#i had an idea for a drawing of her meeting silver and her colours are more saturated bc shes not from this world

[beheeyemite]

Someone else.

[chanandlersstuff]

Little Miss Director and Starboy.

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Reader.

Summary: The timeline of how Hayden gradually fell in love with her until he was madly in love, to the point of no returning.

Word count: 8.457

Warnings: Not much actually, age-gap and a slow burn.

Author’s note: It’s the first time I write something about Hayden so I hope you like it. I have nothing against his private life nor his love ones, this is just for fun. With that been said, I had this idea in my head for a long time and it will have two more parts.

gif credits @haydenchristensengifs

Next Part →

May 2019, first meetings.

When he was offered the role of Anakin again for Obi-Wan’s series, he jumped in without thinking twice and that’s how he met her. He saw her face for the first time on a tiny screen on his phone. The first few things he noticed about her were that she used glasses, her voice was sweet, that she smiled pretty much all the time and that she was young, several years younger than him.

She was very polite and enthusiastic, telling him all about the ideas for the series and explaining everything about the project. Maybe revealing a few things she shouldn’t but he didn’t care. She kept it professional but light, which he thanked because acting formally in the comfort of his house while wearing joggers and slippers was a no can do.

A few weeks after that he hopped in a plane and flew all the way to the studios, where she worked, to meet with her and talk about the project. He was directed to her office, where she was supposed to be expecting him but she wasn’t. “I’m sorry Mr. Christensen, but she will arrive in a few minutes.” The boy behind the desk said with a polite smile. “Please follow me.” He got up and walked towards an office at the end of the hallway. “You can wait for her in her office.” He opened the door. “Feel free to get comfortable.” The boy smiled. “Would you like something to drink?”

Hayden looked around the room, it was big; but not too big, painted white with big windows that let all the light enter and a little sofa with a desk in the middle. “No, thank you.” But the main thing he noticed was the lack of personal things in it. No photos on the desk, instead, little drawings stuck to the computer and an old video camera from the ‘90s on one of the shelves, which he found odd. 

He stood watching the window and how the sun illuminated everything around. A couple of minutes passed by when he heard voices outside the office. “Hi, Charlie, how are you?” The same sweet voice reached his ears. Some muffled words and the sound of boots against the floor. "What? He's in there?” She whispered-shouted. “He's early!” It was true, Hayden was early. A trait he picked up from his father. "I know!" The boy at the reception whispered-shouted too. "He’s cute.” Hayden smiled a little at the words. “Charlie! Unprofessional.” It wasn’t as if he was eavesdropping, they just happened to be speaking not so quietly. “I’m not ready.”  He heard her say. “Yes, you are.” The boy encouraged her. More muffled sounds reached his ear. “Fake it, till you make it.” He smiled at the phrase and moments later the door was opened.

He turned around and she was there with a nervous smile on her lips, not like the ones he saw on Facetime. “Hi.” She said, blushing a little.

The brunette walked closer to greet her properly. “Hello.”

“Wow, you are tall.” She said rapidly under her breath, but he heard it, making him laugh.

“I got that a lot.” He extended his hand and she shook it. To the list of things he noticed about her, he added that her hands were cold, despite the warm weather outside, and full of small classy silver rings. She apologised about it but he was focused on looking at her. She was small, a little smaller than average, barely reaching his chin. Dressed in black Doc Martens, light colour jeans, a fitted black t-shirt and a red leather coat. Long straight hair and no glasses on. 

She hung her bag and coat and smiled at him, a more natural one. “Can I offer you something? Tea? Coffee? Orange Juice?”

“A tea would be nice, thank you.” She nodded and ordered Charlie, the boy behind the desk at the front, a tea and a coffee.

“Shall we?” She gestured to the sofa for them to sit down.

He tilted his head to the side. “By all means, it’s your office.” He let her walk in front of him, as the gentleman he was taught to be.

She looked around with a tiny smile on her lips. “Yeah, I still don’t believe it.” 

“You have a beautiful view.” He added.

“Yeah, doesn't it?” She asked happily and looked around. “First of all," he was the object of her gaze again. "thank you for coming all the way here just to chat about this.” 

“Not at all, it’s a pleasure. And far easier than talking on the phone.” He sat more comfortably.

She laughed and nodded. “I like this kind of human contact, I feel like there’s nothing left to guess, or misunderstood, and I also believe it is more personal.” He agreed, noticing she moved her leg nervously. Another thing to add to his list about her. “I will try to not occupy much of your time and don’t bore you.” She joked.

But he shook his head “No, nothing of that.” trying to reassure her. 

A knock on the door interrupted him. “Sorry.” She got up and opened the door. Charlie entered with the two cups and left them on the desk. “Thank you very much, Charlie.” The boy smiled and walked away. “Sugar? Sweetener?” She offered him.

“Sugar, it's fine.” She passed him the little packets while she poured a little one of sweeteners into her cup. The pleased smile on her lips, when she took the first sip, would always be tattooed on his mind.

Hayden asked the normal things about the project and she told him everything she could about it. Slowly, bit by bit, he saw how she was more nervous-free and how excited she was for all the things she was telling him about. “But it’s still in diapers, we are still figuring things out. I’m still figuring things out.” She played with her hands. “The writers started putting everything on paper and I’m working with the executive producers about the cast.” She ended with a smile.

“It’s your first big project?” He asked, taking a sip of his tea. She laughed a little, moving her head side to side, it wasn’t a yes but neither a no. “How old are you?” That was a question he had in mind for a while and hoped it didn't sound rude.

“Twenty-seven.” He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “I know, too young and very big, immense, shoes to fill.” She said with a bored tone like she got that too much. 

Hayden shook his head. “I was 19 when I took the role of Anakin and felt the same way. Everything is going to be fine.” She looked at him a little unsure. “If they choose you to be here, it’s because you are the best. Don’t let them intimidate you, otherwise they will eat you alive.”

She smiled at him, big and brightly. “Thank you, Hayden, truly.” Her eyes accompanied the smile, kind and truthful.

All of a sudden, he turned shy by being under her gaze- What? Shy? Come on man. -so he shrugged and changed the subject. Trying for his life to not blush at how sincere and kind her eyes looked at him moments prior.

October 2019, surprise surprise.

By the second time they met in person, they had been talking a couple more times by the phone, she asked a few things about what he felt about Anakin, what were his thoughts about him and things like that.

Hayden was walking towards her office, for some reason he wanted to see her before going to meet with the writers, executives and a few of the characters for the first reading of the script, which was going to take a few days, to see if everything was going according to plan, smoothly. 

He entered the office and Charlie was there, sitting behind the desk, just like all those months before. They made small talk while the boy accompanied him to her office. When he opened the door, she was looking down at some papers on the desk and her hair was up supported by a pen. “Perfect, Charlie, sorry to bother you, but I'' Who apologised to his assistant for asking something? Always so polite.

When she looked up, her eyes opened big in surprise at seeing him. Hayden realised she was wearing the glasses she wore when they first met and that with the light entering the room her eyes shined. Maybe it was my presence? No, it couldn’t be. It was 100% the light, for sure. “Hello.” He said with a kind smile on his lips.

“Hi.” She smiled brightly, just like she usually did. Usually as in the two times he saw her, one in person and the other by a screen. “You are early.” She looked at the watch on her right wrist.

“Again.” He joked earning a laugh from her.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” She pointed at the sofa where he sat months ago, a vase with white jasmines on the little table there. “Tea?” He nodded and when she was about to ask Charlie the boy nodded and walked away with a tiny smile on his lips.

He, for sure, made himself comfortable and started walking around the office. It didn’t seem empty as it did before, now it had books on the shelves; a few more drawings, it was more cosy, and the same video camera was still there on one of the shelves. He traced it with his finger, slowly, trying to not damage it. “That camera was the thing that started everything, it was my father’s but I made it mine.” Her sweet voice became sweeter.

“It was your first camera?” He turned around to look at her and she nodded with a smile on her lips. Was she always smiling?

“I used to record everything around me with it.” The papers on her desk were long forgotten. “Everything that made me happy, to never forget it.”

He smiled at her way of seeing things. “You still do?”

She hummed. “From time to time, when I’m utterly, incandescently, happy.” He was about to comment on that but she interrupted him. “Besides, vintage makes everything look good.” She laughed and he did too.

Charlie entered right when their laughs were in sync and their eyes shined. “Your tea, Mr. Christensen.” The boy left the drink on the small table there and walked away with a smirk on his lips.

“Are you ready for today?” With a few strikes, he sat on the sofa facing her. She nodded, biting her lips, while arranging the stacks of papers on her desk. He was about to comment on something about her nervous behaviour but chose against it, afraid of making her more nervous. “Did you eat something?” She shook her head. “You want me to grab you a coffee or something?”

She looked up to him. The same kind eyes of all those months back were looking at him “No, thank you.” and shook her head. “If I drink coffee now I’m afraid I will not be able to sit still on the reading table.” A little laugh escaped his lips and the same shyness, and blush, from months ago, appeared again making him clear his throat. Get it together.

With small talk, his attempt to take her mind out of what was about to happen, the time had passed and they had to go to meet the rest to do the first reading table. They exited the office and, as the gentleman he was, he offered to carry all the papers in her hands, but she refused it. Claiming that she was more than capable of doing it herself.

For the first time since he saw her that day, he paid attention to her whole outfit and it was much more formal than the one she used the first day they met. Little heels that made her reach his mouth, black tights, a skirt with a little cut on the side that fitted quite well and a black shirt with the first two buttons undone. And she smelled like jasmine, like the ones in her office.

They reached the room where everything was going to unfold and she stopped a few meters from the door. “You okay?” Hayden asked her and she nodded. “You need a minute?” She nodded again and he gave it to her, even took a step back and let her gather her strength.

The brunette watched her take a few deep breaths and move her head from side to side. “Okay, you got this.” He heard her mumble and a smile appeared on his lips. After a few seconds, she turned around and looked at him. “Ready when you are,” she joked.

He got closer to her laughing, “Ready.” She nodded and he held the door for her to enter first, he walked after her.

Ewan was already there, the executives and the three writers too. The two long-time friends hugged each other and caught up for a few minutes. “Have you already met our amazing, incredible, director?” The Scottish man asked.

“Yes, I had the pleasure,” Hayden said, looking around for her. She was standing by his side moments ago and now she wasn’t.

���She’s amazing, I have been working with her since the beginning and I promise you are going to be blown away by her.” Ewan was more excited by all that was happening than any of them. 

“I have not a single doubt,” his eyes found her in the mess of people and a smile appeared on his lips.

Four days of the same routine, Hayden would arrive every day a little earlier than the prior just to sit in her office and talk to her. Some days Charlie would have a tea already in the making for him and others he would carry a coffee with a chocolate muffin in hand for her because she tended to not eat.

And his list of things he noticed about her would keep getting longer. Her favourite colour was red, she had a sweet tooth, and jasmines and yellow daffodils were her favourite flowers, she used normal glasses when her eyes got irritated after using lenses all the time; plus according to her, they added dramatic effect when she was stressed, she was left-handed, that she scrunched her nose, but her brows didn’t frown, when she didn’t like something and that she truly, and naturally, was a smiley person. All the things he noticed weren’t personal stuff, she was pretty reserved and he could resemble her about that.

It was the last day of the reading table and truth be told, the script was garbage. It was the same thing as the series that were already being streamed. All those days, and hours spent were futile, the ones he had to be seated at that table, not the ones he was seated on the sofa in her office. They all tried to bring something to the table for the script to work, but it was useless. Everyone knew it and someone had to rip the bandaid off. 

“Well...” the executive producer began, “thoughts?” And they all looked at her.

As if she could feel all the gazes on her, she looked up. “Sincerely?” And they nodded. She looked around the room, Hayden could see her demeanour changed as if she had built a wall inside her and was ready for anything. “It’s the same thing we saw billions of times.” She was straightforward. “If we keep this way, the critic is going to smash us.” She voiced what all of them were thinking.

“Excuse me?” One of the writers said.

She frowned, “we are making a series about an icon of the cinematography universe, whose story is tightly intertwined with one of the biggest villains of history, about a universe that changed lives and the way of seeing cinema and this script-” she picked it up “does not reflect that.” The nervous girl Hayden saw before was left at the door and seated with him was a decisive woman, with her work pants well put on and a clear idea in mind. "This script is too small for a production as big as this one, as awaited as this one."

“And what would you know about making a script for a production this big?” The writer looked at her up and down. “You are just a child, you are too small a director for a production like this.” All the people in the room were surprised at such harsh, disrespectful, words. “Little Miss Director.” He added with a derogatory tone.

Ewan and Hayden were ready to chime in, along with a few other people on the crew, but she beat them to it. “First of all, you are excused.” She raised her chin and sat straight. “Second, I formed myself, I studied and improved after every project I made, it didn't matter how little it was.” Long was gone the sweet tone she carried. “I'm worthy of being here, believe me, I am one of the best out there and I have the skills to direct this project.” She had a cold look in her eyes. “If this is your script, which I guess it is, by how offended you are getting at hearing my honest opinion, maybe it’s you who does not know about big productions.” 

The silence that fell upon the room was a sepulchral one, not even a fly flew around. She kept her gaze on the writer until he stormed off the room, followed by a bang from the door. They all looked that way, but Hayden kept his eyes on her and caught the moment when she let go of a shaky breath and played with one of the many rings on her fingers. Their eyes connected and he frowned, asking a silent question, but she just gave him a small smile, reassuring him she was fine. 

After apologies from the executive producers and the writers on behalf of the rude partner, they all agreed with her that the script was awful and that she was right. Ideas came and went but nothing seemed to fit and be worthy of, the concept they had in mind. “You worked as a writer too for the projects you were on, didn't you?" Ewan asked, looking at her. "Besides, directing them.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Yes…” 

“They were very good, award-worthy.” He added making her open her eyes big, Hayden frowned. But when she was going to answer, the Scottish talked again. “Why don’t you write something?”

She seemed caught off guard, Hayden watched how her lips parted a little and her eyes scanned the room, while Ewan had a kind smile on his lips. After all, he was one of the executive producers and he had that kind of power at the table. “Yeah, we will meet in a couple of months and we will discuss it again.” Another executive producer said.

She looked even more surprised, her brows a little more raised than before. “We can work with you, discuss ideas and build the story together.” One of the writers said while the other nodded eagerly. “We will help each other and it would be an honour for us.”

A smile appeared on her lips, but Hayden realised it was a nervous one; not like the ones he saw her make when she took a sip of her coffee, or when she talked about the video camera in her office. “Yeah, okay.” The confident woman who put the idiot writer in his place was gone and the same nervous girl who was left outside the room appeared again. “We can do that. There are a few ideas in here that we can use as a base and build upon them.” She nodded looking at the script as if it was going grow a mouth and eat her alive

The meeting finished after a few minutes and they talked about schedules for the future, which was uncertain until the scripts were ready. When Hayden got up to talk to her she was already on her way to walk away from the room, like her life depended on it, and was left to talk with Ewan, not that he didn’t like catching up with his friend, but if he was honest, he was a little worried about her.

January 2020, first vestiges of emotions.

The last time the pair saw each other they couldn't even have the chance to say goodbye because when Hayden went to her office to talk to her, Charlie told him she was already gone for the day and he was flying back to Canada in a few hours. He weighed the options of calling her, or sending her a text, to ask if everything was fine but in the end, he desisted, to not come up as dense. 

To his surprise, she texted him a few weeks after their last encounter, a simple hello, sorry to bother you, and presenting herself, as if he didn’t know who she was. All that to talk about work, about the script she, and the other writers, were working on.

Finally, it was time to see them, the team, in person. To see her in person. Their routine was picked up where they left it, him taking her a coffee and muffin and a hot tea waiting for him at her desk, and, of course, he arrived early. 

“Hello, Charlie,” Hayden said as soon as he passed the door from his office floor. 

“Hello, Mr. Christensen,” The boy said, despite the multiple times he told him to call him by his name and not that formal title. “She will arrive shortly, you can come in,” Charlie said with a smile on his lips. “You already know the way.” 

Laughing a little, he walked towards her office. There were new drawings on the shelves, still no photos, the video camera was still in place and the smell of jasmine was still there. The sticky posts on the computer were there and despite all his mother's teachings that what he was going to do was impolite, he did it. Slowly he walked to the other side of her desk and readed them. 'Most Ardently’ was writing in one of them with a little heart and clear handwriting, ‘Shine on, you crazy diamond. Love, the kids and I’ that one made him frown. She was married with kids? The kids would explain all the drawings, but she never mentioned anything about kids when he talked about his daughter, and the married thing was hard to guess with all the rings she had on her fingers. She never said anything about being taken, nor had any photos in her office with someone, and she was a very closed person, so he was not going to pray into her private life if she didn’t let anything on. 

And like months ago, when they first met, he heard her sweet voice in the hallway talking with Charlie and it went almost the same way it did the first time, him being cute wasn’t said that time. 

“Hi, Hayden.” She said as soon as she opened the door. When he looked at her he had to suppress a laugh that was about to escape his lips. “What?” She was frowning at him.

His eyes trailed her up and down. “You are under all that?” She was small, that much was a fact, but she looked so much smaller under the, almost, total black outfit she was wearing. A big ass long coat, loose high dress pants, a fitted t-shirt that covered her up to her neck and white Converse, that looked like they were from his daughter from how small they seemed.

“Well yeah.” She took the sunglasses off her head and a few rebel hairs fell to her face making her blow them away. Her silver rings and silver necklace with her initials contrasted with her clothes. “I’m cold.”

“I can see that,” he laughed while walking to greet her. It came naturally to him to kiss her cheek followed by a little. “Hello.” The smell of jasmine invaded him and his voice sounded deeper for some reason. When he moved away, the brunette took notice of how her cheeks and nose were red from the cold. Was it from the cold though? “Are you that cold?”

“Huh?” She frowned like she didn’t understand. “Ah, yeah.” She nodded, and a nervous laugh escaped her lips. 

Charlie interrupted them carrying his tea while she hung her coat and got comfortable. The little interaction was forgotten by the time the boy walked out of the office with a frown on his face, looking at his boss. “I brought you breakfast,” Hayden said pointing at the cup next to her keyboard.

She smiled kindly at him, but that smile changed when she took a sip of the hot drink. It wasn’t a bad change, it was a good one. The way her lips curved gave him flashbacks of the memory tattooed on his brain about the first time he met her in person. He wasn’t afraid of messing up her coffee order, he knew it was the right one because he had picked it up on the few times they had been together.

She seemed less nervous this time around, there weren’t stacks of papers on her desk like the last time, nor she wasn’t running around. She seemed grounded, confident even. He tried to get information out of her about the new scripts but it was impossible, she gave him vague answers with a polite smile on her face, which made him laugh. “You are getting better at this,” he took a sip of his tea, looking at her.

“I know,” she smiled smugly. “I've been taking notes on how not to spill everything about a new project.” The brunette noticed how proud she looked about that. “I wouldn’t want them to fire me for speaking too much,” her tone was a playful one.

He laughed. “They would never,” his eyebrows were frowned and he shook his head. “Not after all the work you’ve done,” he reassured her.

Between sips of hot drinks, Hayden told her about his farm in Canada, about Briar Rose and small things here and there about his life while she listened attentively to all his words. The morning sun entering from the window behind her, seated at his side, added some kind of soft, cosy, effect to the office. Intimate. While they were laughing about something he said, a knock on the door behind him interrupted them. “Come in,” she called, still laughing.

“Hello there,” an accent Hayden recognized very well reached his ears and she started laughing again.

The brunette turned around and standing there was Ewan with a smile on his face. “Obi-Wan,” the pair said, making the Scottish laugh too.

“Good to see you two here.” They all hugged each other. “I was coming to pick our beloved director up but you beat me to it,” he joked looking at him.

Immediately she blushed. “We are having breakfast, would you like something?” She asked in her sweet tone.

“No, no. Nothing darling, thank you.” The trio stood in the middle of the office. “Are you ready?” Ewan asked and Hayden looked at her too.

She nodded, “Yeah, everything’s ready. The scripts are already arranged in the room where we are going to meet, the seats are designated.”

“You are well prepared then,” Ewan said surprised. “Yeah, you seemed more ready than last time when you were running around like crazy until the last minutes,” Hayden added. If his eyes weren’t on her, he would have seen the look in his dear friend's eyes.

“Well, I've had everything ready for like a week or so,” she shrugged but the pair looked at her surprised. “What? I like having things in order,” she defended herself.

It was time for them to meet with the rest of the crew so they walked out of the office, her first, and made their way there. The two men told her about the funny things they remembered while they filmed the first two movies and the technology they had to do it. 

Hayden noticed that she seemed much more carefree this time around than the first time they did the table reading, she didn’t stop at the door to take a deep breath, nor to give herself a little pep talk. She just entered the room like she owned it, like she deserved to be there, which she did, and that made him smile.

Just as she said, the table already had the scripts on it and tags in front of the chairs, it was a completely different room than the one they were months ago. There were different people inside, who were supposed to be the cast, the writers, the executive producers and them. “Ready boys?” She asked with a smile on her lips making them look at each other with their eyebrows raised and they laughed, but followed her nonetheless. 

They all sat around the big circular table, the writers at her sides, while he Ewan, and the rest of the team, dispersed around the table. The crew was also there, seated surrounding them. The reading started but her sweet voice didn’t chime in at any moment, Hayden watched her make notes here and there on her script and whispered with the writers beside her.

They connected eyes more than a few times, she always caught him looking at her for some reason, only a couple of times it was the other way around like they could feel their gaze on each other. Her reaction was always the same, a sweet smile on her lips. Her hair was held by a pen, again, and at some point, she put her glasses on. This time around she didn’t play much with her rings, but she did it with the silver delicate watch on her wrist. 

He looked around the table to watch the crew's reaction and they all had mixed emotions, but they were the exact opposite of what that rubbish script generated. By the time the reading ended, everyone was silent with unreadable looks on their faces. But she was in her world, still making notes. Almost three minutes passed when someone decided to speak. “Well,” Ewan broke the silence, from his tone he could guess, because he had his blue eyes fixed on her, that he was smiling. “Little Miss Director did it again.” She raised her head looking at him.

And looked around the table confused, suspiciously. “Meaning?” Her tone was so unsure, he found it cute.

“It’s brilliant, this is excellent.” One of the producers said.

Everyone chimed in to praise the script, the cast; the crew; and every single person in the room. Hayden watched at how her face broke into a beautiful big grin, eyes shining and cheeks blushed. Her eyes connected with his and he grinned too, that was the effect of her smile. 

The session was over and everybody stood up to leave, and this time she didn’t run away instead stood chatting with whoever approached her. “Didn't I tell you she was brilliant?” Ewan said, clapping his shoulder.

“Yeah, you did.” He nodded and his friend looked pleased. “It’s one of the best scripts I have ever read, well written; well articulated; balanced. It's amazing.” Hayden was speechless at how creative she was, at how amazing she was.

Ewan nodded proudly. “I knew from the moment I watched one of her films that she was perfect for the series, that’s why I recommended her for the position.” He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Plus, her resume is impeccable. She's something else.” The brunette nodded with his eyes fixed on her. “Totally worthy of being showrunner.” Hayden looked at him surprised. “She didn’t tell you?”

He shook his head. “She doesn't talk much when we are together, I do most of it, plus she’s very private.”

“Yeah she is, it took me a while for her to trust me but she would eventually open up,” his friend tried to reassure him. “If she trusts you,” he added, clapping his back laughing. 

Hayden shook his head, “thanks man.” Ewan laughed harder.

“She reminds me of you a little bit when we first met,” the Scottish said and he looked at him frowning. “Incredibly passionate young soul, keen and very creative." 

Hayden smiled at the kind words of his dear friend and found it more special that he found such touching words related to her. He was about to respond when she walked towards them.

"Good job, Little Miss Director." Ewan joked when he saw her.

She laughed tilting her head back but did a little bow, Hayden smiled. "Thank you, Ewan." He bowed his head. "Truly for your trust and help in this process."

He smiled, "It was my pleasure darling." And they hugged.

When they parted, she looked at Hayden with a big smile too. He felt shy under her gaze but enjoyed it too. "Thank you too, Hayden." He shook his head. "For being patient with me and all my questions, helping me and your encouraging words."

Sweetly, as her voice, she hugged him. Engulfed him with her arms around his neck, she was on her tiptoes and he had to bend down a little to put his arms around her back, not her waist because he was respectful. The jasmine scent, her scent, reached his nose making him dizzy. His mouth was so close to her neck, to her pulse point, that if he moved his head a little to the right he would graced it with his lips and he felt her hot breath in his pulse point, making him weak on the knees.

The hug ended far too quickly for his liking. What? When they pulled apart he had to clear his throat and blinked a couple of times. Fucks sake, Hayden, get a hold of yourself. You are 38 and she’s 11 years younger than you, think straight.

February 2020, special day.

It had been a couple of months since he last saw her, which he was thankful about because the hug she gave him was too much for him. Too much for his brain. Too much for his heart. Too fucking much.

He thought that maybe the peace of his farm would give him the clarity he needed but it didn't happen. Not a single clear thought about whatever he was feeling came his way. About work? Yes. About what he was going to eat for dinner? Lots. About feelings, which were a mess? Not a single one.

Ewan and he were talking on the phone about life, making a habit of staying in contact and not like the last decade and a couple of years. They were talking about projects and life, while all Hayden’s brain was screaming was, Ask him about her. ASK HIM! but he tried to not let that part of him win. 

Obviously was futile because he ended up talking about work, which of course ended up with her name being said. “You know anything about her?” He shut his eyes and frowned, with his free hand he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, I talked on the phone with her a couple of days ago. Something about the script.” His friend said and he nodded.

“How was she?” The words blurted out his mouth before he had the time to process them. He was seconds away from smashing his head through the wall if that made him stop thinking about her. Teenage behaviour, right there Hayden. The laughter on the other side of the phone made him shake his head, regretting asking. 

“Fascinated by our Little Miss Director I see.” Ewan teased and he had to hum because if he opened his mouth the teasing would meet no end. “I get it, she’s pretty awesome.”

“Yes, she is.” Well, fuck it, he would embarrass himself for shits and giggles.

The days after his chat with Ewan, where he mentioned her resume, he could have Googled her, to know what his friend meant, but he decided against it. The opportunity, the privilege, of hearing about her life from her mouth would be more rewarding, more special, than reading it on some gossip page.

Ewan laughed again. “It’s her birthday in a couple of days.” His ears perked when his friend told him the exact date when it was. “Did you know it?” 

“No, no. I didn’t know it.” Mentally the date was already marked. 

The Scottish laughed again. “Well now you know, thank me later.” The brunette thanked God that the teasing stopped because otherwise, he was going to mentally kick himself. They kept talking for twenty minutes and the conversation ended with “Send her something pretty!” from Ewan’s part before he hung up.

The date of her birthday came and Hayden kept looking at the phone on his counter, Briar Rose having breakfast next to him. “Are you okay Daddy?” She asked in her sweet voice.

“Yes, sweetie.” He caressed her face. “Just thinking.”

“ ‘bout?” Her big blue eyes looked at him.

He deliberated on telling her about his doubts or brushing them off. “It’s one of my friend’s-” Friend? Was she a friend? Or a colleague maybe? What was she?  “birthday and I don’t know what to get her.” Maybe she would help him decide what to give her.

“What she likes?” She asked, taking a sip from her princess cup.

He racked his brain trying to think about something she told him she liked, but a single thing came up. “Flowers.” Unconsciously he could scent jasmine, even though there wasn't a single one of them in his house. "Jasmine."

“They’re nice and pretty.” That was answer enough for him.

Smiling, he leant and kissed the crown of her head. “You are right, sweetie.” She smiled. “Thank you.”

Giving her a last look, he took his phone and walked to the living room. First tone. You got this. Second tone. Nothing to stress about. Third tone. They're just flowers. Fourth tone and they answered. Too late to back down.

Twenty minutes he was on the phone with the flower shop, twenty minutes where he felt like a teenage boy with a massive crush, a little pathetic if he was honest with himself, and then he went on with his day like normal.

He and Briar were making lunch when his phone rang, whipping his hands on a towel he grabbed his phone and as fast as he picked it up he almost let it fall. Her name appeared on his screen, she was calling. She was calling him.

After coming out of his astonishment, he answered it before she hung up. "Hello."

"Hayden, hi." Her sweet voice reached his ear. "How are you? I hope I'm not interrupting your day." He could hear her walking around her office.

He chuckled. "I'm fine, how are you?" He turned the burner down. "And you are not interrupting, we were making lunch." 

"We?" She cleared her throat. "Sorry. What were you making?" 

"Briar Rose wanted pasta for lunch, so I'm obliging." The little girl walked past him and he caressed her head.

"Nice, it goes great with the cold." The picture of her with her nose and cheeks red popped up on his brain. "I will not take much of your time with her." He shook his head as if she could see him. "I called you to thank you for the beautiful bouquet, I love it." 

He smiled, big and brightly. "I'm glad you liked it." Was she smiling too?

"The note is very beautiful too. My favourite part may I say." The teenage boy with a crush feeling was worthy then.

"I'm pleased to hear, Little Miss Director." He joked, hoping to hear her laugh and he did. 

"How did you know?" She asked curiously.

"A little chatty bird called Ewan maybe, possibly, most certainly, slipped that your birthday was coming up while we talked a few weeks ago.” Hayden knew that wasn't the entire truth, not even close, but just this time he was going to throw his friend under the bus for sure.

She laughed, and possibly she was shaking her head. "Who else if not him?" He laughed too and the background noise became louder. "I'm sorry to cut this short, Hayden, but I got to go." Her kind tone reached his ears.

"No no, please. Duty calls." He thought that she would send him a quick message so hearing her voice was a surprise, although it was for a couple of minutes.

"Bye, I hope your lunch is good. See you later, Starboy." And before he could answer, she hung up.

As if his life was taken from a cheesy rom-com, like the ones he acted in, Hayden stood in the middle of his kitchen looking at his phone as her name disappeared from the screen, but not the feelings from the centre of his chest.

April 2020, Unexpected delight.

His birthday was a special day for him, surrounded by the ones he loved the most. Spending the whole day with his daughter, eating with his family and having a fun time with a few friends. As the private person he was, he couldn't ask for more.

Soon he would have to start training for Anakin's role, so he was enjoying the time off. Briar Rose surprised him with breakfast in bed, helped by his mother, who came around to greet him and helped her beloved granddaughter. 

They were seated in the living room talking about small things and his plans for the day when the doorbell of his front gate rang. “Did you invite someone?” He asked his mother while walking towards the phone he had by the door, but she shook her head. “Yes?”

“Is Mr. Christensen at home?” A male voice said.

He looked at the little screen there and it was a grown man dressed in a FedEx uniform. “Yes, he is.”

“We have a package for him, we need his signature to confirm that he received it.” The man showed the papers in hand and at the box below his arm.

“Okay, I’m coming.” Grabbing his jacket and keys, “It’s a package, I’ll be right back.” he said over his shoulder.

The walk towards the front gate was chilly, he had his hands in his pockets and nose buried in the neck of his jacked. When he saw the guy at the door, the package he had in his arms was a normal size. “Hello.”

“Hello.” They nodded at each other. “You know what it is?” The brunette asked.

The guy shrugged. “No idea, man. It just says fragile and it’s from the US.” Hayden opened the gate and the guy passed him the pen and paper for him to sign. 

He did it, but frowning. It couldn’t be the script, because she would have told him, or Ewan. His friends would have told him if they would be sending him a present, so that wasn’t an option. He tried to think what could possibly be but nothing came to mind. He handed the pen and paper back and the guy gave him the box. “There you go, have a nice day.”

His blue eyes were fixed on the box. “Yeah you too, man.” As quickly as he could he made his way back to the house.

Shaking the box to see what was inside wasn’t an option because it said fragile and whatever it was it could break. His curiosity was getting the best of him when he entered his house. Briar and his mom were still seated on the couch talking but raised their heads to look at him. “What is it, dear?” His mom asked but he shrugged. “From who is it?” He shrugged again. “You know something?” She asked, teasing.

He rolled his eyes. “It’s from the US and it’s fragile.” Her mom frowned. But he walked towards the kitchen and put the box on the counter while he looked for scissors. 

“Can I see it, daddy?” Briar Rose asked from the couch. 

He opened the top drawer. “As soon as I open it, I’m going to show it to you, sweetie.” His voice raised for her to hear him.

The box had a simple black box inside and nothing on it, he frowned again but kept opening it. When he lifted the lid the inside was colourful and smelled amazing. It smelled like jasmine and he smiled. Large pieces of paper, of all colours, surrounded a black cup and a couple of tea bags next to it. He picked up the box and walked towards the living room. “Look, sweetie.”

The little girl opened her eyes big and made space, even though there was plenty, next to her for him to sit. “What is it?”

“A gift.” He said putting the box on the mini table there. The little girl picked up a few of the papers there and started playing with them.

His mother looked at it and smiled. “It’s nice. Who sent it?”

Hayden knew who sent it by the mere smell that came from it, the tea was another clue for all the times they had breakfast together. “A friend.” Two simple words that had nothing simple, describe nothing simple and meant nothing simple to his feelings. His big hand engulfed the cup and lifted it, a laugh came out of him when he saw what was engraved on the side.

Briar Rose and his mom looked at it and the little girl found it hilarious, even though she didn’t quite understand the reference, while her mom laughed a little too. “Storm Pooper.” The girl said between giggles and Hayden laughed at hearing her giggling. 

His mother passed him a white paper folded in half, “there’s a note.” 

Quickly he exchanged the cup for the paper with her and stood up. His name was written in clean neat handwriting and inside were a few simple words. 

Happy Birthday, Starboy, enjoy your day surrounded by the people who are glad and cherish your presence in this world.

 Love, Little Miss Director.

“Someone special?” His mom’s voice brought him back to the real world. He looked at her frowning for a couple of seconds before his eyes fell back to her words. “You are smiling quite big right now.”

Why deny the obvious? “I have to make a phone call, can you keep an eye on Bri?” But he didn’t wait for an answer and walked to the kitchen with his phone.

The last time they talked on the phone was in March for something related to the script, a few questions she had about when he filmed the movies and Ewan was also on the call because the question was directed at him too, so it wasn’t like they talked to each other and it was completely professional. First ring. Keep it simple. Second tone. Casual, relax. Third ring. You are just colleagues, nothing more. Fourth ring. Nothing more because she’s 11 years younger than me. Fifth t- “Hi.” Her sweet voice reached him, a little out of breath as if she was running.

“Hello.” And again, for some reason, his voice went deeper. More than what already was.

Music could be heard in the background. “Did you receive it?” She sounded excited. “Please tell me it arrived whole, please.”

He laughed. “Yes, it did.” She exhaled. “Thank you very much.” He smiled and hoped that she was smiling too. “You didn’t have too.”

“Nonsense.” He could imagine her shaking her head. “Did you like it?” She sounded unsure and he tilted his head to the side. “Because if you don’t it’s okay.” She didn’t let him answer. “I have the sense of humour of a twelve-year-old and I will not apologise for it, but I will understand if you find it hideous.” She used, what he remembered was, her mocking tone and took him back to one of the times he was in her office and they were just chilling. 

“I love it.” He said truthfully and heard her make some victorious sound that made him laugh, which made her laugh. “Briar Rose found it hilarious too.” 

“She did?” She sounded excited again. “Oh, that’s amazing.” He nodded. “When we saw it, I thought that it was hilarious and had to buy it for your birthday.”

He was touched by the sentiment and the gesture. She saw something and thought about me. But the plural pronoun made him frown, it didn’t sit right with him. “We?”

“Yeah, my niece, nephew and me.” She was sharing something private about her. She trusts me. “They are a little older than Briar Rose.”

“Oh.” So the drawings must be from them. But was she married? “Well, you have great taste and as soon as I use it, I will let you know.”

She laughed. “Thank you and I hope you like the tea too.”

“So, what’s up with the nickname?” Since she started calling him like that after her birthday the question has been on his mind.

She laughed. “It seems only fair since I’m Little Miss Director that you are Starboy.” and said in an obvious tone. “Does it bother you? Cause if it does I will stop calling you that.” She was quick to say.

But he shook his head. “Not at all, I’m okay with it.” He heard her hum and, a little afraid, of the conversation finishing there he scratched the back of his head thinking about what he could say to keep her on the phone. “I called in at a bad time?” Hayden wanted to keep talking to her, keep hearing her voice.

“No no, I was cleaning my house, that’s why I was late to answer.” He nodded even though she couldn't see him. 

“On Sunday?” She would notice that you don’t want to hang up, Hayden.

“It’s my only free day.” She laughed. “What about you? Big plans for today?”

They talked for a little while longer, about noncenses, but Briar started calling for him and he didn’t want to take too much of her time, bullshit, so the call was cut short. But the smile he carried for the day was notorious to his mum, to his daughter, to his friends, to everyone who saw him that day, and all because of a phone call with his director.

Next Part →

[tamayakii]

Their Angel. Yan!HOTD x Reader

I've been having so many thoughts about yandere house of the dragon x reader, how the 3 big houses (Targaryen, Velaryon & Hightower) would fight for the darlings' affection. Platonic, Familial or romantic. I feel like they would, of course, all fight over what colours you would wear, what house you represent until a very annoyed and exhausted council member suggested white.

"like an angel," Viserys adds, it was said that the gods had sent you down to bless them so dressing you in white seemed the best option... but that didn't stop them from gifting you jewellery that had the colours of their house.

The Hightower jewellery had the most expensive Jade and Emerald on top of gold, these pieces can range from delicate rings to big statement necklaces that encompass your neck. Alicent prefers to give you these gifts in person, alone, perhaps in her or your chambers. Presenting you with the beautifully engraved box as she opens it, showing you a new necklace with a beautiful dark green emerald. Otto's gifts never cease to awe you in how quiet that man is in his actions, a small indiscreet box upon your pillow when you ready for bed. Inside lays a note, upon which Otto describes the moment he found this beautiful ring and knew he must get it for you, the handwriting almost as beautiful as the peridot ring you now proudly wear on your pinkie.

The Targaryen jewellery is almost always extravagant, having connections to get you the best out of everything. Viserys gifts you capes, crowns and veils but unlike the others, he almost always keeps them in white, unless they have jewels. His favourite thing to see you in is crown veils, the jewellery hanging down and framing your face makes you seem like you stepped down from heaven's gate. When Aemma was still around, she gifted you rings and earrings, she wasn't able to give you much before she passed in childbirth. So you hold these gifts quite dearly to your heart, always sporting the dark ruby red ring on your thumb, twisting it when you get nervous. Rhaenrya, oh dear Rhaenrya, she wanted everyone to know that you belong to the Targaryens. To the Blood of The Dragons, her first gift to you was a cloak clasp that show two dragons on each side, her second gift was a crystal bracelet that had a chain connecting to a ring, it was a simple design but by the gods it made you feel exquisite. There was one gift that set the nail in the coffin, it was a gift from Rhaenrya and Aemma, a dragon that wrapped around your neck. Signifying the hold that House Targaryen has on you.

The Velaryon jewellery is often pearls or other sea gemstones as they sit on driftmark and have a hand over the trading routes, Rhaenys upon her second meeting of you, gifting you a pearl ring slipping upon your finger herself. Corlys gifted you a relic that was been with the Veleryons for ages on your first birthday with them, the beautiful necklace made with blue topaz, moonstones and blue chalcedony, wrapped beautifully with Valeryon silver. Vaemond... never was quite as fond as you as his brother and sister-in-law were, you were no Targaryen or Velaryon but for small moments he forgot that and adored your sweet smile.

I would love to draw male and female outfits of what this au's darling would look like, i can also do a part two of the other things the other characters would give you as i excluded a lot as to not make this any longer than it is. Should i make a fic with this idea? pls send me an ask if you're interested in this au

[toothpastecanyon]

Hi! I’d like to start with the fact that your writing is PHENOMENAL, the way every first chapter is designed to grab the readers attention, with a mystery or a cozy little opening, establishing where the character is in life and their motives, or a sneak peek at the problem the characters must overcome.

I’m really bad at articulating my thoughts, but ur characters are really well written and I’d like to make more fanart of them, but I’m not quite sure what they look like.

(The only fics of your la that i KNOW you wrote are Unto Dust, and The Comfort of Agony (both of which are really good btw, I also love how you write existing characters, and your portrayal of them(especially Lucy Ann))

Anyway, because there are so many interpretations of species used in TAU, I got a little mixed up on what the non-human characters look like.

Darceus- in Lucy Ann and the Lunch Bunch, there is a Kitsune named Felicity, who is described as “looking a kind of like a human, and kind of like a fox” which my interpretation of is shown below. I forgot that that isn’t typical for kitsune characters in tau (even though she’s the only one since yours) and drew her in a similar way. ( also, are there any distinctive features on her nieces?) btw the LION idea is phenomenal, also do you think she has a mane? They’re fun to draw.

June- how big is she? I assumed she was the size of a human based on her interactions, but then I realized she might be looking down of people because she can fly. But then I remembered that it says she walks around. So then I confused myself. Also, skin tone, hair color/texture, eyes?

Beatrice- SHE IS SO WELL WRITTEN I felt genuinely angry while reading her meeting with Lucy Ann (in a good way) and she seems like someone you would meet in real life, totally obnoxious! Also, I don’t really know how TAU elves usually look so, idk anything about her skin tone or hair or eyes.

Here are pictures of my doodles in case you want to take a look, try to ignore the paper texture please.

Also, an old picture of Felicity:

Sorry if any of this is worded weird, im not that good at talking, but could you please give a solid description of the major/cool characters in Unto Dust?

(And in case I didn’t say it before, the Comfort of Agony is SO WELL WRITTEN there is too much for me to say about it!)

Oh wow, this is all so kind of you to say! Thank you so much - I'm so glad to hear you enjoy my writing, and I love the sketches you've done! You already have a lot of great designs and the characters look super expressive!

It's really exciting to be asked more of what my characters look like and I'll give you the best description I can, but I do want to note I often don't have a clear idea of what my characters look like - I like that writing lets a reader come up with their own spins on what a character looks like! So while I'm adding my own interpretation of my characters here, if you have a different idea you think works better or just looks cooler to you, I say go for it!

I'll organise my thoughts by each character:

Darceus: I was definitely inspired by @feferipeixes' character Felicity to make a kitsune character! I really like the mane idea you have going in your sketches, and female lions do occasionally grow manes! I like the way you've drawn her formal attire, with the nine tails spread out behind her like a sort of cape! You really brought her to life!

I probably still imagine her with a fox's colouration - I liked the lion imagery to evoke the broader facial features and just overall stockier build than an average kitsune.

The nieces: They're probably both young adults of average height. I don't have a clear idea of what they look like, but it might be fun to draw them as a different type or species of fox - silver foxes look really pretty with distinctive markings! They probably have less tails than Darceus, maybe three or so.

June: I definitely had the idea of her being average sized - I think writing it from Lucy Ann's perspective makes her seem taller as a lot of characters have to look down on her (sorry Lucy Ann!). I really like the wings you drew for her! She's a middle-aged lady with a little grey in her red hair, and probably likes wearing a lot of running gear - gotta train for that 10K!

Beatrice: I really like the long ears you've given her, that looks super distinctive! The loose t-shirt is really good. I probably imagine her with more of a pear shaped build with dark brown eyes and hair. If she does magic like in her appearances with Noie I like to think it'd look a lot how Mod V's elf OC Florian does it.

Also I definitely am looking for Lucy Ann to start wearing a glove! I'm not sure whether it would be fun to have it be a red glove to match the rest of her outfit, or if it's black or some other clashing colour to illustrate how she sees it as something unwanted and forced upon her.

That's all I can think of, but if you'd like anything more specific I'd be more than happy to help! Thank you again for this ask and your awesome sketches - if you end up drawing anything else I'd really love to see it!

Have a great day! :D

[spacesquidlings]

Luminaries: Deliverance

Hello beautiful people!!!! I recently commissioned a comic from @jadesnapart featuring some of my OCs in a scene for my currently untitled Luminaries project, and I have been absolutely enchanted by it!!!! Please take a gander at their beautiful art just below, and I've also included the scene the comic is based on underneath the cut!!!! I'm very proud of it, and it was the first scene that came to mind when I began rolling the idea of this part of the story over in my mind. But anyways, without further ado!!!!!

Again, the artwork was done by @jadesnapart who is just the most fabulous person, they're always so beyond kind and patient and working with them is such a treat. I really really recommend taking a look at their art if you can, the movement and colour and expression in their artwork always makes me smile and they've been one of my favourite artists!!!!!!

Scene this comic is based on just below <3

Scarlet stared at her hands, at the floor, her head hurting so badly she couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe.

“Marigold,” she said, her voice wavering. “I don’t even know my own birthday. When was I born?”

Marigold opened her mouth, then closed it. Scarlet felt her breath rushing from her lungs, and no matter how hard she tried she could not draw any air back. She could not breathe, could not think. All there was inside of her was the churning panic that she did not know when her birthday was. That she did not know where she had been. That she did not know who she was.

All she knew was the pounding headaches and her name and the fragmented images of people and things she wished more than anything that she could remember.

Her eyes burned, the world glowing silver and watery as tears spilled from her eyes. They burned her skin as they poured down her cheeks, rivulets of fire and smoke charing her face.

Her hands shook, and again she felt that burning, felt her body aching, like there was something deep inside of her begging to be released. She could feel it pushing against her skin, crackling in her veins.

And yet it would not come, it would not explode into the world, and she was left with an empty chasm in her chest. She was a dying star that had imploded on itself, had turned into a black hole that was swallowing the light and the fire. Stardust was little more than ash, and soon even she would be swallowed whole into the chasm that was splitting her apart, even as whatever was beneath her skin screamed for freedom.

She shuddered, unable to fight against the sobs that clawed their way up her throat, turning it bloody and raw.

Her hands shook as she tried covering her face. She felt so helpless, so useless. She couldn’t even remember. She couldn’t remember their names or who they were to her, she couldn’t remember anything but warm hands and bright smiles and laughter. She couldn’t remember anything but the ghost of their voices, so quiet now that she couldn’t make out the words they said as they surfaced in her memory.

She couldn’t even remember herself. Couldn’t remember what she was to these people, couldn’t remember who she was important to. She couldn’t remember what she loved or why she burned, why the sword slash hadn’t marked her, why she was always so desperate to fly and to fall.

But she couldn’t cover her face. Because there were hands at her wrists, drawing her hands away.

They were warm, gentle and uncalloused. Not like the hands of the fighters in her memory, not like her own hands.

She lifted her gaze to meet Marigold’s eyes, so dark they were practically black. They held her gaze, gentle and kind.

“Scarlet,” Marigold said, her voice low and soft. “What do you mean, you don’t remember your birthday?”

Scarlet opened her mouth, but nothing but another sob spilled into the air.

Marigold’s arms wrapped around her, but paused. “Would it be okay if I held you?”

Numbly, Scarlet nodded. She felt other sets of arms around her even as Marigold drew her close, even as she felt her friend rest her cheek on the top of her head.

She felt others. She felt sunshine and cool air, she heard glittering laughter, she tasted crackling ozone.

She felt warmth, from whatever people were buried deep in her heart. And she felt warmth from the strong surety of Marigold, who held her now.

“Scarlet,” Marigold said again, once the sobs had been loosed into the world. “Are you saying you can’t remember things?”

Scarlet nodded, her cheek squishing against Marigold’s shoulder. “I can’t remember most things. All I know is my name and that I’m here.”

Marigold hummed before pulling away.

“Scarlet,” she said, her voice lowering, her mouth set into a straight line. “I’m going to do something, and you have to trust me, okay?”

Scarlet blinked, confusion warring with the misery that slid through her like oil.

But she had no reason to mistrust Marigold. The gentle assistant who’d brought Scarlet a basket of figs. Who had accompanied her when she’d chased after the wild pegasus, desperate to taste the sky. Who carried treats in her pockets for stray cats and dogs. Who had a little beehive that always seemed to hum merrily just beyond her small cottage.

No, she could trust Marigold.

So Scarlet nodded, and Marigold moved her hands, placing them delicately against Scarlet’s temples.

She didn’t notice anything at first, but then she felt the gentle heat against her skin, pouring from Marigold’s fingertips. And then the heat grew stronger, to a temperature Scarlet knew was likely unbearable, and yet she did not feel herself scorched or burned.

“What are you doing?” Scarlet asked, her voice little more than a whisper of a breath.

Marigold winced, her brow furrowing as the heat grew stronger still. “I’m trying to heal your mind.”

It was such an absurd statement that Scarlet didn’t want to believe her. To be able to heal without herbs or tonics was magic, and magic didn’t exist except in the bloodlines of the royalty. And it was practically nonexistent now, the queen’s heir apparently possessing no more than a party trick compared to those who had preceded her.

But something within Scarlet stopped herself. Because somehow she felt that there were much stranger things that she herself had seen in the world, stranger than the power to heal without medicines.

For a while there was nothing but the heat against her temples, but then Scarlet began to feel it seeping within her mind. Felt tendrils of warmth snaking their way through her muddled memories, reaching deep, deep within her.

And then there was heat, more than there had been before. There were fires flaring to life in her mind, illuminating the darkness that often swarmed her memories.

She saw blue eyes, golden hair. She heard his voice, heard him calling her name. Heard him calling out sunbeam as he laughed, as he cried. She saw blood on his hands, saw him hunched over a computer. Saw herself reaching towards him, laughing as her heart ached at seeing him again, calling out his name. Calling out to Xander.

Xander.

She saw someone knew, deep blue ocean eyes, graceful movements as she moved around the kitchen. Looks of annoyance, firm hugs, laughter that filled the room. She saw blue and gold, saw wings stitched to a suit of blue, saw her dancing through the clouds. She felt a hand in hers, a promise on both her and the woman’s lips. Promising to Corrina that they were family.

Corrina.

She saw green, heard bright, shining laughter. She could smell the ruined food, hear the shouts of outrage and the rapid footsteps as she was chased through the house. She saw a hand in hers, her hand squeezing the woman’s, swearing to keep her safe. She saw plants on the windowsill, in pots scattered throughout the house, coaxed to life with her care. She saw cards thrown on tables, more laughter from the woman as her emerald eyes sparkled. As Iris swore up and down that she hadn’t used her telepathy to cheat.

Iris.

Another set of green eyes, not as sharp as his sister’s. A twin face swimming into her vision, shrieks of laughter as a prank was executed. The food on her tongue tasted burnt and salty, even though she knew it was meant to be sweet. Felt her being poked in the middle of the night, scared witless before Wes’ eyes came into view again, cackling as he ran from the room before she thought to kill him.

Wes.

She felt salty ocean waves splashed against her face, a challenge dancing in the air as sweat clung to her skin. She saw dark wide eyes right before they vanished, a whispered breath guiding her to the people robbing the bank. A camera flash, a joking comment as Scarlet was defeated by the woman in every video game they owned. Flora pumping her fist into the air as she defeated everyone once again, only to fall later in laser tag against Scarlet.

Flora.

She tasted ozone, heard the thunder boom across the sky as the ivory-haired woman summoned her lightning. The air glittered in violet and periwinkle and mauve and silver. The glitter was cast across a canvas, delighted chattering spilling from the woman’s lips as she set her paintbrush down, telling Scarlet why she’d wanted to paint the image the way it was. Light brown hands twisting ivory hair into a messy bun when she agreed to take a drop-in ballet class with Corrina and Scarlet. Bab’s fingers stained with graphite as she sketched out a scene Scarlet told her about from a dream she had.

Babs.

Engine grease in the air. Oily hand prints on the walls of the garage. He rolled his motorcycle into the garage, muttering about needing to buy new parts. Slate grey eyes that reminded her of the island sky in the fall. Quiet evenings when she was so drained she could hardly speak, sitting silently, but not uncomfortably. Books pressed into her hands to be borrowed; he was always recommending books and magazines to everyone. And he was always the first to know when the stars would be brightest, when meteor showers would cascade across the sky. She heard Ryu’s voice in her mind, telling them all to pile into the van, to head into the middle of nowhere so they could spy and wish on the stars.

Ryu.

Pale green eyes flashed through her mind, the fire illuminating this person banking for a moment before raging stronger, because she needed to be remembered too. For both her and Scarlet’s sakes. Wavy auburn hair, laughter that Scarlet now knew had been fake, and then laughter that was so warm she knew it had to be real. Her body burned in agony, smoke choked her lungs, but then there were those eyes again in the darkness of space, and a hand reaching towards her, and Scarlet knew that the smoke had only been a distraction, that there was more to Raven, if Scarlet was willing to reach back.

Raven.

The true memories came next, burning through her like wildfire. The dying star sparked, before flaring within her chest. She was no longer ash and darkness and a starving void that would swallow her whole. Each memory burned bright and strong, rushing through her mind until her head ached from the life she had lived. 

Meeting Xander, knowing she loved him, her first apartment, the frost on the windowpane that had started this all. The ice sculptures she had made with Xander in those first days before her life had become this. The abandoned warehouse Raven had set ablaze, the smoke that clogged her lungs. Her sister’s arms as she held her tight. Flora promising to keep an eye on her while Scarlet was gone.

Fake IDs Xander slapped together getting them on planes, Corrina’s eyes as they met for the very first time. Chasing Raven across the world and finding Iris on her heels too, searching for her brother. Wes, who had been so relaxed when they’d rescued him that Scarlet had thought she’d been dreaming.

The near-deadly wound Xander had suffered, Raven stumbling backwards, her eyes wide and terrified. Xander’s hand in hers as she felt life pouring into him, his wound healing all on its own as Scarlet glowed beside him, refusing to let him go.

Storm clouds and missing people, Raven vanishing into the night as Scarlet let her go.

Peace, for a moment, until Babs had been chased, stolen into space, and they had followed after her.

She saw moments from her life, from her childhood, her sister right after she had been born and Scarlet had cradled the mewling newborn in her arms. Fights over who got the top bunk when they were older. Stitching together a stuffed animal she loved that had been torn during a fight.

She saw her school, felt the agony of tests and how her mind could not wrap around the numbers and the knowledge, and felt it fade as it sunk back beneath the surface of her memory. She felt the scrapes on her knees as she was shoved against the asphalt, as she was smacked in the stomach while she’d hung from the monkey bars, her skin tearing as she fell to the sharp, rocky ground beneath her.

So much, she saw so much, she felt so many things. But as her memories were illuminated by the light that Marigold poured into her mind, she felt the star in her heart bloom. Her skin burned, but it did not hurt, did not ache.

Instead, as if in answer, the light in the room pulsed, flared bright as she began to glow, becoming sunlight made flesh.

She felt her last memory before she fully remembered it. The plan that had started to fail, the missiles that had pummeled against her, turning her mind murky before their momentum propelled her into the black hole that had formed behind her.

And then there was nothing, truly nothing until the moment her eyes opened and she found herself in this strange new world.

Scarlet gasped, the world around her gold, and Marigold pulled her hands back, her eyes wide as she gaped at Scarlet.

The light continued to pulse, filling the room until it was near blinding. And then slowly, Scarlet spooled it back towards her. She called her light back, and it sank back beneath her skin, until only a gentle glow radiated from her. She could have turned it off, could have sent it deeper within her, held it tight against her heart, but she didn’t want to.

She was loath to hide her light, after losing it for so long. She wanted to feel it warm her body, wanted to feel it skitter across her arms and dance through her hair. She had missed it, hadn’t realized that the ache had been from her light trying desperately to break through whatever spell had been cast on her mind and her power.

But she had it now, and she was not letting it go.

Marigold continued to stare, her gaze sweeping across Scarlet, taking in the glow, the way her eyes churned with starlight and sunfire, the way it wove through her unbound hair.

Marigold blinked. “Do you remember anything?”

Scarlet couldn’t stop herself from smiling, laughing as she felt the memories and the people that filled her mind and her heart. 

“I remember,” she sang, true joy dancing in her heart as it never had since she’d awoken here. “I remember everything.”

[willowpenguinwritting]

Elle's Birthday oneshot(Wrote for her Birthday)

///////This thought came to me randomly. The credit of Tara and Elle's quotations to a wonderful Twitter account I follow, they are incredible. //////////

Like every year the fourth of May rolled around faster than anticipated. The picnic bench squad members had already prepared Elle's presents for their sleepover the coming weekend. Each of them with excitement had packed their bags already, with the presents and plastic lightsaber. They were going to have the lightsaber fight at school but Elle had convinced them otherwise.

It was the group's first official birthday of Elle's without them seeing each other at lunch after bothering her in maths with notes and drawings that were somewhat related to maths in a very odd sort of way. Obviously, they had agreed to meet Elle for lunch and her new friends were eager to come as well.

Whilst they were sitting in English waiting for the bell to ring Tao's mind was spiralling with thoughts of if Elle would actually like his gift to her. He managed to calm himself down by the time the bell went and he met Charlie and Issac to go and meet Elle.

They reached the gate where Elle ran to give them all a large hug. All of them were smiling happily, Tara and Darcy also grinned at each other whilst they walked to a bench. Once they had all settled they agreed to eat their lunch, then Issac would give out his handmade cupcakes and then Elle would unwrap her presents.

Issac was grinning happily at the mention of his cupcakes, he had told Charlie that they were marble with transgender flag colours in them with icing of cats. Charlie's head was not fully screwed on as he was still imagining things to do with a certain puppy *cough* sorry rugby lad.

They all ate their lunches, well more or less. It wasn't quite a complete lunch without Darcy chucking monster munch at each of them. Issac opened the tub and handed it to Elle which she instantly awed at and took a quick photo of them. After their happy consumption of the cupcakes, it was time for presents.

Darcy handed Elle a small box, which was unwrapped to reveal a simple silver chain necklace."I thought you would want to make your own charm to attach to it." Darcy explained. Elle thanked her gratefully and placed the chain around her neck.

After Elle unwrapped the rest of them, leaving Tao's till last coincidence or not she carefully unwrapped it. Inside was a small pile of books on makeup artistry and a few makeup products, all of which Tao probably had no idea what they were for. Elle put her arm around him with a very loud train of thank you's being exclaimed.

Tao smiled to both himself and Elle in relief that he had done a good job present-wise, he had felt less nervous at the time he brought Elle's first dress for her but it was still something a bit unpredictable response-wise.

"Right, it is also star wars day so everyone grab a stick to be your lightsaber and let the battle begin."Tao declared, the boys and Darcy collected sticks and started thrashing them against each other occasionally making a noise with their mouths which Elle assumed was supposed to be like the woosh noise of a lightsaber.

Elle laughed at Tara's questioning face, "Does this stuff often happen at Truham?" Tara asked.

"Yeah, about once a week if you let them, you get used to it." she laughed in a light-hearted response.

Elle was feeling lucky, she was lucky to have such wonderful friends. She was very appreciative of how much thought Tao always put into his gifts for her. The stick, lightsaber, fight ended with Charlie seeming victorious based on his tongue out that he was taunting Tao with.

They wished their goodbyes and most of the picnic bench squad's thoughts were I will defeat them in the lightsaber fight at the sleepover. Elle however was thinking about how she would try and convince them to paint their nails as an activity for the sleepover as it was as it her house.

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

Now a quick Narlie interaction because it is kind of linked.

"Hi," Nick said as he sat in his usual seat next to Charlie.

Charlie was writing in his planer but his head lifted up and he responded "Hi,"

It was routine of theirs by this point. Never enough hi's to one person who you sit next to in form.

"I like your nail varnish," Nick said gesturing to Charlie's black and sparkly nails that Elle painted.

Charlie smiled, "Thanks, my friend painted them at her birthday sleepover."

Nick's brain instantly thought Don't be a girlfriend, please don't be a girlfriend. Despite the fact he knew Charlie is gay and it would not be a girlfriend. This odd jealousy faded as he showed Charle a photo of Nellie in the bath from his weekend.

[umbralsound-xiv]

Home To Him.

A surge through the aether had seen Sayuri relocated to her home, a deep sigh of relief leaving her at the success of her transportation. Her gaze settled on the door to her home, feet immediately setting into motion to have her pass the threshold swiftly yet quietly, the door only opening enough to let the Seeker slip by before shutting once more. Her ears perk up as she stands in the upper level, listening for any possible sign of life within the house.

As Sayuri enters the house, there is no immediate sign of Eir. At least, not more than an immaculately clean room; The floors mopped and swept, every dish and plate returned to it's place; Save for two colourful cups. The lilies are still present if a little drooped; though the water has at least been topped up since her departure. The room smells faintly of cooking; Salmon, were Sayuri to guess. But Eir does not call out to her… On account of being asleep. Curled up in the corner of the bookcase, a few pillows pad out for his shoulders, a blanket loosely draped over him for warmth. A book, half-open rests on a nearby pillow. He'd not intended to fall asleep, it would seem. But after a morning of cooking and cleaning to keep himself busy, his body had other ideas.

Her ears flatten initially, yet she soon stalks through the house - quietly making her way down the stairs. A soft smile settles on her lips as she spots him in the corner, the realisation of exactly how much she had missed him settling with a pang in her chest. Aware she may be about to startle him, she takes the steps needed to close the distance between them; letting herself drop down to her knees next to him before flopping further to land halfly ontop of him, her lips immediately seeking out his cheek upon impact.

The cold sees him draw in a deep breath, brow knitting as he's pulled from his sleep to the sensation. He'd move an arm to stretch, only to find it half beside him, and much less free to move. The realisation comes much quicker, then. Eyes flickering open to meet his wife, those arms wrap around her to pull her close, in a desperate, needy embrace. "Y-you are home…" He manages against her, words wavering as he swallows to keep his composure. "I--- I am sorry i was not awake to greet you. I have missed you so much…"

...She is here. Home, and happy, and... With me. Am i dreaming? Is she truly back? ...I have missed her so, so much.

Her arms wrap around him tightly, head nuzzling against his. "Hi." She whispers softly, aiming another peck at his cheek. "Shh, it's okay, love.. I missed you too."

The kiss brings a smile to his lips, and it's all he can do to kiss her gently on the temple, cuddling her close. "---Your aether. Is… Is everything well?" Even despite not knowing, he doesn't hold her any less tightly. "…It does not hurt? And… It is not…" He doesn't have a word, but allows his sentence to trail.

"Everything is fine, now." She murmurs, cuddling herself a little closer. One arm retracts to grasp at the blanket, with every intention to pull it loose enough for herself to scoot in under it with him. "It is.. stronger, but not so out of control anymore."

"It is… It is, now you are back…" He bundles her into the blanket, pulling her close against his chest, craving the cold she brought with her presence like a salve for a wound. "Stronger. Stronger is… Good. As long as i can still hold you… It is good…" Silver eyes gaze down to meet her own, an arm releasing her to gently caress her cheek. "…I… I had not known you were returning, this sun. I… Did not know how long it would be, but… I kept the house clean. There are onigiri in the icebox. Just… Just in case you came back, and… Were hungry…"

...Cooking helps to settle me. It is something... Productive and useful i can do, save for pace and wallow. Vex seemed to enjoy my cooking, and we spoke much about food during her time here.

A content exhale leaves her as she pulls herself closer against him, gaze lifting to meet his. ".. I wanted to surprise you." She murmurs, raising a hand up to gently caress his cheek. ".. Hey.. Wanna know something..?"

"…I could not think of a more lovely surprise to receive than you…" Eir slowly traces her cheek with his thumb, smiling gently. "…Hm?" There's suddenly a pang of concern, but he tries not to hold onto it. "…Is… Everything okay?"

A soft, reassuring hum leaves her at the question, her head gently nuzzling against his hand before she seeks to press her lips against his cheek for a third time. ".. I can feel your warmth again."

"Y-you can?" For a moment, Eir looks almost happier than she does about the prospect. "---Is… Is it permanent?" He asks, hopeful. The snowflake-like kiss is delivered to his cheek with a blush, awaiting her answer.

"I.. don't know yet. But I'm going to enjoy it as long as I can, and if it ends up being permanent.. I will be happy." She beams a soft smile.

...Warmth. She can feel warmth... I can hold her, and she can feel the sensation of soft, warm blankets, and gentle kisses. Every warm cup of tea, or the sunshine on her skin...

"Oh, Sayuri… Me too. Me too…" He nears her as though he'd kiss her, as though the thing he'd been looking forward to upon her return was suddenly something he was almost shy about. "…I have missed you. I---I know it was only a few suns. I… I did not even get to kiss you goodbye, the sun we parted…"

"I missed you too, Eir." Her head tilts a touch, eyes slightly lidded. ".. That just means we have some to catch up on, hm?"

His eyes flick from her mismatched gaze, where they'd settled, down to her lips, and back… Before closing as he sank into the kiss he'd sought after. It is as gentle as it is passionate, lips parting to her own as the hand at her cheek combs into her hair, weaving his fingers through the strands. And there, does Eir remain; until his heart is pounding to fight for breath, eventually parting with a gasp, forehead to her own. A pause, and a blush, as his eyes dart away. "---Sorry."

Sayuri rather happily sinks into the kiss, ears wiggling joyously. Her arms slip to wrap around his neck in order to pull herself closer, content to remain in the kiss as long as possible - panting ever so slightly as they parted with her forehead nudging against his. ".. Don't you dare apologise, Eir Fellfrost." She scolds, in the softest tone possible.

"I---" Eir halts what would surely be another apology, though opts to stifle it more fully with another kiss, a little softer, then. "I am glad you are home…" He admits, nudging his head to her own. "…Though i think i have told you thrice in the last few moments. Part of me wants to pick you up and run, or dance in celebration. And the other part just… Wants to stay right here…"

".. And I am glad to be home." She murmurs, snuggling herself against him. "..I, personally, have.. very little motivation to move."

...She must be tired. I can imagine all her time in Coerthas has taken it out of her... ...Suppose i am, too. I... ...Have not really slept properly, in her absence...

"…Not even to the pillow pile?" Eir asks, gently scritching at her scalp. "I… Have not had the heart to sleep there without you. Or… Sleep much at all. It has been a series of naps, more than anything…"

".. I may be able to be convinced to be brought to the pillow pile." The revelation sees her ears tilt back, a more saddened expression taking to her features. ".. Oh, Eir.."

"It… It is not the same… We--- We have not been… Separate since…" His face contorts into a frown at the very thought of it. Wrapping her firmly in the blanket, Eir rises from the little book corner, carrying her towards the aforementioned pile of pillows. "…Your absence was already keenly felt. A nap was all i could manage. I… Was worried." Slumping into the pillows, Eir breathes another sigh of relief, soon nestling down into them. "…I do not think i can sleep here without you by my side…"

Wrapped up in the blanket, there's little else Sayuri can do but snuggle herself further into Eir, her head gently nudging against him as he carries her. ".. I know.. But, I'm back now. And I'm okay." She reassures him, while they sink into the pillows.

"…You are back. Here in my arms. Home…" The gentle smile on his face as she snuggled against him doesn't seem set to leave any time soon. "…And able to feel my warmth, besides. If it is as much a comfort for you, as your cold is for me…" A pause, then. "…Did you still wish to go to La Noscea for a few suns?"

".. I've always felt comfort in your arms, the warmth just.. adds to it." She murmurs. ".. I do."

"…I am glad." Eir smiles, gazing down to her, all bundled against him. The mere sight brings him to gently squeeze her, a reminder that she's here; and for her, that he is there. "…Tomorrow? Or… The sun after, perhaps? Vex… Ate most of the groceries during her visits in the last few suns, but… There are still some few things i have prepared, and some fruit, too."

".. Of course she did." Sayuri huffs, yet smiles. ".. I'll allow it, as she kept you company. And.. The sun after, let me have some food, too." A tiny pout settles on her lips.

...Food, and some rest. In truth, i just want to hold her as close as possible. ...And then, when we are ready... We will take a little trip to La Noscea. Just the two of us.

[wickedgamesoyaoya]

❧ read suna’s version here 

❧ fireworks masterpost 

❧ Summary: Atsumu had given up on the prospect of finding his soulmate years ago. He just wasn’t lucky like his friends, or so he thought. Because after an accidental meeting with a local painter, the volleyball player found himself entranced by someone who wants nothing to do with him. 

❧ the soulmate principle: “The Soulmate Principle is the idea of two people being destined for each other at birth. These people are called soulmates. Soulmates will often instantly ‘recognize’ or be drawn to one another, even if they have never met. A soulmate couple are regarded as being 'perfect’ for each other in every way. Usually, the soulmates provide each other with understanding, healing and strength. Soulmates are connected by a phenomena called the “silver cord,” or soulmate bond, which remains unbroken until death. It can be felt by a shock or a jolt of electricity when bare skin touches bare skin. Soulmates can also share emotions with each other through the bond.”

❧ warnings: reader grew up in a toxic household, has clear mental health issues, mentions of blood and injuries. 

❧ story format: written.

❧ word count: 1.6k 

❧ part: one out of three | read part two here

❧ A/N: I don’t even know ya’ll. DFGHJK I just hope someone enjoys lolol 

A person raised on a battlefield will not be able to differentiate between a flower and a knife. Littered with carefully sliced lacerations and a blade sat neatly between your ribcage, how could anyone expect more? Because every smile that is cast in your direction carries with it a consequence, one that draws a bitter copper to smear across your mouth. 

And most of the time, you don’t know whether the crimson tainting your trembling fingers belongs to you, or someone else entirely. 

That was why when Miya Atsumu brightened your day with the sweetest, most radiant smile you had ever witnessed, your heart lunged inside your chest, but your feet forced you to retreat. because even without knowing about the thin strings of fate drawing you to him, you refused to bathe in the male’s blood. 

Every inch of your mind was desperate to scrub away the memory of the male - to erase the vibrant colours his smile had instantly blossomed. Though, it was a fruitless endeavour, as each and every time your eyelids fluttered shut, you could only see him. 

Solace was discovered only in your canvas. Yet, your fingers drenched in the coloured substance would only work to depict him.  A mechanical laugh would claw up your throat as you questioned your own sanity. 

How did you manage to memorize his features in the span of minutes? 

Never did you think you would be adding ‘stalker’ to your list of defects. Was it not enough that you were a beckon of death? 

But of course, your puzzled mental state was due to a lack of knowledge. Your father never informed you about the soulmate connection, nor did anyone teach you about it at school. 

Perhaps that was partially your fault, considering the fact you failed to develop any sincere relationships with your colleagues. It was for good reason, you had reasoned to yourself. As you were only conditioned to hurt others, never to love. And nothing would be different with the boy with ash blonde hair.

In the end, you would mutilate the very happiness that brightened his youthful features. 

The issue was that while you were desperate to maintain distance, and rid yourself of any reminder of the male, Atsumu was replaying your interaction  incessantly.

The event in question occurred forty three hours ago, when Atsumu agreed to accompany his friend to a local shop to select a gift for his girlfriend. 

“I can’t believe you’re buying her a painting. Why don’t ya go for something more romantic?” The blonde ran his fingers through his damp strands, seeking to provide his hair with a bit more fluff. 

“Buying her a painting is romantic, ‘tsumu. You don’t get it because you’re shit at relationships.” Suna did not care much for his friend’s commentary, a fact illustrated by the raising and dropping of his shoulders. If the middle blocker was with the other twin he would have been careful in selecting his words, as Osamu was still stinging with the wound left by his ex-wife. 

But with Atsumu, he could be frank without a care in the world. The entire friend group knew the blonde had resigned to the fact that his soulmate did not exist. Or, at a minimum she was nowhere to be found. 

“Really? You’re sayin’ that when you were shit at them until a year ago! Your soulmate had to chase after your ungrateful ass.” The setter fought the urge to grind his teeth together, instead he elected to scoff to demonstrate his disbelief. 

Maybe he was the smallest bit envious of Suna. Since meeting his soulmate, everything in the middle blockers life had shifted for the better. It was as though her presence was enough to sprinkle his life in good fortune. 

“At least it makes a good story.” A small smirk twitched at the ends of the black haired male’s mouth, further increasing Atsumu’s irritation, although his irritation deflated upon hearing his teammates next words. “One we can tell our kids one day.” 

“Kids?! You’re not even married yet!” The setter’s mouth fell agape with both astonishment and horror present in his features. The prospect of having another niece or nephew was thrilling, but things were progressing so quickly. 

Too quickly, even. 

“Yeah, but we’re gonna go down that road, ‘Tsumu.” A low chuckle parted the middle blocker’s mouth as he paused, reaching the entrance of the establishment they were set to visit. “Now close your mouth and get inside.” 

As he tugged open the front door, the wind chime whistled to announce their arrival. Atsumu was still baffled when he proceeded inside, but a smile hung on his mouth, showcasing his genuine happiness for his friend. It was that smile that caught the eyes of the individual stood near the counter of the shop. A canvas was sat on the glass, propped between your hands. The only reason you were at the shop was to deliver your latest piece, but the owner was taking abnormally long in the back of the store. He said it would only be a minute, but it had already been five. 

To your amusement the short man returned the very second the new visitors set foot into the small gallery. 

“Ah, Mr. Suna! Perfect timing.” 

Instinctively your gaze drifted from the stubby male to those he was greeting so warmly. The black haired one raised a hand in acknowledgement before stating a plain ‘yo’ in response. But it was the other one, the blonde beside him, that had your heart creeping into your throat. He was surely gorgeous, yet your immediate attraction to him was anything but natural. In fact, it was nauseating. 

You were grateful that his gaze did not immediately meet yours, providing you with just enough time to return your owlish eyes to the male who still owed you your payment. 

“Ernie...” The low threatening voice used to vocalize his name was dismissed with a wave of his hand. His attention did not leave the pair of striking men behind you. 

“This is the painting I was telling you about, and this is the artist!” Without bothering to secure your consent, the store owner took the canvas from your grasp prior to presenting it proudly. All you could do was stare at him, bewildered. 

“Oh shit. That’s gorgeous.” 

“Wow. You really didn’t give it enough credit over the phone, Ernie.” 

The first compliment came from the blonde, who was now leaning forward to admire your artwork. Atsumu was no expert on art, yet his eyes twinkled in awe at the piece ahead of him. The emotions captured in each stroke swayed him instantly. 

“You’re so talented.” He exhaled the sentence in a feathery tone, and despite the lightness, there was edge that suggested the topic was not up for debate. He was simply stating a fact. 

And if that was not enough to set your chest ablaze, the gentle gaze that met yours seconds later certainly sealed the deal. Atsumu’s pupils dilated the instant your eyes secured with his, causing your heart to stir restlessly inside your chest. 

“... Thank you.” Unconsciously, you shuffled the bottom of your boots against the tiles below, moving a careful step away. 

Distance. Distance was safe. 

“Ah yes, Miss L/N. These two fellows are from the National Volleyball Team. Miya Atsumu and Suna Rintarou.” The introduction was accompanied by a cheerful clap; it was clear that the old man could not read the room. The unspoken emotions stringing around both yours and Atsumu’s necks could not be sensed by the collector. 

But Suna recognized it. 

How could he not, when he experienced the same thing over a year ago? 

And even without any experience with the soulmate connection, Miya Atsumu knew it was responsible for his instinct to bring you closer. He wanted to open his mouth, and spout the right words that would make you stay. Yet, unfortunately you were the first to regain control over your vocal cords. 

“Right. Nice to meet you both.” Overwhelmed by mere eye contact with the male, you needed to leave - to ensure that nothing else would occur. The little voice inside your head chanted the word run, and your legs were itching to comply. “Um, you know what? I just... remembered that I have another appointment to attend. Just etransfer me the money, Ernie.” 

Bowing your head to the ground, you spun on the outsole of your boots and tuned out the confused protests issued by the older male. 

Just run, and don’t look back. Run. Run. Run. 

Your nose scrunched up as you struggled to contain your racing thoughts. A few more steps and you would be able to break into a sprint. Only a few more steps - 

“Wait!” 

There was no need to turn around to ascertain who had followed you, and yet you faced the blonde once more. Guilt weighed on your eyelids as you tried to stop yourself from mentally outlining his delicate features. 

What the hell was wrong with you? 

“I ... really need to go. Sorry.” Before your heart would betray your mind and regain control over your body, you clutched the door handle, forcing it open and creating an exit from the suffocating scenario. 

Atsumu would have followed you once more, but the terror glimmering in your irises made him stay. No one had ever looked at him with such devastating confliction. There was a sense of longing, but it was mostly overtaken by panic. And he couldn’t for the life of him, comprehend why you stared at him as though he was something so fragile and pure.

Something that you could taint with those nimble fingers of yours. 

taglist: @yourstarvic  @amarinthe @elianetsantana @the-golden-jhope @boosyboo9206 @hazzaloveschopsuey @chibishae34 @neologyro​ @haikyuusimp91​

[violettelueur]

— RYOMEN SUKUNA || LET ME MARK YOU THEN

↳ featuring : ryomen sukuna from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of sex, mention of hickeys and grammar issues

↳ form : imagine

↳ published : 22 january

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 3.7k

↳ synopsis : (modern!AU) after your lectures, you decided to pay your tattoo artist boyfriend a little visit only to then be persuaded to let him draw a tattoo design on you even though you never actually wanted a real one to be marked with.

↳ barista’s notes : just a little gift to you all before today’s episode and the reset the ‘coffees in progress’ list (wip) when i get enough sleep and after my disgusting online classes, i hope you enjoy the free cup of coffee everyone ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡ - also i feel like this is the longest imagine i have ever posted ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ

Having a morning full of tedious lectures was not someone’s ideal day and it was definitely not yours. Although, there was nothing you could do but pursue them through with as much enthusiasm and determination that you could possibly muster while being impatient about the hands on the clock taking forever to move a single inch.

However, at this moment in time, you were able to escape the suffocating lecture hall after many hours for today and was now walking down the busy streets of Tokyo with a white plastic takeaway bag in one hand while the other was occupied with your tote bag that was resting on your shoulder, which surprisingly kept hold of some of your textbooks as well as your laptop giving you some reassurance that the bag that your boyfriend gave you was going to last for quite some time.

Looking around the busy quarter of the capital, you began to notice a few high school students roaming about here and there with some hanging out with their friends - mostly likely going to a cafe or to the nearest karaoke lounge that they could find - while other were either rushing home as they entered the station or to their part-time jobs that they had managed to obtain for a few extra bucks to save up for their next step in life. Noticeably, there were also a few adults out and about with some working as street-food vendors selling delicious treats that you would be craving if you weren’t so full while others were dressed extremely professional with their laptops out on their cafe/restaurant table to what seemed like they were on their lunch break.

‘He should be on his lunch break right now, but if not, I’ll just put his food in the shop’s fridge’

Continue walking to your destination, you finally reached to a quieter area with the city leading you to then stand in front of a glass order with a ‘closed’ sign in front along with another extremely noticeable sign proudly stating ‘Malevolent Shine’ to which if you had said that to any tattoo fanatic within Japan, they would instantly know what you were talking about.

Opening the door, there was a sudden noise of a ring being heard leading you to immediately look up to see the silver bell that you told him to arrange since he always got annoyed about the number of potential clients popping up without his acknowledgement only to tell him that they didn’t book an appointment at all causing him to become more irritated - and as a matter of fact, you couldn’t blame him at all.

Looking around the tattoo shop that you had entered, there wasn’t a single person in sight leading you to come to the conclusion that you were right about his lunch break since his assistant would be at the front desk if they weren’t. Although there was no one to greet you, the dark atmosphere did. It gave an odd sense of comfort with its hints of red that could calm a customer down if they were worried about the tattoo they were committing to having on their body or if it was their first - especially when it came to him.

“Oya~ ain’t you a sexy customer? But I’m afraid we’re closed, but I don’t mind giving you a private session if you want, kitten” someone smoothly stated, leading your eyes to slowly shift to the person who was leaning against the desk with a confident smirk on his face. There he was, the mastermind behind the whole shop itself.

“Well, I’m not coming in for a tattoo but I am here to give a little gift, Sukuna,” you mischievously stated, as you lifted the white bag with the takeaway you had ordered for the man himself, leading him to look at you in surprised before tilting his head indicating you to come to the back with him.

Following his lead, you placed the bag on his table once you reached the backroom before placing your tote on the floor beside the table’s leg so it didn’t fall, letting any of your precious studious contents to be lost as well as avoiding any damage to your laptop.

“I’m surprised you’re using the bag, kitten,” Sukuna suddenly commented, as he sat on his chair while pulling out the white styrofoam box of Thai food that he always ordered along with a bento box that was wrapped in a black cloth.

“Well, how could I not? You did buy it for me,” you quietly mentioned as you took off your black longline coat before placing it behind your chair since there was nowhere else to put it.

“Did you make this?” Sukuna quickly questioned as he lifted the bento box causing you to nod at his question once you saw what he meant leading you to state, “I didn’t know if you were going to stay back tonight, so I prepared some food for you in case,” causing Sukuna to smirk since you were right about your assumption and it did catch him by surprise since he didn’t mention it to you today when he left your shared apartment.

“Thanks,” he quietly muttered before pulling his chair closer towards you so he could place a lingering kiss on your cheek to show his appreciation towards you. “How was class?” he then asked, as he began to unwrap the cloth of the box to your surprise since you bought his favourite item from the Thai restaurant but made no mention of it.

“Annoying, it was suffocating in there but the lecture was interesting so that’s a plus,” you answered, as you began to scan his messy desk that displayed the many drawings that he was working on. Some of the designs that Sukuna was drawing were almost complete, while others were in the same situation but for some odd reason, it was crossed out as if he was unsatisfied with the outcome that it was going to have which lead you to be perplexed since some of the drawings were incredibly detailed and beautiful. However, you didn’t have the eyes of an artist like your boyfriend did, instead, you had the eyes of someone that was able to analyse things exceedingly well hence why you decided to pursue a career as a criminal lawyer.

“How has the shop been while I was away?” you asked, as you carefully picked up one of the designs that the tattoo artist seemed to have scraped leading him to answer with an annoyed huff. “A pain, there’s been so many dumbass people coming in thinking they could just walk in and get a tattoo done immediately without even booking a meeting,” Sukuna answered before taking a bite of the soy-glazed fried chicken you made as he then continued with, “it was a good idea to get the bell since I could see if it was a customer I knew or not,”.

Looking at your boyfriend, you couldn’t help but smile at the man as he continuously munched the context in the box as if he hadn’t eaten in the past week when in reality he had been raiding the fridge back home only just this morning. Slowly, you turn your head back to the paper that you were holding as you continued to admire the work of art right in front of you. 

To be honest, it was quite simple compared to all the other ones that were lying about on his work desk but that didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful. The light sketch depicted a short section of a branch or stem decorated with different types of beautiful flowers and next to it was the same design with the only difference of it being coloured lightly in case the client wanted to have options.

“What happened here?” you asked before tilting the paper to the side, letting Sukuna have a glance at the design he decided to discard.

“Oh, the client cancelled since I wouldn’t have sex with her,” Sukuna casually stated leading you to nod before taking another look at the design with a small smile on your face. Sadly, it was such a waste since the design was beautiful and it was disappointing to not see Sukuna put this beautiful art into life.

Some people might wonder why you were so calm about the statement he had just given you, heck even his younger twin brother Itadori Yuji thought it was weird that it didn’t bother you as much as other girls would have been. The reason was that you were so used to him having female attention as well as male attention and it wasn’t a surprise when people would book an appointment with him just for a fling or hoping for something more than just that - and even though you were calm, there was also a hint of jealousy and fear within your heart that you couldn’t help.

It was like the first time you saw him in your second year of high school.

                                               ꕥ 

Stretching your arms, you had finally finished the last sheet of the budgets for the school clubs leading you to carefully clip the pile of sheets into the folder as you then stood up from your desk before quickly heading out of your homeroom, so you could give the documents to the student council president, who was a third-year within your school.

However, as you were walking past a few classrooms with some people greeting you with a smile, you came to a sudden halt when you saw a whole crowd of female and males students in front of you leading to a blockage of the halls and a blockage of the classroom you need to go through to hand the documents to your senior.

“Did you hear, I heard he was back?!”

“I can’t believe he’s back, I missed him so much!”

“I like Yuji’s kind and goofy personality, but how could you not love a bad boy like him?”

‘Bad boy?’

Carefully, you managed to find a gap between the sea of students and forcibly made yourself fit within the gap before badly struggling to make it through the arc of the classroom door leading you to nearly trip the second you got the chance to push through the gap to ender the class. Quickly looking around, you found your senior sitting next to someone who looked like your friend and basketball club member Itadori Yuji - well more like a mature replicant of the boy you were used to. However, unbothered by the sudden appearance of the new third-year, you speedily made your way to the council president and handed him the booklet that he needed today leading you to receive his gratitude.

Yet, before you could even take a single step away from your senior, you unexpectedly felt someone grab your wrist causing you to quickly turn around to find Itadori’s replica behind you leading to a few gasps coming from the students from the outside as well as in the homeroom.

“Is there an issue?” you firmly asked, as you looked down at his hand that had a tight grip on your wrist causing you to have a small glance at the two black bands that were tattooed around his wrist - even though it was prohibited to have any in your school, you weren’t the type to scold someone for having them since you weren’t sure on how the teacher’s thought it affected someone’s education.

“Have you ever thought about getting a tattoo?” the salmon-haired third-year curiously asked, as he began to admire your wrist by gently turning it for your veins to come into view before beginning to trace your skin with the tip of his thumb causing a light shiver to go down your spine due to the ticklish feeling as well as his deep voice which was the complete opposite to what you thought it was going to be.

‘So this is the infamous Sukuna everyone was talking about’

“Not really,” you answered as you looked at him causing his eyes to look back at you before you continued with “I don’t think it would suit me at all,”.

“I disagree,” Sukuna counteracted, as he went back to admire the blank canvas of your wrist that he wanted to draw on so badly. No not draw. Mark. “I think you’ll suit something, maybe something on your neck or collarbone at best actually,” Sukuna mentioned leading you to give him a confused expression before he then proceeded with his speech by saying, “I’ll convince you one day and mark you brat”,

‘What...did….he….just….call….me..?’

“Ah...good luck with that idiot,” you stated in an annoyed tone leading to a few of the admiring student to gasp at your wording as well as sudden confident as they were scared on what was going to happen to you now since Sukuna wasn’t the type to tolerate insults in a nice way no matter what gender you were. However, exceeding the audience’s assumptions, Sukuna began to smirk excitedly at your attitude as he suddenly found you more interesting than any other girl he has met at the back of the school.

“Be prepared, little kitten”

                                               ꕥ

‘That nickname….’

Back then Sukuna was known to be a playboy from what you could recall, every week there was news on the new girl he had managed to convince to meet at the back alley of the school while you were just being a model student with the dream of going to law school. However, during the middle of the school year, you began to realise that the common scandalous news that seemed to be popular enough for it to be on the front cover of the newspaper began to gradually fade as Sukuna slowly pushed himself into your life since you were close with his twin brother due to your friend being part of the basketball team as the assistant coach - she even mentioned that ever since Sukuna came into your life he had stopped his acts and change slightly because of you to which, of course, you denied at the time.

It was during the first term of your third-year that you agreed to give Sukuna a chance since he was constantly annoying you by popping up at the school gate after school to ‘walk you home’ ever since his graduation - when in reality it was to take you out somewhere - without fail even when you had to stay in a few hours. However, you had given him three conditions since you were still conscious of the consequences of dating someone with such a disgraceful built reputation - much to his dismay, he shockingly agreed.

If you are going to have a fling with someone behind my back, don’t think about seeing or talking to me again.

I know you are sexually active, but you have to wait until I’m ready.

Don’t tattoo me.

Let’s just say that Sukuna had managed to keep condition number one in check and you didn’t have to worry about it at all, while with condition number two he didn’t have to wait that long for you to give in to your desires which you could tell he certainly enjoyed when you finally gave him the ‘okay’.

Number three though...

“Do you want to try that design out?”

Breaking from your daze, you quickly turned your head to find your boyfriend staring at you - with the bento box practically empty at this point - while tilting his head to the paper that was still within your grasp.

“I think you giving me hickeys are enough in my opinion, babe” you jokingly mentioned leading to both you and Sukuna laughing at each other slightly.

“I mean, do you want me to draw it on you to see how it looks?” he then asked, causing you to look at the floral design one last time before giving him a hesitant nod.

‘Trying it out won’t hurt right?’

“I need a confident answer little kitten, where did that feisty attitude of yours back in high school go?” Sukuna teased, causing you to give him the side glance before giving him the verbal permission that he wanted, leading him to smirk at you since knew his mockery would get you to give him what he wanted since you were also the stubborn type - a side that he always loved to play with.

Grabbing his pen and a black pot full of his thin-tipped coloured skin markers, he wheels his chair even closer to your before pausing, leading you to look at him in confusion since you had already pulled your wrist in front of him, the same area he had grabbed back in high school.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothing today,” Sukuna muttered as he began to fiddle with the collar of your white silk dress shirt causing you to look at him with extreme confusion before mentioning, “well it is getting colder since the Autumn season is coming around,” leading him to hum in an understanding tone as he continued to play with the smooth fabric.

“I want to draw on your collarbone area, I don’t want to draw on the area where the client wanted it to be,” Sukuna stated as he lightly pushed away your wrist leading you to realise why he paused. “You can,” you quickly mentioned leading the tattoo artist to look at you to see if you were lying, only to see nothing but the light of the trust within your eyes.

Slowly, Sukuna began to reach over to the top button to then unhook it from its loop before continuously doing the same with the others until enough skin of your shoulders were exposed with the top half of your shirt resting on the side of your arms to which then he slowly moved away the right-hand side of your bra strap to fully expose the canvas that he wanted to mark so eagerly.

Admiring the skin that was in front of him, Sukuna began to trace the area with his thumb before leaning in to place a chaste kiss on the same side of your neck before cradling your face on the other side with his other hand - as if it was a way for him to say ‘thank you’ for letting him do this.

Regrettably pulling away, Sukuna quickly grabbed his black pen as he then leaned in towards your collarbone to start drawing the outline of his design on his now favourite canvas causing you to shiver somehow due to how ticklish and weird the sensation felt when the ballpoint pen continuously gently gilded upon your skin. However, what got you shaking the most was the constant feeling of your boyfriend’s breath being felt on your upper body now that your shirt was basically off - it wasn’t completely off to the same feeling when you were underneath him the first time you allowed him to make his claim on you.

“Baby, it feels ticklish,” you commented, the second you felt a different sensation upon your skin leading Sukuna to glance up to check if you were alright like you were an actual client before placing another kiss on your jawline in a way to comfort you since he had switched to his skin markers to colour in the design he had drawn on you.

“You’re being a good kitten though, you’re not moving a lot then I thought you would,” the tattoo artist whispered leading you to quiver as his deep voice was not helping so much with your beating heart - erratic to the point where you thought he could hear or even feel.

Due to Sukuna concentrating, you couldn’t help but keep silent to help him continue with his work causing you to glance around your room with your eyes before landing upon a wall where there was a multitude of messages written leading you to carefully scan the writings that were visibly presenting themselves.

As expected, there were messages of encouragement - not that the arrogant Sukuna needed it to be honest, but it was nice of the client to do so - and a few drawings from other tattoo artists that Sukuna had famously done. However, not to your surprise, there were a few numbers here and there causing you to sigh since you couldn’t help it - you couldn’t blame your boyfriend for being an extremely handsome man.

Unexpectedly, you felt another kiss being placed upon your cheek causing you to look towards your boyfriend with a smile on your face - it was as if he knew what you were looking at. “I’m finished by the way,” Sukuna announced, causing you to look at him with widened eyes since the drawing session was a little faster than you had anticipated.

Reaching over to a drawer in his desk, Sukuna suddenly pulled out a mirror before passing it to you, leading you to lift up the little instrument to see the result that was drawn on your skin.

“You changed the design,” you quietly stated, as you began to tenderly trace the design with your index finger as you began to admire the piece of art that was masterfully drawn on your collar bone. The tattoo beautifully depicted a single strand of a blooming lavender across your collarbone with each petal in different shades of purple while the buds that weren’t in bloom were in a slight pale pink shade making you smile more since Sukuna drew this straight from his head causing you to have a hint of proudness for him.

“I wasn’t going to give you that previous design, it doesn’t suit you one bit,” the salmon-haired artist mentioned as he continued with, “I’m not going to let that disgusting design touch your skin, especially since this is the first time you let me mark you somewhat,” as he then moved behind you before placing his chin on your shoulder to look at you through the mirror you were holding.

“I might let you mark me permanently then,” you suddenly announced causing your boyfriend to look at you with a surprised look on his face leading you to giggle at his reaction.

“Yeah, let’s break condition three then, you can mark me this one time,” you informed him as you turned to look at him, causing Sukuna to give you his classic smirk before possessively grabbing your chin leading him to lean closer to you.

“Let me mark you then”

© violettelueur 2021 : written and published by violettelueur - do not steal or repost

[vaya-writes]

The Wyvern's Bride - Part 1.3

When Adalyn gets sacrificed to the local wyvern, she’s a little annoyed and a lot terrified (and that’s fair). Upon meeting the wyvern, she discovers that he’s not particularly interested in eating people, and mostly wants to be left alone. In a plot to save himself from the responsibilities his family keep pushing on him, Slate names Adalyn as his human Envoy, and tasks her with finding him a wife.

Cis female human x cis male wyvern. 1700 words.

Previous

-

Here we are. Not that long for about a week of effort, but now that the introduction and the premise are out of the way I can get to writing cutesy, fun, and spicy scenes with my favourite wyvern. Please comment and reblog to let me know what you think :)

-

The beating of Slate’s wings can be heard over the roar of the wind – reminiscent of the staccato of a war drum, echoing off the Spires. The wyvern gains height with each flap of his wings, and Adalyn’s curses die in her throat. Higher and higher he takes her until the valley stretches out beneath them, until she can see the length of the Spires, the edge of the plains to the east. 

Exhilarating. Terrifying. Freezing. Slate’s grip on her is steadfast, but she clings to him anyway. The wind whips at her hair and her eyes water, but she keeps them open – this is the ride of a lifetime. She doubts she’ll ever see the world this way again. Even as her extremities go numb, and she finds herself gasping for breath, she stares, enraptured, as she traces the length of the Clearwater River, as she spots the great inland ocean at its end, as she squints and searches for the other side. 

Are you okay?  

The voice echoing inside her mind draws attention. Apparently the vocal cords of a wyvern in their true form aren’t conductive to speech, but a natural telepathic ability makes up for it. 

She forces a nod. 

You sound like your heart is going to burst. 

With horror she realises he’s right. That the gasping isn’t just excitement – that she’s literally struggling to breathe. It’s an effort to speak through her teeth, clenched against the cold. She forces herself anyway; 

“Air... thin...” 

He curses. I’m so sorry, I forgot you aren’t built for these heights. He banks, and she lurches, clinging on tighter as the valley approaches them with some speed.  

He levels out and she can breathe again. Rational thought comes back to her. “I’m going to freeze. Put us down please.” 

Slate begins to fly circles around Fleecehold, a gradual descent she realises is for her own benefit. Or perhaps to build tension in the watching villagers. They appear in uproar, scurrying left and right. By the time Slate lands in the hamlet square, half of the villagers have returned from afield and taken shelter in their homes. Many others gather around and gawk. 

Adalyn doesn’t blame them. In his true form Slate sits as large as a house. His scales are dull, the colour of ash, flecked with silver in places, with a charcoal grey pattern that runs down his back. Narrow spines also run down his back, ending at his barbed tail. Several sets of spikes ring the back of his neck, and the horns that curl from his temples are larger in this form.  

He flexes his membranous wings and Adalyn forces herself not to stare at the talons at each tip, as long as scythes. His clawed back legs, which had held her aloft during their flight, now dig into the ground, splitting the cobblestone. She notes the change in his demeanour. 

Whose grand idea was it to send me a human sacrifice? 

The voice that had murmured to her mind is nowhere to be heard. It’s replaced with a cacophony of noise, a high pitched ringing in her ears, a pressure behind her face. Adalyn discreetly checks that her nose has not started bleeding. 

There’s a muttering from the crowd. Some pushing and shoving before Arryn, dishevelled and gaping, is brought forward. None of his supporters make a move to stop this. 

Who is this, Envoy? 

Adalyn blinks as Slate addresses her before the crowd. 

“That’s Arryn. Fleecehold’s Shepherd.” 

This is the one who sent you to me? 

“The most vocal one, at least.” 

There’s a long silence as Slate eyes the shepherd. Arryn quakes in his boots, probably silent for the first time in his life. 

Finally Slate turns away, facing Adalyn. The voice that speaks to her is softer, with none of the domineering pressure of his previous address.  

Dawns and dusks I will check for you at the Spire’s edge. Return there when you have news for me. Without further ado he launches himself into the air.  

Adalyn watches, awed, as he lets out an unearthly roar, and flies back to the mountains, eventually vanishing over a peak. Her awareness jolts her with several observations. First, she probably should have thanked the wyvern. Second, she is not alone in the square. The rest of the villagers poke their heads out of houses, or stare after Slate with varying levels of terror written across their features. Lastly, that she herself is the subject of many of those stares. 

Right. Envoy. That means speeches. Even if it didn’t, one is needed. 

It’s one more thing. One last thing, and she can go home, curl up beneath her blanket, and sleep off the previous night.  

Adalyn rubs her face, before straightening and facing the closest villagers. Arryn is one of them. 

“Tomorrow morning we meet at the bakery to discuss the wyvern’s demands. Spread the word. Don’t be late.” 

She doesn’t give them a chance to argue, heading straight home. She keeps her composure until the door shuts with a thunk behind her. In the privacy of her house she allows herself to slouch; to lean against the door as the bone deep exhaustion settles in. She trudges up the stairs, cursing under her breath. 

Her head is spinning when she collapses onto her bed. Her thoughts are occupied with preparations she needed to make, but with another groan she pulls a pillow over her face. A bath, and a sleep first. Everything else can wait. 

- 

Despite catching up on sleep, Adalyn is bleary eyed and bitter the following morning, with not an ounce of patience to spare. The small congregation squeezed into her living room don’t do much for her mood, and it shows. She hadn’t baked for them. Hadn’t brought out more chairs. These are the people who tried sentencing her to death. She doesn’t owe them shit. 

She stands, and the room silences. Wordlessly she hands a letter to Marcine – the first of sixteen. Her hand had cramped and ached, but she’d painstakingly written them in careful print the previous night. She’d burnt through three candles in doing so. 

“Read it.” 

The farmer picks up the letter, reads the first lines to herself, and her eyes widen. 

“Aloud, Marcine,” Adalyn drawls. 

“Th- The wyvern has expressed no need for bloodshed, nor our livestock. His only desire from the people of Clearwater Valley is a bride-” the outroar is instantaneous, and Marcine struggles to be heard over the crowd, “to which he will offer prosperity, care, and safety. No dowery is required.” 

Adalyn lets her irritation show. “The next person to speak without my say so, will be forcefully uninvited from this meeting.” 

It works, and as the silence settles once more, Adalyn gestures that Marcine continue. 

“The best applicant will have a basic education, and be able to fulfil typical wifely duties (cooking, cleaning, consummation). All applicants must be of age, and present of their own desire.” 

The room is alight with tension. Everybody is desperate to ask for more detail – particularly regarding the consummation. Adalyn doesn’t blame them, but hides her grin as Marcine goes on. 

“Suitresses are to present to the wyvern’s selected delegate, Adalyn Baker, located in Fleecehold, before the month’s end.” 

You could hear a pin drop in the bakery. Arryn looks like he’s having a conniption, trying to hold back the flood of questions. Adalyn tries not to bask in her position of power. It’s rare that she holds one over her neighbours. A self-satisfied smile slips through.  

“There you have it. You can gossip over the details later, but first; Martha, Alice, Trevor. You three are in charge of lodging. Everyone here is to pitch in. If you have spare bedding, a spot by the hearth, an empty room: these three have my permission to borrow them for the purpose of housing any women that stay with us. There shall be no bellyaching about it. And if I hear one word about anyone harassing these women, you’ll be out on your ass faster than I can cry wyvern. Do I make myself clear?” 

She’s honestly surprised at the pale faces and the nodding heads. Fleecehold doesn’t have an elder, nor a reigning council in place. Important decisions usually came down to whoever shouted loudest and had the greatest following at town meetings. Perhaps it’s why she’s able to take charge so easily. That and her spectacular entrance curtesy of Slate, yesterday.  

“Edgar, Gaven, Marcine, stay behind. Everyone else, out.” 

It takes some time. Villagers drag their feet, dawdle outside her house, and peer discreetly through her windows. Everyone wants to hear the rest of Adalyn’s plans. 

“You two need to deliver these letters. I figure you’d know the route best,” she nods to Gaven, the store keeper. She unrolls her map on the table, and pushes forward two piles of letters. “Nine settlements to the west. You should make it in two and a half days if you borrow one of Marcine’s horses. Seven to the east, Edgar. Two days on horseback. Marcine?” 

She nods her assent. “I can ready the horses.” 

Adalyn looks to the men, who pour over the map. “Make sure these letters go to an elder or an authority. A notice board, if nothing else. Don’t leave the settlement until you’re sure there’s somebody there who can read. Make sure they spread the word.” 

Marcine leaves to prepare, while Edgar and Gaven linger to plot their routes. Adalyn hands some additional letters to Edgar with strict instructions for delivery, and some copper for the trouble. She instructs the men to offer guidance to any travelling women on their way back. Soon they leave, deciding to start their journey this morning, rather than waiting another day.  

Finally alone, Adalyn starts removing any trace of her neighbours from her house. Today she’d prefer her own company.  

Next

[ichigopanhpff]

Sonata Ch. 4: Tenuto

[Previous Chapter] -- [Masterlist] -- [Next Chapter]

Thanks so much for all the reblogs and likes for this little story of mine. You have absolutely no idea how elated this makes my heart. I didn't expect "Mont Blanc" to get that much traction. I generally don't think my writings are anything spectacular and I'm even happy with single digit likes, but here I sit corrected.

I've also been busy drawing out chapter 10 of "Little Dark Age" by @sanzucide 'cus it's that damn good. I'm still debating on the part 3; ideally, I want to illustrate the whole chapter but I want to feel this out organically.

Warnings: Mentions of drug abuse/overdose and physical assault, abandonment, gun violence, mild blood, mentions sexual themes/preferences/kinks.

Note: If you see any notes messages being responded with ‘amaeichigo’, that’s my primary account name.

( \ tā-ˈnü-(ˌ)tō): hold a tone or chord firmly to its full value 

Her throat was bone dry with anxiousness as she tailed behind Bonten’s head and second in command by a few steps; three faceless men, assuming they were higher ranked in the pecking order, brought up the rear of their procession, making their way into one of their many secure underground conference rooms. From a strategic standpoint, it would’ve been dumb to meet at the main headquarters unless they wanted to be attacked head on.

The silver white haired man announced his presence with the loud clatter of the double doors opening. The rest of the admins had been waiting in their respective plush leather seats situated on the side. A lone vacant seat sat in between the walkway, facing Manjiro’s at the far end. A silk banner with Bonten’s insignia embroidered onto the fabric hung behind it.

“Sit,” Manjiro instructed, to which she did so without argument. She watched his back walk away with Sanzu and sat at the end of the room, facing her. His static obsidian orbs were cold, void of any emotion.

“(Y/FN), I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” the leader began and leaned back into his seat, making the leather squeak. “I permit you to ask them at your pace.”

“Is that wise?” Mochizuki inquired with a steady glare at the hostess. “She hasn’t proved we can—”

“We’re out of time now that we’ve confirmed they’re starting to move,” Bonten’s advisor cut in sharply.

“It’s as Takeomi says,” Manjiro agreed.

The former gritted his teeth and huffed and audible annoyed breath from his nostrils before falling back into his seat. “Well, girl? Ask.”

Taking a shaky breath, she nervously fiddled with her fingers as her gaze cast downward on the plush, blood red carpet. Where would she even start? Her mind flashed back to the five people killed right in front of her, still remembering the scent of warm, fresh iron on her nose. Her body trembled as cold terror sweat formed by the nape of her neck. Squeezing her eyes close to rid the gruesome imagery, she slowly opened them again in hopes of drawing some courage to look back up.

She wanted answers, right?

The least she could do was make eye contact to try hiding her fear and uncertainty.

“T-Those men your admins… k-killed…” she gulped before continuing, trying to keep what’s left of her stomach contents at bay. She tightly gripped the top of her left index and middle fingers to stop herself from shaking. “W-Who were they?”

“They’re from a rival gang called Daruma,” Kakucho calmly answered.

“H-How did you know they were going to be there?”

“We had scouts planted to survey your neighborhood and report back to us. The landlord you got the place from is one of my informants,” the dual-eye coloured man replied. “The intel we gathered confirmed they’d be making a move on you within these few weeks.”

“So you used me as bait?!” she angrily exclaimed and stood up.

“You make it sound so bad…” Ran casually butted in with his head resting on his left fist. “Think of it as…” He twirled his other hand around, looking for the right words. “A way to lure the unknown out from the shadows.”

“That’s the same thing!” she shot back irritably and pinched her nose bridge, trying her best to control herself from throwing something at the purple haired man by letting out a controlled breaths from her mouth.

“It was a calculated risk in order to see our enemy in the flesh,” Kakucho continued and lightly bowed his head at her. “We apologize for the inconvenience this caused you.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she scoffed. “I could’ve died!”

“But you didn't thanks to us,” Rindou coolly retorted with an expressionless face. "So, you're welcome."

Running her hand through her hair to calm down, lightly pacing back and forth, the other hand firmly planted on her hip; a sudden thought invaded in and snapped her head back up.

“Did you burn down my building so I’d end up here?” she cautiously asked.

“No,” Kokonoi answered clearly. “We were gonna buy it and knock it down for redevelopment to get you evicted. But let’s be real: that building was a literal fire hazard with all that old wiring. However, we can’t assume Daruma didn’t have a hand in it either.”

“What do they, no…” She paused for a moment to rephrase her question better, placing her index knuckle to her chin. “What do I have to do with your feud?”

“You catch on quickly, angel,” the older Haitani commended with an impressed, lazy grin.

“We have reason to believe you hold valuable information regarding our organization and Daruma’s,” Takeomi answered.

“Information?” she blurted out in confusion with squinted eyes. “I’m just a hostess. What could I possibly—”

“When we did the background check on you upon being hired at La Reverie, we found something… interesting,” the advisor intercepted. “Your mother, (Y L/N) Kana, is not who she says she is.”

“What… do you mean?” she stared at Takeomi with full blown skepticism.

“You’re… not aware she’s an undercover agent for Cabinet Intelligence?”

“Wh...at?” she uttered out in a barely audible voice and slowly blinked. “A government agent?” She paused for a beat, trying to make sense of all this. “She was a deadbeat who worked various part-time jobs. No. No.” She vigorously shook her head in denial. “Y-You must’ve gotten her mixed up with someone else.”

Kokonoi stood from his seat and handed (Y/N) a manila file from his hand.

“What’s this?” she looked up at the finance admin with suspicion.

“The truth.”

“And you expect me to believe you?” she sneered. “For all I know, these could’ve been fabricated by Bonten to get me on your side.”

His solemn expression didn’t change. “Doubt us all you want, but this…” He gestured to the documents. “This isn’t something we could make up even if we wanted to.”

She looked deeply into his dark, snake-like orbs, sensing no lies behind his words. Hesitantly accepting it, she opened the folder and read through each page carefully. Her eyes widened with every line as her breathing quickened by the second, slowly feeling light-headed. It was as if each thread of her very being unraveled like an overworn piece of clothing and set ablaze.

(Y/LN) Kana was an alias: Her real name is Igarashi Meiya, an undercover agent with Cabinet Intelligence, specializing in infiltrating the underground world for drug cartels, human sex trafficking, and money laundering. Igarashi’s last known whereabouts was on the border between southern California and Mexico for a drug cartel sting in cooperation with the CIA. She shifted the papers around and found a photocopy of her birth certificate; her gaze widened and felt her lungs suddenly burning and combusting from the lack of oxygen as she held her breath from disbelief.

Meiya wasn’t her birth mother; she was adopted.

She didn’t leave her; her assignment probably changed after she finished whatever she needed to in Japan, including her.

She only made it look like she did.

“So… the debt…” she incoherently mumbled out.

“Used as a distraction so she could get away,” the silver haired man concluded.

She wryly chuckled with empty eyes and looked up at the admins in disbelief. “So that’s why you were keeping such a close eye on me…” Her arms went limp, dropping some pages on the carpet. Her legs staggered and felt like she was going to collapse at any second.

“This was all about what my “mother” found out, never the money.”

“Oh no, the money was a concern,” Kokonoi clarified. “But its priority paled in comparison to what Igarashi found out.”

“Has she mentioned anything to you about this?” Mochizuki inquired.

“We didn’t have much of a relationship,” she dejectedly recalled, feeling the sting of reality hit her core. “She was either drunk half the time or didn’t come home until late morning, smelling like the men she’d been with the night before.”

“Did she give you anything, some kind of physical item?”

“Even if there was, the fire would’ve destroyed it.”

“So she’s useless then,” the muscular admin sighed and crossed his arms.

(Y/N)’s upper body slumped over, cradling the folder close to her chest, still trying to digest all this new information. “So what now?” she murmured feeling her body shake. “You gonna put a bullet in me and throw me in Tokyo Bay?”

“You’re more valuable to us alive,” Manjiro finally spoke. “Were you under Daruma, you would’ve been beaten, tortured and raped.”

“And not necessarily in that order,” Sanzu added with a knowing glower from his azure stare, his scarred mouth turned up in a sadistic-like smirk. “Consider yourself lucky, dove.”

She bitterly scoffed. “Do what you want,” she said in a barely audible whisper and resigned to her fate with closed eyes.

“Don’t say words you don’t mean, doll,” Ran advised with a fox-like grin and darkened violet eyes. “You’re in a room of ravenous men.”

“No different from being a hostess,” she unconsciously blurted, no longer caring about her image and cleverly crafted words. “At the end of the day, you’re all depressed and lonely derelicts, looking for temporary love and warmth on your skin to offset what you cast away inside for this world you've drowned yourselves in.”

Nothing mattered anymore. The facade she’d cleverly created all these years for survival was cracking like cheap porcelain. Everything she’s done up until this point for her freedom had been for naught; no—she was never free from the start. All current events led her to where she was like an invisible collar around her neck and into the whims of her captors. She was given the illusion of freedom, like a well trained dog.

Sanzu immediately drew his gun and pointed it at (Y/N); the corner of his eye twitching with anger. She nonchalantly glanced up at the pink haired man.

“What? Did I hit a nerve?” she mockingly goaded and stood up with her arms stretched out, encouraging him to shoot her, dropping the entire folder and its contents down on the carpet from her opened palms.

“Don’t provoke him, (Y/N)-chan,” Kokonoi nervously advised. “He’ll do it.”

“What the fuck do you know, bitch?” he growled out and cocked the pistol hammer with a look of disdain masked with his rage. “You don’t know any of us.”

“Sanzu,” Manjiro warned.

“You’re right; I don’t,” she admitted with a small scorn. “What I do know is you’re a group of insecure men-children, flashing your big, shiny weapons to intimidate and kill any obstacle because you’re too weak to face them head on!”

“I! AM NOT! WEAK!” the pink haired man madly bellowed and steadied his aim.

“Sanzu!” Kakucho shouted.

Just as he pulled the trigger of his AMT AutoMag V with a ringing gunshot, Bonten’s number three rushed to the pink-haired man’s side and pushed his arm in the nick of time. The aftershock of the bullet made everyone's ears buzz with a uncomfortable high-pitched vreen vibrating from their collective eardrums. The bullet grazed (Y/N)’s cheek before hitting the wall at the far end. Blood trickled down as she stood stationary, not caring about the stinging sensation burning her epidermis; the pain she was feeling on the inside couldn’t even compare. Kokonoi and Kakucho both hastily strode up to her, the latter pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to put pressure on her wound.

“Jesus! You’re crazy!” the finance admin exclaimed with a look of panic in his dark eyes. This was the first time she’s ever seen him react like this. “What the actual fuck!”

“Oi! Didn’t you hear Mikey?!” Rindou stood from his seat and roughly shoved Bonten’s number two’s shoulder. “We need her alive!”

“Fuck off, Haitani,” the scarred man growled out and pointed the gun at his temple with a mad, deranged look in his cerulean eyes. “You want a piece of this too?!”

“Kill him, I kill you,” Ran threatened and appeared behind Sanzu all of a sudden with a small knife situated at his jugular.

“Stop.” Manjiro finally raised his voice with a sharp glare. “Sit. Down. All of you.”

Doing what their head commanded, he turned his attention to (Y/N) and the two tending to her.

“Treat her wounds.”

The two men escorted her out of the conference room, with Kokonoi still holding the now blood soaked handkerchief to her face. Situating in one of the waiting rooms, Kakucho left to find a first aid kit.

“You’re an actual idiot,” the silver haired man tutted, gently rubbing both his traguses folded on top of his external auditory meatus, in hopes of getting the ringing out so he could hear properly again. “Wantin’ to die like that.”

“Wouldn’t you?” she whispered with a quiver of her voice and turned her head away. “After realizing your whole life’s a lie and all your efforts were for nothing?”

Kokonoi couldn’t respond; were he in her position, would he be wishing for death too? A calm, dense silence filled the room while the two waited for Kakucho to return.

“All my life… I tried to do right by others to those who deserve it,” she scoffed at herself. “How naive of me…” Her gaze turned to a random spot on the floor with a pained look. “Kokonoi-san… Did you find anything on my birth mother?”

His sharp eyes looked at her with hesitation.

“You wish to know?”

“Can’t get any worse.”

“… She was a prostitute,” he reluctantly revealed. “And a drug addict; OD’ed a few months after you were born. Your birth mom was in contact with Igarashi-san as a potential informant for the case she was on.”

(Y/N) said nothing and closed her eyes, reaching up to remove his hand to replace with her own over the handkerchief. She felt numb and apathetic. All these feelings of emptiness and never knowing where she belonged all made sense now.

She came into this world insignificantly alone and will most likely die that way too. Part of her wanted to scream and cry and angrily lash out, but they’d only be empty and meaningless actions.

It’d be like asking sympathy from the devil.

The scarred man came back at last with a small white tin box in tow. The finance admin moved so she could be treated.

“Let’s see the cut.”

He reached up to remove the blood stained cloth; the laceration was shallow with most of the blood already coagulated. Taking out an alcohol wipe from the box, he ripped the paper packet open and begun wiping the dried blood around the wound first. The fumes from the alcohol stung the cut, making her grit her teeth. All he could see of her how was a shell of her former self after knowing her truth. Part of him sympathized, having lost his family from when he was barely old enough to understand the world around him and was shoved into an orphanage, left to fend for himself. Tucking those memories back into the dark corners of his mind, he then generously smeared bactine on it before peeling a gauze bandage to cover her cheek.

“Does it still hurt?”

She shook her head no. Making their way back into the main conference room, everything became white noise to her. All she wanted to do right now was to be left alone to process everything; but even that was a big ask given her current company. Until they could figure out how she can get the info her mother left behind, the only solution was for her to move in with one of the admins for surveillance. (Y/N) was to also quit her job at La Reverie and her debt was to be written off as a loss in their accounting.

They were making her disappear without a trace.

“At the very least…” she finally spoke in a barely audible murmur. “May I say good-bye to my clients?”

“I thought you didn’t care about the job,” Kokonoi said with a slight tone of surprise.

“The job, no. The clients, yes,” she answered earnestly. “They deserve a proper farewell from me. And please give them over to Ami-chan. She’ll treat them right.”

Three weeks after the confrontation with Daruma, the story (Y/N) spun to her co-workers and clients was she had an elderly relative to take care of in Nagoya as her reason for leaving the club. Just as she settled into her apartment, everything was packed back up again. The furniture she bought was sold to the nearest second-hand store for cash and only had what she could carry with her in a duffle bag. Having yet to decide who she would stay with, she was taken to Bonten’s headquarters under the watchful eyes of the admins; they couldn’t trust any of their men to be tasked with this.

They were on their respective devices, going about their daily affairs with the syndicate. With nothing to do, (Y/N) scanned the bookshelf in their meeting room and picked a random one to read to distract her mind from thinking about recent revelations; more like, she was still trying to digest it all and sit with her feelings. The bits and pieces she remembered of her childhood were neither good or bad; the ones that stood out the most was whenever she had to drag her mom from the doorway, having blacked out from drinking too much the night before, and onto her futon. Despite how she grew up, she never once hit her nor let her go hungry, no matter what.

Now that she thought about it, Igarashi Meiya acted more of a guardian to her than a mother; perhaps she raised her that way to prevent herself from being emotionally attached. It’s not like she could suddenly find her and ask her all these questions either.

Ran eventually reached his mental cap for work and decided to slack off for the remainder of the day. He strolled over to where she was sitting and plopped down on the couch beside her with his signature lazy grin. She remained unbothered by his piercing violet gaze and presence.

“So, (Y/N)-chan,” the older Haitani brother drawled out and perched his hand on his temple. “Satisfy my curiosity: you really didn’t sleep with your clients?”

“No,” she tersely replied, her eyes not leaving the book and turned the page.

“You weren’t tempted at all?”

“No,” she said again with emphasis.

“You a virgin or something?” he finally asked with a mild teasing tone.

“Not your business.”

“Only a virgin would say that,” he grinned, excited at the thought of an untouched maiden waiting to be defiled and molded to his lustful whims. “What sensible hostess doesn’t sleep with their clients? Especially with the amount of money they’d throw on a pedigree like you.”

“When was the last time you got tested, Haitani-san?” she leisurely inquired to divert the topic of discussion, her eyes still focused on the book, despite reading the same sentence twice already. “Mayumi sleeps around and without protection sometimes.”

“She says she’s on the pill,” he justified.

(Y/N) dropped the literature on her lap and looked up at the tall man in disbelief. “You… realize the pill only prevents her from not getting pregnant and doesn’t protect against STDs and STIs, right?” she stated matter-of-factly.

The elder Haitani blinked a few times as his usual calm demeanor suddenly turned nervous and thickly swallowed, thinking about the last time he and La Reverie’s number one hooked up, where he saw a rather interesting rash on her thigh.

“Aniki?” Rindou cautiously asked, watching his brother shift uncomfortably in his seat and took out his phone. After a short beat, he stood from the couch, saying he realized he had a last minute appointment. All she could do was softly snicker before going back to her book.

“So was my brother right?” Rindou asked. “Are you a virgin?”

“You lot got a personal cash pool going on this?” she sharply exhaled, annoyed and extremely uncomfortable about the subject matter.

“No. But now that you mention it…” he trailed off, making a mental note to suggest it later.

She sighed heavily and dropped the book back on her lap again and shot the younger Haitani an unamused glare, as if reading his mind.

“No matter how much any of you try, I’m not sleeping with anyone in this room,” she firmly declared. “Especially with your preferences.”

“Oh?” Takeomi ears perked up with a lit cigarette in his mouth. “And you think you know--”

“You and Kanji-san both have sir and daddy kinks,” (Y/N) immediately cut in with a straight face. “Akashi-san likes the leather collars worn around his property. Makes his ego feel good. Well…” She folded the corner of the page and closed the novel, not making eye contact with either one. “That can be said about any man.”

The two men stuttered as Rindou snort laughed before sipping his coffee.

“Rindou-san’s kink is sadism and praise,” she announced and glanced over at the younger Haitani, making him spit out his drink. “Considering how close you are with your brother, you wish to be seen as an equal to him from those around you. You like hurting others so they praise you to stop the pain and give them their ‘reward.’”

“Damn,” Kokonoi heartily chuckled and looked up from his laptop. “Never thought you were this brutal, (Y/N)-chan.”

“Oh don’t get me started with you, exhibitionist,” she ridiculed with an irked look, scanning him up and down like he was covered in something. “You like to watch before deciding on joining in.”

The silver haired man coughed uncomfortably and looked away from his laptop screen, his whole face a bright shade of red. The twin doors at the far end of the spacious conference room swung open, with Kakucho, Mikey and Sanzu entering. The three casually glanced at (Y/N) as she rolled her eyes, already knowing what they were going to ask.

“Soft dom, yandere and possible shibari fetish,” she grocery listed in a bored manner, to which they all covered their mouths to hide their snickers and uncontrollable wheezing laughter much to the confusion of the three. Her company was soon called into a meeting, with her being escorted out to one of the many waiting rooms. She was getting restless and irritable, being brought around their many office buildings as if she worked for them.

She was their hostage.

They say they’re doing this to “protect” her, but she knew they would off her the moment they got what they needed. Nothing good will come from it should either party get their hands on whatever they’re looking for from her. The problem was she had no starting point. Well aware her situation with Bonten is temporary, she need a way to save herself.

But it’s not like she had anywhere to go either.

Until she had some sort of a lead as to what she was looking for, she’s a sitting duck.

Another two hours slowly crawled by; they collectively decided she should head back to Manjiro’s for the night since they were still trying to barter a deal with an overseas client. Sanzu escorted her to the unmarked black car. En route, she requested to stop by the convenience store to buy ingredients for dinner; the last thing she ate was over 8 hours ago and she was starving. Arriving at the penthouse, Manjiro’s bodyguard let her in before heading back out; she saw all of her personal items arrived without damage either.

Sighing to herself, she grabbed her duffle and entered the guest room to change before preparing food. Tonight was beef curry. Starting the rice first, she washed the short grain vigorously before placing it into the cooker. After washing, peeling and cutting the ingredients up, she heated up her pot before dumping each item in to cook. The food was ready about thirty minutes later.

While waiting for the rice to finish, she decided to decompress by playing the piano a little. Lifting the lid up, she neatly folded up the velvet dust rag sitting on top of the keys and mindlessly stared at the instrument for a beat. Her hands started moving to play a familiar melody she remembered from her childhood.

She can count on one hand the amount of times she and her mother spent time together. Thinking back on it now, it made sense with all the times she was out all hours of the day, doing god knows what; Kana at least had the decency to leave cooked food for her when she got back from school.

“(Y/N),” a woman called as she entered their small apartment. “Come here for a moment.”

A young girl set down her crayons on the tatami and walked over to her mother; she looked up with a bright, curious gaze.

“Mama saw something today and thought you’d like this.” She revealed a small, wrapped box hidden from behind her back and handed it to her daughter. “Open it.”

Untying the ribbon, the child opened the box, revealing a small, black music box. She opened the lid and it started playing “Moonlight Sonata.”

“Do you like it?”

The girl fervently nodded with a wide smile, looking down at her new gift.

(Y/N) stopped playing the piano all of a sudden and quietly gasped.

Why did she remember this now?

–

En route to Bonten’s headquarters, (Y/N)’s mobile phone started ringing, catching Manjiro’s attention. Hastily picking up, she spoke quietly into the receiver for a few minutes before hanging up.

“Sano-san…”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me ‘Manjiro’?” he asked with a mild tone of annoyance, his eyes still closed.

“Ma-Manjiro-san…” she reiterated with hesitancy. “Is it possible to drop me off at the police station?” she meekly requested. His dark eyes immediately snapped open and glared. “It appears they have some follow-up questions to ask me about the apartment fire, even though we have an idea who did it.”

Disapproval was written all over the white haired man’s furrowed brows and clicked his tongue.

“Daruma isn’t going to be that stupid to pull something in front of a station,” she pointed out. “And I’m certainly not dumb enough to let them know of my current company.” Bonten’s leader remained quiet as she let out a small sigh. “Obviously, asking you to trust me is out of the question…” she paused to craft her persuasion. “Maybe they recovered some of my things from the fire they want to give back. And there could be clues to what you’re looking for.”

“You’d risk your own safety for it?” he asked dubiously.

“Don’t get me wrong: we have no common goal here,” she cleared up. “I know you’d kill me the second you get your hands on whatever this is.”

“So you’re using it as a bargaining chip?” Manjiro followed up with an icy stare in his onyx orbs.

“This may be hard for you to believe, but I’m doing this for closure.” (Y/N) swallowed hard to wet her dry throat. “I wanna know what my mom found and if I have to work with Bonten to achieve this, so be it.”

The man closed his eyes and smirked to himself, resting his cheek on his left knuckles.

“Who’s to say you won’t run away after?”

“You literally have your men scattered across every centimeter of this city,” she firmly stated. “Where could I possibly go?”

Heaving a long breath, the white haired man took out his phone and typed something on it before putting it back into his pocket.

“You have a two hour window,” he declared. “Go to the station, answer what they need and leave. A car will take you back to our headquarters. You are to tell us everything that happened. If we find out you’re hiding anything…”

“A bullet will be wedged between my eyes,” she finished his thought. “Got that message loud and clear the first time from Sanzu-san.”

Dropping Manjiro off first, the car then made its way near Shibuya police station for (Y/N). She felt her heart beat inside her throat, not knowing what to expect. Nervously gripping her bag strap, she made her way in. Checking in at the front desk area, a uniform escorted her into one of the interview rooms for privacy. A short moment later, a detective holding a few sealed plastic bags of evidence and a manila folder in his hand entered.

“What happened to your cheek?” the man asked, pointing to the bandage.

“I tried to pick up a stray cat and… it didn’t like the way I held him,” she quickly fibbed with an uneasy, crooked smile.

“Ah, that happened to my kid once,” the detective sympathized. “Wouldn’t stop crying for hours.”

Jumping into the proper interview procedures and last questions, he then laid out the bagged items across the table.

“We’ve been trying to get these back to their owners,” he explained through his gruff voice. “If there’s anything you recognize here, please point to it.”

Carefully scanning through each one, she noticed a small, familiar black box and mini book near the edge. Pointing to the two items, the detective reached for it and looked at the documentation.

“A music box and photo album…” he analyzed through the bag. “Surprised they’re both still in this good a condition.”

“You and me both…” she huffed out in amazement.

Signing the proper documents, he released the item back to (Y/N). Taking his leave first since he still had a long list of her former neighbors to interview, she bowed back to thank him. Tracing her fingers on top of the lid, she opened it with a small folded note sitting on top of the brass contraption. Looking at her watch, she realized she only had 15 minutes remaining. Pocketing the note into a hidden area of her bag, she carefully placed the box and album inside before making her way out.

Doing as what Manjiro instructed, she got back into the car to drop her off back at Bonten’s headquarters. As a security grunt escorted her to the main room, she requested to use the restroom. Giving her privacy, the man stationed himself at the door while she entered one of the stalls. Steadying her breath, she reached into her bag and unfolded the note. The edge of the paper was stained with burned marks as she tried to make out the message.

Trust no one. The rot is everywhere. When you find this, destroy it. Don’t let this get into anyone’s hands.

She re-read the note once more until it was seared into her memory, recognizing the handwriting as her mother’s. What did she mean by this riddle? Was this why she left?

Immediately ripping the paper to shreds, she threw it down the toilet and flushed it in case they decided to search her bag. Hastily scrubbing her hands with soap to rid her fingertips of the burnt scent, she wiped them clean with her handkerchief before folding it back into her bag. Allowing herself to be brought into the conference room, eyes from some of the admins trained on her, with Manjiro sitting at the far end of the table.

“Well?” Manjiro stared her down intensely. “What’d they say?”

Reiterating word for word the questions the detective asked her, she had to be careful not to slip up and let them know about the note. If there’s one thing she knew about Bonten’s head, it’s that he was very meticulous with his observation. Any change in her demeanor and body language would have him suspicious. After reporting in, she reached into her bag and gently set down the burn-marked music box and album on the table.

“And that’s all they were able to recover?” Takeomi asked and lit his cigarette up.

She quietly nodded. “Of all the evidenced items they showed me, these were the only possession they had of mine. Everything else was destroyed.”

“Open it.”

Doing as she was told, she gently lifted the lid; the music box played a muffled and stuttering version of “Moonlight Sonata.” The cylinder, comb and base plate were damaged from the heat of the apartment fire. She wasn’t sure what they hoped to find, but needless to say, they were disappointed.

“Take the box apart,” Manjiro requested.

“Does anyone have a screwdriver set?”

“Just smash it,” Sanzu impatiently blurted out and crossed his arms.

“I’m not doing that,” she firmly stood her ground with a matching gaze. “This is all I have left of my mom.”

“Why do you even care?! She wasn’t even your real mom!” the pink haired man chided.

“Even so, this was…” Her hands lightly gripped on the blazed item. “This is one of the few good memories I have of her.”

Kokonoi rummaged in his laptop bag and slid a mini screwdriver kit across the table to her. Just as she reopened the lid and rotated the object to find where the screws were, the box slid out of her hand. She fumbled with it through panicked grabs and something fell out with a small clatter on the table the moment she successfully caught it back in her hands.

And there it was.

A USB stick stripped of its casing, exposing the small circuit board of the device.

Taglist: @xngelsau @shizunxie @mikeysbabygirl @im-a-mf @garlicgarlicgirl

[crystal-moon-101]

Since I saw people talking about Ben's little big chill kids, I thought I'd finally do some headshots of my ones, who are also a part of my Ben 10 Next Gen. For me, I've always imagined that for young necrofriggians, they all start out looking the same (Beyond some size difference), but as they grow older, they'll start to develop their own patterns, small body traits and shades of colour, as showcased here. I'll share the little info on each sibling, and the basics of who they are as a person. When Ben first found them again, saving them from poachers and going full mum mode, they had been developing these different psychical traits, but not enough to identify each properly on their own, so while giving them names, Gwen used bandana pieces to colour code them, and each kid still wears theirs to this day, slightly modified. So here they are now, as full grown young adults. You can follow from left to right each row, or just the colours next to their names. -North (Black)- The largest and physically strongest of the kids, North acts as the leading member when Ben isn't around, doing their best to watch out for their siblings and be a middle ground to them. It's been this way since they were born, looking out for them and doing whatever they can to protect the others. This has resulted in North collecting quite a few scars and wing tears, though they wear them with pride, wanting to display how strong they are to others. They often looks up to Ben when it comes to being a hero, in how their mumdad protects others and the galaxy, and wants to be a fighter like him one day, often asking to train with their mumdad whenever he's around. Ben has suggested Plumber training for North, but they're still thinking about that. -Tundra (Red)- Tundra is a very curious one, and is known to wander off when things catch their interest. They prefer using experience to learn from, thus making them quick on their feet when something happens, and good at thinking logical. When the siblings are struggling with something, or come across some kind of problem, it's often Tundra who provides the quickest answers that should go well for them. That being said, due to their wandering, they gave gotten into trouble a few times and need to be saved by their siblings or Ben, as despite how smart they are, they can be a bit of a ditz when something catches their interest. -Grey (Silver)- Having a connection to the earth bellow, Grey often spends their time searching caves, and any hidden areas they can find. They especially love to research and find minerals of any kind, ranging from metals to gems, sometimes even studying their metal lunch for the day before eating it. Because of this, they can be carelessly dirty, and aren't the cleanest of people, but does pick up after themself when reminded. Grey is also pretty close with their sibling Storm, and surprising Gwen and Ben when first hearing the two call each other "Dweeb" and "Doofas", when first meeting them again. -Storm (Brown)- As someone who likes to spend a lot of time flying and high in the clouds, Storm is fascinated by the weather and how it behaves, and feeling the cold fresh air and challenging themself with flight training. This has provided them to have the most agility in the air, and knows the best ways to build up speeds, while also not draining themself. Whenever they aren't flying around, they're doing research on the weather, very keen to be a meteorologist one day. Whenever Ben visits, they will often ask him about the weather on other planets, and any adventures he's had in the sky. Storm is also pretty close with their sibling Grey, and surprising Gwen and Ben when first hearing the two call each other "Dweeb" and "Doofas", when first meeting them again. -Crystal (Blue)- Graceful on their feet, Crystal is a charming and gentle person, with a keenness for the art of dancing, especially when hovering in the air. This was something sparked in them when seeing how the patches in their wings, which are see through, glittered and reflected light through them, making Crystal often move around to see what they could get them to do, and the introduction of dancing was something they latched onto as a result. They are one of the hardest of the siblings to get angry, upset or rile up, and often goes with the flow and speaks in a slow and soft voice. Because of their kind nature and beautiful display of their wings, Crystal has attracted many others who are interested in them, many falling for them after meeting Crystal for a mere minute, though they tend to pretend not to notice, and turn down those who ask. -Orion (Orange)- Having an eye for art, Orion is a skilled painter and drawer, while also dabbling into other art forms to create things, their room filled with their works of art, and often creating gifts for others. From when they were little, Orion has always admired their auntie Gwen, and are always keen and eager to hang out with her when she visits, showing every new drawing and painting they have made while she was away. In fact their fondness for auntie Gwen is why they picked the orange bandana, as it reminded them of her hair. -Neva (Green)- Fashion focused and head strong, Neva is a keen one, who knows exactly what they like and isn't afraid to say it. They love designing things to wear, especially since fashion isn't that big on Kylmyys, and Ben brings them fabrics and items they request from earth whenever he comes by on a visit. Though, despite Neva's expensive tastes, they are most certainly aren't a snob, and more often than not create outfits and accessories for others that Neva knows they'd like, and wants to bring out the best beauty in them. Though admittedly, they can get a bit carried away if someone asks for fashion advice, or even brings up the idea of something related to it. Neva also a bit of a business mind too, having gotten some clients recently on their homeworld after seeing what Neva could make. -Raine (Aqua)- A very sweet young one, Raine has a keen eye for collecting things, particularly shiny or unknown stuff. From gemstones to simple earth utensil, if something interests them, Raine is known to take it with them, sometimes snatching without thinking. They don't mean any harm, and just sometimes think before acting, and will give something back if they've realized what they've done, but if it's clear they can keep it, then they aren't one to share, though do like to show off what they have with joy. They are also very well organized, knowing where everything they own is, and even when their siblings misplace something, having a photography memory and mental list of things. They may own a lot of stuff, but that doesn't mean they want to live in a pigsty. -Vale (Yellow)- Being one of the quiet ones, Vale likes to keep a lot to themself, and don't speak very often, only when they need to. They spend a lot of time outside, observing nature as it passes by them, using a little diary to note down what they see, hear, feel, smell and even taste. They like to appreciate silence and the world around them, and the beauty of nature, and collect little things to store away in their diary as memory. Whenever they visit earth, they love to visit the forests in the spring and summer, seeing the range of colours blooming from flowers, and has many flower prints because of this. -Lux (Beige)- Quite the basic of people, Lux likes to live life in a simple way, and tends to try and stare clear of any chaos, which is quite hard when you have 13 wild siblings. Because of them, they can come across as annoyed and frustrated at times, and can be blunt and honest, but they do love their siblings, and is often the one that says what's needed to be said. Lux also have massive wings compared to their body, a ratio none of the others have, and use to trip over their feet a lot growing up. Now, their massive wings are a great way to hide away when they're not in the mood to talk to read a book, or to hug a family member when seeing them down. -Micha (Pink)- Bubbly and sneaky, Micha has been dubbed the "Pink Ninja" for a reason, someone almost always able to hide away and sneak up on others. They love to jump scare people, and has found more and more crafty ways to get around without being noticed, even without their ability to go invisible. They love to pull jokes and get a laugh out of people, and Micha is known to have a snort with their own laughter. It's always their mission to catch Ben off guard when he visits, as each time it gets trickier due to him knowing it's coming, and his training and skills build up over the years, but Micha always finds a way in the end. -Zodiac (Gold)- Patient and often neutral toned, Zodiac is often seen to be pretty wise. From a young age, they've always loved stories from history, especially those about myths and legends they hear from around the galaxy, and spend a lot of their time reading and researching anything they hear about, always keen to hear a new story they may have never heard about before. It always fascinates them how much Ben has seen and done, and the stories he tells, Zodiac is practically fond of those about Alien X and Celestialsapians, and wants to meet one one day. -Alaska (White)- High on energy 99% of the time, Alaska is always zooming around and never has time to stop. They rarely sit still for long, and it takes a lot to drain them of their endless energy, always moving in a blink of an eye. Because of this, Alaska is the fastest of the crew, which has come in handy often. But they can be easily bored, and a little frustrating to deal with when they don't pay attention, but they do like to spend that energy by jumping around each sibling to spend the day with, and wants to engage in all of their activities to support them. -Arlo (Purple- The smallest of them, Arlo was born the runt of the group, but thanks to their siblings, especially North, they managed to survive childhood when most other necrofriggian runts would have died. This makes Arlo the baby of the group, and the one they all want to protect, even if it can be a little baring at much, wanting to prove they can be strong on their own. And Arlo somewhat got their wish, when reaching a certain age and Ben learning that one of his children had the spark, thus meaning Arlo is an Anodite, and is able to use magic, though they're far from being perfect at it, and their small body sometimes struggles to keep up. But each day Arlo practices, wanting to feel more than just the tiny one, but they are generally kind and great with emotions, being very supportive and just trying their hardest.

[definitelynotsuzumi]

Zapped to Another World

Genshin Impact x Fem!Reader

I wrote this in my spare time when I was working back in November and thought that I should share this ^-^ 

Depending on the comments/notes and if I have spare time, I may be updating this. 

[Masterlist]

The rain poured down your umbrella. The clouds coloured the sky a dark grey as you ran for the bus. You sighed as you reached the traffic light. Yup, you were definitely not going to be able to catch it now.

School had ended for the year, which meant more free time for you and the new game you had recently gotten into. Genshin Impact.

You could not help but smile at the thought of it. With school out of the picture, you could finally focus on the game completely. There was so many things to do. Farming for artifacts, completing your daily commissions…

You sloshed your way over as the lights turned green. While you love that school is out, you honestly hated the wet weather that came with the winter break and the feeling of wet socks on your feet. After safely crossing the road, you winced as a white truck rushed by, soaking your clothes through as the giant puddle you have been trying to avoid poured onto your skirt and legs.

You let out a sigh as you quickly took shelter under a tree nearby to try and wring out the remaining water when it happened.

“Just my luck…”You muttered as you clumsily balanced your umbrella, “Can it get any worse?”

Just as those words left your lips, it happened. A white flash lit the sky for a brief second. But it was too late. Thousands of volts came cascading upon your body and everything turned white.

“This is your fault.” You heard a voice. It sounded like a young, sulky boy.

“How is this my fault? You’re the one who lashed out when I put down that +4 card down.”

“THAT AIN’T FAIR STILL! I WAS SO CLOSE TO WINNING AND YOU BLEW IT!”

“Uh…What’s going on?” You blinked as your vision settled. You sat in what looked like a library of sorts, with several shelves lining the walls and a long white and gold marble table in the centre of it all. A girl with long, platinum hair glared down at her male counterpart, who huffed in annoyance.

“How about you explain it to her, Artem.”

“Sorry, but I don’t speak to cheaters.”

“Oh for gods sake- fine. We apologize for uhm…Killing you. Truly, a thousand apologies. If only someone can control their temper for once in their life-“ The girl shot a dirty look at Artem.

“LIKE YOU ARE ONE TO TALK! SOLARIA, YOU SINGED MY EYEBROWS OVER KILLING YOU IN AMONG US!”

“Well excuse you! My anger was perfectly justified! You voted me out even when I told you the truth and that I was innocent!”

“DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT WAS TO EMBROIDER AND GROOM THEM BACK TO NORMAL AGAIN?”

“Could you guys please stop fighting for 10 seconds?” You yelled over the noise. The girl and boy finally stopped, leaving you to rub at your ringing ears.

You sighed. Kids were always a handful back in your home. You had to take care of your cousins whenever your aunt was over, and it often resulted with your ears ringing and your head pounding.

“What’s done is done. I’m…well, dead and I seriously have no idea where I am.” You said, trying to stay composed.

“Well…In your human terms, this is kind of like the After Life.” The boy, Artem explained, sighing as he put down his Uno cards.

“Or well, it shouldn’t since…You were supposed to live for like, another 50 to 60 years. But someone messed it up.” The girl, Solaria, summoned a book from a shelf. You blinked as a weathered leather book with gilded, golden pages floated down onto the table.

“Shut up. I said that I was sorry, didn’t I?” Artem groaned.

“Sir Artem, are you losing your braincells? I was the one who apologized. You still owe the human an apology.” Solaria bit back icily.  

With a wave of her hand, the pages of the book flipped and she studied it carefully for a minute before looking back up.

“Well, as a soul now, you have an option. You can go into Elysium or be reincarnated.” Solaria sighed as Artem huffed again.

“Huh. What do you know? Elysium sounds real good right about now-“You thought out loud as Artem’s eyes turned wide with fear.

“Please don’t go into Elysium!” Artem yelled. The books shook in the shelves as his voice echoed.

“Ow, inside voice please? Hasn’t your mother taught you better?” You winced in pain. It seems that immortals had a throat of steel, judging from the way they could shout infinitely.

“I’m really sorry, but if Dad finds out I brought in another human because I accidentally killed them…He’s going to banish me…To Earth…” Artem looked down onto the table.

He was unable to meet your eyes as you stared at him with bemusement.

“Yeah, as much as I hate to say it, please…Reconsider on our offer to reincarnate. He is on thin ice with Father and if he is banished, I’d have to take on his duties as well. I’m pretty exhausted with the workload as it is.” Solaria sighed.

“As long as it’s not Earth, I’m cool with it.” You looked up at the ceiling, which took your breath away. The entire solar system was on it. With it, was the familiar sphere of white, green and blue.

“Hm, that is easy enough. I could reincarnate you into my world.” Artem brightened up.

Solaria sighed with relief.

“And to make up for it, I could buff you up with a couple of blessings here and there-“

“Within reason.” Solaria cut in, with a sharp look at Artem.

“Psssh, as if it’s hard to make a Gnosis.” Artem had considerably relaxed after hearing your statement.

“Are you serious? Don’t you even know the situation down at Teyvat?!” Your eyes widened. Were they talking about what you were thinking of?

Artem rose to his feet, the ivory wings on his lower back flaring. His eyes gleamed gold as he stared down his sister.

“It’s my world. I do what I like with it. If you don’t like it, get a world of your own.”

“You only got your world because Mother took pity on you. Don’t act all big when you have killed so many humans.”  Solaria hummed, rolling her eyes.

“I’ll only grant this human the bare minimum. Anything more, and I’ll let Father know of your deeds thus far, even if it means more work for me.” Solaria glared back. Her eyes gleamed silver as she did so. You felt a shiver run down your spine. 

“That’s all that I’ll need then. Work on your blessings and gifts. I’ll work on mine.” Artem turned away from his sister. The siblings set to work, the atmosphere of ice cold professionalism now in the air.

Solaria rose from her place on the table. With a flick of a finger, the Uno cards vanished with a burst of gold sparkles. The leather book floated beside her as she constantly referred to its pages while flying around the room.

“Hmm…Not much of a combatant, I see. Polearms and swords will probably be hard for you. Perhaps…A catalyst?” She pulled out a bright blue book adorned in gold, with feathers sticking out.

Blowing off any dust from the beautiful book, she casually tossed it over her shoulder and onto you. You instinctively brought your arms up to protect your face but as the book hit your arms, it disappeared into a burst of gold.

“Huh?” You blinked as you saw the book reappear beside you, its pages flipping.

Solaria returned with a satchel and a bag of gold coins. Looking satisfied as she noticed the book beside you, she inserted the bag of coins into the satchel before sliding it over your shoulder. Solaria hummed to herself before smiling again.

Reaching behind her neck, Solaria detached a shimmering teardrop necklace before slipping it around yours.

“There’s nothing special about it, apart from it glowing. I thought it would be a nice touch.” Solaria winked at you. 

Tilting your chin up, you froze with shock as she pressed her lips against yours.

“WHAT WAS THAT FOR?” You felt heat rush to your cheeks.

“Oh, please. Don’t be flustered. That was merely a blessing of mine. It will help you when you need to speak with the natives of the land.” Solaria coolly said as she wiped her mouth.  

You were still reeling in shock. Your throat seemed to tighten as you coughed. 

“..Thank you, for agreeing with us on our selfish request. To be forcibly stripped of our powers can be the worst pain and humiliation a god or goddess can bear.” Solaria murmured to you as she hurried to the end of the room, where she knelt and seemed to draw symbols in gold.

You held back your tongue. ‘What about me? I got zapped to death here.’ You thought to yourself.

“It is done. Please step into that summoning circle there.” Artem held a floating, golden cylinder in his hands. Solaria rose from her place on the floor, gesturing for you to come over.

It was a Gnosis! You were quick to obey as you hurried to Solaria’s side.

Stepping into the centre, you turned to face Artem and Solaria, who stood side by side. They flared their wings as you sensed an energy swirl around you.

“I, Artem, God of the Moon, grant you passage and dominion over my world, Teyvat. Do you accept, (Y/N) (L/N)?” Artem’s voice echoed in your ears.

“I accept.” As the words left your lips, the Gnosis within his hands flew into your chest. You gasped as it did so, a heat spreading rapidly across your chest.

“Be safe on your travels, (Y/N) (L/N).” Solaria flashed a warm smile as you coughed.

“Resigno!”

The gold summoning circle glowed bright blue and you found yourself falling through the blue skies.

You screeched ungracefully as you fell from the sky headfirst. The green grass was coming up way too fast. 

‘Am I going to die again?’ You thought as you held out your arms to break your fall, only for a huge gust of wind to cushion your fall. 

“Huh?” You blinked in surprise as a person clad in green floated beside you. 

It was a young boy with 2 braids, which gleamed blue in the light. His eyes were a beautiful mix of green and blue. 

‘Venti?’ You gaped as he grabbed your hands and guided you back onto the ground. 

“Never thought I’d have an audience during my practice session. Are you okay?” Venti grinned at you. 

“Never...Never better. Thank you...”You gave a thumbs up as you got air back into your lungs again. 

His deft fingers plucked at his harp as he sat down on the soft grass. 

“It’s no problem. But what brings you here anyways? Not many people know of this spot.” Venti tilted his head. It seemed as though you uncovered his secret place. 

“I- uh well...Accidents happen. I’m not a mad fan or a stalker, I swear. Well, maybe I am a fan but still.” You rambled but you forced yourself to stop talking and to breath. Venti is real and he is in front of me. Venti is real and he is in front of me. 

Your heart was beating fast. 

‘I should say something smart, introduce myself or something.’ You thought to yourself as you composed yourself. 

You wanted to at least tell him your name but the words are out faster than you can stop them. 

“Wanna grab a drink?”  

[danidrabbles]

Cowboy Like Me - Part One

Story Summary: HERE.

Chapter Summary: Three months after your arrival at Statesman’s Kentucky department, Jack and yourself are sent out on your first assignment together. You find out you didn’t know your partner as well as you thought you did, while Jack is forced to confront the decisions he made one year prior.

Rating: M ......for now.

Word Count: 11.2k (I know...) (also, the irony of this blog being named danidrabbles vs. this word count is not lost on me, trust me)

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence (mentions and use of weapons, mentions of death and murder), alcohol, innuendo but no smut, feeeelings, way too many creative liberties with / assumptions about the art world - I think that’s it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Notes: Absolutely terrifying to share my child in fanfic form with the world, but here we are... This story (even this first chapter) has known many versions, but this final one would not have been here if it hadn’t been for Astrid @javier-pena​, who quite literally dragged me through this with her constant encouragement and unlimited enthusiasm. Please read her wonderful Mandalorian fic ‘The Hunt’. Astrid, I’m tipping my imaginary cowboy hat down to say that I can’t thank you enough, darlin’. I also want to mention @frannyzooey​ and @jura-moon​ who, with their stories, have inspired me endlessly and relit the writing flame within me that had gone out. Thank you!

PART ONE: LONDON.

“No, wait,” you whisper, and you hold two fingers up to emphasise your words.

“Wasn’t gonna do anything,” Jack hisses back.

The two of you are taking cover behind a broad column, face to face to fit the space together. The footsteps to your side stop, and then there’s the sound of hushed voices, too soft to make out what they’re saying. There are five of them, that much you know, all equipped with a gun.

You nod down at the hand resting on the holster under his arm, raising an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“Not yet,” he clarifies with a sigh. “But hiding here ain’t it… Eventually, it’s only gonna expose us more.”

“We’ve got to wait,” you say. “Listen, they’re eager, right? They’ll come to us, and if we wait for them to come to us, we can take them out in close quarters instead of at long range.” Your head perks up at the soft sounds coming from the other side of the room.

“That’d be a perfect idea if you had your little knives and I had my whip, but we gotta take ‘em out with these,” he reminds you, holding his gun up for you to see. “Remember?”

You sigh, palming the gun still sheathed in the holster on your hip. He’s right, you acknowledge with a nod, it is different without your weapons of choice. “What about visibility?”

Above you, there’s a light flickering on and off, colouring your surroundings in bright red at steady intervals, forcing your eyes to refocus every time colour bleeds back into the room.

“Think it’s a disadvantage for all of us,” he provides.

The sound of footsteps is back, this time almost rhythmical, on your left and right. “They’re probably splitting up,” you whisper, listening again before you add, “Three on the left, two on the right? Maybe?”

He listens, too. “Sounds about right.” Then, he grins. “How ‘bout a little competition, hmm? First one to take out three wins.”

Your face falls and you manage a sharp, “Jack, no,” but shit—  He’s already rounding the corner. You have no choice but to come out of hiding to cover him, following only a second after he emerges from behind the column. The sight of the both of you, guns raised, fills the room with silence, until Jack fires a warning shot, which makes the footsteps turn frantic. There’s a sound to your left, and you turn, quickly firing at one of your assailants who has their gun pointed at Jack’s back, hitting them right in the chest.

Jack’s head whips around in surprise. “Thank you, darlin’,” he says, an appreciative smile apparent in-between the flickers of light. “But that one was on my side, so that makes the score one to zero in my favor.”

“All I heard was, ‘First one to take out three wins’, nothing about sides,” you counter. “Which would make it one to zero in my favor.”

“Hmm,” is all he says, and it sounds far too amused.

“What’s that?”

“S’nothing, I just… knew you’d play along if I made you.”

You roll your eyes at his remark, then refocus, scanning your surroundings. There’s crates, columns, some furniture; plenty of places to obscure you from view. You can’t see a thing during the little intervals where the lights aren’t on and it makes you feel dazed, like you’re moving in slow-motion. There’s also no footsteps, so you decide that forcing everyone to the back of the room by checking the hiding places is probably the best course of action, as it will eventually leave them cornered, easier targets. Turning to convey your plans to your partner, you find him gone from your side.

Then there’s a grunt, and a thud, and then Jack’s voice echoes through the room, “One-one.”

Before you can even think of replying, a shot flies over your shoulder, and you dive behind a large crate. You look over the top with narrow eyes, spotting someone hanging from the ceiling. It’s a smart move in theory, but only if you don’t miss; it draws attention, reveals your position. You wait, and when no shot follows, you look over the crate again, seeing the person who just shot at you struggle with their weapon.

You raise your gun, take your aim and hit them in the chest at the exact same moment as the room lights up. Another shot rings out behind you, followed by a groan, and you immediately turn towards the sound. You find Jack standing there, looking far too proud and with a body slung over one of the chairs behind you.

“Thought I’d return the favor and make things exciting,” he says. “That’s two-to-two.”

You offer him a short, fake smile, then move through the room with him. It’s nearly impossible, with Jack wedging himself into your path to be the first to check your corners on account of the current score, and after some frantic shuffling from your target, and some missed shots from you and Jack, there’s only one spot left. You will yourself to focus on the far corner of the room, cross stepping closer and closer with Jack hot on your heels.

“You’re paying attention, right?” Jack says, picking up his step again until he’s slightly ahead of you. You can see the grin on his face form between the flickers of the lights overhead. “’‘Cause I would just hate for you to lose, doll.”

God, you hadn’t even agreed to participate in this pointless bet, but you can’t help but think about how satisfying it would be to wipe that grin right off his face when you win…

Suddenly there’s a shuffle from behind the couch in front of you, followed by a click, and it makes you both duck just before two shots come your way in quick succession. Jack’s hand closes over your upper arm, dragging you behind the fallen table he’s found cover behind, and you’re both silent for a second to listen to more shuffling from your target’s hiding place, followed by two more shots.

“Looks like we’ve successfully trapped our rat in the corner,” Jack says, voice low.

You nod. “Okay, I’ll go, you c—”

“Oh, hell no.” Jack chuckles softly. “Nice try, but I ain’t handin’ you the victory on a silver platter like that.”

Your shoulders drop with a sigh, “You know I don’t actually care about this bet, right? Just need you to cover me.”

He makes a face, then pulls another 10-bullet magazine from the clip around his waist as he thinks. After sliding it into place and pulling his hand back overtop the weapon, a tick confirms the reloading of his gun, and he gives you a quick nod.

“I’m going to need verbal confir—”

“Just fuckin’ go. I’ll cover you.”

Before he can change his mind, or do something decidedly Jack-ish, you step over his body, staying low, as you sneak out of hiding on the opposite side of the table during a moment where the room is covered in darkness. Behind you, you hear Jack mutter a soft curse before he begins shooting in the general direction of where the shots had originated earlier.

You approach carefully, operating out of sight. When you’re close enough, you press your back up against the nearest column. Quickly checking your gun between the flickering lights, you nod to yourself, then hold it close to you as you start to count when your distracted opponent fires back at Jack.

One, two, three…

four, five…

six.

Bingo.

You approach the couch, pointing your gun over it. The man behind it immediately raises his own weapon at you, aims for your chest and fires, but all that follows is a soft click, accompanied by a look of horror on his face at the realization he’s emptied his magazine.

In the split-second you contemplate your options, the bet entering your thoughts again, Jack comes up to stand beside you. You take him in from the corner of your eye. He’s not looking at you but has his gun still firmly held in both hands. When you turn slightly to look up at him, your eyes meet, and you’re sure that in that moment, the exact same thought crosses your minds at the exact same time. You both point your gun down and pull the trigger.

It’s impossible to tell who lands the kill shot in the end.

Jack scoffs, hands dropping to his sides with a shake of his head. “Christ, you liar.”

You’re about to retort when you hear it: a click behind you.

The realization makes your eyes widen, but it’s too late. You hear the shot before you feel it, and it lands right in the middle of your back, making you wobble. Next to you, Jack huffs, hand landing on the back of the couch at the pressure that he’s no doubt also feeling at his back.

It’s silent for what feels like the longest time, save for the heavy breathing behind the two of you. Until…

“You’re out, agents.” Ginger’s voice crackles over the intercom.

The lights flicker on in the room, bright and almost yellow, and the loud buzzer that rings through the practice space indicates the end of training. Around you, everyone rises up from their fake-deaths. They gather around, shrugging out of their protective clothes and celebrating their win, congratulating the last woman standing as they make their way to the exit.

“What the hell, Ginger!” You shout. “You said there were five!”

There’s a soft noise coming through the intercom, before Ginger’s voice is back, “Here’s a refresher: Always verify the information you get, don’t just blindly follow it.”

“Oh, come on…”

Next to you, Jack pulls the magazine of practice bullets from his gun before he holsters it. “It’s not like it really matters,” he says.

“We were just taken out by the recruits,” you scoff. “It matters.”

Meanwhile, your mind is already racing, going over the details of the training, thinking on where you went wrong, but it’s a short contemplation because Ginger is right: You should have confirmed your targets before running out in the open and exposing yourself, have a better plan... Which reminds you—

“Hey,” you say, drawing Jack’s attention again. “Next time I would appreciate a little heads up if you’re going to disappear on me like that,” you say, jabbing your thumb over your shoulder. “I mean, if I can’t even trust you during training, how am I supposed to trust you when we get back out there?”

His eyes narrow and it’s like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it and turns away from you. “We ain’t going anywhere anytime soon anyway.” His voice is stained with spite and immediately after he says it, he starts making his way towards the exit.

You huff as you pull at the velcro straps to get the vest off your body and drop it into the container with the rest of the protective clothes next to the door, before following after him.

He isn’t wrong, per se. You don’t know about the details because it seems to be a sensitive topic judging from the one time you brought it up, but Jack had been put on non-active months ago after a mission in Cambodia and hasn’t been sent out by Statesman since. After a bit of an unconventional first meeting between the two of you, Champ, the head of Statesman, had decided that partnering you two up would be a good idea. Truthfully, it made sense; Jack’s a senior agent who needs to be eased back into things, you’re a junior agent who could learn from him while you could keep him reined in.

But it’s been three months since and you still haven’t been sent out on a mission, and it isn’t how you envisioned your transfer to this division of Statesman to be.

You imagined high-stakes missions, traveling the world, learning from the best—

Okay, maybe that last part had worked out.

Truth be told, Jack had proven himself a very capable agent from the very moment you met, but it didn’t really sink in until one of your first training sessions, when you discovered Jack insisted on carrying around a lasso and whip on top of this Statesman issued gun. You laughed it off at first, thinking it was just part of his cowboy-like fashion sense. Then he opted to practice his lasso skills on you, betting he could catch you with it in under a minute. Figuring it would take him more than a minute to even find you in the large training space, you agreed. In hindsight, the smirk on his face when he asked should have been enough for you to realize your mistake right away. He found you, got the rope looped around your body, and, rather indignantly, forced you to the ground; all in under 36 seconds.

It wasn’t until after, when the rope was looped around a rubber target dummy, that he showed you the lasso could turn electric…

You continued your sessions together, learning to anticipate each other’s moves, play off of them to use it against your opponent; getting a routine down and using the training time to prepare for your missions. But there’s only so much preparing you can do, especially with someone who is as much of a wildcard as Jack, someone who often makes his own plan. But the missions never came, causing Jack to become somewhat of a ticking time bomb, closer to exploding with each passing day that you weren’t sent out. You’re sure Champ has noticed by now, but still, he insists on having you train together more. And, on occasion, that means playing target practice for the new Statesman recruits.

“Being taken out by the recruits isn’t going to improve our chances, you know.” You jog after him until you’re walking next to him.

“That mean we should just take it?” Jack asks, manoeuvring through the corridors back to the main building, bumping your shoulder occasionally.

“Whatever happened to, ‘You know me darlin’, I’m always jumpin’ at the chance to pencil in a little extra training time with you’?” you manage in your best impression of his voice to echo the words he said before the two of you entered the training space earlier.

“I changed my mind and thought of something better, that’s what happened,” he says, looking at you before gesturing between the two of you. “Us two, puttin’ all our hard work to good use out there in the field. And I don’t mean any funny business.”

“Hmm, yeah, no, exactly, ‘cause we don’t practice that kind of stuff.”

You set it up for him, and you have a feeling he knows but can’t help himself. One corner of his mouth turns up, and you consider the slight change in his demeanour a small victory.

“But we could.”

You chuckle, open your mouth to reply—

“I know, I know.” He grins, before you can say anything. “Just puttin’ it out there, lest you forget.”

He stops walking, so you do as well, standing next to him and leaning against the wall as to not obstruct the hallway. He turns towards you and for a moment you just look at him as he sighs and combs his fingers through his hair while the furrow returns to his brow. “But… Christ, don’t you wanna get back out there?”

“Of course I do,” you say with a sigh. “At this rate that recruit dangling from the ceiling is going to get a mission before we do.”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about, partner.” He leans in, lowers his voice like he’s about to tell you a secret, “I say we—”

“Hey, Whiskey!” The exclamation echoes through the hall, followed by your own code name. Both your heads perk up at the sound, finding one of the recruits at the end of the hall. “Ginger’s asking for you two!”

--

Ginger Ale’s promotion to handler meant that she was able to enjoy a lot more of Statesman’s luxuries, including her own office. As you walk in, you can’t help but notice how nice it is: It is spacious, but modest with the way she has decorated it, has a gorgeous view and is full of the latest tech; it is exactly what she deserves.

You’ve gotten to know her well during the past few months. She is intelligent and resourceful, warm and encouraging. Her work is thorough and precise; she cares a great deal about the details of a mission, and you have no doubt that you could always trust her if she were to ever guide you through one.

But training is another story, apparently…

“I’m not accepting any repercussions for that training,” you say the moment you spot her by the window.

Ginger chuckles at that, and it sounds unlike her, like she’s nervous. It’s almost as intriguing as the next words she speaks, “Then I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t call you in here for that. Why don’t you have a seat?”

You shoot a quick glance at Jack, who looks equally responsive despite his silence; lips pursed, an eyebrow cocked. He strides towards her desk to take her up on her invitation, and sits down in one of the two chairs opposite her workspace. You follow quickly, taking a seat in the empty chair beside him, looking up at Ginger as she makes her way to the see-through screen on her desk.

Ginger taps the screen twice, and it lights up. It’s full of pictures of the same man, all taken on different occasions. He’s slender, mid-40s, you’d guess, with a pair of round glasses perched on his nose and has blond, wild hair, some of it missing on the top of his head.

“Nathaniel Jones,” Jack says, leaning in to take a closer look at the pictures. “Nathan resurfaced?”

“Yes,” Ginger says.

“I’m sorry, um, who is Nathan?” you ask, looking from Jack to Ginger and back.

“He’s an art thief,” Ginger answers.

“Not just an art thief, he’s one of the best, even wanted by the good folks at Interpol,” Jack corrects, turning to you. “Steals pieces all over the world and replaces ‘em with fakes, good fakes, then sells ‘em. They even suspect him of stealin’ an ancient Chinese gu from an exhibition in Nanjing, which he kept for his own personal collection. Think he might be capable of puttin’ the Gardner Museum theft to shame someday…” He trails off.

You nod, not entirely sure what that means, but you’re sure it would be an impressive feat. And Jack would know. While he’s been on non-active, Jack has taken up a new hobby: art history. You didn’t think he’d be the man for it, but apparently when Jack sets his sights on something, he goes a little hard, and if the many times he’s threatened to ‘leave the agency and live off that sweet, sweet art appraiser salary’ are anything to go by, he is quite good.

“However, no one has been able to catch him. He leaves no physical evidence, but he always allows himself to be photographed, as you can see,” Ginger says, gesturing towards the screen.

“Show off,” Jack scoffs. “Where did they spot him?”

“London,” Ginger replies, tapping the screen again to reveal an aerial map of the city centre, two red dots corresponding with some of the pictures she’s shown you earlier. “There’s a big auction coming up and he’s expected to strike.”

Suddenly, her words are kicking in. Nathan is like.. he is kind of like a target, isn’t he? And he was spotted in London… Expected to attend an event where he could get caught...

“Ginger, are you—are you saying what I think you’re saying? You’re sending us on a mission?”

“Yes and no. It’s…” Ginger hesitates, eyes flickering to Jack quickly, then continues, “It’s a mission, but it’s not our mission. It’s… It’s at the request of Kingsman.”

But it’s a mission. A real mission, in London. And it's perfect. With Jack's art expertise and both your skills as agents, you’re sure you’d be an excellent addition to the Kingsman team for this mission. A mission. Finally—

“We ain’t goin’.”

—and then Jack says that. His voice is low and dead serious, lacking any hint of sarcasm. “You know I’m not fucking doing that.”

It takes you completely by surprise, and you whip your head around to him so quickly that the muscles in your neck protest. "What?"

He ignores the question, stares straight at Ginger. Something is seriously wrong. He’s tense, maybe even more than you’ve ever seen him. It’s in the way his jaw twitches, and how he’s gripping the arms of the chair, but most of all in his eyes; it’s something you can’t place.

“They just need someone who can look at the pieces they have at the auction house, to authenticate and appraise them before the auction,” Ginger says, “and an extra couple eyes to do surveillance during the auction.”

"You should send someone else, ‘cause I ain't doin’ it."

Ginger sighs. “You think I would ask this of you if there was someone else who could do it?”

“Come on, Ginger,” Jack laughs bitterly, a thumb coming up to swipe at his bottom lip. “No art appraisers available in London?”

“You know they can't just get a civilian in on this.” Ginger sounds frustrated now.

"Well, it’s what Kingsman is gonna have to do."

You raise a brow at the way he snarls at the word ‘Kingsman’. So that’s what this is about. “Okay,” you begin, speaking in the kindest, most understanding tone you can manage as you turn towards your incredibly stubborn partner. “Okay, clearly there’s something going on here, with - with the Kingsman, right? But maybe by going there you can…,” you gesture with your hands to find the right words, “work it out?”

He seems to consider this, lips pursing further, not looking at either you or Ginger, and after some moments of quiet contemplation, he begins to sit up. “Hypothetically — and by that I do mean hypothetically — if I were to agree… Do they even know I’m the one comin’ to consult?”

“Jack—”

“It’s a simple question,” Jack interrupts, voice slightly raised. “Yes or no?”

You give Ginger a hopeful look, but her silence says enough.

Jack lifts himself out of the chair, drawing the same conclusion. “Then there’s no chance in hell.”

"Well, do I get a say in this at all?" Your voice comes out angrier than you intended, but it’s fitting. You are angry. Angry that he’s making decisions without you again, angry that he would blow this chance for the both of you after he hasn’t shut up about how he wants to get sent out on a mission.

"Not in this one,” Jack all but barks at you.

You rise up from your chair. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry, doll, but I’m not going all the way to London to help Kingsman as some sort of… last hurray before we're back to bein’ fucking… practice bait for the recruits!" Rounding the chair, Jack makes his way to the doors to Ginger’s office.

You're about to go after him, demand he tell you what the fuck the big deal with Kingsman even is, when Ginger speaks,

"What if it isn't one last hurray?"

Jack keeps walking. “Don’t bother.”

“If you go, I can talk to Champ about sending you out on more assignments.”

Now that makes Jack stop in his tracks. He doesn’t quite turn around yet, his back is still to Ginger and yourself, but he does angle his head to the side to indicate he heard her. It’s something. You can feel your anger simmering down and your heartbeat picking up; hopeful at Jack’s hesitance, giddy at the prospect of more missions. “And all I have to do is look at the pieces?” His voice is barely any louder than a whisper.

“Look at the pieces, authenticate and appraise them, surveillance,” Ginger summarises. “That’s it.”

His hands find his hips with a sigh, and he tips his head down. He stays like that, oh so still… “Tell them I’ll do it,” he says, “but not because I want to.” Then he pushes the door open and walks away.

--

­­­“So…” You draw the word out before clicking your tongue.

You’re sitting across from Jack on the jet, still a long way from London. Ginger has arranged for one pretty much right away. Once you’ve gotten over your initial, dazzling impression of the jet – it is enormous, far too much for just two people, with a literal pool table in the middle and a fucking bar with two doors next to it that lead to the sleeping compartments – you begin quietly observing him.

He hasn’t spoken a word since you left Kentucky and, if anything, he seems to get more miserable the closer you get to your destination. The longer you see him like this, the more your enthusiasm for the mission cools, and the more you actually start to get worried this is a bad idea after all.

You have waited as long as your curiosity, and the tension, allow for it, but given the explosive start of this whole thing, you’re certain you have to know the apparent history between him and Kingsman. You’ve tried asking Ginger, as she certainly knows more about it, but she insisted it wasn’t her place to tell you. So, really, you have no choice but to bring it up now.

“When are you going to tell me what the deal is with you and Kingsman?”

“Nothin’ for you to worry about,” comes his instant reply, clearly having anticipated your question. He’s got one hand cupped along his jaw to support his head so he can stare out the small circular window, while his shoulders, judging from his posture and the expression on his face, are currently supporting the weight of the world. “It’s all gonna be just fine.”

You scoff. “Please. I’ve known you for some time now, I’ve seen you in a lot of moods, but I’ve never seen you sulk, and…,” you gesture towards him, slumped back in his seat as he is, “…you’re sulking, Jack. Clearly there’s a good reason for that.”

He sits up at your remark, adjusts his hat, then pinches the bridge of his nose, giving you a clear sign that he doesn’t want to have this conversation – at all, but especially right now. You give him a few more seconds, but when it’s clear he isn’t going to speak, you try another direction.

“Is it um, is it about Cambodia?” you gently pry.

“Woman, can’t you take a hint?” he grunts. “Or do you just like getting a rise outta me?”

“I’m not asking just because I’m curious what can get such a rise out of you,” you say. “This is an assignment, technically it’s our first official one - the bank doesn’t count,” you add quickly. “And I would just like to be a little more prepared than last time.”

“The bank counts.”

“We didn’t even know—”

“The bank counts,” he repeats, and he probably thinks he’s being oh so funny and clever right now, focussing in on your mention of your first meeting like he isn’t doing it just to try to change the subject.

“I want to know what I’m about to walk into, Jack,” you say sharply.

“We all want things, darlin’,” he says with a sigh, getting up from his seat. “I for one would like ya to stop bringin’ this up.” And then he walks off to quite possibly the only place he can escape to right now, announcing, “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Sooner or later I will find out about it, you know that, right?” you call after him, your final attempt to make him just tell you what happened.

He hesitates – it's brief, but he does, a slight change in his step, a twitch of his upper arm. But he doesn’t stop, leaving you to watch as he slips through one of the doors next to the bar and disappears out of sight.

You will yourself to keep working and wait for him to return, thumbing through the thick files Ginger sent along. But as more time passes, the letters begin to dance in front of your eyes and your eyelids get heavy with sleep. Had this seat been this comfortable before? Your body sags into the leather and you allow your thoughts to drift away from your partner’s mysterious history with Kingsman. After all, you think, naively, trying to justify letting the sleep overtake you, if Jack has decided to accept the assignment, how bad could it really be?

--

Okay. So. Turns out it could be really bad.

After touching down in London, you’d been escorted straight to the auction house, where Agents Galahad Sr. and Galahad Jr. would meet up with you. Jack had been fidgety the whole ride, leg bouncing as he resorted back to gazing out the window. You don’t know how long he had locked himself away for on the jet, but when you’d woken up, he was back in his seat across from you, case files in his lap but fast asleep, or doing a pretty good job pretending. After arriving, you entered through the sliding glass doors, and spotted two men, both sharply dressed. One was a bit older than the other, and the older one wore a pair of glasses that left one eye obscured from view. The older man had barely taken your hand in his to introduce himself, when his colleague spotted Jack, and all hell had broken loose.

Currently, you and the man you now know as Harry, if all the frantic yelling from the other agent is anything to go by, are forced to settle what has become a standoff between Jack and Harry’s colleague. They’re standing across from each other, weapons pointed at each other after Harry’s colleague aimed his at Jack, to which Jack pulled his own gun from its holster and pointed it at the other man.

“What the fuck is this, Harry? What is he doing here?”

There’s something about his tone that confirms beyond his actions that he’s more than furious. You feel a flush creep up your neck in response to the situation you find yourself in; you feel embarrassed that you have no idea what’s going on.

“Eggsy,” Harry says. “There’s no need for theatrics.”

“He’s right. Jack, put the gun away,” you say.

“Like hell – I’ll put my gun away when he puts his gun away,” Jack answers, his eyes never leaving Eggsy’s hands.

“I— Me? I should put my gun away?” Eggsy scoffs. “I’m not even puttin’ my gun down around you. Last time you pulled a gun on me, you tried to kill me—” He looks at Harry, “You tried to kill us.”

Jack sighs. “Listen, things are different now—”

He’s saying more after that, but all that you’re hearing is that he isn’t denying it, and it replaces the flush from earlier with goosebumps that break out all over your body. That’s why he didn’t want to come here. Jack, your partner Jack, had attempted to kill two Kingsman agents.

“Why are you so calm about this, Harry?” Eggsy’s voice comes out strained, and it almost sounds like a plea.

“Agent Galahad,” Harry says sharply. “You know we can’t let our personal feelings get in the way. I simply think we should give Agent Whiskey a chance to do the job he came here to do.”

“Yes,” you blurt out. “I swear, that’s all we came here to do; do the appraisal and help with the surveillance later. After that, we’ll be out of your hair.”

Eggsy looks from you to Harry and back, gripping the gun so hard it shakes, then lowers it with a sigh. “You better.” He turns his attention back to Jack. “Or I swear, I’m gonna put so many fuckin’ bullets in you that no amount of Alpha-Gel can fix it. You got that?”

“Loud and clear.”

You heave a sigh of relief when the men holster their weapons, and as if knowing exactly when to appear, the auction house assistant enters the room, blissfully oblivious to what she had just missed out on.

Her accent is posh, especially compared to Eggsy’s, when she says, “I see everyone has arrived. Shall we?”

As she leads you to the room where the paintings are being kept, the auction house assistant informs you about them. They’re all part of a week-long event, an auction to help out up and coming artists. It’s all information you already know from the preliminary work you did for this assignment. What you don’t know is that artists usually make little to nothing from their art being sold at auction houses, but that this auction has a scoop: The artists will receive royalties from works sold on the secondary market. The works up for auction tomorrow are among the most anticipated, and they’re expected to sell at a high price. And even though you’re no art expert, you can certainly see why when the assistant leads you into the room where the works are stored.

The white walls are adorned with paintings of the most beautiful artworks. They’re all landscapes -– cherry blossom by a lake, a cave lit in a way that could be described as enchanting, a waterfall between oddly shaped high rocks, a lavender field at sundown. But they’re painted in a way unlike anything you’ve ever seen on account of the dazzling colours and unusual brush strokes. It instantly makes you want to look closer; it makes you want to touch, flit your fingers over the bumps of dried paint – an instinct you obviously don’t act upon, but you want to. It’s bitter to imagine how such stunning works would not have benefitted the artist if it would be sold at another auction house…

Jack looks equally impressed, whistling as he looks around the room before he gets to work. As he does, you watch curiously, from a distance as not to disturb him – Eggsy’s leaning against the wall next to him, much less subtle about his observant role. While you watch, you take note of the care Jack is putting into his work right now, unusually patient in his methods, evident in the way the gloved tips of his fingers brush along the canvasses, how he uses his pocket magnifying glass to inspect the painting from top to bottom, and the soft tone he uses with the assistant. It’s the kind of stuff you’ve never really been able to see him do, you realize, so different from all the tactical training you went through the past few months.

By the time he’s nearly done, you’re deep in conversation with Harry. He’s polite and to the point, with a rich voice and a kind laugh. And clearly, he’s no fool. You had struck up the conversation in hopes of prying some information out of him about Jack’s history with Kingsman, but Harry changes the subject each time you try, focusing back on the “extraordinary artwork”. It’s like the universe is conspiring against you, waiting to drop the other shoe at the right moment – or maybe these agents are just too well trained…

“That fuckin’…” Lost in thought as you are, you’re startled when you suddenly hear Jack’s voice sail through the room. “We’ve got a problem,” he declares, rounding the corner, coming back into view with Eggsy hot on his heels. He’s striding over with large steps as he plucks the latex gloves off his hands, and the concern on his face is apparent; his lips are pressed together in a thin line and his brows are furrowed. He comes to a halt in front of Harry and yourself, his fingers brushing along his chin before he explains himself, “So, all of ‘em are exactly as I expected ‘em, right? Until I get to the last one, inspect the brushstrokes and… something don’t add up. I think he’s already made the switch.”

--

Jack’s unexpected discovery at the auction house had led to a small crisis. From Eggsy, who demanded to know how Jack was so sure and if he wasn’t aiding a wanted criminal again. And from the auction house personnel, who started a frantic investigation into how someone could have gotten in and out of the secured room. It was a mystery that was quickly solved when they pulled up the security footage from last night, which showed Nathan, dressed as someone from the cleaning crew, rounding the corner where the switched artwork was located with a cleaning cart, and reappeared with it moments later.

No one expected Nathan to strike before the auction; the thief usually operates in plain sight during the events he targets. It forced Harry, Eggsy, Jack and yourself to rethink your strategy, and you had agreed to meet up early next morning to come up with a new plan. The stiff goodbyes you’d shared with the Kingsman agents served as a cold reminder of how you’d arrived here.

And even now, as you’re lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, it’s an unpleasant feeling you can’t shake, a feeling that’s keeping you from sleeping more than the jetlag. Before you can think any better of it, you’re up, through the door, walking down the hallway, and knocking on Jack’s hotel room door. He opens almost immediately, and that, combined with the way he’s still dressed in yesterday’s clothes and is doing a poor job of hiding the half-empty whiskey bottle on the dresser behind him, leads you to believe he hasn’t slept a wink, either.

“Hi,” you say, brushing past him and into the room.

“You know,” he says as he closes the door, a slight slur in his voice apparent. “This isn’t how I imagined it.”

The comment throws you off. “This isn’t how you imagined what?” you ask with a frown.

He gestures towards you. “You, barging into my hotel room.”

“I—”

“Usually less clothes involved,” he interrupts with a chuckle as he walks toward the dresser and plucks the bottle off of there.

“Yeah, well…” you look down at yourself, at your sweatpants, the soft dark blue T-shirt you’re wearing, “I’m sorry this isn’t doing it for you, Jack.”

He looks up at you, cocks his head with a grin. “Oh, I didn’t say that, darlin’.”

You sigh. You’re used to this endless back and forth, the pet names, it’s what Jack does with everyone, but you’re no longer in the mood to play into his little game. “I’m not here to get you into bed, Jack.”

“Good,” he says, and he doesn’t miss a beat when he adds, “in my dreams we don’t make it to—”

“I’m here to give you one final chance to tell me what happened between you and Kingsman,” you say with a raised voice before he’s even finished.

He makes his way over to a glass table by the window where his tumbler is waiting for him, and he pours it half-full. “And what if I don’t?” he asks.

You take a deep breath. You don’t want to give him the chance to derail the conversation by hiding behind his wit. Or walking away. You’re serious, this is serious, and you want him to know it is. “If you don’t, then that means I can’t trust you.” This time, it’s you who doesn’t miss a beat when you add, “and Jack, if I can’t trust you, I can’t be your partner.” Maybe it’s a weak threat, but it’s the truth. This is your first mission together and he’s already keeping things from you. How could a partnership possibly work like this?

You’re surprised when he doesn’t immediately have a smart retort for you. Instead, your words make him freeze, and if you didn’t know better you swear it makes him sober up. You know that he can tell you’re not kidding around, can practically see the cogs turning in his head in what you assume is him making a quick list of pros and cons. After some time, he reaches for a second glass, pouring two fingers before simply asking, “Drink?”

“Depends.”

He thrusts the glass in your direction. “Take the drink and sit down.” He gestures towards one of the leather chairs next to the table, but you stand your ground, looking at his extended arm but not taking the drink from his hand. “Please,” he says, and with the way his voice slightly goes up at the end, it’s almost a question.

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that, and your legs are walking you towards him before you’ve even really accepted his invitation. You take the glass from him and plop down in the chair with a huff. You still can’t really tell if he’s serious, so you wait for him to speak.

Jack brings the glass to his mouth, throwing its contents back with one big gulp before refilling it and taking a seat himself. His hand moves up to his face, two fingers rubbing along his moustache as he looks at you and gnaws at his lip. “I erm— It’s not—” Then he averts his gaze, and after a beat of silence he settles on, “It’s a long story, though.”

You’re taken aback, not used to seeing him like this. You’ve gotten to know Jack as charming, confident, cool, but while he is stuttering out his reply, the flush in his neck creeps up to his face, and his shell seems to be cracking. He is flustered, maybe even anxious, and you have a feeling that he’s not exaggerating when he says that it’s a long story.

You nip at your drink, the oaky taste with hints of vanilla settling pleasantly in your mouth before burning down your throat. “I have plenty of time to listen.”

And so you do. You listen to him explain how Kingman and Statesman worked together to stop Poppy Adams and take down her toxic drug empire. But that, somewhere along the mission, his personal feelings got in the way. After purposefully breaking a vial of the antidote they’d stolen from one of Poppy’s facilities on Mont Blanc, he had been shot in the head by Harry, who suspected him of being a traitor. Luckily, Eggsy had reacted quickly by using Alpha-Gel, effectively saving his life. (“Even got the battle scars to prove it,” he says, pointing at the scar on the side of his face). The next thing he remembered was waking up in Kentucky, where Ginger brought his memory back. He followed the Kingsman agents to Poppy’s hideout in Cambodia, where he nearly kept them from releasing the antidote worldwide, before they overpowered him and brought him back to the States in cuffs. Naturally, he was suspended indefinitely.

Throughout his story, you’re dead silent, hanging onto his every word as you sip your drink.

“Guess I kept this from you for so long ‘cause… I didn’t want this partnership to end before it properly began. But with you comin’ in here at two in the mornin’, demandin’ to know the truth or else, I figured…” He pauses with a sigh, face twisting into a something you can’t quite place. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”

Your brain is failing to process all this information at once, and Jack takes your silence as a prompt to continue,

“And I hate it. ‘Cause for the first time in a long time, I was havin’ some fun again.” He nods at his own statement, then looks up at you, his eyes searching your face. “When we were training together and you picked up on everything I was doin’… You anticipatin’ all my moves made me wanna anticipate all o’your moves, to become attuned to you and your…your stupid little knives.” His smile falters, and there’s that look again. “I mean, we’re a good team, aren't we?”

Jack’s always chatty, but the way he’s talking right now he’s being downright loquacious. It’s probably on account of the whiskey, but it still makes you choose your words carefully, unable to be as blunt or demanding as you were earlier. “All of that training stuff,” you begin, “I think it means nothing if we can’t be honest with each other.” You pause, so your words can really land with him, before asking, “Can I trust you to do that?”

“After all that, can you trust me to do that?” He’s making that face again, and the flush on his cheeks is back and—

Oh.

Oh.

You completely forget about his question because suddenly you can place the look on his face: He’s ashamed.

He’s ashamed and he thinks you’ll see him differently from this point on and that that’s why— Wait. Do you? The weight of his story is starting to catch up to you. Because holy shit, the Poppy Adams situation last year was intense. You remember the TV broadcastings, the utter chaos across the globe, but nothing about Cambodia that could have made you connect the dots previously. Had Jack succeeded when he went after Harry and Eggsy to stop them from releasing the antidote, millions of people would have died – literally millions. Which— Yeah, that’s a lot to process. Your partner almost played a key part in allowing that to happen…

Almost.

Because here he is, all the tell-tale signs of shame suddenly apparent; the way he’s turned away from you, how his eyes keep darting away from yours, the red splotches on his neck, his quivering Adam’s apple. However, you also know that feeling ashamed isn’t the same as feeling guilty. You can feel ashamed over something that you’ve done, freeze and feel your gut twist at the memory, but still feel like it was a necessary evil. Does he feel any remorse for what he’s done? Just like that, there’s only one thing that really matters, that you need to know.

“Do you regret it?” you ask. He’s silent, and as you watch his finger trace the rim of his glass with a frown, you can tell that wasn’t what he was expecting, so you elaborate, “Cambodia, I mean.”

It makes his frown ease up. “All the time.”

You can feel yourself sag into the leather in relief before taking another swig from your glass. The whiskey seems to make you lose-lipped as well, because before you can really debate if you should push this any further right now, you’re firing another question at him. “Then why did you do it?”

It doesn’t sound accusatory – or you don’t mean it that way, at least. It’s simply curious, but it still makes Jack twitch, the liquid in his glass sloshing around with it. And as flushed as he was before on account of his candour and the alcohol, your question seems to drain all the colour from his cheeks.

“No, don’t—” He cuts himself off and grimaces at his own sharp tone, quickly correcting himself to something softer, “I think that’s enough story time for tonight, alright?”

It’s not enough, not really, but still you find yourself nodding, setting your empty tumbler down on the glass table that separates you. “We should...get some sleep, be prepared for tomorrow,” you say, standing up from the chair, wincing when you take note of the clock.

Jack makes a noise that somehow sounds detached; it’s not agreement, but not disagreement either. He makes no haste to get up, so you simply look down at him from where you stand. “See you in the morning?”

“Sweet dreams, darlin’,” is what he offers with a lopsided smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You return the sentiment with some words of your own, but have a feeling it’s in vain, that his bed will stay unkempt as it is, before you let yourself out of his room. And when the door closes behind you with a soft click, you’re left with your thoughts again, and you realize the conversation has done nothing to make you sleep easier either.

--

“Excellent, there you are.”

You’re fresh out of the car that has escorted you to a tailor shop in London. It was early. So fucking early. You hadn’t slept and can still taste hints of oak and vanilla in your throat every time you swallow. But now, inside, after passing through a secret door behind one of the changing rooms in the tailor shop, Harry’s voice is warm, dare you say pleased, when Jack and yourself report for duty, and something about his optimistic tone makes you forget about the early hour and the hotel whiskey. It makes your shoulders straighten and your head cock with interest.

And you’re clearly not the only one.

“Found anything?” Jack asks.

Harry leads you to a wall full of screens, where a Kingsman agent is frantically typing on the keyboard in front of him. “One of our agents found the stolen piece for sale on the black market.” One of the screens displays some sort of advertisement on what looked like the dark web; it had several marketplaces for illegal stolen goods.

“Son of a bitch is trying to get rid of it before the auction’s even started.” Jack scoffs.

You jerk your chin at the screen. “We need to ambush him, catch him red-handed.”

“Arrange a meeting,” Jack agrees.

“Precisely,” Harry nods.

“I’ll go,” Jack says instantly.

“Fuck no.” You hadn’t even noticed Eggsy until now. He’s leaning against one of the walls, then pushes himself off, making his way over with his arms crossed over his chest. “Absolutely not. I’ll go.”

 “‘course you are” Jack scoffs. “Probably couldn’t tell the difference between a watercolour and an acrylic painting to save your life.” The statement is more of a murmur, but it sets Eggsy off all the same.

“What’s that?”

“You couldn’t sell the bit, Galahad!” Jack exclaims. “We ain’t got the time to fight about this while someone else steals the piece from right under our sorry noses. I’m the most competent man for the job and this bastard has been doing this for years now, so we really should be fixin’ to get ourselves this meeting.”

It’s Eggsy’s turn to scoff. “Oh, so you can excuse mass murder, but draw the fuckin’ line at art theft, Whiskey?” He all but spits out Jack’s codename, walking up to him until their toes almost touch.

Jack’s chest rises as he takes a deep breath, no doubt firing up to counter, but before he can even open his mouth, you raise your voice.

“Alright, stop puffing your chests out at each other, Christ.” Neither of them so much as bat an eye. “Obviously we both want this target, correct? You asked for a Statesman agent with art knowledge, and well, this is him. So, let’s just work on this together, be professionals, and then be fucking done with this assignment. We send Jack to the meet—”

“No—” Eggsy immediately interrupts.

“Jack is going to the meet,” you repeat louder, giving Eggsy a look. “He’s the least likely to be made because he actually possesses the art knowledge to make it convincing and…,” you pause for a second to swallow, and the taste of whiskey still prevalent in your mouth immediately takes you back to the night before, “…and I know you don’t trust him, but I do. I can vouch for him, hell, I’ll even go with him if it makes you all feel better, but Jack goes.”

You don’t miss the way Jack’s head whips around to you, but before you can turn to meet his gaze, Eggsy is speaking again. “He’ll make you right away.”

“You have a tech guy here, right?” You ignore his statement to continue explaining your plan. Your hands land on the shoulders of the man behind the keyboard. “Pretty sure he can put together some fake credentials and create the fake online presence of a pristine, wealthy art collector – a website, social media, news articles, the works. We’ll suggest a public place to meet up, like a restaurant, all to give the target some false sense of security… and then we take him in.”

No one says anything for a while, until Harry, who had been watching the scene before him silently, finally gives his verdict, “I think it sounds like a fine plan. Get to work,” he orders the Kingsman agent behind the keyboard.

“And what about you?” Eggsy asks you, clearly displeased.

You shrug. “I don’t know, I can pose as like… a waitress?”

--

You adjust your tie in the mirror or the restaurant bathroom, then fold the collar of your dress shirt into place and smooth your hands down over the apron you’re wearing; to play the part you have to look the part. Although… You’re pretty sure the average waiter doesn’t have knives and a gun hidden away in a thigh holster under their apron. You hadn’t been entirely serious, but you were nothing if not true to your word, playing the role you’d suggested. You take one last look at yourself in the mirror before exiting the restaurant bathroom to take your position.

As you enter the restaurant, you find it’s mostly empty, just like Kingsman has arranged it to be. Your eyes find Jack, tucked away into a corner close to the door, having also done his best to look the part. His hair is in its usual side part, but somewhat slicked back, and he’s wearing a navy suit that’s much fancier than the ones he usually wears. You pass his table quickly, your eyes meeting briefly, and he nods at you once as you take your place in front of the window across from his table.

Daytime is the perfect time at a restaurant to clean the windows, right?

Your supplies to really sell your performance are already waiting for you, and you reach down to dip a cloth into the warm water, wringing it out above the bucket before bringing it up to the window. Via the glass, you can see the reflection of the table Jack’s sitting at, and the look on his face makes you want to turn to him, to reassure him one last time—

“I’ve got eyes,” Harry’s voice suddenly informs you through your earpiece. “Target approaching on foot, alone.”

Behind you, Jack sits up at the message, face transforming, relaxing, visibly slipping into the role of rich art collector. You focus yourself back on your work, rubbing the cloth along the window as your eyes search for the target through the glass. And then you see him approaching the restaurant with quick, short steps. He’s even more slender in person, but has the same pair of round glasses perched on his nose. His short, blond hair dances in the wind, and he brings one hand up to smooth it back down onto his head while the other hand carries a black briefcase.

You bring your hand up to the side of your face and press the little button on the earpiece. “Target confirmed,” you say. “Permission to continue mission?”

“Message received,” comes Harry’s reply. “Continue mission. Good luck, agents.”

Nathan enters the restaurant shortly after, and you will yourself to focus on your fake task at hand. Leaning down to wet the cloth again before getting back to work, you hear Nathan and Jack making introductions, and in the reflection you see him take his place across from Jack, setting his briefcase down next to his chair.

“I must say I’m surprised about getting an offer so soon.” Nathan checks his watch. “The auction hasn’t yet ended and the piece we discussed is… at the auction.”

“Technically,” Jack replies.

The man chuckles at that. “Technically, indeed.” He pauses, narrows his eyes. “Tell me, how did you know?”

Jack folds his hands and places them on the table as he begins his story. “Given my… reputation, I was allowed to view the pieces ahead of the auction and I found myself… distressed, when I realized my personal favourite piece was, in fact, a forgery. You see, it was damn near perfect, but then I noticed the brushstrokes; the way they were angled. I know about your…” Jack pauses, searching for the right word, “methods, and I knew I had to get in contact. Figured I could get the piece for a much better price from you than I could at any auction.”

“And how would you know about my…,” Nathan pauses, mirroring Jack’s earlier intonation, “methods?”

Shit. There’s a slight hitch in your stroke of the cloth along the window. What if he just made Jack? In the reflection you can see your partner’s look of contemplation, how he’s almost calculating what to say next and how to do it. You drop the fabric from your hand to land into the bucket by your feet, and take the dishcloth that’s slung over your shoulder to wipe your hands dry as you listen.

“I’m simply an admirer. Of this work, o’course,” Jack says, gesturing towards the briefcase next to the chair. “But also of your work.” Jack leans in, speaks softly when he asks, “Is it true, about the Chinese gu?”

Nathan doesn’t answer definitively, but his lips purse in a pleased smile before he pushes his glasses farther up his nose. “You’ve done your homework.” He sounds impressed, and you can’t help but be amused at the way Jack’s feeding this guy exactly what he needs to hear right now.

Leaning back in the chair, Jack matches the other man’s expression and gives him a casual shrug. “Told you, I’m an admirer.” He pauses, eyes drifting down to the case next to the chair, then asks, “Can I see the piece?”

There’s a long moment where Nathan doesn’t answer, but then, without a word, he reaches for the briefcase, clicks it open and gives Jack a view of the artwork inside.

Jack whistles. “Gorgeous,” he says, looking up at Nathan with an impressed smile. “Your replica looks just like it.”

Nathan smiles proudly, and you know you’ve got him when you hear what he says next, “You won’t believe how easy it is, especially with these smaller pieces.” He seems to catch himself, too; cheeks flushing the slightest bit before he’s checking his watch again. “Listen, I hate to cut this short, but I have another appointment; let's wrap this up, shall we?”

Jack shifts, looking down as if he’s contemplating the question. “I don’t think so.” He reaches inside of his suit jacket, produces his gun from its holster and points it at Nathan under the table, removing the safety with a soft click. “You’re gonna come outside with me – calmly, quietly, no need to make a fuss – and we’re gonna make sure every bit of stolen artwork is gonna go back to their rightful owners.”

Across from him, Nathan moves fast – surprisingly fast. He pulls his own gun from his jacket, points it at Jack. “Do you think I’d come here unprepared? I’ll tell you how we’re gonna do this: You’re gonna let me walk—”

As he talks, you glance over your shoulder, take in their positions, guns out but hidden from view of the rest of the restaurant. You look at Jack, and he doesn’t look at you, but his head jerks in a short nod. You turn away again, hand slipping under your apron, fingers flitting over one of the smaller blades in the holster before slowly slipping it out of the leather.

“—I mean, what’s your plan, hmm?” Nathan asks. “To shoot me here? For everyone to see? Whether you’re law enforcement or not, I know you’re not gonna do that.”

Jack’s grip on his gun tightens. “And you are?”

You turn and bend down, and to the untrained eye it would look like you were about to tie your shoelaces. During your movement, you swing the knife and throw it towards the table in front of you. There’s a soft swoosh, and then the knife lands in Nathan’s thigh with a squelching sound. He yelps, reaches for his leg, and in the process, the gun drops from his hand. Jack catches it effortlessly before it can clatter to the ground, then kicks at the bottom of Nathan’s chair. It sends the man tumbling backwards, the wood hitting the floor with a thump. You’re back on your feet in no time, rushing over to shield the man from the view of the few people in the restaurant, shoulder to shoulder with your partner who had the same idea.

“Oh, sir! Are you okay?” you ask, kneeling down to pull the knife from his thigh. He keens in response as you hide the blade away in the pocket of your apron.

“Oof,” Jack says, making a face and holding the lapels of his jacket as he looks down at the squirming man at his feet. “Came clattering down harder than a screen door in a storm.”

“I know,” you say with faux-concern, taking a hold of Nathan’s hand and pressing it down over the wound with a wet sound. “That was quite a fall! Let’s get you up, we should get you some air. Come on.” He struggles against you, but with a firm grip on his arm, you still him, then haul him onto his feet. You look at Jack with a knowing grin. “Sir, can you help me get this man outside?”

--

You find yourself watching from below the overhang of the restaurant, sheltered from the London weather, as Jack escorts Nathan to Harry and Eggsy, who are waiting by a dark car. As Eggsy helps Nathan into the backseat, Harry sticks his hand out at Jack, who contemplates the gesture for a split-second before taking Harry’s hand and shaking it. They exchange some words, briefly look in your direction, but you’re too far away to really make out what they’re saying. Eggsy closes the car door and watches the two agents, seemingly contemplating if he’s going to follow his colleague’s example, and you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when he does. Jack says his goodbyes in the form of a two-finger salute, then turns to make his way to you.

“Well?” you ask when he stands next to you, leaning back against the window as you both watch the car drive off. “Did we save the art world?”

“Close enough,” he says. “Harry said to thank you on Kingsman’s behalf, and that they’ll handle it from here on out. They just… want our mission reports within the week.”

You groan, eyes closing and shoulders dropping at the reminder. “That was the one thing I hadn’t missed about going on missions…”

Jack grunts softly, in agreement, you think, then says, “Think it was a successful first assignment together?”

“I’d say all the training’s paid off,” you say, shifting and knocking your shoulder against his. “Be sure to mention that in your mission report, yeah?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jack chuckles shortly, then shuffles his feet and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Been meanin’ to ask you… Did you mean what you said earlier? ‘Bout trustin’ me?”

You look at him, trying to determine whether he’s really asking or just being a dick, but he keeps looking straight ahead, his expression giving nothing away.

“I did.” You pause before adding, “I wouldn’t be much of a partner if I didn’t, right?”

He cracks, the corners of his mouth turning upwards, a slight hint of a smile appearing. He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You are a good liar…”

You can’t help but match his expression, thinking back to how exasperated he looked in the red flickering lights of the training space days ago. “I’m not that good.”

He’s quiet after that, head tipping down to look at his shoes as his eyebrows knit together and his tongue comes out to wet his lips. It feels tense, suddenly, and you don’t know if it’s because you said something you shouldn’t have. Does he not believe you? Maybe it’s just your imagination. You think of something to say to break the tension, or to at least change the subject.

“It was my wife,” Jack suddenly says, head shooting up to look directly ahead again and straightening his back.

Your mouth opens, then closes, seriously doubting if you’ve heard him right. With a confused shake of your head, you ask him, “Sorry, what was that?”

He clears his throat. “My wife. She’s why I turned on the agency.”

You frown, even more confused than before. “You never told me you’re married.”

He’s pausing again and your heartbeat picks up, cheeks heating at the idea that he has mentioned his wife and that you simply forgot. It’s just that Jack… He didn’t seem to be the type to be in a serious relationship. You rack your brain, going over the interactions you’ve had with him and scanning for the word ‘wife’ or ‘spouse’ or—

“Was,” he corrects. “It was years ago and... she died.”

—oh.

There had been so much emotion in his voice, and it’s all so unexpected that he knocks the absolute wind out of you with it. He almost doesn’t look like himself when he finally looks at you. He takes a breath before he continues, “Two methamphetamine users killed her durin’ a robbery. She was pregnant with our son and… and I guess, in my fucked up mind, that justified—”

“Stop,” you say. “You were right earlier. It’s— You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me.”

“You were right,” he presses. “And I thought you oughta know it, ‘cause I—” He stops himself with a bitter chuckle before continuing, “Christ, this is gonna sound so fuckin’ cheesy, but… The whole thing in Cambodia, that’s not who I wanna be. I wanna be… better, y’know? Do the right thing, be a good agent, not be a shitty partner, the whole nine yards, and I… I’ve been thinking on it and I think it starts with trust.” He cocks his hip, hooks his fingers in his belt loops, and it might have been somewhat funny if he didn’t look so bashful when he peers up at you after. “And me workin’ on my communication skills and bein’ earnest, which I’m honest to God tryin’ my damnedest at right now,” he adds with a hint of a smile. “That sound acceptable to you?”

Blinking up at him, you let his words wash over you. You had truly meant it when you said you trusted him back in the hotel, and with the way he is standing across from you, all but wearing his heart on his sleeve, you trust him to be truthful and genuine with you now. There is only one answer you could give him.

“Yes.

[saturnsummer]

the fairytale she never had (will you believe again?)

when sol is invited to a wedding, sol doesn’t think her best friend would follow her. 

aka: solhwi attending a wedding

notes: it just struck me one day, and i really wanted them to see each other outside of the law school moments! while law school defines them, they are certainly people with social activities.

 i adapted this from a similar prompt i saw from a fic many years ago for a separate fandom, and i always wanted to write something similar. this was honestly not met to be multi-part, but i write too much anyways. so multi-part it will be.

 also, it might sound depressing in the initial part where sol is talking about the wedding invitation, but it gets explained later on. 

as always, enjoy! any grammar mistakes and all will be taken fully responsible by me!

ao3 link

words: 4135 words

I: 我愿变成童话里, 你爱的那个天使 (i am willing to be the angel of that fairytale you love)

--title inspired by fairytale (童话) by Michael Wong!--

Sol absolutely hates weddings. 

She hated the big social crowds, the way drunk men in tuxedos staggered around with women in one arm and a drink in another. She found no purpose in dressing in lavish gowns, then eating dinner for the next two hours without even feeling full. 

Sol couldn’t blame anyone but herself for this. She can’t help but remember her mother’s failed marriages. The way her biological father left them in the middle of the night, with all their hard earned savings. The way her stepfather, Byeol’s father, would come home drunk and violent towards her mother. It was a memory she couldn’t erase. More than a decade later, she still wakes up in a cold sweat, worrying for her mother and small Byeol’s life. 

She long ago gave up on the concept of love back then. She wasn’t opposed to anyone dating or talking about it, and she certainly didn’t mind short flings. But marriage? Eternal love? The fairytale that everyone hopes to achieve? Sol threw those ideas out of the window. 

So when Sol received a thick, cream-coloured card and envelope, embossed with rose gold foil and flowers, a pretty silver wax seal and her name written in careful strokes of a calligraphy brush, she was stumped. 

Her friend, Im Jiyoon, was getting married. Jiyoon was a good friend of Sol’s, and they occasionally met up for quick meals. Jiyoon was an accountant and climbing the ranks in her company. They lost contact for a period when Sol was in juvie, but they reconnected when Sol was just starting law school. It was only polite that Jiyoon extended invitations to her high school classmate. 

Sol had mixed feelings. The wedding was on a Friday night, which made things good since she didn’t have to wake up early, fitting her schedule properly. But she had nothing to wear. She could borrow a dress and shoes from Yeseul, but the last time she borrowed a shoe from Yeseul, she almost broke her ankle. And she had so much work to catch up on. Yet, not showing up felt rude of her. 

Jiyoon was nice, don’t get her wrong. She was smart, resourceful and lovely to be with in high school. Sol wanted nothing more than for her high school friend to marry the love of her life. But she hasn't been to such social events in years, and being so focussed on school, the legal clinic and contributing to her family, she found it difficult to understand why she needed to go, besides doing it out of courtesy. 

“What’s that?” A familiar voice pipes from behind, drawing her out of her thoughts. There’s the familiar shuffling of several pairs of feet as Sol turns her attention to the one who spoke. Behind her, was Han Joon Hwi with his bag just being set on the table. The rest of the group was just settling in for another study session.

“Ah, nothing important.” She monotonously says before sliding the card in her files. Joon Hwi’s hands catch the card before she can slide it fully and stop her from hiding it from him, or the rest of the group. The rest draw their attention to the expensive card and Sol only stays silent. 

“A wedding? Your friend’s?” Yeseul asks as she picks the card up with perfectly manicured fingers. Turning and feeling the thick paper between her fingers, Yeseul knew it was no cheap manufactured paper. This was expensive, premium, and each card looked handmade from the brush calligraphy. 

“Yeah. But I don’t think I’m going.” Sol says as Yeseul returns her the card and successfully stores it away in her bag. 

“Why not? Don’t you want to be there?” Joon Hwi asks, cocking his head to the side in utter confusion.

“There isn’t much point, is there? I have school and the legal clinic and things to revise for. And besides, I don't have anything to attend in. I just rather send her a gift and treat her a meal.” Sol simply explains. Everyone bombards her with more questions, but she diverts their attention to her paper and the cases they are reviewing today.

Joon Hwi, however, couldn’t get Sol’s reasoning out of his head. He knew Sol well enough to know how much she values her friends, and that she would be willing to drop everything for a friend. Her loyalty was unmatched. It didn’t make sense that she would be held back by her vanity or school work that caused her to not attend such a joyous occasion. 

When everyone is done reviewing the cases and the session ends, Sol is the only one who has her books and papers still scattered all over the table. She still has to review her notes and catch up on a few lectures before she can officially end her day. Joon Hwi was long done, but he stayed put, bringing out a past report he’s done and glancing through it, hopeful to catch any mistakes. The others have headed back or gone to the cafeteria for a meal. 

“Han Joon Hwi, you don’t have to stay for me, you know?” Sol says, her eyes not once looking up as she stays concentrated highlighting her book with a fluorescent orange highlight. She sticks it in her hair when she’s done, raising her head to meet Joon Hwi’s eyes. Joon Hwi only smiles, letting his eyes crinkle. 

“Why don’t you want to attend the wedding?” Joon Hwi asks, still smiling. Sol scoffs. 

“I already said. I’m too busy-” Sol is cut off by Joon Hwi with his teasing. 

“You sure? I think it’s about the groom, though.” Joon Hwi smiles brightly, earning an irritated series of clicks of her tongue from Sol, clearly successful in being teased.

“None of that sort! Who do you think I am, Han Joon Hwi?” Sol rebuts back, throwing her eraser across to him in annoyance.

 Joon Hwi catches it with a laugh, but doesn’t lose eye contact with Sol. A few moments of silence follow, as she looks at the file with the card. Slowly, she draws the card from her file, holding it carefully between her fingers. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to be there. I… it’s my first time going to such a social event in such a long time. And the last time I met Jiyoon was a year ago, back in our 1L.” She says softly, letting her fingers brush her calligraphed name.

“I just… rather not go, you know? Treat her to a nice meal somewhere, maybe a couple drinks. Besides, I’m sure she’s just doing it out of courtesy.” She lets out a light laugh. 

Joon Hwi’s heart softens. He’s witnessed Sol in her different elements. The courtroom, where she’s a powerful woman in command, dressed professionally in a suit and hair in a perfect ponytail. The day-to-day her, where she’s comfortably dressed in jeans and her tanned coat, hair in a bun and post it notes on her jacket. She was always so bold, so confident and so full of fire. It never occurred to him that she would be uncomfortable in social events. She was always the life during dinners, with Bokgi. She laughed loudly, engaged in conversations and seemed so comfortable. He remembers how she would help out the old halmeonis with her neighbourhood on some days when he sent her home, or the times she bought ice creams for Byeol’s classmates. She seemed so extroverted, yet so closed off. Eying her, Joon Hwi reaches out and clasps his hand over hers in an attempt to comfort. 

“I never went to school events, you know? Especially since juvie made me miss it. When I redid my high school year, I didn’t go too. There wasn’t much of a point, since I didn’t have a date or many friends to begin with. If it was Dan, she would have gone, being the popular girl she was back then.” Sol softly says, a small smile ghosting her face.

She remembers the day prom arrived for her school. She was expectant, hoping that the boy she liked would invite her. Or maybe the girls that she occasionally had lunch with will invite her to hang out. But all she got was a stone cold silence the weeks leading up to prom. When everyone buzzed on what they were wearing to prom night, she silently put on her headphones, drilling herself into her science assignments. Of course, she wouldn’t be invited.

She knew the rumours floating in school. How Dan was the perfect one, how she was the failed one. She knew everyone knew she went to juvie. She knows how the boys snicker at her when she walks past them, or how the girls gossip and whisper when she’s eating her lunch. Besides, it didn't help that she was poor. She can’t even afford a dress of her own, let alone go to the event.

Realising what she’s said, Sol quickly draws her hand away along with the card and slots it away in her file. 

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to blabber on. You must think it’s stupid, I think so too. Anyways, do you have the notes Professor Kim...” Sol quickly apologises and diverts her attention to her notes. But Joon Hwi was no longer listening. He was shattered by how the woman sitting in front of him has never been treated like how she should be treated. It was no secret to Joon Hwi that he cared for his friends, but cared a little more for Sol. He was the one that left post-it notes on her table and pretended he didn't. She was the only one that he would let steal a mouth or two from his ramyeon. He could read her moods just from her eyes. He wonders sometimes, if he sees her more than a friend. 

He won’t hide that she’s beautiful. The way her eyes slant in an elegant fashion, her smooth, slightly tanned skin, and her winning smile that he always found his heart beating faster for. He loves the way she smiles at her extra pickles, the way her eyes light up when she sees Byeol, or the way she argues and practices. The tenacity and desire she has to improve inspires him to work as hard as her. 

This is why when Sol spilled the beans, he couldn't help but feel all sorts of emotions. Anger, towards the people in her school, for not realising such a wonderful student. Anger towards her for degrading herself. Sadness, for her not being able to experience such events. 

As Joon Hwi ended the session with her and returned to his room, he made a promise to Sol. He’s convinced it will work, and he begins planning in his head. 

He will show her the fairytale. 

-----

A week passed. 

Sol had to give a reply in a few days and she has not figured out what to say. The wedding was in a month. She knew Jiyoon would be busy... Sol figures that she should just treat Jiyoon after her honeymoon, knowing how she would be away with her husband as newlyweds later on. 

“Still thinking about the wedding?” Joon Hwi nods at her, her head in her hands. Sol, looking defeated, nods. So much for trying to hide. They were at their pantry area of their dorms, Sol stirring her ramyeon, as Joon Hwi slurps his. It was 3am, and they just finished studying. The next day was a weekend, so it didn’t really matter if they slept late, since they got the privilege of sleeping in.

“What do I tell Jiyoon? I don’t want to sound rude.” Sol mumbles, lazily stirring her soggy noodles.

“Go to the wedding.” Joon Hwi says suddenly, continuously slurping. 

“What?!”

“Sol, how many weddings can you even go to in your life? Are you sure you want to miss this one? Besides, you said you haven’t been to social events. Don’t you want to experience it?” Joon Hwi says, adrenaline building in his voice. 

Sol falls silent. She can’t deny that she wants to experience the feeling of being dolled up, the fun that everyone talks about, and the enjoyment that everyone goes through. And Joon Hwi is right; she wants to celebrate with Jiyoon. But her fear of social events and the past was holding her back. 

Joon Hwi could tell the change in her eyes. He gives a sweet smile, knowing that he said enough to change her mind. 

“Joon Hwi, but what if she doesn’t even-” Sol begins doubting herself as she shoots off her doubts and worries. Joon Hwi calms her down with logical reasons, calming her nerves in between his mouths of ramyeon. 

“But... I’ll be alone there, right?” Sol asks, her voice so soft, Joon Hwi barely picks it up. Her ramyeon is still untouched, and the noodles have gotten soggy and cold. Sol is silent for a moment, as she realises how right she is, for once. It wasn’t like she could ask a date, she doesn’t even have one. And her friends from the study group were out of the question. They don’t even know Jiyoon. Joon Hwi quickly brings up his bowl to his face, hopefully covering it as he feels the heat rising to his face.

“I’ll be your plus-one.”

Sol’s eyes light up and her head rises. Did she hear that right? Han Joon Hwi, her plus-one? 

“Oh, no! No, I didn’t mean it like that! Joon Hwi, no, I can’t-” Sol can’t find the right words to say. He can't? He shouldn’t? He doesn't need to? Sol can’t deduce her own reasonings for this argument. She knows her roommate likes him, and she definitely doesn’t want to be the target of her roommate’s stares if she catches wind of this. Besides, Joon Hwi doesn’t like her. She knows, and she doesn’t want him to get any wrong ideas. He’s her best friend, and confidante. She knows, deep down, his heart is someone else's. 

“I want to.” 

Sol freezes as Joon Hwi finishes drinking his soup. Placing the bowl down, he does as best as he can to lock eyes with Sol seriously, showing her he wasn’t teasing. No, this was out of his sincere heart. He knows how nervous she gets in a new environment, and him being next to her was bound to calm her nerves just a little more.

Sol could see the genuine care and want in his eyes. She knows this isn’t one of his jokes or teases. For a split second, she catches herself thinking if he meant something more. That going as a date, was more than just keeping her company, but for something to develop… 

Her face is flushed red as she looks at her puffed noodles and lukewarm soup. She picks her chopsticks up but is stopped by Joon Hwi’s hand as he shifts the bowl toward him, away from her. 

“Get yourself a fresh one. This is the first meal all day, isn’t it?” Joon Hwi calls her out, covering her noodles. Sol wants to argue for her soggy noodles, but she falls silent knowing how he revealed her secret. She hasn’t eaten all day after running reports and studying. Grumbling, she does as instructed and boils another bowl of ramyeon. When she’s back at the table with a fresh, hot, spicy and red bowl, she dives into it, wondering how she managed to survive the whole day. 

Joon Hwi only gives a small smile looking at the girl slurping her noodles with delight and looking at her. Joon Hwi wasn’t lying. He did want to be her plus-one for the wedding. He knew that more than just being a comfort for Sol, he wanted to make this one day a day she could look back and smile at. That she could be pretty, relaxed and happy instead of stressing over her grades, exams and family. 

“Fine.” Sol says as she continues slurping the spicy noodles. She blesses the spiciness of the noodles, such that she could blame her pink blush on it. Joon Hwi, clearing the cold noodles and getting water for both of them tilts his head in confusion. 

“Come with me to the wedding, if you want to.” She mutters softly, almost shy to let him know. To hide her blush and hide her confusion, she lifts the still hot bowl to her face. She drinks the soup, but chokes on the spiciness. Joon Hwi lets out a light chuckle before passing her a bottle of cold water. Sol looks at him with narrowed eyes of annoyance, but graciously takes the water. 

As he watches Sol eat her first bowl, then a second, as Joon Hwi munches on some crackers, he only smiles and laughs at whatever Sol was complaining about her reports and her frustrations at her cases that she picked. He lets out comforting words, but is rebutted back with Sol saying he will never get it because he’s smart unlike her. 

As he went to bed that night, he only gave a giddy smile, burying his face in his sheets. He scored his point of taking Sol out on a date, and was already counting down. He officially succeeded in the first step of his plan. 

The rest of it required a little bit of help. But he knew who to ask. 

-----

“Yeseul! What is it that you need to wake me up on a weekend? I was up until 4am last night!” Sol grumbles as she places her phone on speaker, rubbing her eyes. It was 8am, way too early for Sol to process any emergencies. Well, if it was Yeseul, she would do it any time. 

“Sorry, unnie. But it’s urgent. Could you meet me in 10 minutes at the lobby?” Yeseul’s bright voice echos. Sol notices her roomie’s bed made, pillows nicely fluffed and sheets tucked in neatly in pure perfection. She isn’t surprised, considering how she gets up early anyways.

“Fine.” Sol says and hangs up, getting a fresh change of clothes and heading to the bathroom to wash up. She throws on a hoodie, grabbing her only tanned ochre coat and grabs her bag, before jogging downstairs to the lobby. There, Yeseul is standing there, with a sling black bag and with one of the many nude heels she has, hair styled to perfection.

“Unnie!” Yeseul waves her hand over. Walking closer, Sol notices two other familiar friends behind as she scoffs. 

“Joonhwi? Bokgi? What are you doing here?” She asks, her hand playing with the strap of her bag unconsciously. She was surprised to see Joonhwi, but even more Bokgi, who usually spends mornings sleeping in. Joonhwi only gives his usual cheeky smile and drags a drowsy Bokgi with him out towards to the main entrance of the school. Dumbfounded, Yeseul takes this moment to link her arm with Sol’s as she leads her out and catch Sol up to their agenda today. 

“What?! You’re bringing me where?” Sol exclaims, her voice echoing throughout the lobby. Yeseul shushes her as she drags a shocked Sol out of school. Yeseul didn't need the whole school to know where Sol was going. 

“Unnie, please? You need a dress for the wedding, and don’t think you are going to go in one of mine or your old ones! Besides, you promised to go shopping with me one day, right?” Yeseul defends herself as Sol sighs. 

Yeseul wasn’t wrong. The wedding was just a week away and she had absolutely nothing to wear. She owned a couple pairs of flats, but they were so old, it would be embarrassing to attend with those. And her dresses were either too big or too small. She was so caught up with school after submitting her reply to Jiyoon, that she would have forgotten about the wedding if it wasn’t for the post-it on her bedside wall. 

“But...but...” Sol couldn’t find any reasons to counter. She knew Yeseul was right. Besides, it’s a weekend. And they had no upcoming tests or projects, so there was no harm in doing something besides studying in the copy room. She nods, defeated, earning a smile from Yeseul. 

“Wait, then why is Joonhwi and- Who’s car is that?!” Sol’s thoughts are cut off when she sees a familiar black sedan waiting by the entrance as Sol and Yeseul just exit. In the car, she manages to see a Joonhwi in the driver’s seat and Bokgi riding shotgun. 

“Yah! Han Joon Hwi! Isn’t this my roomie’s car?” She shouts as she strides a couple of steps when Joonhwi rolls the window down. 

“She loaned me the car for today. Don’t want you carrying so many things back from shopping today.” He replies curtly. Bokgi opens his passenger side door on the right.

“Bokgi-”

“Noona, sit in front. I’m too tired to watch Joonhwi-hyung drive.” Bokgi mutters before he climbs into the backseat with Yeseul. Sol wordlessly settles into the seat next to Joonhwi, who only looks at her with a smile. Sol catches his odd looks and pauses.

“What?”

“Ready for shopping?” He has his cheeky smile on again. Sol glares in annoyance before turning behind to Yeseul. 

“Did you make him drive?” Yeseul shakes her head and spills out her defensive explanation.

“Oppa called me up yesterday! He just said he needed my help to accompany you shopping for a dress!”

“Then, why is Bokgi here? Trying on dresses too?”

“Noona! I’m listening!” Joonhwi only laughs and shakes his head.

“He’s just accompanying me.” Joonhwi says as he begins to drive off. 

Well, Joonhwi wasn't lying. He waited till their quizzes and projects were over before executing this. He knew Sol was busy, and had waited for the busy season to pass before calling Yeseul. He explained that he knew Sol would not go shop for a dress, and he needs her help to accompany him and her. She willingly, too willingly, agreed. 

Next, he asked Sol B if he could borrow her car, knowing how Sol was not going to go home with just one dress and one pair of shoes when Yeseul was involved. Sol B was skeptical, but just passed the keys over to him. Besides, she was going to be in school studying all day; she didn’t need the car. Bokgi joined in, as Joonhwi couldn’t spend hours on end waiting for the ladies to shop. On further thought, Bokgi just might help him out with something. 

“I could go myself with Yeseul. You didn’t have to wake up for this.” Sol mutters just loud enough for him to hear, fiddling with her fingers. Joonhwi returns with a light scoff.

“As if you’ll do it.” Sol glares at him from the side and is ready to punch him, but retracts her hand, knowing she might literally kill everyone in the car. The ride from the school to the bustling heart of Seoul is a rough twenty minute ride. Bokgi takes this time to catch a wink and Sol does the same, but she can't seem to do it. 

Something about Joonhwi bringing her out to buy a dress specially made her heart flutter a bit more than usual. She knew that Joonhwi cared for her. The ways that he left rolls of gimbaps and energy drinks as opposed to coffee on her table during her tough days. The moments when he would offer his jacket as a pillow wordlessly when she wanted to rest her head after hours of studying. The unspoken synchronisation between them was just a showing of how they understood each other inside and out. 

Sol thought nothing of it. She knew him as long as she stepped into school when he saved her from Professor Yang. They spent almost everyday studying, having classes and eating together. After all, they are best friends, and don’t best friends do this? They look out for each other, right?

He is going to be my plus-one at Jiyoon’s wedding. He’s taking me to shop for a dress. 

Sol wonders, truly for the car ride as she stares outside at the blue skies and empty streets of Seoul, if Han Joonhwi meant more than friends to her. If… she wanted more. 

Deep down, she couldn’t deny hoping for more. She liked the way he looked at her, eyes crinkled and smiling in half moons, the sweet smile that she couldn’t help but return. She has never had many relationships, considering her experience in school and afterwards. She was just too busy; too focussed. Seeing how this man cared for her just made her feel so… special. 

She has never felt that way.

[dark128]

KNOCKOUT - CHAPTER 11

“Do you want me to?” 

Bo nods down at the condom Harry’s stiffly holding onto. He’s coiled up so tight that it would be a bad idea to let her undress him. He’s having a difficult enough time as it is just toying with the inevitable of her touching him, let alone below the waist. 

Bo had watched in fondness from her spot lounging on the bed as Harry moved from candle to candle, lighting as many as he could before the flame on the match got too low. She’d laughed at his explanation for not striking a second match, claiming there was a fine line between romantic and sacrificial. 

But now in this soft, flickering room, she smiles at him and he almost loses his nerve. 

“No, it’s alright, I’ve got it.” Kneeing closer to her across the mattress, “just lay back,” Harry encourages softly.

On second thought, that’s probably the worst thing he could of suggested because now Bo’s laid beneath him and he’s acquired an audience to a process that makes his hands shake. Hair splays on his pillows and it’s been so long since he’s had something so pretty occupy his bed. 

She’ll linger on his sheets. The smell of her perfume and the fleeting heat of her body which escapes once the covers are peeled back, both temporary, both are not enough. He craves so much more. But the memory will be permanent. 

Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way she’s looking at him now, like he hung the moon and every star in the sky. 

He swallows before going through the motions of unbuttoning his jeans and sliding the zip. The full weight of her gaze lands on his stomach as the bottom of his t-shirt is taken between his teeth to hold it up and out of the way. Fingertips unwittingly tickle as Bo traces his hip and on towards his belly button. And he sort of hopes she misses the goosebumps it raises on his skin.

As Harry gently presses to widen her legs, the winsome charm she led with earlier seems to escape her. He’s left feeling fully endeared by her absent fiddling of his belt loop.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

There’s a smile but it lacks prowess and so Harry removes himself from looming over her and comes to lay beside her. Bo shifts into him.

“We’ve had sex before.”

It’s quiet because he doesn’t want to disturb the delicacy they’ve slipped into. Facing each other, it’s still a little difficult to comprehend that he’s with her now. She’s in his tiny basement flat where the hot water is temperamental and the floorboards creak in odd places along the hall. 

“I know. But it feels new,” she softly smiles, thumb lightly rubbing at the tattoo on his hip. 

Her beauty has become more refined in the five years they’ve known each other, more of a classic look that has Harry pinned every time she holds his eye contact. Despite her wishes for a growth spurt, Bo stands at the same height against Harry’s shoulder. But now there’s a confidence in the way she holds herself, filled with achievements and future aspirations. 

He can’t really imagine what she’s seeing. He’s been greeted by this image of tattoos and damaged eye every morning for years whilst he brushes his teeth in the bathroom mirror. So perhaps this intimacy does feel new to her now. 

He’s pliantly patient as he waits for Bo to initiate further contact between them. They talk quietly, muffling laughter into the pillow as Harry recounts one of his mishaps in the kitchen. It’s not long before she’s bashfully rubbing her nose to his and Harry’s sighing into the sweet kiss they share. 

He welcomes the palm warming his side and it’s when she gets a little more handsy that Harry encourages Bo to seat herself upon his lap. Sat with his back to the coolness of the wall, there’s a heavy clash in temperature between the brickwork and the woman he holds close. And whether wilfully calculated or involuntary, Bo’s hip movements are progressing the thoughts in Harry’s one-track mind. The longing of experiencing another person so intimately is finally being quelled, soft mouths and testing fingertips reaffirming to the both of them. 

But it’s the tug to Bo’s hair that sharply clears the heavenly ascent, lacking in any sort of lustful passion and is instead leaning more towards unintentional pain. She breaks the kiss, fingers wrapping Harry’s wrist.

“AaaaAA,” Bo’s pitch escalates as he attempts to remove the hand riddled with silver rings from her hair. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Harry fusses. 

She’s instructed to hold still, huffing out a sigh, whilst Harry sorts the situation out with a commentary of swears. Looking like she’s sucking on a lemon, Bo obediently follows Harry’s lead as he adjusts so he’s not working in his own shadow. Once she's free, her hair is tangled enough to make drawing her fingers through it bit of a pain. 

Harry twists the rings off his fingers, throwing them in irritation to the bedside. Another colourful curse falls from his mouth as he shuffles them both down the bed before flopping backwards onto the mattress. Bo watches as he rubs his eyes with tightly clenched fists. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighs through his hands that are currently covering his face.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I cocked that up.”

Still currently residing in Harry’s lap, she’s not quite sure if she should remove herself given that the mood has taken bit of a nosedive. Bo’s answer is given moments later as Harry’s knees come up behind her and palms splay out on her thighs.

“Don’t. Feels good.”

“You ok?” 

“I’m fine, are you alright?” he tightly replies. 

“You just seem a little tense,” she warily suggests. 

“It hasn’t exactly gone as smoothly as I’d hoped.”

He doesn’t quite meet her eyes, the action weighing heavy on her chest. 

“You been thinking about this a lot then?” Bo teases, eyebrows suggestively raising as she tries to lighten the tone. 

“‘Bout what?” he fires back, palms softly squeezing where they’ve remained. 

Harry loves the flirting, and is more than thrilled to have it reciprocated, to have her play with him in this back and forth. Suggestive tones that are made even more fun because he knows there’s a depth to it. 

But he sort of also wants to hear her explain their situation. Explicitly. 

“What do you think?”

“Couldn’t say,” he goads. 

“About having me under you,” Bo simply replies, not missing a beat. 

Prayers answers. 

“Maybe, but it’s mostly been about the cuddling and kisses on the cheek.” 

“Liar,” she accuses, lightly pinching at his side. 

“Ok, ok!” he jostles her as Bo’s fingers find a particularly ticklish spot under his arm. “I might have thought once or twice about getting you in that window seat.”

“You said you were kidding about that,” she implores, batting him across the arm.

“A guy can dream.”

“Well, you’ll be dreaming for an eternity.”

“Shame, any thoughts about the same activity in the shower?”

Bo laughs, rearranging herself out of Harry’s lap.

“Maybe we should concentrate on the current situation,” she motions, “lay back."

Harry’s on his back and he feels like a fucking lemon because his hands don’t know how to play it cool and his heart is hammering like it’s his first time. He can’t be sure what Bo is doing until she appears with her hair tied back from her face. She’s assumed the odd position of straddling his knees. And Harry watches her crawl up his body before a kiss between them only has four inches to make contact. 

“Hey,” Bo hushes with a smile. “How ya doing?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?” Bo lightly tests, her fingernails running across his stomach.

Harry lays with his brain between his legs and his bottom lip between his teeth. He enjoys the lingering tingle as nails drag just that little bit too deep; done it to himself when the occasion arises and he’s in the mood to get off. But this is different because for the first time in a while it’s not Harry’s own hand palming over the seam of his jeans. And it’s the partially choked sound he makes that sets her smile. 

Her touch is gentle, easing his jeans down until another tattoo is uncovered. She gives it some consideration, thumbing over the patch of inked skin. 

“Is this a tiger?” she asks, grinning up at Harry.

“Thiger.”

Bo snorts before clamping her hand to his thigh to lean in for a kiss, which ends up being a clumsy kiss to his chin when Harry moves his head at the last second. They laugh again. 

“Please tell me you didn’t just get that tattoo so you could make that joke,” she scorns him whilst edging his underwear down. 

“It did make you laugh thou-“

The sentence is choked off as Bo takes him into her mouth. All thoughts evaporate from his mind, only ones of pleasure and utter desperation remain as she licks around the tip.

“You’re gunna have to bear with me, it’s a steep learning curve.”

And Harry thinks she almost looks smug as her index traces the curve of him from base to head. Even more so as his cock is laden with chaste kisses, an innocent gesture for such an erotic setting. And apparently mirroring his dilemma between either wanting to take Bo sweetly or just nail her into the mattress. 

He only realises how pent up he is when his fists loosen in the sheets once she’s finished with her little display. He’s hardened fully and he’s having trouble with digesting the image of her laid between his legs. 

Even with a mouth full of cock she’s trying hard not to smile. 

“You’re gunna kill me,” he pants, eyes rolling back.

She huffs a laugh around him which proves to visibly tighten the muscles in his thighs. And it’s only now that Harry thinks, she tied her hair back to suck me off. He may have transcended to a higher plain of existence as her hand begins to work him over - deliberate with her strokes and squeezing just slightly to keep him coiled up.

Harry’s own hands have returned to the sheets, balling them in fists as he endures what’s panning out to be the most long-awaited oral of his life. He’s a little embarrassed to say that he can already feel the muscles in his stomach tightening. It’s a hot clench that only burns warmer by the second. Harry’s approach is a little haphazard, but the hand he brushes to Bo’s cheek hurriedly catches her shoulder to encourage her away. 

“I-I think I’ll be alright now.”

Or maybe not, Harry swallows as Bo passes the back of her hand over the corner of her mouth. 

“Spoilsport,” she teases.

***

“I always loved your thighs,” Harry comments, warming his palms to the inside of Bo’s legs. 

He’s going to satisfy that heavy ache she feels low in her belly. It only intensifies as Harry looks up at her through his eyelashes. He’s going to bewitch her senses and leave her wanting him again and again. It’s been so long, Bo would forgo sleep and forfeit any sort of productiveness the next day just roll in the serenity of candlelight and a lover’s warmth. 

She’s still sporting her bee-saving t shirt as she watches the muscles in his chest and shoulders transform with his movement. An ungainly squeak is produced on account of Harry sharply dragging her a little further down the mattress. Something which he finds highly amusing judging by the crinkle to his nose. 

“Brute.”

Harry laughs. 

He murmurs a quick apology, brushing his fingers to her cheek before retrieving a condom. The process is smoother as his hands refuse to quake and now Bo’s onlooking makes his blood rush in electric excitement. He’s practically thrumming with it as his touch leisurely slips between the apex of her thighs. She clamps his hand there with the forgotten feeling of someone else’s kind fingers. Harry’s treated to a series of spectacular little sounds, whisperings and then small startles that are muffled into Bo’s arm as she hides her face. He’s being brazen with it, not just the fact that his fingers play but knowing that this is what she wants, she wants him. 

There’s a look of wild revelation as his fingers dip into wet warmth. The couple hold eye contact, Harry’s movements gentle and without haste in the knowledge of acts to follow. There’s an actual throbbing between Bo’s thighs, making them shake in the effort to keep them from falling completely open. It’s barely a whisper, but Harry hears it, the “please” that tells him she’s barely keeping it together. 

She’s ethereal laying below him, all soft features and devout gaze as he lines up and finally pushes in. It’s almost jarring the way she feels around him again, giving him that pliant smile, the one he recognises, the one that means she’s not completely with him. That is until he starts to move and it’s like she’s a drowning woman breaching the surface. Her back arches from the bed, arms around his neck as she pants into his, clinging to him like he’s her saviour. 

“Harry.’

His name is spoken in a raging half whisper. 

“I know,” he replies because he can feel it too.

Rapture. She’ll be his undoing and his sexual reawakening. Harry welcomes that warm pull in his belly as he angles his hips to draw new, breathy sounds from his lover’s lips. 

Bo’s an honest delight beneath him. The way he can feel her toes curling against his calf, her fingers gripping his nape to encourage him further on top. As if he could get any closer, they’re already sharing breath and fumbling kisses. 

Harry’s pretty sure a bottom corner of the fitted sheet has sprung loose with the way they’re contorting to keep damp skin close. His skimming hands have pushed her t shirt up, deft fingers hooking the right cup from her bra down so he can kiss at her breast.  

She’s more fussy than he remembers, especially when he leans away and takes a heady breather. Her huffing is a tad undue but Harry thrives in it, noting her disgruntled expression as he slips from her entirely. There’s a flash of an unpleasant second when Harry’s mind tells him he’s going to be booted in the face. 

But Bo’s brought her feet up to lightly drum against his chest and Harry can’t help but laugh at the playfulness, grabbing at her ankles before she has a chance patter against him again. 

“Come on,” she almost whines. 

His hands move of their own accord, sliding down her calfs to press his thumbs into the back of her knees. 

“Impatient little thing, aren’t you,” Harry replies, leaning into her whilst spreading and gently bearing down on the back of her thighs. 

There’s pink blooming on her cheeks, and Harry can’t be sure if it’s the temperature in their duvet fort, or the fact that Bo’s ankles are now resting on his shoulders. 

“You promised me a whole evening.”

Harry thinks her chide lacks the lustre needed to fully penalise him, especially when he can feel her wriggling to meet his hips. 

“And I wouldn’t want to go back on my promise.”

He lightly kisses at her ear, unworried about hiding his smile. 

“Because that would make you a shitty person.”

He’s not expecting the pinch to his hip, so the growl he produces in response is a surprise to both of them. 

“I don’t remember you being so boisterous.”

“Maybe it’s because you’re practically bending me in half.”

Harry lets Bo unfurl, her legs slipping down to rest beside his hips once more.

“You’ll have to forewarn me next time so I can stretch beforehand.”

“Next time?” Harry curiously enquires. 

“I’m not just having you once,” Bo breathily promises in his ear, the tone making it seem like that fact was obvious.

Harry plays along with their distracted conversation, leaning over her with an elbow propped and his thigh between hers. 

“Tonight?”

He’s not ready for the shove to his shoulder or the dominating role reversal, so when Bo’s sat astride him Harry’s sure she feels him twitch. She doesn’t play at coy, but there’s definitely something more bashful in her movements as she delights in the feel of him again.

“Forever.”

That promise sets his heart soaring. 

She reaches behind for him, shuffling back to seat herself fully down with a flutter of eyelashes and somewhat of a startled whimper. And Harry can’t help but grunt at this all-consuming feeling; this time with the added pressure of hands splayed on his chest as he’s halfheartedly held down.

“Was that a bit cheesy?” Bo asks once she’s chased her breath. “It sounded romantic in my head.”

“A bit, but I think it worked in the moment.”

“Good, because I meant it."

He doesn’t want it to sound insincere whilst she’s riding him, so Harry bottles up the ‘I love you’, and saves it for when he can confess with a clearer mind. Instead, he grabs at her hips, eyes devouring the way her body moves against his and he’s delighted with the repeat image of her bouncing, slack jawed. And because he’s a tease, Harry delights further in the sounds she creates when his hips come up to meet hers. 

She wants him every way she can, but that wish may have to wait. 

“Lean forward,” he pleads.

Bo’s forehead comes to rest on Harry’s as his feet plant to the mattress and his knees come up behind her. With the strength of his tattooed hips, he meets hers at a toe-curling rate. Bo succumbs, allowing Harry to take the lead and guide them both, her face finding the crook of his neck and his arms wrapping around her back. He cradles her into completion, hearts hammering as Harry chases the rapture that Bo blissfully makes peace with. It’s only with the last few stuttering thrusts that Bo pushes up, taking his face between her hands to kiss away the curses that slip free from his smile. 

***

“I like them,” Bo admires, fingers running over twin inked dates on his shoulders. 

She shifts a little to sit back on his thighs, taking his forearm with her as she intently inspects all the splashes of black ink she’s unfamiliar with. It’s all Harry can do to give Bo a soppy smile whilst she carries on, giving each design her attention. They’re partially dressed again, Harry only decent enough to have taken delivery of their pizza before returning to the bedroom. 

“Who’s this?”

Harry’s arm is raised as Bo taps a finger to the tattoo in question. It’s a delicate gesture that challenges her comical disapproval. 

“My mermaid.”

“She’s cute,” Bo says, finger following the swish of dark hair. “Why’d you get her?”

“Dunno, I’ve always liked swimming.”

He’s met with a surprised laugh. 

“So, of course, logically you got a mermaid permanently tattooed on your body,” she chides, shaking her head. 

There’s a small “B” inked just below the inside crease of his elbow. She tilts her head, smoothing over the skin with her thumb.

“That one’s yours,” he says simply, like it couldn’t be anything else. 

“Mine?” she asks, eyebrows shooting up. 

Harry presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Yep, “B” for Bo,” Harry tells her quietly. “Beautiful.”

She licks her thumb, rubbing at the letter.

“You really got it tattooed?”

“Yeah,” he laughs.

“That’s permanent.”

“I’m aware,” Harry smirks, biting at her neck. “Just like my mermaid.”

“Yeah, just like her,” Bo thoughtfully rephrases. 

It’s a few moments before she replies, still rubbing at the small letter. 

“Why’d you get it?”

“You’re important to me, you’ve helped me through so much, it just felt right.”

She doesn’t say anything in return, not sure that she actually can. Pouting in contemplation, Bo shifts a little in Harry’s lap. 

“Maybe I should get your name tattooed on me.”

“Oh, really?” Harry smirks. “Where? Hopefully somewhere only I get to see?”

“Hmmm, I was thinking more of a chest piece,” she leans away, gesturing to a band of skin above her breasts.

Harry appears a little horrified for a moment but his composure cracks before laughing and grabbing for her hands. 

“I’m not sure that’s your best idea.”

She slumps back to be cradled into Harry’s side. 

“Or maybe I’ll just get a ‘H’ here,” she hushes, voice more sincere as fingers point to the exact spot on her arm where he has her inked. “So we can match.”

Bo’s treated to a kiss to the tip of her nose. She sighs before further squirming away to continue the inspection of body art. 

“Roll over then.”

She makes herself comfortable, sitting astride his lower back as delicate fingers trace more tattoos curving around his side.

“Oh God, that one’s awful.”

Harry huffs a laugh into the pillow in response to her brash opinion and feathery touch. 

***

Harry wakes to the heart wrenching feeling of an empty bed. He sits up rather abruptly, hands skimming bed-warm sheets as the duvet slips to pool at his waist. He swallows twice, mind reeling to kickstart foggy memories from hours before. 

The bedroom door has been left ajar, just enough for a thin strip of light to hollow out the darkened room. Soft footsteps follow and Harry’s heart climbs back down his throat for it to thud against his ribcage.

His body flops back against the pillows before the door is nudged just enough for Bo to slip back through. She doesn’t think anything of Harry now sprawled out on his back, but she knows he’s awake because of the subtle inclination when she draws back the confusion of sheets. 

“Your hot tap is broken,” Bo hushes whilst climbing back into bed on the floor.

She receives a rough hum, Harry’s arm draping her waist.

“Did you hear me?”

Instead of moving himself closer, he opts for coercing Bo until the length of her body is flush to his, like he’s seeking the cool side of the pillow. 

“Broken,” he grunts.

“And you don’t have a bath mat, my feet got cold. I can go out and get you one tomorrow. Or today?” she adds, trying to lean over Harry to confirm the time on one of their phones.

He mumbles something incoherent into her shoulder, lips forming words like kisses upon her skin. With her on her back and Harry now on his side, he’s almost perfected the art of blurring the lines between them and creating one warm entity under the covers. 

“Repeat that.”

She gently catches under his chin with the tips of her fingers, prising him from the nook in her neck.

“Don’t need one.”

The raspy words catch in his throat. 

“Everyone needs a bathmat. Where will you dry your feet? You’ll just track wet footprints through your room.”

“I’ll think about it.”

No, he won’t. 

“Of course you won’t, I’ll just go and get you one,” she pauses. “It’ll be a fluffy orange monstrosity because you’re being difficult about it. Probably a matching toilet cover as well - if they still even sell those?”

The arm banding her middle squeezes tighter which Bo thinks is Harry’s silent way of getting her to hush..

“I love you.”

Oh.

Bo stills in his arms.

It’s something she’d insinuated hours before. That she would still be his in the morning, and every other morning of her promised ‘forever’. But for him to utter the words into their lengthy, soft post-sex haze - Bo was just about ready to settle into the cradle of sleep. But now she’s fully awake. 

He’s still pressed against the length of her, his hair brushing her cheek as the urgency to gauge her reaction grows. 

“I’m in love with you - still.”

Still. Like he’d never stopped. And that’s a little terrifying to know, especially in the knowledge of their separation and the years between then and their reunion. 

“I’m still in love with you,” he rephrases. “Got there in the end.”

His lips catch a soft smile which diminishes as his words rest into silence. Harry feels Bo draw in a grounding breath as though she’s trying to compose herself. Unsure as to whether this conversation should be illuminated, Harry decides against turning on the lamp. Partly because he frightened to disturb her but mostly because he can’t bear the thought of seeing Bo’s face if it’s rejection that awaits him. 

“If you’re not ready then I - well, I understand -“

“I’d like to take you out,” Bo interrupts.

“What?”

“Not fatally,” she hurriedly explains, “like on a date?”

“Oh - ok.”

“Yeah? We could go out to dinner or have cake at a cafe in one of the parks? Or there’s that cinema experience that looks quite fun.”

*** 4 Months Later ***

Harry can hear it in her voice, that she’s not prepared for his confession of undying love just yet and she certainly isn’t ready to say it back. But this is the start that they both deserve, a calm, normal beginning to their new relationship. It’s a chance to get to know each other again and to see where it progresses. And Harry’s happy with that as they lay and bounce date ideas between them, all the while Bo’s fingers have found his own. 

“Why must everything be so high up?” Bo grumbles. 

Her complaint is voiced to the glasses on the top shelf in Harry’s kitchen cupboard. Despite her irritation, he’s pleased to see her emerge minutes later with two drinks in hand and his socks pulled up nearly to her knees over leggings. 

“I see you were successful,” he grins as Bo sorts out coasters.

“Well, I did nearly pull everything off the worktop in my struggle, but it’s fine.” 

Her words are accompanied with a sugar-sweet smile that can only mean trouble for Harry. He hopes he’s forgiven with the choice of Tuesday night Bake-Off on the telly. And it’s as Bo’s laughing at some awful bread pun that the question just feels right. 

“Bo, do you wanna move in?”

She smiles, pressing into his side and rearranging his arm so it curls around her back.

“No,” he huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I mean move into the flat - with me.”

“Really?”

Bake-Off forgotten, Bo swivels to face him. There’s joy dancing in her eyes as the bun atop her head bobs with her excited wriggle to move closer. The TV is set on mute and Harry becomes confused at the sharpness in her eyes. 

“I want the left side of the bed, permanently,” she negotiates. 

“It’s yours. Even when you’re not here.”

“And you’ll leave space in the bathroom for my things?”

“I mean, there’s quite a lot of your stuff in there already - but of course.”

Bo kisses his cheek. 

“I just got my first pay from work,” Bo happily states. “I’m gunna buy some proper glasses, so we don’t have to drink wine out of mugs.”

“What’s the point?” Harry laughs. “The fact that you stick a straw in everything sort of lowers the tone of a proper wine glass anyway.’

The remark earns him a sore shoulder. 

“And we can always get you a step for the kitchen.”

She rounds on him so fast he nearly spills the drink he’s just picked up from the coffee table. 

“We will not be doing that. You’ll help me move everything down so I can reach it myself.”

“No problem.” 

“I’m gunna phone my mum,” she rambles, untangling from Harry and tripping over a charging cable. 

“Should I set up a direct debit? Or do you just want me to transfer my half to you each month? What would be easier?”

“Don’t worry,” he laughs. “We can sort it out later.”

“I love you!” she calls from where she’s peeking around the doorframe.

It’s such a casual gesture but Harry’s settling into the knowledge that the love he’s bursting with is reciprocated by the woman he adores. 

“I love you, too,” he smiles.