnic - you just can’t see it as that. “I was,” you confess, voice soft as you rest your hand overtop of his, and Harry squeezes your thigh softly, nails gently digging into your skin with small, crescent shaped indents that will surely fade within minutes. “I can’t help it, you know. Just so beautiful.”

You can practically hear his teasing demeanor softening at your gentle admission, and it grows louder as your boyfriend leans down to press an open mouthed kiss to your cheek, then another closer to the incline of your jawline. “Could’ve said the same ‘bout you, my love,” he murmurs, fingers stroking soothing circles into your inner thigh. “Y’make me crazy, y’know.”

“Do I?”

Your teasing tilt has Harry’s eyebrows raising, and he moves his head from the side of your face to stare at you as though you’d personally affronted him. The absence of his lips on your cheek is almost overwhelming enough to make you miss what he says - almost. “Y’better. Reckon m’doing somethin’ wrong if y’don’t know what a fool I am for you.”

You hum softly - the tune to some song that had been playing earlier, while you and Harry packed your picnic basket, and the name of which you can’t remember - and shift closer to him to rest your head on his shoulder, cheek brushing against the soft material of his flowy shirt. You’re not sure how to articulate exactly how you’re feeling and perhaps Harry senses that, because he ends the brief moment of silence settling between you by sighing, “Been searchin’ this whole world t’find someone like you. Y’make me as happy as can be. I’d give y’the clothes off m’back, if you’d let me.”

“Well, I do like that shirt,” you tell him, relishing in his breathy chuckle, resting your chin on his shoulder so you can glance into his eyes. They’re filled with adoration and another emotion you can’t quite decipher, but it’s as soft and sweet as the springtime around you and you love to see it. “Gonna love you ‘till the end of time.”

“I hope that’s a promise.”

“It is,” you assure Harry, and you take just a second to watch the slow smile that stretches across his face before leaning up to land your lips against his. He tastes sweet and when you run your fingers through his curls they feel sweet and when he squeezes your thigh the feeling of his nails against your skin feels sweet - in fact, you’re not sure any moment between you two has been quite so sweet and, God, you could live in this feeling. You practically already do, you suppose. 

You’re more than happy to spend the rest of the evening like this, lips never leaving Harry’s, but after a moment your boyfriend pulls away, hand stroking up and down the expanse of your thigh, inadvertently sliding your dress further and further up your legs. “I hate t’ruin this moment,” he declares, reaching for the picnic basket just as you swing your legs onto his lap, sliding closer to him to make the position more comfortable, “but I remember slicin’ an’ packin’ watermelon for dessert - can’t let that go t’waste, now can we.”

He’s already pulling out the glass tupperware container of watermelon before you have time to point out that, actually, you had sliced and packed the fruit, but you suppose it doesn’t matter, anyway. He unsnaps the lid and rests the cool container on your calves, picking up one of the two pieces you’d packed before resting the lid back on its counterpart and resting it back on the blanket.

“Don’t I get one?” you question, reaching back for the container without waiting for a response. 

Harry tuts softly before hooking his arm around your waist, successfully preventing you from grabbing the tupperware, and you settle back into your spot half on top of him with little fret. “Doll,” he begins, in a cloying tone that sounds strangely deceiving in a way you can’t quite place your finger on, “sharing is caring, y’know.”

Yes, he does sound slightly scheming, but the arch of watermelon he’s raising to your mouth is delicious enough to allow you to overlook it. So you open your mouth for him, stick your tongue out just for show, and you take a generous bite of the center of the piece once it’s close enough. A droplet of watermelon juice trickles down your lip and you can feel its cool descent beginning down your chin as Harry pulls the watermelon back from your mouth, and before you can raise your wrist to wipe at it, he’s leaning in - lips pressed to your chin, slightly parted so you can feel his tongue flicking against the juice. It’s a sensation that has your stomach flipping and your arm, hooked around his neck, tightens just enough to hold his head to your face a mere second longer than necessary.

But, God - when he pulls away, you wish you’d held him a second longer. He is a devil, you suppose, and you can see it flashing in his eyes. Harry knows what he does to you and you can’t resist him, now, watching him take a bite of watermelon as though he’s a painting, merely meant for you to observe. But he likes the attention - you can tell - and he puts on a show for you, sinking his teeth into the erubescent flesh of the fruit, tongue running over the melon in a way that’s so sensual you’d nearly consider it pornographic.

“Jesus,” you breathe, bringing your thumb up to wipe at the juice beginning to trickle from the corner of his mouth. The liquid is ruby red on your finger and you bring it up to your mouth, tongue swiping against your thumb to taste the candied flavour. “God, Harry -”

But whatever else you’d been meaning to say (which was, truthfully, not much at all) gets lost in the spring air around you as Harry lowers his lips to yours. Instinctually your hand digs back up into his curls, fingers tugging at the strands - he tastes like the fruit you’d been sharing, with just a hint of the caprese sandwiches you’d had, and it’s twice as delicious as sinking your teeth into either. And his hand on your thigh is sliding further upwards, past the fabric of your dress that’s risen so much it hardly serves its purpose to cover you up, and his other hand still holds the watermelon, juices surely coating his fingers and you can think of a few other things you’d rather see his hand dripping with -

And, just like that, you’re moaning into his mouth, eyes rolling back at just the mere thought. You pull away for just a second and your full intent is to slam your lips back against his like your life depends on it but before you can even lean back in, Harry’s raising your shared piece of watermelon up to your mouth, and your teeth sink into it with a fervor you hadn’t intended on showing or even simply possessing -

Digging your lips into the piece just enough has the juice coating your lips and beginning to trickle down your chin and that’s exactly what you’d wanted, as he leans back in, lips attaching to yours once more. His breathing is picking up and his hand slides up your thigh around to your ass, cupping it and pulling you closer to him, fingers hooking into the waistband of your lace panties, stroking into the smooth skin they’d been protecting.

“Harry -” and that’s the only word you can mutter against his lips before he pulls away, even if you’re still yearning for his taste. “Please, Harry - driving me mad, here.”

His soft humming is beyond peaceful in a moment that’s become anything but, and he takes another bite of watermelon - God, takes his time chewing and swallowing and lapping up the liquid on his lips before you can lean in to capture it - before murmuring, “Tell me what y’want.”

What do you want? Everything, you suppose - in the simplest terms you want everything he can give you and more. You want him to fuck you into the picnic blanket, dragging that piece of watermelon up and down your body and licking up the juice it leaves behind. And you want to lie down in front of him with his dick in your mouth, giving him the pleasure he so deserves, and you want to ride him slowly, confessing to him how much you love him because, even in the thick of a moment like this, it’s always in the forefront of your mind.

But - right now, what you really want is currently clutching a piece of watermelon.

“Give me your fingers, Har,” in a faint, whiny plea, already reaching to wrap your fingers around his wrist to force him to comply - but you know he wouldn’t dream of doing anything else. “Need to feel them inside of me.”

Harry’s throaty groan is the only response you need, and his ring-clad hand that’s groping your ass slides back around to the front of your body. On instinct you part your legs wider for him - one still resting on his lap and the other dropping onto the checkered picnic blanket beneath you, and you can feel the gentle prickle of freshly cut grass poking you through the fabric. 

He’s a tease and you figure that’ll never change - fingers trail up and down your inner thighs, dancing across the damp part of your panties that’s proof of exactly how much you need him and yet he doesn’t budge. Doesn’t slip his fingers into the cunt that’s aching for him because he loves to keep you on edge and, sometimes, you love it too. And, right now, you appreciate it because it’s as good a time as any to reach down, grab Harry’s wrist still clutching the half eaten piece of watermelon, and you tug it up to your mouth to take another bite of the dessert you’d been assaulting for the past ten minutes -

You’d no sooner swallow the chunk of watermelon than Harry’s dragging you in for another kiss, lips slotting together slow and smooth, like he’s trying to memorize the taste on your tongue. You don’t tell him that there’s no need to memorize it - you’ll be here for the rest of time - but you appreciate it, parting your lips for him to slip his tongue into your mouth as his fingers slide into the front of your panties.

A soft gasp escapes your throat and you pull your face from Harry’s, eyes shifting downwards - you’re tempted to pull your dress up so you can see his hand, prominent through your panties, but there’s something better about not being able to. Secretive, perhaps, or simply more intimate, but it’s enough to have you resist the urge to tug the fabric up and watch him at work.

Harry’s digits begin soft and slow, simply dragging up and down your dripping folds, pressure so soft you could trick yourself into thinking nothing’s happening - but then his fingers are sinking into your cunt with absolutely no hesitation. Merely feeling the coldness of his ring against your folds has you tossing your head back with a cry that rings through your backyard, high pitched and needy, and when you glance back at Harry there’s a slow smirk spreading across his face - a cockiness that should, perhaps, bother you, but it only sends another gush of arousal straight to the apex of your thighs.

“Oh, God -” your voice is barely above a breath but it’s quiet enough in your yard to sound like a scream. He’s breathing heavy and so are you but that’s it and it’s a testament, perhaps, to either the absolute seclusion of your backyard that feels like a dream right now, or the overall silence of the world - that the sound of people on the streets or at your neighbors’ houses isn’t interrupting your moment. And, whichever it is, you’re savoring it. “Feels so good, Har.”

The slice of watermelon falls from Harry’s grasp onto your calf, resting on his lap, and his now-unoccupied hand grips your outer thigh that’s fallen off his lap, groping the skin just hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll surely admire tomorrow morning. Finger shaped bruises that you can’t help but press on, just to remember exactly how spectacular it feels right now, but even when they’ve faded, he can’t resist marking you up again - and he only proves it by leaning down, lapping a thin stripe down your jawline before landing his lips on the column of your throat. Harry’s thumb, buried in your panties, shifts to work at your clit, his other digits still pumping in and out of you - slowly, just enough to keep you needing more, curling upwards with every thrust to swipe that spot inside of you that has your back arching upwards and your hips rolling to meet his fingers.

“C’mon, sweet girl,” Harry’s whispering, pressing quiet kisses below your ear as he eggs you on, and you whimper softly as his thumb presses circles into your clit. “Need t’hear you - tell me how good it feels.”

For how much he’s pleasing you, you figure it’s only right to give into his praise kink - “Feels so good,” you moan, hips rocking into Harry’s hand, arm still hooked around his neck and holding him close to you. “I love you so much - oh, god - makin’ me feel so good.”

“I love you,” he breathes, nuzzling his forehead ever so slightly into the side of your face and you turn your head to capture his lips once more, slipping your tongue into his mouth to try and reassert any semblance of dominance that you can find but he’s got you wrapped around his finger, and you both know it. Fingers curl in your pussy and his thumb working circles on your clit picks up speed until your head feels like it’s fucking spinning, the slow pace he’d had before long forgotten - the sound of your wetness is nearly embarrassingly loud but not louder than your desperate sobs, crying and begging for something you can’t quite pinpoint. 

For a moment, that’s all there is - your moans landing right into his mouth because, no matter what, you can’t bear to take your lips off of his - his fingers, digging near-painfully into your thigh in a way that you can’t bring yourself to dislike - so on the verge of cumming that it seems like anything could tip you over the edge -

And anything ends up being Harry, reaching down to grab the slice of watermelon dripping onto your calf, raising it up to his mouth to take the final bite of the fruit before letting the rind fall onto the picnic blanket beneath you. The mere sight of the juices dripping down his face has you clenching around his fingers but then he leans in, lips pressing to yours again, and when your mouth parts for him there’s a gush of the juice that flows into your mouth and -

With one final cry, your head drops back, the sticky liquid coating your tongue and your throat as you swallow it before the band snaps, pressure building in the pit of your stomach finally unleashing with the force of your orgasm raining through your body. It’s a euphoric feeling you’ll never get old of and Harry knows just how to work you through it, lazily pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt as your arousal coats his fingers and your body nearly convulses overtop of him, eyes rolling back until all you can see is the bright blue sky spanning above you.

It’s hard to feel anything but peace afterwards but you can’t help frowning as Harry pulls his fingers out of your cunt, glistening in the sunlight with your cum. And he stares down at his digits like it’s a fucking dessert, or a delicacy, before raising them to his mouth and wrapping his lips around his fingertips in a way that already has you ready for a part two -

“God,” Harry remarks, pulling his mouth off of his fingers with a soft pop that makes your stomach turn - “Taste sweeter than the watermelon, doll - like candy -”

But you’re not focusing on him, even when you part your lips to taste your arousal on his fingers - all you can see is the second piece of watermelon, encased in the glass tupperware like a goddamn piece of art, ready for whatever you have planned for it - and you have a lot.

[averagefolksfandom]

on “wise woman” vs “prophetess”

So we know from the beta pilot that the citizens of Vallis refer to Terra’s position as the “wise woman,” to the point where most of them seem not to even know the position can be called “prophetess.” Meanwhile, Terra refers to herself as a prophetess, and the narrator as well as all marketing materials we’ve seen so far have referred to her as a prophetess as well. On a more meta level, the term used by the narrator and marketing materials suggests “prophetess” will be the dominant term moving forward, but every good DnD player knows how to separate meta knowledge from player knowledge, and this is a post about the in-universe implications, so we’ll leave it at that. 

Terra suggests that the term difference has to do with a culture one between wherever she came from and Vallis. Makes sense, makes sense. I am *super* here for those kinds of vocabulary shifts based on culture/location, makes the storyworld feel that much more real. What’s really interesting to note though is that Terra is repeatedly shown to be uncomfortable/upset by/annoyed with the term “wise woman” being used instead. I have two things to say about this.

1.) It could be that Terra is as unfamiliar with the term “wise woman” as Vallis is with “prophetess,” and since everything else around her is new and strange already, she may very likely feel threatened by the idea of a profession name change. Labels can become tied to identity, after all, so the shift may feel to her like a shift in/change of identity. (I say “threatened by”; she may not think of it like that necessarily, as she doesn’t seem to like feeling threatened and would be resistant to admitting that’s the case, but acknowledged or not, she can and has responded with hostility [correcting the others, sometimes forcefully]. But I digress.) 

2.) It could be that Terra is familiar with the term “wise woman,” but the name means something different where she comes from. We know nothing about wherever she’s from. For all we know, that’s what people call something entirely different and maybe even against her values. If that were the case, the shift in language would be personally distressing even if she understands that the name is just different in Vallis. In a worst-case scenario, it could be the equivalent of going to another country and finding out that your job is casually referred to as the slur for it in your country. 

NOW. In any case, Terra is the one coming into a new culture, and more than that, she’s coming into a service role for the community. Part of her job is to learn the new culture and adjust to it, and allowing the job title change might be part of that. The fact that she doesn’t seem to think so is really fascinating to me. She corrects citizens of Vallis repeatedly, and seems insistent that the title not change. That’s what led me to consider the two ideas above^^ in the first place. This could easily count against her with the people (folks?) of Vallis, as she may come off as pretentious or unwilling to really learn about their way of life. I don’t think that’s actually true of Terra, but whatever her reasons for this term insistence, it’s a possible conflict moving forward. 

There’s one other thing I want to say here, and that’s the possibility that this role is exclusive to women. I considered as much before the beta came out and we just had the name “prophetess,” but that’s such an easy title to shift based on gender that I didn’t dive too deep into it. BUT, with the addition of “wise woman,” it seems more likely that the position is women-only. (Am I saying that because “wise woman” is only alliteration if it’s woman? A little bit yes. I admit, I can be shallow, and I fucking love alliteration.) Especially in a society that doesn’t adhere to the gender binary in the same way we so often do (especially in matters relating to god, as their god specifically does not adhere to the gender binary), having both in-universe titles for this job hinge on the gender of the title-holder seems odd. This seems to suggest the position is women-only, and to that, I have only one question: Why? Why must the “authorized earpiece,” as I think the summary put it, of the Great They be a woman? Is that the same in every culture? Unique to a handful? Has it always been this way? Maybe my obsession with the Genesis story is shining through, but, does a different creation story have anything to do with it?? I’m intrigued. I’m fascinated. I have no other sources to pull from until the kickstarter succeeds and I can begin the long wait till next summer, so I really can’t get any further (ha, I say that now, but if this spiral can happen in a single shift, imagine all the shifts I have between now and then).  

[architectnews]

Twenty-two women architects and designers you should know

To mark International Women's Day, we asked 22 of the world's most inspirational women architects and designers to nominate another woman who should be better known for their work.

Each of the prominent architects and designers was asked to select a woman who they think deserves greater recognition.

Several chose to shine a light on historic figures who did not receive full recognition in their lifetimes, with MVRDV co-founder Nathalie de Vries, Bangladeshi architect Marina Tabassum and Neri&Hu co-founder Rossana Hu nominating Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak, Minnette de Silva and Lin Huiyin respectively.

Others took the opportunity to draw attention to a contemporary woman or women-led team that should be better known, with Camille Walala, Tatiana Bilbao, Dorte Mandrup and Eva Franch i Gilabert nominating Unscene Architecture, Taller Comunal, Marie-José Van Hee and V. Mitch McEwen respectively.

Read on for the 22 architects and designers that deserve greater recognition:

Marie-José Van He Nominated by Dorte Mandrup, Dorte Mandrup Arkitekter

"Marie-José Van Hee is a remarkably talented architect. Working primarily in her native country, Belgium, she is forging a significant mark on contemporary architecture with her attention to space, light and natural materials.

"Through her understated, authentic and poetic work, she continuously influences and inspires architects and designers alike. A timeless simplicity and weightlessness permeate throughout her designs, creating a stillness that seems almost tangible – blurring the line between art and architecture."

Iwona Buczkowska Nominated by Farshid Moussavi, Farshid Moussavi Architecture

"Polish-born French architect Iwona Buczkowska's brilliant career is distinguished by an architectural approach opposed to any form of standardisation, thus placing the diversity of users and their agency at the core of her work. Her tireless commitment has led to the creation of works of incredible richness and inventiveness, whether for housing projects or public facilities.

"At a time when we need to question our built environment, and in particular, the housing in which we live, her work on diversification, user empowerment and inclusion seems particularly worthy of attention. As her work is under-studied, and because some of her built projects are currently under threat of demolition, I feel it is particularly important to bring to light what her work has to teach us."

Charlotte Perriand Nominated by Es Devlin, Es Devlin Studio

"Last weekend I went to the South Downs to try to recreate this uplifting portrait of Charlotte Perriand (above) about which her daughter said: 'That photograph of a strong woman, triumphantly embracing nature, is the perfect image of my mother. She announces the contemporary woman, emancipated and free.

"Most of us have sat on the extraordinary and now iconic furniture she made in collaboration with Le Corbusier. Most of us are unaware of her fundamental role in its design. She was a genius in the art of collaboration, especially with powerful male artists. Her practice spanned an astounding range of genres, her work drew deeply on the forms she observed in nature throughout her rich life."

Kenyatta Mclean Nominated by Harriet Harriss, dean of the Pratt Institute School of Architecture

"I'd like to nominate Kenyatta Mclean, co-founder and co-managing director of Blackspace: the black, interdisciplinary, spatial collective comprised of architects, artists, designers and planners who have asserted both the necessity and the agency of 'Black Urbanism'.

"From my perspective, her ability to co-create spatial narratives that are centred in and driven by racial justice is essential and urgent work applicable both to the US where the practice is situated, and cities worldwide, where structural racism and other forms of discrimination are embedded in the materiality and form of the architectures that surround us.

"Moreover, spatial collectives – from Matrix to Assemble – offer a much-needed antidote to the vagaries of starchitecture and the hierarchies typically found in traditional design practices. Kenyatta Mclean's visionary work reminds us all of the need to use this period of Covid-imposed introspection to re-examine how much more inclusive, equitable and impactful our industry needs to become.

"Blackspace also offers a road map and a benchmark for graduates and young practitioners who are committed to leading the changes we need to make."

Unscene Architecture Nominated by Camille Walala, Studio Walala

"I would like to nominate Unscene Architecture. A pair of fantastic women that I met the year before the pandemic started. The architecture design duo – founders Manijeh Verghese and Madeleine Kessler – were the co-creators of the British Pavilion for the postponed 2020 Venice Architecture Biennale. Definitely, ones to watch."

Anupama Kundhoo Nominated by Seetal Solanki

"A rare kind within the world of architecture. Anupama Kundhoo brings people a voice, materials a voice and building a voice that is beyond her own – an egoless practice. Traits that shouldn't be so rare actually, but she's paving the way for so many and hopefully many more to come."

Ndebele women Nominated by Sumayya Vally, Counterspace

"In this tribe, we evoke women near and far – friends, ancestors and mythical figures – women who write, organise, imagine and build worlds into being. I chose to draw attention to the unrecognised architect genius of the Ndebele women – women who craft ritual objects and build and adorn their own homes. The calling of their names invokes the calling of millions of errant, unrecognised, other architects the world over – past, present and future.

"They are Maria Ntobela Mahlangu, Dinah Mahlangu, Johanna Mkwebani, Martina Maghlangu, Anna Msiza, Sara Mthimunye, Sara and Lisbeth, Pikinini and Sara Skosana, Anna Mahlangu, Letty Ngoma, Sarah Mguni, Martha Mtsweni Ndala, Rossinah and Esther Mahlangu."

Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak Nominated by Nathalie de Vries, MVRDV

"When working on our Concordia Design project in Wroclaw, Poland, I met Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak, the grande dame of modern Polish architecture. Born in 1920, she brought architecture to the next level in the second half of the 20th century. In 1974, she was the first woman to receive the prestigious Honorary Award from the Association of Polish Architects.

"In a time when female Polish architects were mostly known as 'the wife of…' Jadwiga had a highly successful career, she had a big part in rebuilding postwar Wroclaw, and was also known for her schools and housing. I am really impressed by her work and her amazing personality. When I met her, she was very energetic and still very much involved in architecture. With her passing in 2018, Poland lost a great architect."

Minnette de Silva Nominated by Marina Tabassum

"The first name that comes to mind is Minnette de Silva (pictured above with Pablo Picasso), an architect ahead of her time. Less celebrated than her contemporary male counterparts. You may have read this article below, but I'm sharing the link again. This tells her story better than I can write."

Marina Willer Nominated by Margaret Calvert

"I would propose Marina Willer, although she may not fit as she's already well known. Apart from being an exceptional graphic designer and filmmaker, Marina was the first woman to be appointed a Pentagram partner. Brazilian by birth, it was at the Royal College of Art, where I was teaching at the time, that I first became aware of her amazing drive, commitment and talent as a student."

Duygu and Begum Ozturk Nominated by Nelly Ben Hayoun, Nelly Ben Hayoun Studios

"I nominate Duygu and Begum Ozturk, the two sisters behind the fashion brand Harem London. Born in Istanbul, they started their all-organic fashion brand recently in Dalston, London; merging traditional techniques from Istanbul and London, bringing together their heritage and future.

"I love that they started a business together as sisters and that they are persevering in developing their beautiful collection despite the pandemic and Brexit and all the complexity this created for them. They need to be applauded for their great work."

Lin Huiyin Nominated by Rossana Hu, Neri&Hu

"Lin Huiyin was the first female architect in modern China. Lin and her partner Liang Sicheng were the pioneers in architectural heritage restoration and documentation in China during the 1930s.

"Although it was the two of them who brought China's ancient architectural treasures to light, Lin's recognition in documenting and restoring China's historic buildings has often been overshadowed by her partner, who is recognised as the 'father of modern Chinese architecture'. In addition to her architectural practice, Lin is also widely acclaimed for her literary creation."

Mary Corse Nominated by Azusa Murakami, Studio Swine

"I would like to pick Mary Corse. She has been gaining much-deserved recognition in recent years with a solo show at the Whitney but has been arguably one of the most innovative artists to come out of the light and space movement.

"We love her material research, her ability to take industrial elements like the glass microbeads used on motorway reflective road markings and using it to make really delicate and sublime optical paintings is really inspiring."

Yemi Awosile Nominated by Morag Myerscough

"I have loved Yemi Awosile's work for many years. She is a wonderful person and I have worked with her in the past on the Bernie Grant Centre where she made some textiles for the centre."

Franziska Porges Hosken Nominated by Jane Hall, Assemble 

"Austrian-born, and America-based, designer Franziska Porges Hosken was pioneering in multiple respects. In 1944 she became one of the first women to receive her master's of architecture degree from Harvard's Graduate School of Design and in 1947, together with her husband James Hosken, she founded their successful eponymous furniture business Hosken.

"Despite giving up her design practice to take care of her first child in the late 1950s, Hosken continued to create as a photographer and journalist, publishing numerous books on urbanism including The Language of Cities.

"She was also an activist for women's rights, founding the Women's International Network and publishing reports on Female Genital Mutilation (FGM), a term she is credited with coining, which affected the agenda of major health organisations including the WHO. Continuing to distribute a feminist newsletter well into her eighties, Hosken's legacy demonstrates an extraordinary commitment, undertaken over the course of a lifetime, to connect design with social activism."

Winka Dubbeldam Nominated by Sonali Rastogi, Morphogenesis

"Winka Dubbeldam is an architect whose contribution I would like to acknowledge. She is the founder of the WBE firm Archi-Tectonics. She had visited our studio about 15 years back whilst working on the redevelopment of the New Delhi railway station. I also enjoyed attending one of her juries in UPenn about ten years ago, and ever since, I have been following her.

"Being in academia myself, what resonates with me is her significant influence on the emerging generation through her involvement in architectural education and design juries worldwide. Her designs are evocative and transformative, and she creates architecture that matters.

"I read somewhere that she maintains a fluid balance between energy and calm, precision and informality, experiment and comfort in her designs, studio, and life, a mantra I have been following all my life."

Eva Albarran Nominated by Sofia Von Ellrichshausen, Pezo von Ellrichshausen

"I would like to propose Eva Albarran: a Spanish entrepreneur, living both in Paris and Madrid, who operates in the expanded, and diffuse, field of contemporary art and architecture.

"She is a solid character who has managed to solve complex productions for significant artists (such as Christian Boltaski, Felice Varini or Francis Alys). Together with her husband, they direct a refined gallery and the Solo houses program, a project that might well be read as a radical revision of the current human condition in relation to nature."

Dana Al Amiri Nominated by Pallavi Dean, Roar

"Dana Al Amiri, the co-founder of Watab Studio, is a rising star in the male-dominated Saudi construction industry. I love her minimal pared design philosophy – practicing in a region that is infamous for opulent and OTT statements. She truly represents the next generation of regional architects that are defining Saudi's design identity."

Taller Comunal Nominated by Tatiana Bilbao

"I would like to make Taller Comunal, which is led by Mariana Ordóñez Grajales and Jesica Amescua Carrera, my recommendation. Because for them, architecture is not a profession, it is a service to facilitate architecture to be produced by the people who inhabit it. That should be the future of our profession."

Anne Tyng Nominated by Huang Wenjing, Open Architecture

"Anne Tyng immediately came to mind as a female architect that deserves much more recognition. Born in China in 1920 to missionary parents; a classmate of Eileen Pei and IM Pei — these two little details seem to have brought her closer to me, my being Chinese and had worked in the office that IM founded.

"Tyng was one of the first women to study architecture at Harvard Graduate School of Design; the only woman to take the architectural license test in 1949.

"It is unfortunate and unfair that people often seem to be more interested in her anecdotal affair with the iconic master Louis Kahn than her great influence on his early works — the rigour of geometry and order was very much Anne Tyng's interest and contribution. She went on to be an independent architect, theorist and educator. A true pioneering woman in the field."

V. Mitch McEwen Nominated by Eva Franch i Gilabert

"Mitch is an architect, activist, dancer, rapper, entrepreneur, someone who has taken the lead on many occasions to make space for new ideas.

"We crossed paths several times throughout the last ten years; In 2011, during the Occupy Wall Street Movement, I organised an exhibition and a series of events at Storefront for Art and Architecture hosted by brilliant people; Mitch's workshop "How to Occupy a House in America" was one of them.

"In 2014, Mitch was one of the architects writing letters to the Mayor in the first edition in New York of the global project "Letters to the Mayor" asking Mayor Bill de Blasio: "How can New York City Housing Authority really become the Pride of Our City?" and provided some answers and ideas that still stand.

"Mitch is currently an assistant professor at Princeton University – where I am currently teaching a seminar. Her work is now on display at MoMA in New York as part of Reconstructions: Architecture and Blackness in America."

Mónica Bertolino Nominated by Sandra Barclay, Barclay & Crousse

"Mónica Bertolino is an architect from Córdoba, Argentina, where she lives and works as part of the Studio Bertolino-Barrado founded in 1981.

"Together with Carlos Barrado they have an excellent production of projects in different scales. In their work you understand immediately the search for good qualities in habitability, their sensibility when they intervene in the landscape, and their concern for research about materiality linked to the local traditions of construction.

"I admire and think she deserves recognition especially in her academic role where she transmits her passion and enthusiasm for architecture in an unconditional way. She is devoted to this mission!

"She participates in workshops and as invited professor in different universities in the world as well as a regular professor in the National University of Cordoba and in the Catholic University of Cordoba."

The post Twenty-two women architects and designers you should know appeared first on Dezeen.

[aldysfool]

𝖉𝖔𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖚𝖇𝖑𝖊, 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖘  — nate’s audition for macbeth.

alriiiiiiiight, so! a few ooc notes: nate loves macbeth, but i genuinely don’t think he ever really considered he was the protagonist/hero type, so that’s why he chooses to steer away from those roles. should he have given it an honest shot? i’m not sure ─  i don’t think he’ll know what to do with himself if he even got the title role, macduff, or even malcolm. frankly, i just don’t think he’d be inspired enough by them to put his all into it. anyway. enjoy! // triggers: mentions of drug use. word count: 1400+? google doc for better viewing!

so, here’s the thing: nate didn’t know what the fuck was happening anymore.

ever since heidi made the announcement of their spring play, he had been feeling one step behind everybody else. while most of his classmates jumped on rehearsal spaces, monologue runs, and every other kind of audition prep and/or ritual, nate couldn’t seem to share in their enthusiasm. and it scared him. there was something eerie about it all ─ like some kind of storm had formed over the department and no one seemed to notice, or worse, care. or maybe they were better at hiding their fears than he was. nate had tried his hardest to prepare for this audition properly, but he hadn’t been able to focus long enough to even give it an honest try.

serious talk about what happened that night had pretty much ceased amongst the group, but now it felt like no one had given the winter masque a second thought. did everybody know something he didn’t? either way, he had been so distracted that the auditions came sooner than he realized. nate considered just waltzing in and recycling one of his faves from hamlet, because as much as he wanted to go for the big roles, he felt like this wasn’t the play for him to take that risk. nate already had a lot of other shit to deal with on a daily basis, and he convinced himself he would be a liability if he even considered the thought of going for, say, the title role. and in all honesty, the amount of emotional and psychological lifting he would have to do in order to portray macbeth (lady ‘beth or macduff for that matter) accurately was something he just didn’t have the capacity for at the moment. 

so that’s where he was the day of auditions. the waiting was always the easiest part for him ─ being able to send quick texts or share jokes backstage was where nate shined. he didn’t think about the stage, or heidi, or the audition piece, because right now what mattered most was making sure other people felt comfortable and strong going into their auditions. lately nate had grown introspective as fuck, and he didn’t really understand why. 

or maybe he did, but he didn’t want to acknowledge the facts as they were: he and teddy were having their drug-induced fun, but it was unsustainable by the way things were going; jason was probably guilty for something, and nate was sad that he was still too afraid to just confront him; discovering orson’s body had done something to nate, and he hadn’t stopped worrying about his own mortality since. he didn’t want to end up like that ─ drugged up, miserable, and alone. nate wanted to be this upstanding, nice guy, but there was this heaviness that had been creeping up on him after all these years of destructive behavior. and of course everyone saw the silly, carefree nate who was so easily relatable and funny all these years that it would be near impossible to believe by almost anyone that he had a personality beyond popping vallies like candy and sharing internet memes in group chats at 3 am. fuck. 

he doesn’t hear his name at first, because he’s too busy thinking about a lot of other shit, but then he hears his name called once more, and nate comes back down from the stratosphere for two seconds to remember oh yeah, he has something really important to do right now. like audition. nate walks out on the stage just like every other audition for alderidge, except this time when looks up and sees heidi’s face, a fire ignites under his ass.

“yo. my name is nathaniel palmer and…,” he resists the urge to say, ‘and welcome back to my youtube channel’, “i’ll be auditioning with iago’s soliloquy from act two, scene three of othello.” maybe it’s the look on his face or how he takes a few steps backwards from the edge of stage, but heidi doesn’t verbally respond and nate’s thankful for it. his nerves are already bad enough, so he closes his eyes and counts his deep breaths. he tries to remember something of what he’s learned before. the exhale expels the fear, the inhale centers him in place. by the time he’s opened his eyes, iago takes form. 

“And what’s he, then, that says I play the villain?”

at base, iago is written off as one of willy’s cruelest characters; he’s manipulative, cold, and intense as hell. but nate understands a part of iago, though, where who he presents to the world is not always how he feels behind the closed doors. honest iago, just like honest nate, has dark tendencies. but while nate has chosen to run from his (via literal running, drugs, or sex), iago sees no other choice but to embrace it. and here, in a rare moment, nate allows himself to embrace it too. where does that darkness come from? nate’s eyelids are low and he moves slowly, but each step is calculated in a wide S shape towards downstage center. in this moment, there are only two players: nate as the predator, and heidi as his accomplice and his prey. "─His soul is so enfettered to her love / That she may make, unmake, do what she list, / Even as her appetite shall play the god / With his weak function.” his breath is a little shaky, so he takes a beat to collect himself. 

if orson could see him now, he’d probably laugh to spite nate’s attempt at pulling out something else besides the humorous, non-threatening fool. but that’s where orson was always wrong. humor was present in everything, especially in moments of high drama and danger ─ like conspiring to see the downfall of one’s appointed general, for example. and as long as humor is there, nate knows how to tap in. so he smiles then laughs, short and dry, before switching tactics and continuing with the piece. that’s the thing: navigating iago was second nature for nate, because he had become an expert at thinking on his feet and blending in wherever seemed necessary. it’s what he had to do to survive, and he wasn’t going to apologize for that. neither did iago. 

 “─When devils will the blackest sins put on, / They do suggest at first with heavenly shows, / As I do now.” 

iago was basically airing out nate’s dirty laundry right there on the stage, because holy shit, how else would devils know how to act, how to behave, how to charm like their heavenly counterparts? maybe they didn’t ─ but fallen angels did. and nate never once felt like he was an angel, even when he was young and his family tried convincing him otherwise. he had a lot to be grateful for of course, but there was an anger that lurked deep below the surface. it manifested in his bad behavior in school. in his drug abuse. in his relationships. and that was no one’s fault, he’s had to realize. even though he wants to blame someone so badly. anyone, really. maybe that would help him hurt less. 

the audition comes to a close, and the room is so quiet he can hear his heart beating through his chest. heidi breaks the silence at first, but nate feels a little lightheaded, so he non-verbally motions for her to hold her thought. putting on iago’s jealousy, his speech patterns, and his demeanor takes a little more effort to let go, so nate has to shake him out. literally. exhale to expel, inhale to center. 

damn, he misses his therapist. 

after another few seconds of obnoxious bouncing around, nate turns on his heel and beams in heidi’s direction. honest, silly nate was back in control. he hears her question for the second time and doesn’t miss a beat, “oh, sorry i didn’t mention it earlier. that was my audition for one of the weird sisters ─ the first witch, if you wanna get more specific.” she looks at him expectantly, but his grin refuses to falter. what else had she been expecting from him? nate thinks about his classmates, especially jason, and doubles down on his decision. it would be better this way. “and no, i’m not interested in other roles.” nate crosses his arms behind his torso and sways from side to side. there’s a lot more he could say, and in fact, a lot has already been left unsaid. but that was always the case, wasn’t it? 

nate shrugs, and just like that, his audition is over.

“what can i say? i guess i’ve got a thing for sexy, bearded hags.”

[nerdypinupcrystal]

Every Breath You Take Chapter 7: Reach Out, I’ll Be There

Hiiii guys! Sorry for the long ass wait! School was kicking my ass, but I’m on summer break for a month now so YAY! And I’m back with a nice long chapter for you and man are you guys in for a ride! Btw thank you @hufflebucky for the beautiful moodboard! I love it so much! And thank you @probably-a-velociraptor for the certain line you mentioned in your ask that I just had to put in here! You know which one I’m talking about ;) Without further delay....enjoy!

Masterlist

Chapter 7: Reach Out, I’ll Be There

The men of Nelson & Murdock were both on missions today. While Matt was following Iris to make sure she was safe, Foggy took that opportunity to stop by Sweet Heaven to see a certain stunning brunette he might or might not have already told his mom about.

Foggy Nelson has done his fair share of chasing after women he was attracted to throughout his life, though admittedly not all of those times were successful since beautiful women seemed to flock towards Matt instead. But the moment he laid eyes on Lucy Addams, all those memories of women he chased in the past had erased from his mind. He only had eyes for Lucy, and it appeared the feeling was mutual.

He couldn’t even begin to explain this feeling he had in his heart that was stronger than anything he had ever felt before. Why so sudden for someone he just met? Love at first sight couldn’t possibly exist, right? And with that, Foggy’s heart argued, Why the hell not? Would that really be so wrong?

Whether or not it was love or just attraction, Foggy was determined to get to know the dark haired goddess who runs the adorable bakery that’s quickly becoming his favorite spot.  

Which has lead to the present moment where Foggy was currently standing outside of the bakery, seeing the woman of his dreams handing out cupcakes to a couple of excited little kids while their parents paid. Seeing her interact with the kids with a genuine glowing smile on her face made the butterflies in Foggy’s stomach flutter like crazy.

As if feeling his eyes on her, Lucy’s eyes shifted until they met his through the window. Her grey eyes brightened to greyish blue as she brightly grinned at him and waved for him to come in.  Foggy couldn’t contain the grin on his face that shined brighter than the sun as his cheeks flushed into a rosy pink.  Foggy quickly pulled out his phone to leave Matt a message telling him to meet him at the bakery to talk about a potential client instead of the office. He smoothed back his hair and straightened his tie before entering the bakery to see about a girl.

2 Hours Later

The bakery was empty aside from Foggy and Lucy currently occupying one of the small tables. There laid two half empty porcelain mugs of coffee and hot chocolate as well as an array of different pastries and cakes for Foggy to “sample”, only for him to split between them, always giving Lucy the bigger half.

But those desserts were ignored as the two occupants only had their attention focused on each other, the song “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” by Frankie Valli playing appropriately in the background.

“What’s your favorite show?” Lucy asked with eager curiosity as she leaned closer to him with a dreamy gaze in her eyes.

Without missing a beat, Foggy replied “I Love Lucy.” It took him a second to snap out of his daze to realize how that might sound. “I mean, not because it’s your name,” he cleared his throat, his face flushing tomato red. “It’s just a great show! My mom had me watch it with her growing up, you’d love her by the way, I already told her about you- I mean, it’s a funny show!” Foggy was trying so hard to save face, he didn’t realize he was babbling.

The melodic sound of Lucy’s giggles stopped him from babbling any further. Foggy felt incredibly embarrassed by his word vomit, but all Lucy did was smile.

“You’re really cute when you get all flustered.” She told him, causing him to blush even harder. “And I love that show. She’s hilarious! And by the way…” She trailed off as she leaned toward him even closer. “I would love to meet your mother, since she’s raised such a fine young man.” She gave a flirtatious wink.

I love you baby And if it's quite alright I need you baby To warm the lonely nights I love you baby Trust in me when I say

Oh pretty baby Don't bring me down I pray Oh pretty baby Now that I've found you stay And let me love you, baby Let me love you

Foggy’s heart raced as the song declared everything he was already dying to say. He took a big gulp of his warm coffee before quickly asking her, “So what’s your favorite show?”

“The Addams Family.” Lucy replied with a smile.

“Really?” Foggy asked, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

She gingerly nodded. “Yep! I’ve always loved the dark, creepy and kooky stuff. And since my last name also happens to be Addams, I always imagined that I was related to them.” Lucy’s cheeks turned into a light rosy pink. “I love The Munsters too, but Addams Family has always had a special place in my heart.” Lucy’s eyes locked with Foggy as she reached for his hand before she continued, “Plus, I’ve always dreamed of having a love like Gomez and Morticia.”

Oh god, me too. Please let me be your Gomez! Foggy thought.

Before he could respond, however, the bell rang as the door opened. Foggy turned to see who rudely interrupted his time with Lucy, only to see Matt enter the bakery.

“Matt, so nice of you to join us.” Foggy greeted, his mood dampening slightly.

“Don’t sound too excited to see me, Foggy.” Matt sarcastically replied as he took the seat Lucy led him to at their table.

Foggy could see how visibly tense his friend was as he took a good look at him. His body was straight and tiff from tension, his fists tightening then loosening up. Foggy looked closer at Matt’s fists, noticing the knuckles were red with angry scrapes from punching something...or someone.

“Holy shit, Matt! Did you get in a fight?” Foggy exclaimed in concern.  Lucy saw Matt’s fists and rushed to the back room.

“No, I didn’t get in a fight.” Matt replied through clenched teeth. “I just needed to blow off some steam, and the punching bag was the best option.”

“Well I’m glad it’s just a punching bag and not a person.” Lucy said as she returned to the table with a first aid kit. “It’s a little too early in the day for you to be doing your Daredevil thing.”

Matt’s stomach dropped at Lucy’s words. His fists clenched even tighter as he addressed his best friend. “Foggy?”

“What?” Foggy shrugged defensively. “I can’t start a relationship based on lies! Besides, she’s cool. We can trust her.”

“What the fuck, Foggy?!” Matt snapped, thankful that the bakery was still empty. “You told a dangerous secret to some woman you just met?!” Lucy’s grip tightened on Matt’s hand as she continued treating it. “No offense, Lucy.”  He muttered apologetically.

Foggy, on the other hand, took great offense to Matt. “First of all, watch your language in front of this beautiful lady,” He angrily pointed out. “Second, we may have ‘just met’, but I’ve already named our future children!  And I know for a fact that Foggy Jr. and Lucy Jr. would appreciate total honesty in this family!” He finished with a pound of his fist atop the table.

The bakery went silent. Matt’s lips twitched while he tried to keep his angered expression. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t meant to last as he let out and amused snort.

Lucy didn’t bother hiding her giggles, she found the blonde teddy bear so adorable and endearing.

Foggy looked confused as to what was so funny. “What?”

Matt couldn’t hold it in anymore, he let out a belly laugh, “Foggy, you make it really hard to stay mad at you.”

Foggy still looked clueless until Lucy leaned her head on his shoulder affectionately, still giggling, “Foggy, you are too precious for words, but let’s hold off on baby names until we’ve had our first date at least.” She finishes with a kiss on his cheek, causing him to blush into a bright tomato.

Before Foggy could think of how to respond, the bell chimed as a few customers entered the bakery. Lucy quickly rose from her seat to assist the customers, her fingers softly grazed through Foggy’s blonde hair as she passed by.

Matt smiled, knowing his best friend kept his “heart eyes” (as Iris called them) on the enchanting baker that’s captured his heart.

“You must really like her a lot if you trust her with this kind of information.” Matt spoke quietly, sounding more calm and understanding.

Foggy’s eyes turned downcast in guilt before facing Matt again. “I’m really sorry, Matt. You know I wouldn’t announce it to the world, or tell just anyone.”

He paused to gaze at Lucy, who was chatting with a middle aged couple while showing them her delicious creations. He felt his heart practically dancing when her eyes shifted towards him and she gave a blushing radiant smile.

“I’m in love with her.”  Foggy continued softly, not realizing he voiced his feelings out loud; his eyes still on Lucy. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, man. I know it’s crazy and it’s sudden, I mean we’d only met yesterday! But the moment I saw her, it just hit me like I got punched with lightning or something. I know this feeling I have is real. I mean, sometimes you just know as soon as it hits you, you know?”

“Yeah.” Matt softly replied in complete understanding. “I know exactly how you feel.”

Foggy’s eyes widened as he snapped out of his love daze. “Oh shit, how is Iris? Is she okay?!” Foggy didn’t notice his voice had raised in alarm, catching the attention of the two remaining customers in the bakery.

“I would also like to know how Iris is doing, Matt.” Lucy chimed in as she walked towards the middle aged couple to deliver their treats.

Matt hesitated, “It’s...a little personal. Actually it’s extremely personal...and..disturbing.”  He finished with a strained angry grimace.

Foggy’s eyes narrowed in concern as he leaned towards his friend. “What’s wrong? She is in trouble, isn’t she?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

Lucy rushed to their table and yanked back the chair next to Foggy to take a seat. “What’s going on with my best friend, Matt?” She asked, sounding more serious and intimidating than either of the two men have heard yet.

Matt, while touched by their concern, was still hesitant. “I don’t know if I should really say. It’s bad enough that I know when she hasn’t actually told me herself. It’s..” Matt felt his throat tighten and his eyes dampen at how painful it was to hear everything Iris had said. “It’s horrible.”

Foggy and Lucy stiffened at Matt’s words, trying to imagine what it was that Matt knew.

“Matt, we care about Iris, too.” Lucy replied.

Foggy fervently agreed. “Seriously, man. I’ve only known Iris for a day and a half, but if anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself!”

Foggy didn’t realize how loud his voice carried until he heard how silent the bakery got. The middle aged couple clearly heard Foggy’s passionate statement, because without a second thought, they jumped out of their seats and bolted out the door.

Matt, Foggy and Lucy were alone once more.

Foggy bashfully asked, “Do you think they heard me?”

Matt’s eyebrows raised in perplexity while Lucy let out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah, sweetie. I think they did.” She said with a pat on his head.

Foggy shrugged, “Well, I said what I said. But that’s not important right now.” He leaned towards Matt once more. “Please tell us. We want to help Iris, too.”  

Matt sat quietly, contemplating his decision before faintly replying, “Okay.”

Iris

Claire’s impromptu checkup was relatively quick and painless. I cringed at her sympathetic gaze as she examined all the bruises and scars on my body, I felt embarrassed that she saw the extent of what he had done to me. She was considerate enough to not dwell on it, for now anyway. She did, however, diagnose the bruised ribs I didn’t realize I had. That explains why that hideous bruise on my torso hasn’t healed yet. Unfortunately, nothing can be done about that, except to take it easy and let it heal naturally, which will apparently take six weeks at the most.

After the exam was over, Claire gave me a prescription for some pain relief and antibiotics, as well as demanding I get some sleep.

After promising Claire I would rest on the condition that she stopped by the bakery for any treat on the house, I hugged her goodbye and exited the hospital.

I still wasn’t ready to go home yet. Not only out of fear of the lingering nightmares, but also out of fear of facing Matt. Despite Claire’s reassuring words, I still felt doubtful about whether or not he’ll want anything to do with me.  I still can’t get over the crushed look on his face when I walked away from him.  But maybe Claire’s right. I should just swallow my pride and talk to him. I owe him that much.

I snapped out of my inner thoughts and paused in my aimless wandering when I heard music in the air. I turned to the right of me, in the direction the music came from, and saw the tall building with the red neon sign in the shape of a guitar that read Guitar Center.

My fingers twitched with an aching need that I’ve repressed for far too long, my feet made the decision for me and led me inside the music store.

A wave of euphoria flowed through me as I took in the view of various instruments as far as the eye can see.  The sound of live instruments playing sounding more and more prominent.

I walked further into the store towards the music until I found a small group of three guys and a young woman just lounging around. They all had a unique style, mix of rock & roll edge with a wild and colorful bohemian flair. The choices of instruments were oddly mismatched. The woman, who had a rockabilly style black and pink polka dot wiggle dress, was on her feet playing an upright bass, one guy was playing the violin, the second was playing an acoustic guitar, and the third guy sat on the floor playing a tambourine with drum sticks like it was a mini drum set. This was such an odd and fascinating mix of musicians, I couldn’t help but be drawn to them.

My eyes drifted past them and landed on a beautiful red upright piano. My fingers twitched with the urge to play. Should I? It’s been so long since I’ve touched a piano, I was afraid that I would be so rusty that I really would sound as mediocre as he always said I did.

Well He was an asshole who didn’t want you to enjoy anything that didn’t involve him. Play the damn piano. It’s been too long since we’ve done anything we were passionate about. We deserve this. You deserve this!

My feet obeyed my thoughts quicker than I did as I now found myself seated in front of the piano. I barely noticed the quirky musicians go quiet next to me, all I could really hear was my heartbeat thumping in my ears. My hands trembled as I delicately caressed the keys, saying hello to an old friend.

Without any more hesitation, my muscle memory kicked in as I played the beginning notes of the first song my mom taught me. I started slowly at first, then my fingers sped up as the song began to build up. I could faintly hear the jingles of the tambourine, and it was quickly followed by the instruments of the musicians next to me. One of the musicians started singing, the lyrics confirming that they were playing my song alongside me.

She comes in colors everywhere

She combs her hair

She's like a rainbow

Coming, colors in the air

Oh, everywhere

She comes in colors

I looked over my shoulder towards the quirky group. The man with the guitar, who had his long hair tied back and wore a red Hawaiian shirt with black jean, met my eyes and nodded with a smile, signaling me to continue playing.  

My heart was dancing as I played on, my confidence growing more and more. I didn’t even bother holding back the beaming smile from my face, as I played the music box-sounding notes on the keys. My eyes began to mist from the pure joy of doing something I thought I’d never be allowed to do again.  I continued playing, with an energy and passion that have waited years to be reawakened.

Have you seen her dressed in blue?

See the sky in front of you

And her face is like a sail

Speck of white so fair and pale

Have you seen a lady fairer?

She comes in colors everywhere

She combs her hair

She's like a rainbow

Coming, colors in the air

Oh, everywhere

She comes in colors

Oh how I wish Mom was here with me, she would’ve loved to hear me play her favorite song again.

Have you seen her all in gold?

Like a queen in days of old

She shoots colors all around

Like a sunset going down

Have you seen a lady fairer?

She comes in colors everywhere

She combs her hair

She's like a rainbow

Coming, colors in the air

Oh, everywhere

She comes in colors

I wish Matt was here too. Would he like hearing me play? Would he say he loved it? Would he ask me to play more? Would he want to sit beside me as I played? Oh how I wished I knew for sure.

She's like a rainbow

Coming, colors in the air

Oh, everywhere

She comes in colors

The room went quiet as the final notes faded in the air. The quiet didn’t last long, though, as a few patrons of the store had started applauding; I didn’t even realize we had actually drawn an audience.  My face heated up, my cheeks flushed bright red amongst my pale skin. It’s been so long since I’ve played in front of everyone, I forgot how amazing it felt to get a positive response.

The musicians that accompanied me nodded with approval at me, and that simple gesture warmed my heart with a sense of belonging.

The tambourine man, who wore heavy eyeliner and a wildly colorful abstract shirt with leather pants, stood up to sit next to me on the bench and eagerly asked, “Play us another song, darling?”

I hesitated for a second, not used to getting such a request. “I’m not sure what you would like to hear.” I replied meekly.

“Anything you want.” The violinist replied. He wore black and white striped pants with a fitted pink and blue paisley buttoned shirt topped with a black bow tie and a black vest. “Just start playing and we’ll follow along.”

My brows furrowed in concern, “What if you don’t know the song?”

“We don’t need to,” The guitarist spoke up. “We just let the music guide us through.”

The pinup bassist sweetly chimed in, “That’s how we always play, so don’t even worry about that, dollface. Play us something.”

I took a second to think over what other songs I knew before I started playing with my musical acquaintances for the next couple of hours.

After we were done playing together in the music store, my new friends dragged me along with them to an indie record store that also had a small cafe inside.

I easily lost track of time, I was too caught up in my new friends; the sun had already set by the time we had all parted ways. I left the record store with a bag full of new CDs, a chocolate chip muffin for the walk home, four new phone numbers added on my phone, and a smile of contentment on my face.

Claire was right. I wasn’t alone in this anymore. I don’t have to be.

My thoughts drifted back to Matt. The thought of telling him the truth terrified me still. I want so badly to let him in, but I can’t help but let that shred of doubt nudge it’s way into my mind.

Can he accept me completely? Will he judge me for what I’ve done? Will he hate me for lying? Or will he still want to help me?

I was too lost in my thoughts, I wasn’t alert enough to notice I was being watched, and also being followed.

I felt a hand grab my arm in a painful grip as I was yanked into a dark alley, a second hand covered my mouth before I had a chance to scream for help.

Oh god. He found me! How the hell did he find me?! He’s gonna kill me before I can even tell Matt how sorry I am. I didn’t even get to see Mom. I wish I had actually spoken to her-

My thoughts were cut off when an unfamiliar voice growled from my captor. “Give me your money now, and you won’t get hurt.”

Oh thank god, it’s only a mugger! My body sagged in relief.

The man then held a knife against my throat, causing me to stiffen up again. Oh shit, it’s a mugger!

I started to panic as I struggled to get out of his grasp, biting hard into his hand in the process.

The mugger growled in anger as he moved his now free hand into my hair, yanking it to the point where I feared it would be pulled out of my scalp.

“You fuckin bitch!” He sneered as he shoved my face against the wall.

I was hyperventilating at this point, unable to hold back the tears that flowed down my face. “Please let me go! I don’t have any money!” I pleaded desperately.

The mugger then pressed himself against my back, pressing his groin into my back.

“Then I’m just gonna have to get something else from you, huh?” He replied as he licked my ear, my body shivered in fear and disgust.

Then suddenly the pressure from his body was lifted abruptly as he was pulled off me and thrown against the wall.

I quickly turned around and was staring in stunned silence as I saw my mugger getting his ass handed to him by a mysterious man dressed in head to toe black. The man in black moved with speed and grace as he punched and kicked the mugger around like a ninja. The mugger tried to get some hits in, but he never stood a chance. The man in black hurled him against the wall, landing a foot away from me.

I shrieked in surprise as the mugger grabbed my ankle.  I kicked and stomped repeatedly on his wrist, but he wouldn’t budge. The man in black rushed to my aid and pulled the mugger away from me. He let out a growl of anger as he threw him against the opposite wall.

“Keep your hands off of her!” The man in black threatened, his voice low and deep with rage, sending thrilling shivers down my spine.

He knocked the mugger out with one last anger-fueled punch, causing said mugger to collapse like a jenga tower.  He squatted down towards the mugger and proceeded to restrain his hands and feet, causing the mugger to start twitching back into consciousness, prompting the man in black to deliver one more knockout punch to the face.

My breathing slowed down as he stood up and turned to face me. My heart started to beat faster as he started walking tentatively towards me.  I took in his full appearance before me.  He stood almost a foot taller than me, his fitted black outfit did nothing to hide his muscular build that my eyes struggled to stray from.  The top half of his face was covered by the thick black fabric that tied around his head, leaving the bottom half visible; which of course drew my attention to those perfect full lips of his.  

Perfect full lips that started speaking.

“Are you okay?” His deep voice was gentle with concern.

I shakily nodded, taking a deep breath as I replied. “I am, thanks to you.”

He tilted his head as his hand reached toward the side of my face that had been shoved against the wall.  Even though his hand was gloved in thick material, my cheek came alive with a spark of electricity at his gentle touch.

“Are you hurt?” He asked with genuine concern.

My heart skipped a beat as his kindness reminded me of a certain neighbor, causing my eyes to water. “No, I’m fine.” I replied.

His head tilted once more as he asked with uncertainty. “Are you sure? He made you hit that wall pretty hard.” His thumb gave gentle feather light caresses across my newly bruised cheek.

I gave a shrug and replied tensely, “I’ve had worse.”

His whole body stiffened at my answer, he was close enough for me to hear him grind his teeth. I could just barely hear him mutter angrily under his breath, “I know.”

My brows wrinkled in confusion at what he could have meant by that. Before I could question him, though, he slowly began to step away from me, his lingering fingers grazing my cheek until he dropped his hand completely.

“You should go home.” He declared when he stood an extra couple feet away from me. “And be careful. The city’s dangerous at this time of night.”

“Okay.” I readily agreed. He started to turn around to walk away, prompting me to call out, “Hey!”

He abruptly stopped in his tracks, tilting his head once more to patiently listen.  

“Thank you.  You saved my life.” I finished, my voice heavy with gratitude.

I could just barely see the side of his mouth rise into a small smile as he replied, “You’re welcome. Please be safe.”

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows.  I didn’t waste another second to bolt out of the alley and rush home.

I finally made it back to the familiar apartment building and didn’t stop running until I made it safely inside the elevator.  Now that I had stopped and taken a breath, I began to feel the lead weight my legs had become; along with the exhaustion from lack of sleep and the series of events from this long day hitting me all at once. I definitely needed to go to sleep.

I got off the elevator on my floor and tiredly stumbled to my door. Before I unlocked it, I turned my attention towards Matt’s apartment. My run in with the mugger gave me a serious wake up call. I can’t keep wasting time being miserable and alone like this. I need to talk to Matt and tell him the truth, or forever wish I did. But not tonight. Not when I already felt dead on my feet. Tomorrow. I’ll tell him first thing tomorrow.

With my decision set in my mind, I entered my apartment and locked the door before I stumbled to my bed and finally succumbed to sleep.

I woke up the next morning feeling far more rested than the day before. I slept so heavily, I couldn’t even remember if I dreamed, much to my relief. I got up to brush my teeth and get dressed for the day, but not before texting Lucy to let her know I needed an extra day off, which she happily replied was no problem at all.

I could feel my stomach twist and tangle in anxiety at how this conversation with Matt can possibly turn out; I was ready to throw up. I was determined, but still terrified to tell him everything. I hate how scared I am about this. Matt has been nothing but sweet to me, I should feel comfortable enough to talk to him. But with the way I’ve acted towards him, and the weight of my secret, will he even want anything to do with me again?

My thoughts were interrupted by music playing muffled through the wall connecting my apartment to Matt’s. It was the beginning notes to The Four Tops’ “Reach Out I’ll Be There”, as if he knew what was going through my mind

Now if you feel that you can't go on (can't go on)

Because all of your hope is gone (all your hope is gone)

And your life is filled with much confusion (much confusion)

Until happiness is just an illusion (happiness is just an illusion)

And your world around is crumbling down, darlin'

(Reach out) Come on girl reach on out for me

(Reach out) Reach out for me

Hah, I'll be there with a love that will shelter you

I'll be there with a love that will see you through

My eye started tearing up again as I paid attention to the lyrics. Was Matt trying to tell me something through this song, or am I just reading too much into it?

When you feel lost and about to give up (to give up)

'Cause your best just ain't good enough (just ain't good enough)

And your feel the world has grown cold (has grown cold)

And your drifting out all on your own (drifting out on your own)

And you need a hand to hold, darlin'

(Reach out) Come on girl, reach out for me

(Reach out) Reach out for me

Hah, I'll be there to love and comfort you

And I'll be there to cherish and care for you

(I'll be there to always see you through)

(I'll be there to love and comfort you)

My heart was beating uncontrollably, my skin riddled with goosebumps. Matt doesn’t usually play music out loud, and now he plays this song. He was definitely telling me something, and the song couldn’t spell it out anymore clearly.

I can tell the way you hang your head (hang your head)

You're not in love now, now you're afraid (you're afraid)

And through your tears you look around (look around)

But there's no peace of mind to be found (no peace of mind to be found)

I know what your thinking

You're a loner, no love of your own, but darling

(Reach out) Come on girl reach out for me

Reach out, just look over your shoulder

I'll be there to give you all the love you need

And I'll be there you can always depend on me

I'll be there

Don’t worry

More determined than ever, I finished getting dressed and bolted out the door, and walked straight to Matt’s door.

My palms began to sweat, but I forced myself to stay strong as I rose my hand up and knocked on the door. The footsteps I could hear coming towards the other side of the door matched the heavy heartbeat within my chest.  The door opened revealing Matt, dressed in grey sweatpants with the ends tucked into his grey tube socks, a navy blue hoodie zipped up but revealing a peak of a white t-shirt, his hair combed back and slightly wet from the shower he must’ve just taken; and for the first time since I’ve met him, his eyes were free of his usual red sunglasses, revealing his deep soulful brown eyes. He looked more beautiful than ever, and it simply took my breath away.

“Hi, Matt.” I spoke before I lost my nerve, keeping my focus on the task at hand.

Matt’s perfect lips rose in a soft and sweet smile. “Hi, Iris. Are you okay?” He asked, being the sweet gentleman he is.

“Yeah, I’m-” I started to automatically say before I cut myself off. Honesty. I have to start with honesty. I took a deep breath before I continued meekly, “No. I’m actually not okay. I haven’t been for a long time.”

Matt frowned in concern and sympathy. I spoke up once more, “That’s actually why I came to see you. Can we talk? I mean, if I’m not taking up your time of course. I can always come back later if this isn’t a good time.”

Matt rushed to respond before I considered backing off, “You’re not taking up my time, I’d love to talk to you. Please come in.” He opened his door wider to welcome me inside.

I stepped inside the apartment for the first time and noticed the space was almost identical to mine in terms of size, minimal amount of furniture as well.

“Would you like anything to drink?” Matt asked, being a gracious host. “I don’t have much except for beer and water, or I can make some coffee if you’d like.”

I shook my head with a smile, “No thank you, I’m fine.”

He then directed me towards the couch in the center of the room and took a seat with enough space apart to face each other. My hands started shaking as I tried to figure out what to say first. I decided the best to start with was an apology.

“I’m sorry.” I began as I shifted to face him. “For yesterday. The way I acted was inexcusable.”

Matt shook his head, “You don’t have to apologize, Iris.”

I fervently replied, “Yes I do. You’ve been nothing but kind and gentle to me, and I’ve been so terrible in comparison. You were so concerned about me and wanted to help me, and I repaid you by pushing you away and being so rude to you. You deserved better than that, and I’m so sorry, I’d understand if you didn’t want anything to do with me ever again. I wouldn’t want anything to do with me either-”

“Iris, stop.” He cut me off as he grabbed my hands in comfort. “I hate hearing you degrade yourself like that. You’re not a bad person. You’re a sweet and wonderful person, who has clearly been through something painful. And as long as you’ll let me, I’d really like to stay by your side more and help you in any way I can.”

My fingers gripped tightly to his hands, my eyes powerless to keep the oncoming tears at bay.  

I took another deep breath before I finally got to the point. “You were right.” I started. “I am in trouble. I did go through something painful. I…”

Matt squeezed my hands slightly tighter in reassurance. “It’s okay, you can tell me.” He spoke with the utmost gentleness.

I used that bit of encouragement to finally reach the point of no return.

“His name is Paul.”  Matt cocked his head in curiosity before I continued.

“My husband.” There it is. No turning back now. ���He was hurting me. All the time.” My throat began to tighten at the memories. “At first he was so charming, sweet, loving. I thought he was so handsome and mysterious. He swept me off my feet instantly. Always doting on me, gave me gifts. I never really cared that he had money though, I just cared that he made me feel so loved, like I was all that mattered. When Mom had her stroke, I was devastated. It was just her and me, she was the only family I had left and I didn’t know how to take care of her. I was 20 years old, working minimum wage, I had no idea what to do. And Paul came in like a knight in shining armor. He paid for Mom to stay in one of the best nursing homes, he proposed to me and promised to move her in with us and provide a nurse to help me take care of her. He promised to make me so happy and loved.” I let out a scoff at my naïveté from back then. “I believed him of course. I married him in this big, expensive, show off ceremony he insisted we had to have. I was so in love and stupidly happy. I thought, ‘Life couldn’t possibly get any more perfect.’ And it didn’t.”

I looked away from Matt with a frown as I delved even further into the worst years of my life. “As soon as we came back from our honeymoon, everything changed. He had little obsessive compulsive quirks I didn’t know about before. The towels always had to hang perfectly neat and even on the rack. The cans in the cupboard had to be stacked neatly with the labels facing out. The house had to be completely spotless. The table had to be set appropriately. I learned the hard way how much he hated rules being forgotten.”

Matt’s body tensed up and his hands started shaking over mine. I continued further. “You could probably guess that he never followed through on his promise to move my mom in with us. His reasoning was that he loved me so much that he wanted to keep me all for himself.” I shook my head in disgust. “That’s also the reason we never had kids. He hates kids and hates the idea of someone stealing my attention away from him even worse. He got a vasectomy a month before we got married.” I cleared my throat to swallow down the lump of tears in my throat. “He took away my mom, my chance of being a mom, my music, my spirit. It didn’t take much to set him off and punish me as he saw fit. I was dying in there. He had been killing me slowly for three years.”

Matt’s voice cracked as he finally spoke up. “Oh god Iris, I’m so sorry.” He shifted a hand to intertwine our fingers together. “How did you get out of there?”

I knew he would ask me that.  This was the part I dreaded. “I tried calling the police. A lawyer too. They were no help whatsoever. The best they offered was a restraining order. As if that would keep him away.  I realized the only one who could help me was me. So I made the necessary arrangements I needed to make, and I escaped.”

Matt looked skeptical like he knew I wasn’t elaborating enough. “Is he looking for you?”

I shook my head, “No. He couldn’t possibly be looking for me. He has no idea what I did.”

His face scrunched in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense. How could he not be looking for you?  How could he not know you left?”

My heart was beating rapidly as I took a deeper breath and replied.

“Because he thinks I’m dead.”

A/N: Annnnd that’s chapter 7! Chapter 8 will come A LOT SOONER this time around and it’s gonna be a flashback chapter.  It’s gonna be rough, so be ready. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, I hope it was worth the wait.  PLEASE comment what you thought of the chapter and reblog, be sure to follow me and hit me up if you wanna get on the taglist.  Thanks for your patience, I love you all! Until next time...*kiss noise*

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@jobean12-blog @cametobuyplums @tomhollandeu @emilymarie0422 @lullabylike

[mind-writing0]

~Chapter 1~

Virgil Singer should have checked everything in the mail before handing it to his mother.

"Oh, can I see what's in the mail?" Virgil's younger sister, Valerie, asked. She was coming out of her small room, specs of paint like multi-color stars across her hands as she toted a small canvas. Virgil glared at her for a moment. Not that he hated her, no. He absolutely adored her. That was why he needed to protect her from-

"The House of Singer," Virgil's mother read aloud, and the boy's heart felt like it was about to explode as he came upon a startling realization. "Our beloved Prince Roman has come of age, and in celebration of his eighteenth birthday, he will be hosting a Selection to find a husband. Our recent census concludes that a young man between the ages of sixteen and twenty resides in your home. If you wish to sign up your son/brother/roommate/other relation, please contact your District Services office. We hope to see you in the Selection! From, Anja Stewart, adviser to the royal family." Virgil's mother tossed the letter on the table as if she could care less, but she was sending mixed signals that worried her son.

"The Prince?!" Valerie squealed, shaking with excitement. "Virgil, could you be the next Prince?"

"Hold on," Virgil's mother held up a hand lazily. Everything she did was lazy: her low voice, every movement, her care for her children. It was as slow as a drunk, as she was as ruined as their small wrecked house. "You wanna pretend to be a fag for a while? I heard the pay is good."

Valerie's look of hope and happiness was immediately replaced be sadness. At age thirteen, she was a hopeless romantic, and her spirit was constantly crushed by her horrible mother. She tucked a long strand of black hair behind her ear. "What does that mean?"

"It means," her mother said, "that if your brother gets chosen, he gets paid weekly for staying at the palace. That's what they did for the last Selection, anyway."

"But, Mom, I really don't want to. He's... it's-"

"You should," his mother replied. "It'd do good for all of us, considering we don't have your father no more."

That statement still stung, though he could barely remember it. His father, in panic for money after learning his wife was pregnant with a baby girl, left them. Virgil was only four years old, and he was crying over something dumb like hunger, when his father got so frustrated that he left. Virgil didn't even get to say goodbye.

"So, if you get picked, can I go with you and be dressed like a princess?" Valerie asked, trying to change the subject. She looked up at Vigil innocently, but her older brother could see how she was really feeling behind her eyes. She fantasized about a dazzling life with cute boys, but really all she wanted was for her mother to stop being the way she was.

"No, Vally." Virgil frowned at her. He hated to be this way with her, but he had to shut down his family before they got too out of hand. "I'm not signing up. For one thing," he looked right as his mother as his heart hurt in panic. He lied through his teeth, "I'm not gay. Two, even if I was, I don't want to sit there at the castle looking pretty while this wimp chooses what pretty face he wants to stand next to him for the rest of his life. Three, I probably wouldn't even get chosen if I entered. There's probably thousands of guys putting on a show at the mention of a crown. I just really don't wanna be in that castle with all those trashy people, being filmed for national T.V."

Valerie looked upset, almost as if her eyes were watering. His mother looked taken aback, yet impressed. "Damn," she nodded, "I get it, kid. I was too young to sign up myself when my generation was doin' the Selection, but I see your point. It's a real shame, too. You coulda been royalty, and we could've got out of this dump. Ah, well." She got up and grabbed the letter, then waved it around for her son to see. "Let me know if you change your mind." She stuck it on the fridge door with a small magnet. "Damn shame," she mumbled, stumbling away for her third nap of the day. 

Virgil glared at her on her way out. It was hard not to show his hatred for her at all, but especially not in front of his sister. She had to be aware of what little money they were making with her taking a job once in a blue moon. In the caste system, they were Fives. Fives were artists and musicians, and they were only a want for the rich, so it was easy to go broke in that position. Virgil's mother always took a job playing instruments with her son at the higher caste's parties. To the Twos (models and actors) and the Threes (teachers and scientist), they were a cheap gig. To the Fives, these gigs meant that they would be able to afford food.

When it came to Valerie, Virgil felt bad for how young she had to work, as if she didn't have a childhood. Luckily she liked painting, and she was good at it.

"What'd you paint?" Virgil asked, playfully ruffling his sister's hair. She smiled at her canvas and shoved it to her brother. It was a white palace, shining in front of a light blue sky. The details were incredible for such a small canvas.

Virgil felt a harmful tug in his heart. "I want you to keep it, don't you?" He asked, trying and failing to keep his voice from breaking. 

Valerie frowned, and she looked so pitiful. "I mean, yeah. I like all of my paintings, but I have to sell them. It's okay, really, Virgil."

"It's not," Virgil whispered so quietly, it was simply a breath that wasn't heard.

Valerie smiled a little at Virgil, then she went to the fridge and pulled out a small bowl of beans. "I'm gonna heat us up some dinner, 'kay?"

Virgil nodded. It only took a minute in the microwave, then they ate in silence. It was hardly any food, and Virgil felt more hungry when he finished. He washed the dishes, then went to his room and waited.

He watched the light under the door finally shut off as his sister went to bed, then he waited another hour. Cautiously, he got up and checked how he looked in the dusty bathroom mirror, playing around with his curly black hair. Then, he carefully snuck out to his backyard. After two years of perfecting this, he could climb up the panels that went up to his old tree house.

Inside it was tiny, but it felt like a better home than his actual home. There was a soft rug and a candle that was lit when someone was in there.

It was lit with a small flame.

Though there had never been an intruder in the tree house, Virgil always panicked at that. Well, that and the silhouette that shadowed half of the micro-room.

Then, the intruder spoke. He spoke with a small, soft voice, though it couldn't fool Virgil to see past his trials. The trials it took to be here in the night, moonlight filtering through the window. That small voice could comfort him in any situation. The person to whom that voice belonged was the main hidden reason why Virgil couldn't enter the Selection.

"Hi, beautiful."

Dan.

Next Masterlist Previous

[bbclesmis]

Lily Collins Gets Candid: GLAMOUR’s December cover star on Les Misérables and success on HER terms

2018 was the year of fearless female performances but THE TV Christmas blockbuster, Les Misérables, saves the best for last with Lily Collins’ star turn as Fantine. Here she navigates the minefield of millennial dating, -13°C locations and a late-twenties crisis with GLAMOUR’S Josh Newis-Smith.

“I’ve been ghosted more times than I care to admit,” Lily confesses, as we discuss the minefield that is millennial dating. Adorned in a slouchy black hoodie with her hair scraped back into a care-free ponytail and barely a lick of make-up, Lily could be any twenty-something in debrief mode.

In fact, the only indication that this is a Golden Globe nominee who since starting to act at the age of two, has carved a place for herself as a go-to starlet – in such varied roles in Rules Don’t Apply, Mirror Mirror and Love, Rosie- is the vast Hollywood home that plays backdrop to our interview and her GLAMOUR cover shoot.

About to hit our screens in her career-defining role as Fantine, who is dumped unceremoniously by her lover - Victorian ghosting if you will - and left to fend for her child alone, we are musing on how, just like the iconic character, Lily has navigated her own fair share of heart ache. “There are times when I’ve [been on dates and] thought we had a great time and then I’ve never heard from the guy again,” she continues. With this level of ‘gal pal’ magnetism it’s no wonder she has garnered 11 million Instagram followers, and counting. “Sometimes that happens after one date, a couple of dates or one month. I would prefer people to be honest with me, as I live like that. I don’t think it will be something I can ever figure out. The good thing is that we all have the same issues.” Alexa, play Thank U, Next by Ariana Grande...

Both 29 years old, we quickly bond over that late-twenties crisis, too. “Everyone in their late twenties goes through it a bit, because we’re heading to the big 3-0,” she reassures me. “But I think I had a quarter-life crisis at 25 where I kept asking, ‘Am I at where I wish to be at?’ I never really set out as a kid with markers of when I want to get married or have kids. But I got to the age where you constantly compare yourself to your friends or other people in your industry.”

It’s this level of realism that makes her performance as the ultimate fallen female, Fantine, so damn relatable, despite the fact it was shot in inconceivable sub-zero conditions in Brussels over a grueling five-month period. One scene, in the opening episode, sees a thoroughly modern-feeling Fantine squatting in the bushes alongside her wing women, discussing the gents on offer. “When our director, Tom (Shankland) was describing it as, ‘You are going to be squatting, having a chat,’ I thought, ‘Well, I can’t say I haven’t done that,’” Lily laughs. “People have been doing this for centuries – that camaraderie between women and men going to the bathroom and having chats, where it’s all about the subtext and the looks.”  

Alas, poor Fantine didn’t have a rival nightclub to the local tavern, or Tinder, in her weaponry to help find a knight in shining armour to rescue her from her inevitable fall. Swiping right isn’t something that interests Lily, either. “I’ve never tried a dating app,” she exclaims with her trademark eyebrows alive with energy. “Lots of my friends have, but it’s just that I don’t know how I would. LA is very much where I spent most of my time growing up, so I know the places I am not going to go to meet somebody and I also realise that when you’re not looking, you find it.”

Lily is grounded, which is no mean feat given that she grew up surrounded by fame as the daughter of the Easy Lover hitmaker, Phil Collins. There’s no name-checking of famous faces, only her closest pals, a pool of Californian friends from Harvard-Westlake School who have enabled her to achieve that much-lauded term: balance. She has worked hard to have her Destiny’s Child ‘Independent Woman’ moment.

“Growing up I never wanted that to be a part of my story,” Lily confides. “Obviously I’m super-proud of my dad; I love my dad, I’m grateful for all the things I’ve learned, but it’s also something I wanted to define as my own. I always wanted to do it myself and for myself. There are so many people who want to do what I do, a name is not going to get you a job, and it shouldn’t. I can look back and be so proud I did it on my own. People assume it’s a lot easier when you have that name, but if you’re the kind of person who doesn’t want to use it, it’s a lot harder.”

Part of Lily taking control of her own narrative involved her penning her memoir, Unfiltered: No Shame, No Regrets, Just Me just under two years ago, something that she regards as the “most cathartic, therapeutic experience, in a way I didn’t anticipate”. In the emotional read, Lily confesses to hacking away at those eyebrows to fit in with the skinny-browed girls at school, details an unnamed emotionally abusive relationship, discusses a long and winding journey with eating disorders, and contains an open letter, forgiving her father, “for not always being there,” during her childhood after moving from Surrey to LA with her mother, Jill Tavelman following her parents’ divorce. For an industry in which personal lives are hidden by a velvet curtain, it was beyond brave.

Reminiscing, Lily details how the book’s direction took an unexpected turn, “I realised I was carrying so much baggage that, when it came to work, I couldn’t take on the baggage of my character. I felt a bit like a fraud to myself if I didn’t unleash – or at least get off my chest – these things, to move on and go into the next phase of my life. In life, when you dig the deepest and talk about the most uncomfortable things, that’s the time you’ll connect with most people because that’s when you’re being the ‘realest’. The hardest things to talk about will always be the most relatable, because no one wants to show them; they’re awkward.”

Used to shedding excess baggage, Lily had to leave everything at the French border to play what is set to become a career-defining role as Fantine. As she proudly scrolls through her phone to show her transformation from debutante darling to shaven-haired dishevelled wench, her enthusiasm is as big as her brows as she details the most testing part of taking on this role. “The material, the location, the temperature,” she admits were the biggest challenges. But it’s clear she relished getting gritty. “It was so perfect, but at one point it was -13°C in Brussels. It was mental preparation of not just understanding the psychology of what she’s going through, but also the gruelling shooting experience that we were all in. Dressed in little material towards the end, it was about pushing through mentally. Obviously, I saw the end in sight. I dive in 110%. If I’m freezing, tired and bruised from shooting, I lean into that with the character.”

In a year where toxic masculinity has led to outpourings of female empowerment, it seems an ideal time to revisit the treatment of this infamous female character; something that isn’t lost on Lily. “When she falls, she falls so hard. But she’s willing to stay down there if it means providing for her child. It’s very poignant over what’s happening in today’s world. When we’re at our lowest, we still have our sense of self and are willing to fight back and use our voice. That really resonated with me.”

How does she feel in the wake of the year where Hollywood finally got woke on the abuse of power? “It’s great to see the camaraderie that’s come from it. Women coming forward with these issues are being embraced. Whether it’s in the pay gap or having more female directors, writers, and making sure there are just as many women and men on movie sets – hopefully one day this won’t even have to be a conversation. That’s my hope that we won’t have to say, ‘’I’m so glad you’re hired because you’re a female. It should be that you are known for your skill level… Right now, it’s fantastic, but it shouldn’t be why a woman is defined as amazing.”

As a result, Lily is feeling more empowered than ever before. “Yeah, I am, 100%,” she says. “I’ve realised that I can’t control what other people think of what I have to say, but I can control how I say it and where it’s coming from. So many women have come out and spoken about things that people would have assumed would have been the end of them. Now it is embraced for us to speak out. I’m attracted so strongly to people who are brave and outspoken and very much themselves, so I thought, ‘Why can’t I be that?’ It takes practice and I’m not fully there yet, but I’m doing my best to take those steps.”

This self-crafted confidence is exactly why Lily was attracted to the challenge of creating and directing her own GLAMOUR shoot, shot on a mobile phone during a fitting with super-stylists Rob Zangardi and Mariel Haenn. “I love expressing different sides of myself,” she exclaims, referencing her Giambattista Valli gown she wore for her cover. “It’s a process that allows me to constantly surprise myself, rediscover and push myself in ways I wouldn’t have felt comfortable with a couple of years ago.” One thing is for certain, you shouldn’t underestimate this ultimate Hollywood ‘doer’; she curled her own hair and specifically asked for the pictures not to be retouched, too.

Away from Hollywood and couture, Lily will be living her best Cameron Diaz lyf circa The Holiday this Christmas. “It’s my time to switch off from my job, sleep in and be British – I love holing myself away where no one can bother me. I love being in the countryside, outside London, with my mum. We get our tree, we have decorations from when I’m younger. We cook. We have fires and watch old movies,” Lily shares in a manner of an over-excited elf.

It’s safe to say the Christmas cracker that will really bring a bang to your festivities is Lily Collins in Les Misérables. Plus, dear wise men and women, this star with her rare empowering gifts is well worth following, far and wide.

Les Misérables will start on the BBC on 30th December. (x)

[paranoid-fighter]

Drabble: Geoff leads a dance | Vincent is taken dancing

Inspired by one of Geoff’s favourite songs

Author’s Notes: 1) Song in question: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGFToiLtXro Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You by Frankie Valli and The 4 Seasons 2) These two make me happy. I hope they make you happy, too. 3) There’s more to these two than meets the eye.

Word Count:1790-ish Time to write: 2-ish hours? Copyright: Vincent and Geoff belong to me. The song does not belong to me.

Geoff glanced over at the elf on the nearby love seat and smiled to himself - Vincent was engrossed in his book as the tendrils of a philodendron wove his hair into an elaborate braid. He found himself staring at the elf turned the page, watching the slow motions of those long, delicate fingers. Well, as delicate as the battle scarred elf's hands could truly be. Vincent did not look like his brethren; where elves were lean and slender, Vincent was sturdy and broad, with hardly a trace of soft flesh on his solid frame. When combined with his corpse-like body temperature, Geoff often felt like he was hugging a marble statue.

But, Geoff smiled, even David's beauty paled in comparison to the elf.

  He turned his gaze back to his television screen and watched his video game character running through the frozen wastelands of the fantasy world. His character was still a vampire, instead of the werewolf that Vincent had expected, and Geoff had no intention of curing his character. He had his reasons, he would assure his boyfriend; in truth, he didn't want to cure the disease plaguing his character because he knew that Vincent could not easily cure himself of his own unwanted vampirism.

  And so, the werewolf continued to play with his vampiric character, dodging the sunlight as he walked the line between sating his hunger and killing the innocent. "Just feed on the bandits," Vincent would say, "they're criminals." "Well, yeah, but what if they're just turning to crime to feed their family?" "Is Officer Goody Two-Shoes sympathizing with the pixel people?" "I'm not a goody two-shoes." "Yes you are." "Am not--" "Geoff," he sighed, "just accept that you are and go feed your character." "Fine," he huffed.

  Geoff shook his head as he recalled the discussion that had followed the exchange. They had been standing on the balcony, overlooking the city while sipping their beers. They had debated for hours about the ethics of vampirism and lycanthropy, as well as what was the value of another's life. They had talked until their voices had begun to crack and the sun's rays began to peek over the horizon. The conversation had stayed level, much to their surprise, and had led to plenty of discovery for the other.

  Vincent was still slightly surprised to learn that his beloved Geoff was not as good as he appeared to be. Yes, Geoff's heart was made of gold, but there was a streak of viciousness within him that simmered far below the surface. There was only one time that he had ever seen Geoff's temper truly flare.

  ...and he'd be lying if he said that the memory of it still didn't haunt him.

  Geoff, on the other hand, was more than a little surprised to hear just how much Vincent admired Geoff's adherence to the law. The officer knew that Vincent had his own set of morals and guiding principles, but they were sometimes questionable at best - and they rarely ever aligned to the laws that Geoff swore to uphold. "I've always liked that about you," Vincent stared into his beer. "I know that, at the end of the day, you're going to abide by the law of the land, either of man or beast. Some people might say it's a weakness, but it's one of your greatest strengths." He sipped his beer. "You'll always do what's right, even at your own expense." Geoff's cheeks briefly darkened to match his hair. "Nah, it's not--" "Yes it is," Vincent insisted. "You and I both know that you're a rare breed of person. Almost everyone's out for themselves in this life, but you... Not you. You're good, honest." He sighed. "Dare I even say it, you're pure. Despite all the shit that life has heaped on you, you're still a shining example of what it means to be a truly good person." He looked away as he hugged his chest. "And I don't think I'll ever figure out why you even so much as look at me, let alone touch me. I'm the embodiment of everything you hate--" "No," Geoff shook his head as he put a hand on the elf's arm, "you're not. I mean, yeah, you do some questionable shit for work, but you don't really even have a choice in it. If you don't obey, you risk your entire afterlife. I know this now. And I know that you'd rather follow Syph's orders for now than risk being his slave for eternity." The werewolf stepped closer to his lover. "You do good work, Vincent. It's just, well..." "Not ethical? Geoff hesitated for a moment before shrugging. "Who can say if it's ethical? I mean, you go and kill people that kill a lot more people." Vincent snorted dryly before letting himself be pulled into Geoff's strong embrace. "Are you sure you're not just saying that to reassure yourself that I'm not the scum of the earth?" "You're not scum." His lips brushed against Vincent's ear. "I just think you're scared to see yourself as a good person."

  Vincent froze at that.

 He felt Geoff's arms tighten a little more around him before feeling Geoff's lips on the soft skin behind his ear. The man had fallen silent as Vincent stared unseeingly into the night. Geoff... was right. He was afraid. He was very afraid.

  He didn't want to know what would happen if he thought of himself as a good person.

He had spent too many decades building up the persona of the emotionless killer.

That persona was the only thing that kept him sane. He was a murderer, but if he was go--

  Vincent shook his head and closed his eyes. His cool fingers slid under Geoff's shirt. He didn't want to think on this anymore. He leaned into his lover's body and nipped at his ear while he pulled Geoff closer. Like clockwork, he felt Geoff's arms tighten around him as Vincent continued to nibble and squeeze. It was the perfect distraction, he knew, and it was a needed one.

  After all, it was dangerous to think about Geoff's words...

  Geoff smiled to himself as his character snuck up on a sleeping bandit. He knew that he wouldn't forget the night of their discussion - for a variety of reasons. Among them was the fact that it had been the first night Geoff had truly seen the elf as vulnerable. Despite his stature and demeanor, it was the first time that Vincent had ever appeared small and almost painfully mortal.

On top of that, Geoff thought with a grin, it was also the first night that he had been able to lead their bodies through their own intimate dance.

And speaking of dances...

  Geoff saved his game and turned off the console before standing. He made his way over to the laptop that controlled his speaker system and hummed to himself as he scrolled through his library. With a grin, he selected one of his favourite songs. The swell of horns filled his home as he lightly traipsed back to Vincent's couch. He stood before his boyfriend, grinning as he held out his hand.

Vincent looked up to him with a raised eyebrow and a bemused expression. He grinned and rolled his eyes as he took Geoff's hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He felt Geoff's hand come to rest on his back as the officer held his hand within his own. His own hand came to rest on Geoff's shoulder, fingers delicately splayed across the worn button down shirt. With his toes almost touching his lover's, he let himself be lead through the steps of a spirited foxtrot.

Their feet barely touched the ground as they danced through their home, the two men smiling as their bodies moved closer together. Geoff could barely take his eyes off his lover's face, all but worshiping the elf's beauty in that moment. Vincent's whole face was alight with his smile, even though the left half of his face was stiff and unmoving. Geoff didn't care, though; he could live a thousand lifetimes in that smile.

Vincent found himself laughing as Geoff spun him around before pulling him closer, his hand once again caressing his back. He could feel the officer's heavy fingers through his own crisp shirt, could feel his lover’s warmth and energy and vitality. He met Geoff's bright gaze and felt his own cheeks darkening; the love within Geoff's gaze was almost humbling in its intensity. No one had ever looked at him like that before, Vincent realized as Geoff dipped his body. The elf trusted himself to those strong hands.

As the music reached its crescendo, Geoff pulled his lover close. "...trust in me when I say," Geoff whispered, "Oh pretty baby, don't bring me down I pray." He leaned his forehead against Vincent's for a moment. "Oh pretty baby, now that I found you, stay. And let me love you, baby." His breath caught in his chest as he fell still. "Let me love you..." Geoff's hands came to rest on Vincent's cheeks as stared into the elf's grey eyes. His eyes closed as he pulled Vincent into a kiss...

 The song faded into the next before they separated. Vincent met his lover's gaze with a wide smile and bit his lip as he tried to contain his joy. Geoff quirked an eyebrow as he, too, grinned from ear to ear. Vincent shook his head and dissolved into delighted laughter as he threw his arms around Geoff's broad shoulders, only to laugh harder as Geoff embraced him again. Geoff's rasping laugh blended with Vincent's, filling their home as he lifted Vincent into the air and spun the elf around.

   Midnight found them curled up in their bed with Vincent's head on Geoff's ceremoniously scarred chest. His fingers traced through the hair on Geoff's chest and made a soft noise of contentment as he felt himself being pulled a little closer to the man's warm body. "We should go dancing," Vincent's voice was thick with sleep, "you're a natural." "I'd like that. I'm not a natural, though. Lotta practice." "Oh?" "Yeah," Geoff blushed in the darkness. "I mean, I had to take a P.E. class in college and it was either ballroom dancing or wrestling." "Why did you pick dancing? Wrestling sounds like it'd be an easy class for you." He glanced off to the side. "...The dance instructor was a cute guy." "Really?" Vincent laughed as Geoff squirmed underneath him. "That's why? What about the wrestling teacher? Were they--" "She was scary!" The elf kissed his lover's chest as he beamed. "I love you." "I love you too, Vin."