#it took me so long to mull it over enough to write this review that i had the time to finish two short reads in the meantime loollll | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mariamariquinha · 5 months

Text

Versos de Placer (Colonel Carrillo x f!reader) - Thirteen (Part 2)

Summary: The void.

Word count: 7.6k

Warnings: Bad words, violence, ~ daddy issues ~, smut, unprotected p in v sex, slight mentions of political conditions from the period, trauma, nightmares, people drinking alcohol, feelings and angst 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: I will admit that I am VERY lazy about editing long chapters, so I will always point out that there may be some spelling mistakes. Trust me, sometimes it’s tiring to think in Portuguese and write in English.

This had a very firm direction even before writing, so after a long time, I announce that this is our penultimate chapter. I'm very tired, as you already know, and multi-chapter stories take longer and require more energy, which I've been lacking in recent months.

Either way, it's been an amazing journey! I will be very sad to close, but happy to know that I did something that means something to me. See you in the last chapter!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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

Hell, his cigarettes were always stronger. A combination of tough tobacco and intense nicotine, more natural but probably more dangerous. The box was nearly full, you noticed as you fished one out. Either he had recently bought it or he was being more resilient with his addiction - either of those things seemed unlikely. Feeling it now, as you inhaled the nicotine and hid a cough of surprise at the intense taste, you almost had the impression that being addicted to it seemed a lot harder than it looked.

You had sat on the back steps, but you made a point of leaving the door closed as it was before. The night was muggy, a little cruel if you were wearing more than a cotton t-shirt; it gave you an overwhelming feeling, as if you were sensing everything around you. You noticed that the garden had a particularly feminine feel to it — something that felt like Juliana, perhaps a very vivid reflection of what her presence in the house was like. Flowers, water fonts, the stone that certainly had a cool name that was used on the steps you were sitting on. You could feel comfort in the soles of your feet if you moved a little.

The weeds and chips in the beds looked more like Carrillo. You wouldn’t think he cared so much about making the place feel like a house, let alone whether to make the garden look like a garden.

“Why are you here?”

You didn’t have a proper answer. Given his manners, you could smoke in the room, could think about whatever kept you up that night by his window or in the comfort of his bed. Instead, you got there, far away, fingers brushing your jaw unconsciously and smoking a cigarette that wasn’t yours. Without something to say, you shrugged, not eyeing him but knowing he could find ways to get the answer somehow.

It was a pleasant surprise to see him walk down those steps, casually pull up a wooden chair that was there and sit down to face you. That made you smile discreetly.

“It’s awful, just so you know,” You gestured with the cigarette in your hand, contradicting yourself the next second while you took another hit.

“It’s not the best option for those who want to quit.”

“I just picked the wrong time for this. Or the wrong career.”

Carrillo didn't respond, but you could see him make that information something to mull over. You held his analytical gaze for a while; when it got intense enough, you took another drag and turned your face to the side.

“I didn't get them all,” The comment came after a long moment of silence, when you noticed that he didn’t make any effort to have one for him.

“Mm-hm,” He answered easily. “I figured you'd stop at the first one.”

“Yeah, well, this shit it’s fucked. You should review your preferences.”

“On cigarettes?”

“That too.”

This time he reacted, but in such an unusual way that it didn't seem like him. Horacio was drowsy, slow, as if the outside world had taken a break for that moment. Rested, by the saying. And when he decided to lean forward, reaching out a hand to pull the cigarette clamped between your fingers, you let him, watching the way he just took the time to put it in his own mouth before subtly grabbing your previously occupied hand. The same one that was still sore from the impact of the fall, but not so bad that it made you flinch from the touch. With the orange cigarette light illuminating his face, Carrillo carefully detailed the wounds, his thumb trailing lightly over your knuckles.

“Who told you?” The question slipped out of your mouth smoothly, but you felt anxious asking it. When he just frowned at you, you clarified. “About my… fall.”

He took his time taking the cig away, then took more time blowing the smoke away before saying something.

“Peña.”

Of course.

You tilted your head while you entertained yourself with the hold he had on your hand. Raising your eyes after a good moment, you saw him watching you.

You looked at each other for a moment. His fingers twitched in the grasp he had on your skin and whatever breeze that would come to brush you two wouldn’t make a single scratch at that moment. He looked so soft, so… open, like a vision of whatever type of man he was, a person you’d been meeting piece by piece. The warm eyes, the peaceful sincerity and the calm touches. God, he was so beautiful.

“Te extraño en mi cama.” I miss you in my bed. There wasn’t a teasing tone with the way he talked, but you could feel his intentions dripping from his voice.

Instead of giving him a proper answer, you chose — again — to keep any thought to yourself. With a slow hand, you grabbed the cigarette again, inhaling a little and releasing the smoke into the air without taking your eyes off him.

“¿Entonces viniste a buscarme?” So you came to get me?

Eyeing him from above, you could see the small smirk playing on his lips at the comment. You reflected the reaction, taking another drag before returning the cigarette. On this one, he pulled the touch away from your hand and directed it to the bare skin of your leg. Again, you didn’t make the effort to move or say something. Carrillo leaned in carefully, placing a single kiss on the inside of your left knee, then another on the right one. His body was angled enough that you could admire the curve of his broad back, the way the muscles stretched the fabric of his shirt.

“¿Qué estás haciendo?” What are you doing? You asked, a little breathless from the gentle kisses and touches, shivering like an untouched woman.

“Te quiero cerca de mi,” I want you close to me, He said against your skin, hand massaging your thighs. “¿Harías esto por mí?” Would you do this for me?

“Por supuesto, Horacio. No estaba huyendo.” Of course, Horacio. I wasn't running away.

“Yo sé que no. No irías muy lejos vestida así.” I know you weren’t. You wouldn't go far dressed like that. Carrillo straightened his stance, smiling playfully at you and letting a small ‘oof’ when you kicked him lightly on the leg.

You two got back to a comfortable silence, the tip of his fingers brushing your knees while you kept staring at the distance. The cigarette was still burning, making that strong smell of tobacco flow through the air calmly. It was peaceful, the way you sat there, silently, in each other's orbit. For a moment, you wanted to ask if he just lost sleep or if you had woken him up; maybe he wanted to ask something like that too. In the end, no one said anything, even though something should be done soon and you should move on from there.

“Quite dramatic, don’t you think?” You were the first one breaking the silence, still not eyeing him with a wave of embarrassment hitting you. “We’re almost there to get that motherfucker and I’m here whining because of my father.”

“You’re not whining.”

“You know what I mean.”

He knew and, from the inside, you also knew he agreed with your opinions. There was a lot going on, a war to win, people dying, but still your personal problems darkened your vision from the real problem. It made you understand why Carrillo was so averse to DEA or CIA - so many people looking at their own ass and not seeing the whole figure, the important part. Even then, you appreciated the effort, the way he just shook his head a little, took a drag, averted the topic.

You two contemplated the night in silence, puffing smoke and eventually brushing each other’s shins or legs or fingers. It was so easy to get used to the calm of that moment, to remember it as something eternal. You didn't want to think about the end of that because thinking about the end of that would, perhaps, be thinking about the end of what you had with Horacio there, at that moment. A mission that had to be accomplished, with the usual consequences. This was such a cruel melancholy, one that you only glimpsed as simple touches on your fingertips but that made your heart sink.

“Que pasa, mi amor?” What is it, my love? Carrillo asked, probably noticing the way you showed your sadness in your eyes, staring back at him.

“Nn-nn,” You shook your head. “I’m fine. Maybe I just wanna go to bed now.”

“We can do that.”

He didn't press, nor did he hesitate to put out his cigarette so the two of you could go back inside. When they did, Horacio locked the door but didn't let you go very far - he subtly held your hand, bringing you closer and kissing your bruised knuckles. Then, without taking his eyes off yours, he placed a sighing kiss on your forehead, in the middle of your eyebrows, on the bridge of your nose and, finally, on your lips.

“I don't think I ever told you how beautiful you are.”

“Horacio…”

“What? Don’t you believe me?”

“I’m already here, that’s all. You already have me, you don’t need to-” You knew exactly why you waved off his compliment, why you felt so unsure of how to react to it, and maybe he did too, because Carrillo wasn’t dumb. “Thank you. Sorry.”

You also didn’t know why your eyes welled with tears - either way, you suppressed the urge to cry, looking at him from under your lashes with shyness. With a discreet hand, you held his chest, then the side of his neck, tilting your head to the side and almost failing in keeping a neutral expression while observing his face. If you could, you would tell him that you were used to losing, that it wasn’t the first time your mind started to prepare you for another fall, another break. That Horacio, that this, wouldn’t be forever, that maybe you were just a storm in a life that could be calm.

Horacio deserved suitable days. Days where he could have kids, a wife to call his, sunday lunches with family and calm nights with a partner. You always doubted yourself so much, always put yourself in the harsh ways of life to just feel something, that suddenly you felt self conscious of the fact that you weren’t what he probably was looking for, that he wouldn’t change you or what happened or how messy the world was. You didn’t want it to end because it was good. Imprudent, maybe, and quite dangerous, but good. So good.

“What will become of us after this, Horacio? What do you expect of me?”

He blinked, frowning in a stern way.

“Is that what made you lose sleep?”

You nodded. The confirmation just made him sigh, shaking his head lightly and showing clear signs of frustration.

“He was never right about you. He doesn't… He doesn't deserve you, what he said doesn't belong to you,” Carrillo contained a harsh tone, jaw clenching. “I don’t expect anything, not from you, not from us, nothing but the assurance that you’re here now. That’s what I need.”

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

It was different that time, you knew it was. Not like the first time, in the pure and mutual attraction, nor the second, in the decompression of the adversities that surrounded the two of you. It was different because, if Carrillo was crazy enough to ask you to marry him or propose an escape or make you stay there forever, you would say yes. Yes, Yes, Yes. Yes, take me away, yes, make me yours, yes, be the father of the children I never wanted to have but would have if you asked me. Yes, I would do anything for you.

But he didn't ask any of that. He hardly asked, in fact, because between ordering or teasing, as he always did with you, Horacio decided to give you things, fill you with dark truths in the way he kissed you and made love to you that night.

There was caution, care. He calmly undressed you, kissed you from heel to lip, caressed you through your physical wounds and those of your mind, holding you tight while he heard you moan and sigh. Sex for you was always a coincidence, an exaggerated consummation that was nothing more than pure biology. With him, that night, it was the end of a long and unnecessary waiting time that would always lead to the same result: the two of you together, skin to skin, without delay.

It was ridiculously cliché, looking into his eyes as you rode him slowly, as you enjoyed every moment with sweaty, panting faces, and knowing that the devotion of pleasure was the first and most genuine positive emotion you felt for each other. That there was no love at first sight, nor at second, nor at third, but a feeling that was based on the truth that, sometimes, the patches of difficult lives so full of ashes were enough for the right person. Ashes that became embers and fire again, with comfortable flames that warmed and did not burn. Not anymore, at least.

When it was all over, with both of you exhausted, tired and overwhelmed by the end, Horacio opened his first truly light smile, without intentions, just a happy one. He passed his hand over your forehead, looked at you without fear.

“Te amo.”

I love you.

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

In the morning, despite having little sleep, you indulged more than you did at night in the shower. It was much less romantic, but equally intense, with skin-to-skin noises, loud moans, nail marks and very naughty looks. He took you from behind, one possessive hand on your neck and the other arm wrapped around your torso to balance his firm thrusts, while you grabbed his hips to keep him going.

One of your best mornings, indeed.

“I have a meeting before lunch. Then we have some alignments about the capture,” He said, all professional again, handing you a cup of coffee. You took it, smiling at the gesture while eyeing the correspondence from the day before that was stuck on your purse.

“The capture. Big word,” The teasing didn’t go unnoticed by him, but the term caused a small cloud of tension to hang in the air.

A letter from your mother. She said she loved you, asked for what the fuck was that magazines in your apartment and a date she had with the guy from the Blockbuster she mentioned two letters before. No details, thank God.

“What do you think?”

“About what?”

A call-up from Messina. Nothing important. That report she asked was probably on her desk by now.

“About this word.”

You stopped between an FBI report and another envelope. When you looked up, you saw him standing in front of you, leaning on the counter where you were sitting and sipping your own coffee. This made you consider a response, even if you already knew what you were going to say. With a sigh, you placed the envelopes back on the top of your bag and also took a sip of coffee, shrugging your shoulders.

“Last time he ran away.”

“Is that what you meant?”

“... No,” You shook your head lightly. “We know what will happen. Do you want me to say it?”

“You could try.”

But you didn’t. He knew, you knew, that was what mattered. Like ripping away a band-aid, or taking the life out of a queen bee - resolution, antidote, job done. You turned your face away from him, eyeing the letters splayed out there, and shook your head again.

“I don't want to put you into the operation. When the day comes, I mean.”

“I know,” A sip - a bitter one. “It’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“My name will already be in the history books, Carrillo. The DEA agent who fell from the rooftops the most in Medellín,” Even if it meant to be a teasing, Horacio didn’t smile, which made you roll your eyes. “I did the job, we all did. Whoever pulls the trigger, I’m happy. Satisfied.”

He didn’t respond to that, nor did he bring up the subject again, and you knew he understood what your passive words meant. You could be hiding something, maybe, but you weren't sure what it was. Your father may have been incapable of keeping words that promised good things, but he had uncanny abilities to carry out his threats well. He wouldn't touch Carrillo, he needed him, the aggression and the wounded pride that still coursed through the guy's veins. It would be one, two of the group. It would be someone.

You left the house giving him a long kiss, one that was returned with a certain innocence - which was an odd word to associate with him, anyway. Either way, you were determined to make the future farewell, the inevitable one, a little less full of secrets. You would say what really happened. You would do that, yes, different from what an unloving father would do after destroying his own family.

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

“¿Qué pasó, hijo? Pareces distraído.” What happened, son? You seem distracted.

Jorge blinked a few times, looking back at the dishes in his hands and the foam, which was more sliding around his fists than actually cleaning anything in the sink. When he realized that he was, in fact, wandering in thought, he cleared his throat and tried to scrub the plate harder. He had done it before, but repeated the process unconsciously.

“Sólo estoy cansado, mamá. Fue un día largo en el hospital.” I'm just tired, mom. It was a long day at the hospital.

He hadn't said it in the letter - he didn't feel the strength or courage to do so. He didn't know how his mother would react. Georgina was a truly strong, competent woman, but Jorge's need to take a peek into the past was always something she ignored or just pretended didn't exist. If she imagined anything from her son's erratic behavior, the way he had become more agitated since the DEA had gotten its hands on the hunt for Escobar, she didn't comment. Another quality of hers, perhaps coming from experience, was knowing when to be quiet.

“No sé si voy a venir a cenar esta noche,” I don't know if I'm going to come to dinner tonight, Jorge said in a low, almost embarrassed tone, because he knew how much she didn’t like the idea. When he felt her coming closer, touching his shoulder calmly, he thought it was over and then, right there, all the secrecy would be over.

“¿De guardia en el hospital?” On duty at the hospital?

“Mm-hm.” He nodded, still watching the dishes, afraid of what he would find if his eyes landed on Georgina. She hummed, patting his back, then turning away.

“Ten cuidado en el camino. Por lo que parece, se están yendo.” Be careful on the way. From the looks of it, they’re leaving.

His hands clenched tightly at the mention of 'them', as did his eyes. Jorge always hated his sentimental side because it constantly failed him when necessary - since he was little, he would cry because he was away from his mother for a long time (who didn't give up brothel work even after having him) or he would get angry when another patient died due to lack of medicine in the hospital or he would even feel incredibly guilty when he saw the money that always came with men who were not from the government. That last part, he actually learned to overcome. If he was really determined like his grandmother always prophesied, he would never send that letter. You didn't owe him anything, you might not even have known he existed or, worse, followed not only in your father's footsteps in your career but in life.

Jorge left his mother's house afraid of being rejected again because it had been three days. Three days and nothing.

He wouldn't have another chance.

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

That was the thing about being an almost lone woman on the front line: there was a subconscious idea that male colleagues had your back. Well, in general it was the other way around, and you wouldn't have been able to visualize any kind of support from anyone when you arrived, but perhaps your work might have earned you some respect - enough for people to look at you when you spoke and give value to what came out of your mouth. Maybe, if you had a little more stomach, you'd even ask Judy Moncada if she also earned respect through suffocation. Probably yes. Javier frowned a lot when her name came up (which was rare to see), so you could say that this would be an interesting point of identification.

It was the same Peña who mentioned that day he bumped into your father. He didn't specify a time, a specific moment, so it wasn't possible to know if it was before or after the episode in the office, just that it happened. You noticed that he kept looking at you with some suspicion, searching for an opening that would remove his doubt, but when you just said 'mm' and continued looking at the papers, the subject was dropped. There, you realized that it would be much easier to be punctual with your answers if he asked about Carrillo, but you knew he would hate to know too many details about it.

And oh yes, the 'protection'. You were never alone in a room with your father. When he prostrated himself more aggressively, sometimes Carrillo intervened with a firmer voice or Javier or Steve placed themselves, albeit discreetly, in front of you to shield yourself from that reaction. You always noticed, but never commented on it.

“He said that?”

The decision to tell Javier about what happened came in handy for a few basic reasons: he could be on the line (your father would always prefer a good, obedient boy next door like Steve), he knew how to keep secrets, and more than anything, there was a quiet trust that Carrillo wouldn't know about it from him. The two knew each other a little better, they had more identification, so Peña would understand why that conversation was taking place on the discreet terrace of your building between puffs of cigarettes.

“I just want to let you know. You know, in case something happens in the next few days.”

Javi frowned, nodding along but contemplating the information. You observed his side profile for a moment before turning your eyes to the night sky.

“Do you think it would be you?” When he asked that, you noticed that the question didn’t come with eye contact. His eyes were on the concrete, right where he tapped the ashes of his cig.

“I can’t be sure…” You sighed. “We're already in the final stretch, I'm sure of it. It wouldn't make any difference to let us go now. Still…”

Nothing came from your mouth. Javi pressed with raised eyebrows.

“CIA has its methods,” That was all you said and it could mean a lot of dramatic stuff, but at best he would just take some relevant parts from reports or even put on some obstacles in the near future. He would, indeed - he could.

“And don't you think your relationship with Carrillo is hurting your career?”

You two shared a glance, a long one. Javier didn’t seem to regret what he said, nor reticent; it was a question he wanted to do, so he did. And you considered it calmly, rolling the cigarette between your fingers without taking your eyes off him.

“What do you think?”

“... No,” He said, shaking his head. “It's harmless. At least from here. You?”

“It would be a bigger problem if it were you,” The teasing made him scoff.

“You wouldn't risk falling in love with me, at least. I wasn't going to let you do it.”

“Oh no?”

“Nn-nn.”

“Thank God, then.”

“Yeah, you should really be grateful. I still don't understand how you managed to get into his pants.”

“It's not that hard.”

“Mm.”

“You jealous or somethin’?” You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re his type at all, but-”

“Shut up,” He groaned, almost not being able to hide his playful grin while kicking your leg lightly. It turned into shared laughs soon, so you knew it would be another thing to remember.

A small silence lingered there, serene and soft. When he spoke again, it came in a low tone, tranquilized.

“If it's me-”

“Mm?”

“They're going to assign me to Cali. Well, I hope so.”

“You want that?”

“I don’t know what I would do, ‘s all. This… You know what I did here. It's a consequence that I would like to at least remedy, at least to sleep better at night.”

You observed him without a word to say, noticing that the privilege of having a slight reliable source of comfort for certain feelings was mutual. Well, you wished you could’ve noticed that earlier - it would’ve made a difference.

“Maybe I’ll need some support up there.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Do you have plans after this?”

For a moment, for a slight small moment, you wanted to give him a definitive answer; that you would be on the field, that LA still has some hard work to do, that you wanted to stay. If you knew this, you would tell him for sure, because it was Javi and Javi was…

“Fuck, are you two that serious?”

You puffed more smoke in the air, one brow raised.

“I like him.”

Javier didn't respond, but there was a slightly bitter aura on his face, as if he had fallen into an unwanted situation. Well, it was. Just as it was undesirable to leave the US to hunt down a narco, or see innocent dead bodies every day, or start something like that with Carrillo at that point in things. Would there ever be an ideal time?

From the way Peña shared a glance with you, turning his eyes back to the street below you two, there was just one rational and coherent answer. Damn it all, you thought, because being irrational and incoherent seemed to work so fine with everything.

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

You couldn't be very moved when Javier was sent away. You were furious, yes, because you could see in your father's eyes that day that it had been your defeat. No, it was a fact, you couldn't react in front of so many people, not even when you hugged him hidden in the parking lot.

“I’m sorry, Javi. I’m sorry.” You said, gripping the fabric of his jacket and keeping your eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s not your fault,” He said as calmly and coldly as he could, hands splayed on your back. “I caused this to myself.”

That sentence haunted you for a while, at least long enough. When Carrillo came to see you later, when you lay in bed together, no one mentioned what happened, even though it was a fact that no one there slept well (again).

“Pronto,” He said. “Pronto atraparemos a ese hijo de puta.” Soon. We'll soon catch this son of a bitch.

And you didn't know if Carrillo was talking about Escobar, your father or whatever the ghost was that surrounded it all.

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

A breath you didn't know you were holding left your throat when you heard Trujillo come back on the radio saying that Escobar was dead. Your two hands were gripping the supports of the leather chair, your nails digging into the upholstery, your shoulders raised to your ears; you were alone in the room, locked and static. In the background, you could hear Steve, hear Carrillo and the men. There was a dead body, a definitive body, and it 'almost' made you cry.

You noticed a presence soon after and, when you looked up from the equipment, you saw your father. He had his arms crossed, his body leaning against the doorframe. You exchanged a withering look, full of many meaningless things.

“We-”

“No.”

For the first time, he didn’t answer, didn’t press. You blinked a few times, got even more closer to the desk and turned your eyes back to the radio.

“There will be no confirmation of CIA involvement.”

“Is that the most you can get?”

“I have nothing to apologize for.”

You nodded, expression unreadable, face never leaving the equipment.

“Apologizing is apologizing. I never painted you as a guy with a lot of metaphors and I don't think you would have the mental capacity to do that now.”

He didn’t say anything again. Not a word. When you looked at the door after a few minutes, he was gone - nothing but the empty corridor in your eyesight.

When it was all over, all done (when it finally looked like the end of the line), you didn’t feel all the emotions and joy and relief you always thought you would. There was a restraint, from the way people celebrated from the way you held yourself against the decision to run to Carrillo as soon as they all came back. You looked at the smiles and laughs from afar, observed the proud way Horacio was acting from finally (finally) making it to the final. To kill, to take that bug hurting his ego, his country and his integrity for so long. It all mattered to him and for that you could celebrate.

For some reason, even so, whatever weight you still carried on your shoulders, you flexed your hands so as not to touch Carrillo and carried his body slowly even though your heart screamed for you to run, to jump into his arms and give a relieved sigh, being able to say it was over. You walked closer, patted his bicep, gave one of the most genuine smiles you had, mouthed ‘we did it’ - his eyes were full of a deserved relief, like a good tiredness. Yeah, you wished you could keep that moment in a box, open it when necessary, keep it to memory. He was, really, a beautiful man.

And if you got away from the commotion and saw your father from afar, watching the scene like a hawk, making you lose your smile, it had nothing to do with the sudden sour mood that surrounded your head even during such a big event.

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

“Peña called.”

“Mm?”

Carrillo hummed, the sound reverberating on his chest where you were laying on. The midnight breeze was cooler, mixed with your naked bodies fresh from the shower and the thin layer of the sheets, but you two weren’t shivering.

You brushed your palm on his pecks, nuzzling closer to his neck.

“Said he hoped we celebrated a lot.”

“We did, right?” The teasing on your tone made him chuckle, head turning to the side to peck your forehead.

“I think he should be a part of it somehow,” It didn’t sound like a confession, but more like a statement. Yes, he should, but he wasn’t. An empty space was there, one that nobody would be able to fix.

“... Yeah,” You said slowly, eyeing the window.

“Is that why you looked so lost earlier today?” He asked.

It was true that you didn't want to ruin the moment with what was going on in your head, much less bring another type of bureaucracy to the ones he would face with Escobar's death, but you always thought you could be one step ahead of Carrillo when it came to hiding your true emotions. He had an almost religious ability to read people.

“No,” You shook your head. “But I would rather not talk about it.”

And he didn’t. Horacio went all quiet and kept tracing patterns on your shoulder and arm, all the while giving long and steady breaths, as if entering in a state of relaxation that you’d never seen before. Another thing to keep close to your heart, the way you could feel the slump of his shoulders, his soft heartbeat, the delicate touch of the tip of his fingers - things that he didn’t allow himself to be, a version of himself that flowed in the air, an almost domestic man.

Domestic, yes, so you adjusted your body to be even more closer, touching his skin and kissing what you could reach, what could still be surrounding you. It scared you a little, the fact that if he decided to be done like before, to create some distance between you two, you would be almost sick, sad, unsure of what to do with your hands and mind. Well, the offer would be up. You could still be closer for a little more, work with Peña if he ever got the chance to work on the Cali, to be some hours away from this thing you started to truly appreciate with Carrillo.

But again, hell, again, you wondered if that would always be like this. Could you two only be together in a context of war, of conflict? Wasn't there a version of that closeness that could be solidified in the silence and peace of a stable relationship? How unfair would that be, stopping the world for a moment and being able to sleep with someone you love without a gun under your pillow or the uncertainty of even being alive at the end of the day?

You felt selfish. Horacio could’ve died at the hands of the narcos, he always had an almost obsessive ambition to have that man in his hands, defeated and destroyed. It was enough that he was there, with you, and not in some tomb with honorable mentions made for Juliana, and not for you, because you were nothing more than two colleagues to people. You even felt self conscious. There would be less uncertainty if Juliana was there instead of you because she stopped her life so that Horacio could climb his own, achieve things, be the provider.

You remembered the night right after he was shot.

“I came to see you the day you got shot,” It slipped out of your mouth, breaking the silence in a sharp way even if your voice was small.

“You did?” He asked, confused by the sudden change of subject but willing to engage. “Why didn't I know this before?”

“... I saw Juliana in your house.”

Another silence followed your comment, this time more rigid. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing your eyes on the skin of his belly, but that comfort lasted so little when he squirmed, almost forcing you to move away enough to look at his face. With a gulp, you did, body supported by one of your elbows to see his concerned face.

“It bothered you,” Horacio said.

“No, it’s just… You two were married, Horacio, for fucks sake… And it was obvious that she would come by to see how you’re doing. I didn’t want to interrupt. Not to mention that we weren’t as we are now.”

He stared at you, still frowning. After a while, when he noticed that you weren't going to say anything else, he relaxed his face a little, looking at the window and collecting his own thoughts.

“I tried to rekindle our relationship. Deep down, I thought I needed stability in life, something that made sense and that I didn't need to worry about, so the divorce was a frustration,” A sigh. “But that was before Escobar, before all that. I realized it would be better this way when we went to Madrid. She returned to be with her family, but we signed the divorce with the certainty that it was the right thing to do.”

You listened to his words with attention.

“When I got shot, I didn't think about anything. There was no film of my life or missed chances and opportunities. If I died right then, my only regret would be that I didn't finish my work,” He turned to you then, measuring your face with care. “When Juliana showed up, the only thing she told me was that I shouldn't be miserable enough to only have this mission in my head. That I should progress, live. No one would wait for me forever at the finish line and it would be a horrible feeling to swim for so long only to die alone on the beach.”

That was like a punch in the stomach, a force of words of things that only squeezed your heart. The fear and insecurity of being alone, of all that ending, you returning to LA and having all these feelings, added to the guilt of not valuing what your mother, for example, offered. This loneliness at the end of the day, of modified dreams and a brutal reality, this was something you thought about with yourself and didn't imagine that someone else would feel it too.

“That's when I thought of you.”

You gulped, mouth twisting to prevent a smile.

“You and your perfume. It was always a femininity that I repudiated, particularly because it broke with my focus, took me off the axis, off my plan. After that I realized that getting rid of Escobar was an incredible feeling and going back to that same perfume was just as good.”

No one spoke of goodbyes, of a goodbye that would be seen occasionally and almost instantly. You did it, you accomplished your mission. And if what was left, even if only for a short time, was that sensitive moment of implied declarations and a true sense of love, then so be it.

This ending wasn't that bad.

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

“You’re really trying to make this a competition, huh?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his teasing tone, turning your head for a peck on the lips before going back to the search on your bag. It was still early in the morning, so after a good fight around your kitchen to do a cup of coffee before he woke up, you decided to smoke some - just to notice that you couldn’t find your pack of cigarettes.

Carrillo circled his arms around your waist from behind, making you tilt your head to give room for him to place small and deliberate kisses on your neck. When he started to lower his hand, brushing the inside of your left thigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle. Noticing that you still weren't giving him your undivided attention, Horacio grunted and suddenly grabbed your purse, throwing it haphazardly on the sofa and suppressing your surprised gasp by turning you towards him and kissing your mouth.

“What’s going on?” You asked, unsure if you should laugh, push him away lightly or just give in on his affections.

“Nn-nn,” He mumbled, burying his face on your neck again.

“Nn-nn?”

“Just five more minutes.”

And he wasn't agitated, nor witty enough to make that moment a heap of giggles or tickles or… Anyway. He remained quiet, breathing deeply, placing both palms on your back and pressing you against his body. You frowned at the silence, at the request, until you felt his heart racing in his chest, his skin sweaty. Perhaps you had heard a commotion in the room, something that indicated the reason for that almost unexpected attitude. Horacio was rigid, almost restless in a… different way, burying his fingers on your back.

“Was it a nightmare?” You asked in a low tone.

“Bad dream.”

Well, you could say it was the same thing, but Carrillo probably had odd ways to cope with this shit, like not saying it was a nightmare would make it less scary. It was early - way too early for either of you to be up. It was as if the calm was fighting against the hustle and bustle of the outside world and what was happening. A reminder. You could tell he felt what you had felt the day before, at least because you knew there would be a small sacrifice at the end of it all.

You hugged him back, closed your eyes at the proximity. No one said anything, you particularly couldn’t. If you did, you would have to admit that, yeah, you knew how it was to have bad dreams - that yours involved saying a difficult goodbye, saying that you two would be over.

Yeah, this ending wasn't that bad, but it hurted a little; if felt like a fucking sacrifice.

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

You both had busy days with bureaucracy. There was a lot of paperwork, press conferences, arrests and transfers. The Montoya family wrote to you, Peña wrote (although he was more succinct). When your mother wrote, asking (among other things) when you would return, you answered all her other questions except that one. Steve and Connie invited you to dinner as a farewell and they, yes, had a date to leave, to bury complicated days.

Your apartment was a mess because of it; clothes on the floor, work things scattered around. Some people in the office already had tickets booked to the US, so whenever you came back late at night or in the early hours of the day, there would be someone walking by with boxes, smiling in relief. You just stayed quiet. At dinner, at bureaucracies, at the times you managed to meet Carrillo.

Something was missing. You didn't feel truly fulfilled, you didn't find the strength to respond to your father's criticism or anything that came out of his mouth. It was an inertia of confusion, uncertainty and emptiness.

Horacio was in your apartment when it happened.

The two of you had sat on the couch, smoked, drank, had sex. The usual.

You remembered him getting up to get the bottle of bourbon that was left in the kitchen and you said you would accept another drink. Then you squirmed on the couch, rested your head to face the ceiling and rubbed your eyes, already partially drunk. When you turned your head to the side, hearing Carrillo mumble something about the bottle already running out, you saw a piece of paper pointing out from under the couch.

Any other time, really, you would leave it there. God, why did you take that shit in the first place? Why didn't Horacio arrive seconds earlier to distract you from opening that letter?

Jorge Pérez. With a high level of importance.

It was dated a few days earlier and had been written on pages in a small notebook, with spaced words and letters, all written in typical Colombian Spanish that was mixed in quick, light, hurried writing.

The last time you felt that feeling of having disassociated like that was when Juan Marcos almost killed you. Your head felt light, removed from reality, and it was as if your hands were tingling. You didn't laugh this time, you didn't have a hysterical laughing reaction from the shock, because maybe your body was so exhausted that you could only react with the first thing you felt like doing.

Each word was taken in with a lump in your throat and you blinked a few times as you felt your hands shaking, holding the papers and couldn't finish reading the rest. There were three parts, three pieces. You were suddenly impulsive about finishing the rest, reading, turning over the papers, gripping them tightly between your fingers.

“What?”

He asked with a confused expression, but you couldn’t quite catch his question right away. With a hand in front of your mouth, you swallowed a sob and held that letter with a firm grip, afraid of it all being a lie or an illusion or… A trick. A fucking universe trick for your mind and soul.

You raised your eyes to Carrillo, gulping again to prevent any big emotion from spreading all over the place.

“... It’s… It’s Jorge.”

“And who is it?”

The words almost didn’t leave your mouth, as if you were scared of the consequences of just… saying it.

“My brother.”

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

I saw him on TV, but I saw you on a very trivial day. I don't remember the clothes you were wearing, nor could I tell you what time it was, or what day specifically. Maybe it was right after I saw him, but I still wouldn't know for sure. Things always pass me by with dates and names. I'm dyslexic. The truth is, well, you have a dyslexic brother who is a doctor. This is a great treat for those who enjoy stories of overcoming.

He never talked about me, did he? I'm sure he didn't do that. I think you're smart, maybe witty, because he never talked about you to me either. Perhaps we both did something that would be worthy of making him pull away. This is strangely comforting.

I know that the moment is not convenient and that it may seem like a lie, like a trap or something, so I understand if it takes a while, despite admitting that I am an anxious guy, I would even say impulsive. The truth is that not having an answer from you makes me resigned, but if you responded, if you looked for me, I would be hopeful.

Be sure to stop by a bar in Belén called Bodega del Toro. They have great fish filets and craft beers that are always cold.

Show up. Go to the bar if you can.

He won't show up, you can be sure. This stopped being a reality a long time ago. I hope it also brought out, in addition to your appearance, the generosity that I'm sure your mother has.

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

No pressure tags:

@cheesybadgers

@thesandbeneathmytoes

@616wilsons

@nessamc

@thoroughlymodernminutia

@padbrookcottage

#horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo #colonel carrillo x reader #colonel carrillo #female reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #narcos #maurice compte

51 notes · View notes

jeannereames · 1 year

Note

Hello doctor,

I recently finished your Alexander novels and loved them. I was curious about the sequel, and upon searching I found you on tumblr. I spent hours reading all your asks and gathering all the tid bits about the sequel. It spiked my anticipation to another level. I was wandering whether there is a publication date planned…

First, thank you! I’m always thrilled when a reader loves the books enough to track down more information about them. If you found my Tumblr, I assume you also found my website? On it, I have some additional out-takes of scenes removed from the books, or written for the 10-month gap between Becoming and Rise. If not, it’s here: Alexander's Macedonia.

As for more books, yes, I do plan to write more, but not only is there no publication date, there’s no publisher. Welcome to the niche nature of modern publishing.

Mainstream historicals have a different sales trajectory than most novels, being long-haulers rather than short-burst sellers. (See end for a longer explanation of this.) As a result, publishing houses risk them reluctantly unless they think they can ride a pop-culture trend, or it’s genre (historical romance, historical fantasy, historical mystery…). It all boils down to sales. Writing may be an art, but publishing is a business. In it to make money, they pursue a conservative purchasing model. They know what sold last year and want a repeat. Something too outside the proven model is, therefore, too much of a risk.

Dancing with the Lion is a coming-of-age historical that happens to have enough of a love story and LGBTQIA+ angle that a queer-press Romance publisher took a chance on it. That’s who Riptide is: queer Romance, and mostly queer contemporary Romance.

They bought it for the love story and wanted ONLY that. Future books full of war and politics and a more complicated love story…they aren’t interested. I was told as much when we began the editing process: “We’ll take these, but that’s it. Do you still want to proceed?”* Were the duology to become a hit and sell oodles, Riptide might change their minds, but they also might not. Like most small boutique presses, they have a highly specific publishing pool. That’s how boutique publishers survive. They can’t begin to compete with the Big Five publishing houses, so offer just one or two menu items, and try to do those well enough that buyers return for more.

For me to sell any more of the series, I need to find another publisher. I might be able to sell more on the strength of the first two, but if they have pretty decent ratings on Goodreads/Amazon, their sales figures are not high—in part because they’re ebook only, online distribution only (not found in bookstores), which severely limits sales. That I’m still pulling (small) royalty cheques each month is a testament to YOU ALL, my wonderful readers, and your word-of-mouth. Plus the unique nature of historials (again, see below). But the best way you can help me find a new publisher is to encourage your friends to buy the books and to leave a rating, or even a review, on Goodreads or Amazon. Those have severely dropped off in recent months.

Because mainstream historicals ARE so hard to sell, I’m disinclined to throw myself into years writing King and books that follow, only for it to take another 30 to sell them. I might be dead by then! (I’d be 88.)

Ergo, I’m working on something with a higher likelihood of selling: an epic fantasy series called Master of Battles with a lot of historical world-building elements. I’m about 2/3rds of the way through the 4th of 5 projected books. If I can get an agent and place those at a larger publishing house, THEN (perhaps) I can turn my attention to King, the third in the Alexander series. I do have most of the larger plot arc mulled over in my head, and I know where I plan to take various elements. But it’s not written yet because I need to spend time on what I’m more confident will actually sell.

Some readers ask, Why not try self-publishing? Three big reasons:

First, there is a LOT of effort sunk into a novel before it ever comes out, not just by the author, but with three levels of editing (structural, line-edits, copy-edits), plus the book cover and marketing. These are handled by people skilled at those things…which usually isn’t the author. Without a publisher, the author must then pay someone else to do it. It’s a lot more expensive than you might expect: $1000-3000 per book, depending on type of editing. Book covers cost, as well, although typically somewhat less. ALL of that means financial reserves the average author just doesn’t have, but publishing houses do.

Second, it requires time to market it, which most authors don’t have if they also (like me) have a day job. I already did/do a fair bit of marketing for Dancing, but nothing like you really need to get word of the novel out. In addition, most people don’t know WHERE to send books for professional reviews, or have any clout to get noticed if they do. Once more, publishing houses have these people on staff. If I’d self-published, I’d never have been reviewed by Publisher’s Weekly, nor likely have gotten on Bookbub (twice).

Last, name-recognition. I’m a little better positioned than before the duology was sold, but not by much.

Authors who are truly successful at self-publishing tend to 1) have a spousal-unit willing to support them, 2) don’t have a full-time job or are retired, 3) DO have spare cash, 4) are naturally skilled at marketing, *OR*/and 5) have prior name recognition from a career in trad-publishing. As someone without a spouse, with a full-time job, and lacking oodles of cash on hand to pay for what I can’t do myself…I’m not in a great position to self-publish.

And finally, that somewhat longer explanation of how historicals sell that makes publishers reluctant to invest in them:

The average book sells most of its total-ever sales in the first 6-8 months, and certainly within the first year, unless it happens to break into the rarified air of best-seller or award-winning status. Traditional publishers tend to rip books out of print around a year, at most two, if they don’t sell out their advance, as it’s assumed they never will and better to cut losses in paper/print costs. Multiply published authors might get books in print longer, but new authors typically do not. It can be harder to sell a third book than the first one, for that reason. Death in the Mid-list. Ebooks are different as they escape the heavy paper-cost overhead, but the assumption is still “You’re done,” at about a year.

Historicals don’t sell that way, in part because people read them for the *historical* aspect, and therefore, someone may come to love a topic (and read the book) five, ten, twenty years later—especially for an historical figure like Alexander the Great, who has enormous fan recognition. Occasionally other events (movies, documentaries, even museum shows) can ignite greater temporary interest, but historicals just have “slow burn” staying power other genres largely do not. Unfortunately, they also don’t tend to sell loads right out the door. Their sales trajectory, if they’re allowed to stay in print, can look the reverse of the average novel.

So that’s why publishers—who want a quick return—mostly don’t like them. If they do buy them, they edge to action books, not character-based novels (which naturally read slower).

* Dancing with the Lion was originally optioned for Riptide by Sarah Lyons back around 2014; she wanted (so she told me) to use it to expand the press into queer-friendly markets adjacent to Romance. But within months, she faced a breast cancer health crisis which seriously delayed even getting the contract finalized (2017). No sooner had we done that than she got herself embroiled in a terrible scandal at Riptide and resigned. As a result, my books became sorta orphans. To be sure, after that, I didn’t want to work with her anyway, but it also meant the original purchasing editor was no longer there. Riptide fulfilled the terms of the contract, my editor (May Peterson) was great, and Grace has been very kind at answering my publicity questions, but any prior plans to do anything more with them was tabled—assuming Lyons wasn’t lying about all that in the first place. She seems to have been a shady individual.

Why did I stay with Riptide after all that, especially being told, after Lyons left, they don’t want the rest? Well, after so many years trying to sell the novel, I wanted it published, even if these first two were all that would ever see print. A foot in the door is better than staring at the doorbell forever.

Also, I includes dates above as, ime, most folks who aren’t writers or part of the publishing industry tend not to realize how long it takes to get anything written, much less sold and into print. So it gives readers a sense of time frames.

#Alexander the Great #historical fiction #dancing with the lion #dwtl #publishing #historical novels #fiction in ancient Greece #fiction about Alexander the Great #Queer-friendly publishing

9 notes · View notes

maggielindemanns · 1 year

Note

🎶 last christmas, i gave you my heart… but the very next day, i forgot to check tumblr anons again 🎶

dyamond dearest, hello! ✨ i hope this week has been a little nicer to you than the last one was, and that you’ve found a little time for leisure amongst the busier bits. this season is always more go go go than ho ho ho, i find. i have so much shopping to do and so little time to entertain it, so know that i feel your pain & am cheering you on from the sidelines. 🥲🫶 i have been mulling over my answers to this week’s questions for the past few hours and i am still not 100% settled on what i’d ask each of the boys… but since you were lovely enough to ask for my responses, i shall do my very best to come up with ~ something ~! 🤍

1. asking for harry’s hand in platonic crime is a super smart way to go, for sure! kinda like asking a genie for more wishes… except with the promise of nights spent leisurely watching movies together and gossiping about everything and nothing 😌 as somebody who compares their entire life to incredibly niche lyrics, i think i’d ask both the boys “if your life was a movie, what three songs would make up the soundtrack to it so far?” and see how their answers compared. there’s something so charming about hearing artists gush about other artists, you know? it’s a reminder that they’re just as dorky as we are. harry’s music taste is so eclectic that i imagine his would be wild dhfgf!

2. i can totally understand why you’d find your home show a more soothing experience than msg – though i’m equally glad you got to live through a moment in spitstory (i groaned at that, too 😌🫶). i actually saw harry for the first (and eighth 🥲) time this summer! i was supposed to see him during his first solo tour but my circumstances got a bit messy and i couldn’t make it. so, this time around i had a bit of a silly spending spree and took myself on a tour of the uk, amsterdam and paris! i also found some of my smaller shows to be my favourites. wembley was immense, but dublin stands out as one of the most magical. i have a really distinct memory of blubbering to sott from the stalls and enjoying all of the lights. it was nice to experience it from further afield for a change, to see everybody dancing and the sun setting. seeing louis in may sounds like a dream come true! i look forward to checking in and seeing your reactions! he’s great live, you’ll have a BLAST. 🕺🎶

3. well, it seems we are very similar! 😌 i studied english literature at university, so reading is one of my greatest hobbies too. bunny has been on my tbr for yonks, though i’m yet to pick it up! did you enjoy it? i just picked up persephone station by stina leicht which was a shameless cover buy… but book riot’s review says “feminist and full of dynamic characters you’ll love” and there’s a badass looking android on the front of it, so i have high hopes! 📖 some other hobbies of mine include: writing poetry, reading copious amounts of fanfic, frequenting the cinema & starting but not finishing more projects than i can count dgdgff. ✨

i must admit that it has taken everything (e v e r y t h i n g) in me not to cheat the system and ask google for help answering your riddle dhdgf. 🥲 i am stumped and need the answer pronto! my initial thought was that it may be a play on words, but iiiiii am no closer to solving it! i’m going to kick myself, aren’t i?

this week’s questions are simply follow up ones from today’s chit chat, if you’d like to answer them! if not, feel free to just ramble to me about your day. there’s never any obligation for an answer as long and laborious as the asks i’ve been sending dhdgf. 🥲

1. if your life was a movie, what song/s would be on the soundtrack?

2. what was your favourite harry fit of love on tour ‘22?

3. is there a louis song that you’re particularly excited to hear live for the first time? (barring holding on to heartache, because i know that’s one of your favourites of all time 😌)

– until next time, your festive friend. 🎄🤍

HELLOOOOOO holiday bestie!!!

this week has definitely been so much nicer, leisure is another story but i am feeling much better than last time. also — i have to do some last minute gifts today after work so i am sooooo stressed about it but honestly it’s my own fault agsjdhsj. i’m cheering for you as well! always <3

literally thats the main goal of hanging out w harry, i just literally wanna be his best friend and that’s all :’) i just know they both would have the best answers and they’d be so fitting for each of them 🥹

EIGHT TIMESSSS SO JELLY but that sounds so amazing omg!!! i always wanted to go to a european show, and all those places sound so lovely! sott w all the lights I AM JEALOUSSSS that sounds like magic. i am so excited to see louis i just know it’ll be LIFE CHANGINGGG

bunny was interesting! it was …. complicated, but very interesting agsjdhsj i feel like that’s not selling it very well 😭. that book sounds bangin tho !! FELT THAT ABOUT STARTING SO MANY PROJECTS SGSJDHSJ I AM SUCH A MESS ABOUT IT. i havent read fanfic in EONS i need some good recs

the answer was — a ton! it is kinda a play on words, at least i think? hope you’re not kicking yourself agsjdhsjs

now to answer your questions!

1. I HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS SO MUCH. well kinda. since i was/am an avid lover of skam, i used to think about what songs would be on my skam season, and i’ll give 5 to narrow it down. have you found what you’re looking for? by ashton irwin, just like you by annika rose, buzzkill by baby queen, unlovable by delacey, and pretty lips by winehouse! hard to narrow it but hey sgskdhd i tried

2. OOOOOOO EXCELLENT QUESTION. also so very hard tbh, anything w the hiddies™️ out is a fave afsjdhdjs BUT. i will say mex city night 2, austin 10/3, and manchester night two, super honorable mentions to new york night 6 and 7 (seven was mine so it’s gotta get chosen!), toronto night one, and london night one. what are yourssss !!

3. CHICAGOOOOOO. it just gives me a vision of everyone having their lights up and singing along i hope there are fan projects or somethin bc i can just . i have a vision for it

hmmm i should ask you some questions, like an uno reverse kind of move.

1. what is a show/movie you wish you could experience for the first time again?

2. what is, in your opinion, one of the best albums of all time?

3. if you were an animal, what animal would you want to be?

until next time indeed! 🤍 missing you already

#holiday pal 🤍🎄#asks #✨🫶🏼

0 notes

someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Note

Hi! Have u done any pregnant Hanji and overprotective daddy Levi already?? Yep i think im craving for more domestic levihan family, im sorry 😭

Im a bit new here in the community, and when i read ur works, i fell in love with it already, thank you for existing!!! 💖💖💖

Hello anon! Thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoyed my other fics :3 Sorry for the very long wait for this one, I've been struggling to find the time/motivation to write lately, but I'm feeling a little better and I figured I'd get to work on some of my prompts. Starting here!!

It ended up a little less domestic and a touch more angsty than I had originally planned, but only for a moment--happy endings all round!

Warning: this does start off with non-graphic depictions of nausea/vomiting, I hope that doesn't bother you!

Hange had been feeling unwell for days.

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence—Hange tended to wake up feeling nauseous some days, most often when she'd neglected to eat a decent meal the evening before—but this was the fourth morning in a row now, that Hange found herself bent over the toilet bowl in the early hours of the morning, heaving up nothing but acid and empty air.

She retched until her stomach ached. There was nothing left to bring up, but her gut still rolled unpleasantly and there was a telling tremor under her tongue that warned her it might be best to stay in the bathroom a little while longer. She settled heavily against the wall to catch her breath.

It didn't make any sense. For most of the day, Hange felt fine. A little tired, maybe, but that was only to be expected after spending half the night every night on the bathroom floor. Tonight, no doubt, would follow the uncomfortably familiar routine: Hange would dry-heave a little longer, until the queasiness abated enough for Levi to convince her to come back to bed, and then she would toss and turn, too warm beneath the bed clothes, until she could fall into a restless sleep. She'd wake up feeling a little groggy, a little bleary, unreasonably hungry, but after a coffee and some breakfast she would feel well again. Perfectly normal.

Like clockwork, Levi appeared in the doorway just as Hange had flopped herself back over the toilet. She felt his palm, cool and soft, press against the back of her neck. Hange gathered her hair back from her face with both hands, braced her elbows on the toilet bowl, letting out a groan of discomfort as her stomach twisted, threatened to revolt again. Levi's thumb rubbed soothingly against her neck.

Sure enough, she brought up nothing more, but she gagged plenty, and found herself gasping for breath by the time she leaned back against Levi, aching and exhausted. His lips pressed into her damp hair.

Levi was as silent as always. His touch was pleasant, his presence welcome. Hange needed the hand he offered to pull her to her feet, needed his reassuring grip at her hips as she brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth out. Her quaking knees felt unstable beneath her.

He lay facing her after they got into bed. Hange was sprawled out atop the covers, shifting restlessly to find the coolest patches on the bed. Levi watched her for a moment, then said, "This isn't normal."

Hange only grumbled.

"You said you'd book an appointment with the doctor."

Hange grumbled again. Levi ticked his tongue and rolled to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Call tomorrow."

"If I didn't know better," Hange said sluggishly, "I'd say you were worried about me."

He scowled and rolled onto his other side, his back to her now.

"No, just sick of waking up at half four every morning to drag you back to bed."

Hange managed a small, wicked snicker, but shuffled across the space between them and pressed an apologetic kiss to the back of his neck.

"Must be dreadful," she said. Her voice sounded raw, hoarse. She buried her nose into his hair and took a long, deep breath. Levi grunted, but reached back and pulled her arm loosely over his hip. He knotted their fingers together loosely.

"Call them, Hange."

Hange gave his fingers a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"I will."

Hange prided herself on being a reasonably intelligent person. She had two degrees, was working towards her doctorate, and already had her name on a small handful of peer-reviewed research papers. She spoke multiple languages, read dissertations for fun, kept a (in Levi’s words) disgustingly realistic human skeleton in a box under the bed for study purposes, and had spent the better part of the last 26 years of her life studying human biology and physiology.

How she had not predicted that she might be pregnant was almost unfathomable.

She left the doctors office in a daze with an appointment card and several pamphlets in hand. She had been referred hastily to a midwife and the hospital would soon be sending out a date for an ultrasound—“As soon as possible,” the doctor had said, “since you’re not sure how far along you are.”

The thing is, Hange had been on the same birth control pill for years now. Forgetful as she may be about many, many things (like eating, and bathing, and washing the dishes and taking out the garbage and and and), Hange was religious in taking that damn pill at the same time every single day. She had never missed it, not even once. Without a regular cycle, Hange had no way of predicting when they had conceived, and the doctor was eager to make sure no essential landmarks in her antenatal care were missed, if they could possibly help it.

The thought had never even crossed her mind. It seemed ridiculous now, in hindsight. The sickness was one thing, but now that she thought about it, there were a whole host of small oddities that Hange could easily attribute to pregnancy. Lethargy, and bloating, heartburn, and she had been peeing more than usual—Hange groaned, and scrubbed her hands over her face. She should have suspected, at least. Should have put the pieces together sooner.

But, stupid and naive as it may be, she hadn’t thought it possible. Why worry about it, when Hange had taken consistent precautions to avoid it?

She felt queasy the entire bus ride home.

It wasn’t that she was against the idea of having children. One day, maybe. When she had finished her doctorate, got herself a steady, well-paid job. When she and Levi had moved out of their tiny, cramped apartment into somewhere bigger, somewhere more suited for a family.

And god. Levi.

This was something they’d never really talked about. For his part, Levi never seemed all that interested. He was good with Hange’s nieces and nephews, and Erwin’s son adored him, and he hadn’t showed any express dislike for children, but—well, tolerating other peoples little brats and raising your own are two very different things.

What if Levi didn’t want the baby? What if he did? Hange wasn’t even sure herself what she wanted to do about the whole situation—what if she didn’t want it? What if, after some reflection, Hange decided now wasn’t a good time? Could they even afford a baby right now? Hange’s money was tied up in her education, while Levi was just making ends meet at the office. They got by well enough with just the two of them, but add in a baby? A whole other person, entirely dependant on them for support? Hange could barely feed and bathe herself, some days, never mind responsibly care for a child.

By the time the bus pulled up near the house, Hange felt more distressed than ever. Levi, at least, was at work until the evening, so she had a few more hours to herself to mull everything over, but the entire situation made her stomach clench and churn unpleasantly with every new thought.

The prospect of having a child was terrifying. The prospect of not having this child was nauseating.

Levi had left the flat in pristine condition when he had left for work, but Hange barely had the energy to feel even a little guilty as she shrugged off her coat and kicked off her shoes, leaving both strewn about the floor. She dumped her bag and made her way sluggishly through to the bedroom.

Levi had made the bed. The sheet was stretched flat over the mattress, the pillows perfectly fluffed and set against the headboard. Hange’s nightshirt, one of Levi’s old, baggy shirts, too stretched and threadbare for him to wear, had been folded neatly and left on her side of the bed, her slippers lined up smartly with the bed frame. For some reason—hormones, she told herself—her eyes watered, and a lump swelled in her throat. She sniffled pitifully as she stripped off her clothes and pulled on the shirt, clambering into the bed and tugging the sheets until the cocooned around her.

Hange passed the rest of the day tossing and turning in bed. She tried to nap, but her mind was too restless, occupied with thoughts of the baby, with the concept of having to tell Levi when he came home. She could try to lie, say the doctors had done some blood work, that she was waiting on the results of some test or other, but Levi knew her too well. She could never lie to him, and her despondent state would give her away before she had the chance to say anything.

The sun was beginning to set by the time she heard Levi’s keys in the door. She felt exhausted, head aching with all the thinking, considering, weighing up her options; with running over every possible outcome she could imagine. Keeping the baby, getting rid of the baby, Levi not wanting the baby, Levi leaving over the baby—every scenario she could imagine was worse than the last. There was only one idea that she had hardly dared entertain, in fear of disappointment if things didn’t work out.

She heard Levi call out for her, but gave no answer. She listened, curled up in a ball on her side, as he shuffled around, no doubt picking up her coat and shoes from where she had abandoned them. And then he made his way towards the bedroom, steps soft on the plush carpet. The bedroom door creaked open.

“Hange?”

She made a small, warbled noise under the bedclothes. Levi came to sit on the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His hand found the curve of Hange’s hip.

“How was it?”

Hange made another noncommittal sound. She wiped her nose and eyes on the sheets, but didn’t dare show her face just yet. She wasn’t ready. She had never prepared for this conversation, never even imagined it before today. It was too soon. Not enough time to rehearse.

Levi’s hand moved to her back, rubbing lightly up and down her spine, before dropping to the mattress behind her. He leaned over her, and she felt his lips press warm and gentle to the point of her shoulder. A fresh wave of tears poured over the bridge of her nose and down the side of her face.

She tried to be quiet, but something—the shake of her shoulder, perhaps, or the shudder of air as she tried to take a steadying breath in—gave way to her crying. Levi moved off the bed, but Hange felt his fingers prying lightly at the sheets, pulling them down until he could get a good look at her face. He was kneeling by the bed now, face level with her, and he looked at her with worry pinching deep creases between his brows.

“Oi, what’d they say?”

Hange bit the inside of her lip and rubbed her damp cheek on the pillow. If Levi was bothered by her using their bedding as a tissue, he didn’t show it. He simply looked at her, eyes darting over her face, searching. It occurred to Hange then how this must look to him. She had gone to the doctors due to unexplained, violent sickness, and now she is in bed, hours later, still crying about whatever news she had received.

“I’m fine,” she said. Levi’s tense shoulders relaxed a fraction, but his face remained pinched, frowning and concerned. Hange wanted to tell him quickly, simply, like ripping off a plaster, but the words would not come. She opened her mouth, but her throat constricted painfully.

Eventually, she said, “my bag. There’s some stuff in my bag. Have a look.”

Levi gave her a somewhat quizzical look, but stood, dropping a quick kiss to her temple before going to fetch the bag, and dipping his hand in to fish out the contents inside.

Hange watched with her breath held and her stomach clenched as Levi pulled out the handful of leaflets and turned them over, looking at each one in turn. His eyes widened fractionally as comprehension dawned on him. His lips pressed into a thin line. Leaden weight settled in Hange’s gut. She curled into a tighter ball, pressing the bedsheets over her mouth and nose, waiting for him to gather himself enough to say something.

After a moment, he spoke.

“That’s all?”

Huh? “Huh?!”

Hange disentangled her arms from the sheets and sat up, staring at him. Levi moved to sit on the edge of the bed again, a scowl back on his face, though there was an intriguing flush high on his cheeks as he whacked her lightly on the top of the head with the leaflets.

“Stupid four-eyes,” he said, exasperated. “Crying like that. I thought you were dying.”

“I’m pregnant.” Hange said the word slowly, carefully, in case Levi had somehow misunderstood. He had the audacity to look at her like she was stupid.

“I can see that.”

“And you have nothing more to say about it? That’s all?”

Levi shrugged a little at her. Aside from the small patches of colour in his cheeks, Levi seemed wholly unfazed by the revelation.

“It’s just a baby. We can handle a baby.”

“That doesn’t terrify you?”

Levi scrutinised her for a moment, before he said, “are you scared?”

“Yes? Yes! How are you so calm? We can’t afford a baby—we don’t have the time for a baby? Where will they going to sleep? We don’t have a spare room. Can we get time off work to take care of a baby? How will we pay for childcare when we can’t be around?”

“Hange,” Levi said, putting a stop to her rambling. He watched her with a pinched stare. “Do you not want it?”

Hange had spent the majority of the day mulling over this same question. Staring a family was a huge, life-changing commitment, something that required careful forethought and planning. They had not had that luxury. Hange was pregnant now. She had doubts and fears, more than she could ever express, but the idea of simply having a baby—of having this baby—wasn’t upsetting. In the small, brief moments she had allowed herself to imagine a future where she and Levi were parents, where they weren’t wanting for money or time, where things were well, she felt happy. Giddy. The prospect was almost exciting.

“It’s not that,” Hange said earnestly. “I do—I’ve been thinking about it all day, and I—I do want it. But I just—we had no time to prepare. We have no savings, we have no space, I’m a mess. How are we supposed to take care of a tiny person? Babies are hard work, Levi.”

“You’re already hard work.”

Hange laughed weakly, and wiped at her face again. Levi pressed a kiss to her raw cheek.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said.

Hange leaned into him, sighing quietly.

“Is this the kind of thing we can just figure out?”

Levi hummed, shrugging his shoulder. His fingers skimmed up beneath Hange’s shirt, splaying over the small of her back and pulling her closer.

“Why not? We’ve done a good job bullshitting our way through everything else.”

Hange laughed lightly and bumped the side of her head against Levi’s.

“This is different, Levi. This is a person. A tiny little person who is going to need me and you to do everything for them. What if we can’t do it? What if we mess up?”

“Hange.” Levi pulled back a little and his hands came up to grip either side of her face, forcing her to look at him. “Stop. I know all that. But if you want the brat, and I want the brat, we’ve got no choice but to get on with it.”

“I know, I know, but—wait, you want the baby?”

Levi maintained eye contact with her, but it seemed to take a concentrated effort to do so. The flush of his cheeks deepened a little and his lips quirked at the corners. No doubt to compensate for the show of emotion, he pulled his face into his customary frown.

“It’s fine,” he said. Hange fought the urge to roll her eyes and caught his hands as he lowered them from her face, pulling them into her lap.

“Are you saying that because it’s already too late, or do you want to keep it?”

Levi’s face took on a look of constipated strain. He curled his lip as though in distaste, then hooked a hand around the back of Hange’s neck and pulled her face to his abruptly, smacking a kiss to her lips. He let his forehead settle against hers and stroked his thumb over the hinge of her jaw.

He fought to keep his tone neutral, but Hange could hear the happy tremor in his voice as he said again, “It’s fine.”

For the first time since hearing the news that day, Hange allowed herself to feel excited. To accept the idea that she and Levi were about to start their own bizarre little family. That Levi was still with her felt incredible enough, but to know that he was pleased—it was more than she could ever have hoped for. Hange gave a wet laugh and kissed him again.

“Are you allergic to looking happy?” Hange asked as they broke apart. Levi clicked his tongue and pulled back to flick her square between the eyebrows. She laughed a little louder and leaned to wipe her runny nose on his shoulder. Levi muttered under his breath, but didn’t push her away.

“Okay,” Hange said, after a moment. She sat back and pushed her hair back from her face. “Okay. We’re having a baby, then.”

Levi’s rubbed the smile from his lips with the back of his hand, nodding. “We’re having a baby.”

Hange sunk down to flop back over the pillows. Levi looked down at her, head tilted, chewing the inside of his lip. Hange reached up to brush his fringe off his forehead, warmth spilling in her chest when he held her hand close and turned to kiss her palm.

She smiled a little playfully, and freed a leg from the sheets to dig her toes into his ribs.

“If I’d known you wanted kids I would have been significantly less stressed, you know.”

Levi quirked a brow at her.

“I’ve told you that before.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“I have. At your sisters wedding.”

Hange racked her brain, searching for the conversation. She remembered the occasion, and she remembered that she and Levi had somehow ended up babysitting Hange’s family brood. She remembered Levi, wrestling to keep her youngest nephew on his lap while the eldest, still only five or six at the time, was clambering up the back of his chair, sticky hands tugging at Levi’s collar. Hange fought hard to recall more of what was said, but could remember nothing at all of Levi announcing that he had wanted one of his own.

“You said these brats aren’t so bad,” Hange said slowly.

Levi nodded at her. Hange waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, only looked at her like there was nothing more he needed to say.

“That’s it? That’s your idea of telling me you want kids?”

“The hell else could I have meant?”

Hange dug her toe at him again but Levi caught her foot this time, pushing it firmly down onto the mattress. Hange reached for him with both arms instead, curling them around the back of his neck and tugging him down quickly. He toppled over her with a quiet oof, and Hange rolled them quickly, straddling his waist and dropping her weight down onto him.

“That is the kind of thing you say clearly, Levi! These brats aren’t so bad—you’re ridiculous!”

Levi wrestled with her arms a little longer before giving up and bringing his hands instead to rest low on her hips. He watched her with a curious expression on his face, something open and soft, and then his eyes roved down to her abdomen and his thumbs brushed inwards, beneath the hem of her shirt, stroking over her lower belly.

This time, he didn’t fight his smile.

He reached up and pulled her down by the neck, and kissed her soundly. Hange melted against him, welcomed the press of his tongue between her lips, shuddered pleasantly when he nipped at her bottom lip. She went with him willingly as he rolled them both over, nudging a knee between her legs and settling his weight against her.

She was spreading her legs to make space for him, when he paused suddenly, and pulled back, leaning over the bed and scooping through the discarded back of leaflets. Hange, winded and dishevelled, watched him incredulously as he flicked through the contents of one, then tossed it aside and opened another.

“What are you doing?”

Without looking up, Levi replied, “Checking.”

“Checking what?”

“I wanna know if we can still—” he waved a hand between them, and went back to searching.

“We’ve been—” Hange mimicked his gesture, “—up until now anyway.”

Levi looked up at her, looking mildly horrified. He held up one his open leaflet and said, “You’ve been drinking alcohol, too. You’re not supposed to do that. And look, here—you’re not supposed to overwork. You’ll have to take on less hours at the university. And you’ll eat. Proper damn meals. Every day.”

Hange flopped back against the pillows, eyes rolling, watching as Levi picked up each new leaflet in turn, pointing out every little adjustment that Hange would have to make.

“This one says you should get eight to ten hours sleep per night. Every night. And not so much coffee, the caffeine’s bad for the baby.”

The baby. It sounded surreal. It sounded ridiculous. Levi shifted to sit against the headboard beside her after opening the chunky little What to Expect While Expecting volume Hange had been handed while leaving the doctors. He seemed thoroughly engrossed, and seemingly unaware when one of his hands reached out to pull Hange’s hair free of its ponytail and sink into her hair. She hummed happily as his nails scraped over her scalp.

Things were still scary, and Hange was still uncertain about how this whole adventure might turn out. But Levi was still with her, and Levi was happy, and that—

—Well, that was good enough.

#levihan #ask #my writing #this was fun!! thank you :D #hoping I can get around to the other prompts soon too!!

293 notes · View notes

10-porgs-in-a-trenchcoat · 3 years

Text

Selfies, Tea, and Photography

AO3

Pairing: Commander Fox x GN!Reader Pen Pal Fic

Premise: based off this post I made a while back where I mused on the concept of a clone/reader insert pen pal fic. Starting off with Fox based on a suggestion by @istanmyman

Word count: ~3.9k

Rating: G

Other notes: Gender-neutral reader, no use of Y/N, apparently I can only write Thorn as Fox’s best bro and nosy wingman

When you heard the news that the Grand Army of the Republic was starting up a correspondence program for troopers and civilians to connect and communicate, you immediately signed up for it. Not that your friends and family weren’t enough for you, it was just that you itched to learn more about the galaxy and what it was like to live and travel among the stars. Enrolling in the program was the closest you were going to get until you were able to travel yourself.

(That, and you were curious to learn more about the clones who were fighting for the Republic.)

Around a month after signing up for the program, you learned you were matched with CC-1010, also known as “Fox.” A few days after learning about your match, you received your first message from him.

Hello,

I am Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard. I am stationed on Coruscant, where I oversee the security of the Senate, manage operations at the military base on the planet, and coordinate with local authorities to maintain public safety. My fellow Guard Commanders and I are participating in this correspondence program to connect with Republic citizens we have sworn to protect and defend. I look forward to communicating with you.

Regards,

Commander Fox

His opening message was … something. It read like he didn’t want to be in the program, like his fellow Commanders may have forced him to do it with them. You also supposed he may have not known how else to introduce himself, and that was the best way he could think of to make a good first impression.

Regardless of the reason for his overly stiff and formal introduction, you wrote up your first message to Fox:

Hello Commander Fox, it’s nice to meet you!

I live on Naboo, in a small town in the lake country. I have a job in my grandmother’s tea shop. It’s not nearly as exciting as guarding Senators or catching bad guys, but it’s quiet and peaceful. I’m saving up to travel the galaxy one day, and until then the next best thing is talking with people like you who live in different places.

I do have some questions for you: what’s it like living on Coruscant? What do you do in your free time? Do you have any exciting stories about saving Senators from Separatists that you can share?

Hope to hear from you soon!

You signed with your name and sent the message.

A few days later, Fox sent his response. He greeted you by name in his opening line then went on to say:

Coruscant is loud, crowded, and messy. Feels like the planet never sleeps, with all the noise and lights at all hours of the day. My troopers and I live in barracks on the surface, and we don’t get much free time. Some of the boys like to go to this bar called 79’s that a lot of clones frequent. It’s not my favorite place, though. When I have free time, I like to relax with a good book, watch holodramas, or catch up on sleep. The work we do is important and a great service to the Republic, but a quiet peaceful life on Naboo with no excitement would be a welcome change of pace compared to my current station.

I haven’t rescued any Senators in the line of duty, but I did help Senator Amidala arrest Ziro the Hutt at the beginning of the war. I like Senator Amidala, she has a good head on her shoulders.

(She’s your Senator, isn’t she?)

I hope that’s what you were wanting to hear.

Looking forward to your response,

Commander Fox

You smiled to yourself as you read his message, and you imagined him in full armor laying back in a bed reading a book. Quiet, restful moments that you took for granted in your quiet life must have been sacred to a man like Fox.

The following day, you hiked out to the nearest lake to take pictures. You made sure to capture the lush green grass surrounding the lake, the colorful wildflowers growing along the shore, the sparkling crystal blue waters, and the majestic waterfalls that poured water into the lake. You made sure to include the pictures in the next message you wrote to Fox:

Senator Amidala is indeed from Naboo. She was our Queen too, back when I was younger. Everyone in my town loves her, and my grandma even has her royal portrait on display in the shop.

Not much has really happened since I last wrote to you. But I did go out and take some pictures of a nearby lake! The pictures are included with this message. I hope they can give you a small taste of my quiet life here.

Three weeks went by, and you hadn’t received a message from Fox. At first you figured he was busy with his duties. Then you worried that your pictures of the lake soured his mood, reminding him of something he couldn’t have. Then … you feared the worst.

One day after work, you went home and checked your message inbox on your computer. There was a message waiting for you from Fox. You breathed a sigh of relief as you opened it and read:

I’m sorry it took me so long to write you back. There was a bombing that took out the Senate’s power grid, and then a hostage crisis with bounty hunters, and then Ziro the Hutt escaped from prison. When I haven’t been scouring the city for Ziro or his accomplices, I have been neck-deep in paperwork.

Ironic, how right after I brag about helping bring Ziro into custody, he escapes.

I appreciate the pictures you sent me. Naboo looks like a beautiful planet. I would love to visit someday.

~ Fox

You took note of how he signed off with just his name, not his rank, and then you leaned back in your chair to mull over what to say to him. Your first idea was to invite him to visit Naboo once the war was over, but who knew when that would be. Unable to think of anything to say, you decided to come back to it later as you went about your evening.

The next day while you were at work, you served a customer some herbal tea that was supposed to have a relaxing effect. The customer didn’t stick around long enough for you to see if it worked, but you took a tin full of the loose-leaf tea home with you after your shift. You reviewed the rules of the correspondence program, confirming that it would be appropriate to send a package to Fox, and then you packaged the tea up and took it to the shipping depot to send to Coruscant.

Stars, shipping items to Coruscant was expensive. Fox better like that tea, you thought.

Hello Fox,

I don’t mind that you wrote late. I’m just glad that nothing happened to you.

That really is some rotten luck, Ziro escaping. I hope you or the Jedi catch him and take him back to prison. In the meantime, remember to rest and take care of yourself! Coruscant needs a great Commander like you looking out for it, and I like having you as my pen pal.

I sent you a package with some tea from the shop. It’s a relaxation blend. I haven’t tried it, but it’s popular with customers. It should arrive in the next rotation or two. Hope you like it.

Three days later you got his next message:

The tea is wonderful. I had a cup of it an hour before going to bed, and I had the best sleep of my life. Thank you.

~Fox

Short and sweet, but you couldn’t ask for more.

Over the following weeks you and Fox continued to exchange messages. The two of you discovered that you shared a common interest in a holodrama series and dedicated several messages to discussing it and predicting what might happen in the coming episodes. You sent him more pictures of the countryside and of your village, and he sent you pictures of the Coruscant skyline at sunset: the way the golden light of the sun glinted off the shining chrome towers was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, and it moved Coruscant up a few spots on your list of places to visit.

At one point you looked up pictures of the clones on the Holonet to get an idea of what Fox might look like. However, the only pictures of the troopers you could find showed them with their helmets on. The closest you could get was a ten-year-old picture of Jango Fett; Jango was ridiculously handsome, so it would stand to reason that Fox would be too.

Fox gradually began loosening up, and he shared stories about growing up on Kamino or shenanigans his brothers got into. He hinted at there being some interpersonal drama among some Senators, but he didn’t name names since he knew the supervisors of the correspondence program read his messages before sending them to you, to make sure he wasn’t divulging information he shouldn’t be.

Fox also asked you more questions about your life. You told him about your childhood, your relationship with your parents, how you got your job at your grandmother’s shop, about your friends that moved to Theed for work or university studies, and all the places in the galaxy you wanted to visit.

You mentioned wanting to see Felucia, and in his next message Fox included pictures of the planet’s colorful trees, plants, flowers, and shrubs – including a few at night, when the vegetation gave off a bioluminescent glow.

One of my fellow Commanders spends a lot of time doing missions on Felucia. I asked him for pictures to show you and he took these and sent them to me.

I’m trying to get him to join this correspondence program too, but he won’t agree to it. He spends a lot of time with his Jedi, maybe that’s enough for him.

I’ve had a lot of mixed feelings about not having a Jedi. I think about how some of them seem like a pain to work with and that it might not be worth the trouble, but then I see other Jedi treat the men under their command as friends or even family.

Which is why I’ve come to appreciate your messages. When I get them, they’re the highlight of my day. For a brief amount of time I feel like a normal person. I’ve never met you face-to-face, I don’t even know what you look like, but I consider you a friend.

~Fox

Getting pictures of Felucia from Fox made you feel all warm and fluttery inside. What he said about feeling like a normal person did as well, but it broke your heart at the same time. You wanted to stow away on a ship to Coruscant to give him a hug, and then go kick the behinds of anyone who ever made him feel bad about himself. Especially since he and his brothers worked so hard to keep people safe … it was a crime that they weren’t getting the recognition they deserved.

You snapped a picture of yourself to include in your next message, making sure the lighting and angle were just right so you looked your best. It also helped that you just happened to be wearing a color that you thought you looked good in.

Thank you for the pictures of Felucia! When I look at them it’s almost like I’m actually there. Please pass my gratitude along to your brother who took them.

I think of you as a friend too. I’m grateful to have you defending the Republic, and I’m glad to have you as my pen pal.

I don’t have much to offer you right now, other than a picture of me. At least now you can know what I look like.

You sent the message with the picture, leaned back in your chair, and watched the monitor of your computer. You knew that Fox wasn’t going to write back that same night, but you imagined him opening the message, reading your words, seeing your picture, and smiling the way his message made you smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Were you developing a crush on him?

…

Then again, so what if you were? You didn’t have to tell him, you could hide it. He was parsecs away on another planet. And he was a clone; would he even be allowed to date if he wanted to? Nothing would or could come of it. If a crush was forming, with any luck it would go away on its own. But that didn’t stop you from double-checking how many credits you had in your savings and comparing that number to the cost for a ticket to Coruscant.

Four days went by during which you went about your usual business, often distracted by thoughts of Fox how his day might have been going. Maybe he was chasing Separatists or criminals around, or maybe he was buried under another mound of paperwork. You wondered if he caught the newest episode of the holodrama you both liked; you couldn’t wait to talk about it with him. That little crush you were sure would fade away wasn’t going anywhere, and it both delighted and frustrated you.

The first thing you did after you got home from your shift was check your messages. It had become routine at this point, especially since a new message from him easily became the highlight of your day. However, the message in your inbox – presumably from Fox – was not what you thought it would be:

Greetings, Fox’s Pen Pal!

I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but Fox has it BAD for you. I’ve been watching him write these messages to you and hemming and hawing around the barracks and his office making sure he gets every word just right. He’s got your pictures of the lakes and fields on Naboo framed on the wall of his office, he drank all that tea you sent him and he still keeps the tin on his desk right next to your selfie. And if you knew the amount of favors he had to cash in to get our brother Bly to get those pictures of Felucia for you! (it’s a lot, trust me)

Anyway, I thought you ought to know. I told him to make a move and be honest about his feelings but he’s shy. So even though I might be overstepping some boundaries, I feel like it’s my brotherly duty to intervene on his behalf. If there’s a chance you might feel the same way, you should tell him. If you don’t, proceed how you will but please go easy on him.

If it influences your decision-making process at all, I included a picture of him. He’s a good-looking guy if I do say so myself, although he’s not as handsome as me 😉

Yours truly,

Commander Thorn

PS – please don’t tell Fox that I wrote you using his account.

You sat at your computer, staring blankly at the words on the screen, taking minutes to process what you just read … and then you remembered there was a picture attached to the message, so you opened up the attachment.

Jango Fett may have been handsome, but Fox was gorgeous. He looked like he was in his early- or mid-twenties, although there were wisps of gray hair above his ears by his temples. His hair was cropped close along the sides and longer on top, and you took a minute to admire his curl pattern. He wasn’t smiling in the picture, his face wearing a more neutral resting expression that showed off the scar running along the corner of his mouth. Finally, you noticed his eyes: framed by dark circles, his irises were a deep, inviting shade of brown. What would it be like to look into his eyes in person, or run your hands through his hair, or trace his scar with your thumb before you went in to –

You stopped yourself. You were getting carried away. Heat rose up the back of your neck and across your cheeks.

For the rest of the evening you mulled over what to do next. You knew you wanted to tell him that you liked him too … but doing it over a message didn’t feel like enough. Turning up unannounced was a bad idea too. Would he even want you to show up in person? And since you didn’t have his contact information outside of the correspondence program, you didn’t have a way to call him for a face-to-face talk via holotransceiver.

Unsure of what to do, you fired off a message as soon as the fleeting idea for it popped into your brain. Would you regret it? Maybe. Only one way to find out.

Hi Fox,

I want to come visit you on Coruscant. When will you be free?

It only took a few minutes for him to respond, but it felt like hours. The entire time your heart pounded furiously in your chest, and you bounced your leg up and down since you could barely contain your jitters inside your body. There was a chance he would say no, Thorn did say he was shy after all. But when his message came through, you opened it immediately, and all the jitters melted away.

I see you got Thorn’s message … lucky for us he’ll be available to cover for me when I’m off-duty to host you. Let me know when you’re coming.

Your mouth instantly spread into a grin … you could hardly believe it. It hardly seemed real, even as you opened up a Holonet page to book a roundtrip ticket.

Four rotations later, your transport came into orbit around Coruscant. A shuttle took you from the transport down to the planet’s surface, and you were in awe of the densely-packed constellations of lights twinkling up from the planet’s surface. Descending into the atmosphere, those lights morphed into buildings, and lanes upon lanes of speeder traffic, and seemingly endless grids of buildings. At one point you saw several buildings whose architecture differed from the others; the pilot pointed them out and said they were the Senate Complex and the Jedi Temple, respectively.

You disembarked from the shuttle and paused to look around. Coruscant was nothing like Naboo. Not a speck of green in sight, no signs of nature, just duracrete and grays upon grays as far as the eye could see. And it was loud, just like Fox said it was, with the revving engines and blasting horns from speeders breezing by above your head.

You checked your wrist chrono, seeing that you had two hours until you were due to meet Fox at 79’s. Next, you pulled a datapad out of your bag that contained a map of the planet’s surface and studied how to get from your current position to the hotel you booked for your stay. The hotel was only a couple of blocks from the bar – not that you had certain expectations for this trip or anything, you thought it would be easier to stay nearby.

All in all, it took one hour and fifty minutes to get from the shuttle landing pad to the hotel to drop off your things, and then another eight to get from the hotel to 79’s. In your rush and panic as you navigated Coruscant’s taxi and public transportation systems, you didn’t have time to be too nervous about meeting Fox in person for the first time. But as you walked up to the entrance of the bar with its painfully bright neon signs and the muffled music spilling out from inside, it all hit you.

You took off to a strange planet by yourself to see a man you only knew through messages. If your grandmother had her way she would have stopped you from going. What if he didn’t like you after the trip … what if you didn’t like him? What if something went wrong?

But then you saw him standing by the entrance to the bar, recognizing him by his red-painted armor and the gray hairs above his ears and the thick curls on top of his head that you admired so much. He was surveying the area with a soldier’s laser-sharp focus, perhaps looking for your arrival, and he clutched a small bouquet of colorful flowers to his chest. When his eyes met yours, his face lit up with a smile, the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. Your worries seemed to matter less as you broke into a brisk jog to meet him.

“Fox?” you asked, smiling yourself.

“Indeed,” he responded before he handed the flowers to you. “I- uh- I got you these.”

“They’re beautiful, thank you,” you said. No one had ever gotten you flowers before; in the past it didn’t seem like anything to miss out on, but now that you held a bouquet in your arms, you felt special. Treasured, even.

“And, uh, as for the venue ….” Fox’s voice trailed off as he glanced over his shoulder at the bar’s garishly bright neon signs.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” you said, trying to be reassuring.

“I’m not allowed in most places, even when I’m off-duty … and I would have liked to take you somewhere nicer ….” He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. You could hear in his voice just how nervous he was.

“Because … well … you’re special to me. In a way no one else in my life is.”

You smiled at him again, and then wasted no time in leaning forward and pressing your lips to his cheek. It felt right to kiss him like that, but when you pulled back and saw him staring at you in shock and awe, you worried that it was too much too soon.

“C-can I …” he stammered. You nodded, and he angled his face so he could return the gesture. His lips were surprisingly soft against the skin of your cheek, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they would feel or taste like on your own lips.

There would be time for that later, you reminded yourself, if all went well.

“Does this place have food?” you ask him.

“Yes.”

“Drinks?”

“Well it is a bar … they have non-alcoholic drinks too, if that’s what you prefer.”

“Then it’s got everything I need. I don’t know what I would do with myself at a fancy restaurant anyway.”

“I imagine a restaurant would be quieter and allow for some proper conversation … but Thorn told me about a spot inside where we’ll be able to talk and hear each other without having to shout over the music.” Fox added.

“Sounds perfect,” you said with a smile.

Fox offered his arm to you and you took it, wrapping your hand around his bicep just above his elbow so he could lead you into the bar. Throughout the evening any time your eyes met his you felt safe, like you were the only person in the universe, and that you needed to figure out a way to make regular visits to Coruscant.

No matter what, you would always be glad you got Fox as a pen pal, and that you came to visit him. Especially since it was more fun to rant and rave about the newest episode of the holodrama in person.

#reader insert isn't my forte so I hope this is okay XD #commander fox #commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #clone trooper x reader #clone wars #star wars #my writing

105 notes · View notes

lordkambe · 4 years

Note

your writings are just beautiful!! could i request one of my dear rintarou (mori!) where y/n comes into his office wearing a maid costume and he just...loses it (nsfw obviously hehe)

♠ character, fandom, type of reader: mori ogai, bungou stray dogs, woman reader.

♠ genre, rating: nsfw. 18+ only.

♠ themes, triggers: explicit descriptions, explicit dirty talk, semi public sex, light degradation, master!mori

♠ author’s note: thank you so much ! and i love calling mori rintaro 🥺 i’m glad someone else calls him that too ! of course... of course this man would have a maid kink. this is def p*rn without the plot, i hope you enjoy~

With the Guild’s presence the boss of the Port Mafia was busier than before. If he wasn’t in his office reviewing plans of defense he was in meetings mulling over the details in order to protect the city he cared so deeply for. The stress consumed him so much that when he returned home he ached to sleep. Deprived of his touch but also worried about his workload, you wanted to treat Rintaro but it was difficult to do so. Instead of waiting and longing for him, you decided to take initiative.

You arrived at the Port Mafia office. The plethora of guards knew you well enough that you entered the building with ease. The coat you wore was gifted from Rintaro, the expensive fabric hugged your figure beautifully but it was what you wore underneath that would be the star of the show. The french maid outfit was displayed in numerous stores across Yokohama and you decided to purchase it, mostly as a joke. It stayed in the back of your closet hidden from Rintaro but now you decided to share that little secret with him.

The massive doors that led to his office opened. Across the long room you saw Rintaro hunched over his desk. His black coat hung behind the chair he sat upon and his hands were tangled in his hair. He was stressed and so absorbed in his workload he barely noticed you enter. As you approached your footsteps were quiet. When you reached his desk you knocked on the wood and awakened Rintaro from his trance-like state.

He looked up at you and you noticed dullness in his eyes; he was tired. “Y/N...” he said your name softly, sweetly. The dullness in his eyes washed away and instead they glimmered at the sight of you. “I’m happy to see you.” Rintaro lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles. You smiled at Rintaro, the same hand he kissed came up to touch his cheek. With the edge of your thumb you brushed his smooth skin.

“I have something special for you.” You tilted your head to the side and started to play with the belt that held your coat together.

“Oh?” Rintaro said, leaning back into his seat.

“Mhmn.” You undid the belt and removed your trench coat. Before setting it aside you retrieved the headpiece from the pocket of your coat and placed it upon your head, completing the outfit. The classic black and white ensemble came up a little bit higher than the average maid uniform and the corset style pushed your cleavage up to sit more pronounced. You gave a little spin and a girlish giggle left your lips while doing as such.

Rintaro stood from his seat almost immediately when you revealed your outfit to him. He clapped his hands together and his expression flushed into pure joy.

“Oya, oya Y/N!” He walked around his desk to stand in front of you. He spun you around and observed every inch of your body in the uniform.

“You look so cute.”

“I do?” You looked at him innocently and batted your lashes.

The cute expression Rintaro had on his face had changed into something else. The two of you hadn’t touched one another minus a few fleeting kisses in weeks. He loved your outfit. He thought you looked cute as ever but it also awakened something inside of him. You lowered your eyes and noticed that a hard-on was forming behind the fabric of his pants.

You stepped closer to him and your lips hovered over his. Your hand laid on his chest before it crawled down to touch his clothed cock. Rintaro opened his mouth and kissed you. He made no time to waste with the usual soft kisses. Immediately his tongue was inside your mouth he parted from your mouth and a string of salvia connected the two of you.

With his gloved fingertip Rintaro traced the outline of your bottom lip. “So beautiful... and all mine.” He kissed you again and pressed your figure against his desk. With his arm he slid everything off the desk and set it to the floor with a crash.

“What if someone hears us?” You asked between a breath.

“Don’t play dumb, my love. You knew what would happen if you came here wearing this. If they hear us, then so be it.”

His kisses fell from your lips and down to your jawline. He traced his kisses upward to place gentle kisses on your ear. He licked the surface before gently blowing in your ear. The sweet sensation sent tingles down your spine.

“You want them to hear you, don’t you? You want everyone to hear how good you’re going to get fucked.”

The timbre of his voice in your ear caused a shiver to run down your abdomen. You clenched your legs together in order for your throbbing clit to feel some pleasure. Rintaro was quick to open your legs with his knee. He took a step backward and removed his gloves before beginning to undress. As he did, your eyes were attached to the outline of his cock.

“Open your legs” he said, “let me see how wet you are.”

You opened your legs widely to expose the wet spot on your panties to him. Rintaro walked up towards you and placed two of his fingers on the wet spot. With a little bit of pressure you twitched at the sensation. Rintaro smiled at your moans. “The sounds you make.... So cute.” He kissed you again you noticed his hands were careful, he didn’t want to ruin the costume you wore.

He held your skirt up higher so it bunched up around your pelvis. Rintaro hooked his finger on the underside of your panties and moved them aside to reveal your pussy. With his two fingers he rubbed your folds. The sensation of his fingers were so missed you threw your head back and let out a moan.

“R-Rintaro!” You cried out.

“Yes Y/N?” He asked teasingly.

“Rintaro. Please.”

“You want your master to fuck you?”

You brought your head up to look at him. Your eyes locked with his and you nodded your head.

“Yes! Master, please. I need you so bad.”

Rintaro placed his two fingers inside of you. His fingers had prepared you to take his length fully. He wasn’t in a toying mood either. It’d been way too long for him to drag out your pleasure. He was just as eager to fuck you.

He removed his fingers from inside you and placed them in his mouth. You moaned as you watched him suck on your juices. “My princess tastes so good.”

Rintaro took his cock in his hands and gave himself a single stroke before aligning the tip of his cock to your entrance. With a groan of his own, Rintaro fully entered you. Your pussy was so wet you welcomed him inside with ease.

“You take master’s cock so well, Y/N.”

With the praise he began to move his hips in and out.

“Look at your master's cock going in and out of you.”

You looked down just as he told you too and moaned softly at the sight of his cock thrusting in and out of you. The pleasure he gave you encouraged you to move your hips along with his. Your actions caused Rintaro to throw his head back. He hummed a moan as well enjoying every ounce of pleasure you were providing him.

“Ugh, Y/N!” He moaned out. “Taking master’s cock so good --- like a good slut.” The grip he earned on your hips was firm and he began thrusting in and out of you at a faster but erratic speed. Meanwhile your legs were trembling and the thought that you were in his office had escaped you. The moans that were leaving your mouth were loud and echoed throughout his office. Rintaro chuckled,

“So it’s true? You want everyone to hear how good you get fucked. How much of a whore you are for your master’s cock.”

You arched your back in response. Unable to get a word out because of your pleasure, you were far too concentrated on reaching your peak than engaging in Rintaro’s teasing words.

“You’re clen-clenching.” Rintaro noted. “Are you going to cum for me?”

You swallowed harshly somehow you managed to cry out, “yes! Yes! Yes!”

Rintaro opened your legs wider and lowered his body closer to yours. He was hitting inside you deeper and you felt the tip of his cock in your stomach. The feeling was blindingly pleasurable.

“Cum for me my princess, cum.”

You felt Rintaro’s cock twitch and you clenched around him. Shortly after his demand you arched your back higher than before. The crown of your head was hard against the surface of his desk. Your hands were punching Rintaro’s chest and you violently orgasmed. The thick spurts of his cum coated your pussy and when Rintaro removed himself his juices mixed with yours dripped out from within you. Rintaro stood and looked at your fucked out body on the desk.

The two of you were panting and coming down from your highs. You attempt to get up but Rintaro stops you.

“No, no my princess. I’m not done with you.”

You lay back excited to see what other tricks Rintaro had up his sleeve.

#bsd x reader #bsd smut #mori ogai x reader #mori ogai x y/n #bsd x y/n #bsd mori #mo.#tm.#bsd.#nsfw.#Anonymous

275 notes · View notes

saphie3243 · 3 years

Text

First Solstice

For my Secret Snowflake @tomtenadia

Nesta spends her first Solstice sober in Illyria, unable to bring herself to brave the inner circle celebration for a second year in a row.

Word Count: 5500+

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297182

There was something soothing about a room being so crowded it became hard to breathe. Better still when the music was so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Best when bodies are grinding, booze is flowing, and something to smoke is being passed around. Everyone was here for the same reason, everyone wanted a distraction. Amren had made several comments that she couldn’t believe Nesta got males to go home with her when she smelled like sweat and a distillery. She apparently didn’t understand that everyone smelled the same at places like this.

The band was better than usual. The music was… actually good. Maybe that’s why the bar was extra packed today. Or maybe it was because Solstice was tomorrow and no one wanted to think about all the ways they’ve disappointed their families this year.

Disappointing. The male she dragged into the bathroom was just that. He wasn’t even worth the time she wasted not getting another bottle of wine. She didn’t even let him finish before booting him out and stumbling back to her favorite stool. The bartender knows her by now and has mulled wine waiting.

It’s warm and more mulled than wine. She nodded to him. They know how to take care of her here, she certainly spends enough. Leo is decent enough to warn her off of the less than savory types that might be interested in more than even she was willing to give. She sighs back into the glass. Why she felt the need to judge herself when tomorrow she was going to get 5 times over from Feyre and insipid little family was why she needed another glass.

She turned around in her stool, facing back out, watching the crowd move in a formless mass. This band had changed over. The new one wasn’t nearly as good. Several months haunting bars and clubs to all hours in the morning had provided Nesta a proper sampling of Velaris’ bands, and, in her mind, gave her a liberty to criticize as she saw fit. This crater-faced crooner was pitchy and couldn’t move a room if he winnowed them. That earlier one had a woman out front. She was unusual for a Fae. She was beautiful, yes, but she wasn’t the wispy waif most fae women were. She was tall and built, covered in a layer of extra fat that filled out wonderful curves and jiggled when she danced. But that wasn’t what made her remarkable. Her voice took your heart by the ears and pulled you into the emotion she wanted you to feel.

“Weird compliment, but I’ll take it.”

“Lor-Cass said you weren’t going home this year,” Emerie placed the breeches she was folding into a pile of identical wares.

“I didn’t go home last year, either,” Nesta swished the black liquid in her cup as she reviewed the ledgers. Last Solstice only served to remind Nesta how much of a stranger she was to her own family, to Feyre’s new one. She would never be able to call that debacle “going home.” This year, however, she could avoid Velaris. Being banned from the city meant Feyre no longer had the ability to force her into attending farcical family meals, no matter how pissy she was about it.

She closed the books with a sigh and placed them back into a drawer. “Numbers look good.”

Emerie moved her pile of pants over to their shelf. “Thanks for looking over them, I haven’t had anyone to check my math since dad.” Nesta nodded and pulled out the books and notepads Emerie kept hidden with her accounting ledgers.

She leafed through to the furthest marked page. “You didn’t get much further last night,” she commented.

“Ah, no time, had to process a big shipment.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta muttered. 5 words underlined. Not the most, not the least. She reviewed the best-guess at the words definition in Emerie’s notebook. Most were correct. She added pronunciation guides next to some. “Macabre means bloody, gruesome.”

“Why is there an R in it?”

“Because the gods are cruel.” She heard Emerie’s answering laugh. “You’re doing well though. We can probably move on to actually writing.” She didn’t really think it would be that hard for Emerie to learn to read and write. She ran this business - she was clearly whip-smart, just uneducated. It could easily be remedied.

“In the meantime, can you answer the orders?”

This little arrangement worked out nicely. Nesta lended her books and made her literate, meanwhile she would help out with store correspondence and would review the books. Reviewing the books was less about checking Emerie’s math - that she had a natural understanding for - and more about making sure each transaction had sufficient notes.

She took another sip from her night-black liquid. The best part of Illyria, in her mind, was this coffee thing. It didn’t grow locally, needing a warmer climate for the source plant to thrive, but it had become a staple in the tribes as a way to keep troops moving with minimal sleep. Hot and bitter, it really shouldn’t have been as pleasant to drink as it was, but she found herself unable to stop.

“When does Lo- Cass head down south?”

“He should be meeting everyone Solstice morning and be back the day after.”

“What are you going to do?”

Stare at the liquor bottles he filled with water to tease me. Drink my weight in coffee and stand outside Devlon’s house at 2 am sending waves of power over the door to fuck with him until some asshole walks by and works up the balls to ask me back to their place - or die of exposure. Whatever’s first.

“Not sure, why?”

“Would you… I don’t know… want to spend tomorrow with… me?” Emerie had approached the table, tapping her fingers with each phrase. Nesta looked her up and down. If it was anyone else, she would have thought Cassian put her up to it. But she was also alone for the holidays, and Nesta knew that was probably a much bigger deal for the Illyrian than it was for her. She had mentioned once that she didn’t have many people since her father died. Adding in that Emerie didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do... If she was asking, it was because she wanted to spend this day with Nesta.

She smiled at her friend, “Come over whenever.”

___

Dinner was hot and ready when she came in. Cassian always made sure that their meals were piping. His own way of combating the awful wet cold of Illyria. She had to wonder if part of it also had to do with keeping the fires low in the house.

Nesta kicked off her boots by the door and carried them to the fireplace. She set them down next to Cassian’s - the secret to warm feet, he’d said. Their coat rack was also by the fireplace for similar reasons. She gently felt the socks left hanging there- warm, thank the Wall. She pulled off her damp knits and left them in a pile on the floor while pulled on the fresh clothes. They went up to hang immediately after.

“Do you need to take every peg? Emerie’s store is only 5 minutes away,” Cassian called from across the house. He was standing in the kitchen with two bowls of stew.

“Five minutes flying, 25 walking,” she turned to him. “Through a foot and a half of snow.”

She pointed to the bottom of her dress and the crust of ice that had formed there. He grimaced.

“I would have picked you up if you asked.”

“Unnecessary.” She pulled the dress over her head and left it to hang on the coat rack. After months of living together, they had long overcome the initial discomfort with mild nudity. Not that she was anywhere near naked. She still had the chemise that ended at her knees, her wool sleeves, her knitted belly warmer, and a double layer of wool hose. She was more covered than either Amren or Morrigan on any given day. Finally in only dry clothes, she marched over the kitchen and took the bowl from Cassian.

Four months of living with Cassian in Illyria was… surprisingly easy. The mountains were peaceful, simple. The way of life here is more similar to the human society she grew up with than the magical speed of Velaris. Emerie was a pleasant discovery. She still wanted a drink, desperately, but the biting cold had a similar numbing effect if you stood out in it long enough. The worst part was being dragged out of bed at dawn for “training”. Though her training was less about learning to fight herself and more about standing around the training rink terrifying males while Cass tried to teach little girls to throw a punch.

Coincidently she hadn’t gotten laid in 4 months either.

“As much as I love seeing you in your underwear, you do have very nice, very warm leathers.”

“Bite me,” she said as she shoveled food in her mouth. She had made it this long avoiding putting those damn things on. She wasn’t going to cave now. No matter how much imagining the fur lining made her whimper.

He smiled down at her, making a point of flashing his teeth. “Gladly.” Whatever mischief was running through his thoughts cleaned itself up as he changed subjects. He was the other surprise. The animosity between them was turned down to a polite simmer. Oh they still bickered, and they flirted. They never said it, and God willing never would, but any edges of disgust in their banter had long been smoothed by fondness. “Az will be picking me up at 7 tomorrow. If you change your mind about coming with me, be ready to go then.”

“I won’t,” she answered, choosing not to tell him that she would be spending the day with Emerie.

Surprisingly, he didn’t push.

“Oh good, you’re up. I’m making breakfast, if you want.”

Nesta woke up in a bed that was far too clean to be her own. Her head ached, her throat was dry, and she was naked. She sat up and took in her surroundings. This room was not hers. She had less furniture and more piles of shit everywhere. She was trying to figure out how she got there when the door opened and a woman came wandering in.

Nesta recognized her as soon as she spoke and finally recalled the night prior. She was the singer for that band. They chatted each other up at the bar for hours, getting progressively drunker. By the time the bar closed they stumbled home - going to hers because it was closer. They jumped each other as soon as the door closed. It was a new experience for Nesta, being with a woman. And it was good. The singer sounded as lovely when she came as she did when she belted.

Staying for breakfast would be nice. Something real in her stomach to soak up the alcohol was very needed. And if she played it right, there was a chance for as lovely a morning as there was a night.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Nesta waited until her partner had left the room before she pulled on her dress and snuck out the window.

Lovely wasn’t what she deserved.

___

No training didn’t mean that Nesta didn’t wake up at first light. It just meant she didn’t need to get dressed. Part of the initial torture of first arrival was learning that Cass put her in an east facing room with larg windows on the walls - and refused to let her have curtains. Privacy apparently wasn’t as important as making sure she didn’t have oversleeping as an excuse.

She swore at the sun, as she did every morning, and felt around in the bed next to her. Before getting out from under the covers, she pulled on her fluffy robe. This little trick she learned back in the hut. Sleep with the clothes you’re going to wear if you want them to be warm in the morning.

She trudged out to the main room and kitchen, beginning the process of preparing breakfast. Another rule of the house, if you are up first, you cook first. Same for dinner and coming home. Lunch they were on their own. There was a housemaid when she first arrived, but… she didn’t last long. She found the tea kettle and set about making hot water while she poured oats into bowls. From their icebox - a box they just left sealed outside to let winter keep cold - she pulled out a package of cured bacon. The kettle whistled, and she used the entire batch to steep the coffee. The next round of water was for the oatmeal.

The shadows between the windows grew and darkened. Before he even stepped out, Nesta greeted him.

“I’m making coffee. Get a cup if you want some.”

“Thank you. I’ll take bacon, too, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s Cass’s money,” she answered, adding three more pieces to the griddle.

Azriel was the only one from Velaris that visited with any sort of regularity, mostly due to how closely he needed to work with Cassian. He would come up about once a week for updates or meetings or to winnow Cass somewhere. He had begun to make a habit out of arriving early to chat with Nesta. Sometimes he just came up to hang out with them. He probably only came up to spend time with Cassian, but since she was usually around, they included her.

No one else from the Inner Circle bothered to visit. Rhysand and Feyre came up once, but that… did not end well. Elain felt too guilty to come see the sister whose banishment she had consented to. Morrigan wasn’t even on the island, so it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t stop by. And Amren… Amren was keeping her vow to not speak to Nesta until she apologised to Morrigan. Something Nesta still didn’t think she needed to do.

Morrigan spent 4 nights a week at a gay bar. How the fuck was Nesta supposed to know she wasn’t out?

“Elain asked me to bring this,” he conjured a set of books and hand-knitted socks into existence, placing both onto the table while pouring himself a cup. The books were tied together with ribbons and decorated with small bows, clearly meant to be her Solstice present. The socks - well, Elain had taken up knitting sometime in the last year and had Azriel deliver a pair every time he visited.

“Why didn’t she just ask Cassian to bring it back with him?” Nesta scooped some brown sugar into her oatmeal.

The ever so slight blush on his cheeks told her what his answer did not. “She wanted to make sure you had a present for the holiday.”

“Because she knows how much I care about holidays,” and it had nothing at all to do with you leaving from her room this morning and it seeming convenient at the time. They wanted to be discrete, and Nesta accepted that - no matter how bad they were at hiding it. She poured in the hot water into her breakfast and stirred. “Any messages with that present?”

“The bacon looks done.”

“Azriel.”

He sighed. “No.”

Nesta tightened her jaw and moved the bacon from the stove to a plate, allowing him to have a piece. She wasn’t sure if she was more pissed that he didn’t have a message or that she was still hoping he would. Either way she was going to play it off. “I’m surprised they didn’t have you hock me about going, too.”

Az cocked his head. “Cass made it pretty clear you weren’t ready for that.” She snapped up at him.

“And what was his barometer for knowing if I was ready?” She sneered.

But Az only shrugged, well accustomed to playing referee for Cassian and Nesta by now. “You not wanting to go.”

Nesta was still thinking about Azriel’s answer by the time Emerie came over. She couldn’t decide if Cassian was being a presumptive ass or if he was being genuinely considerate. He had a habit of being both interchangeably. Like when he finally made his way to the kitchen, fully dressed and demanding breakfast. He added in some last minute jabs about coming back early if she got lonely as Az winnowed away with him. And even through the mocking tone, the message was clear. “If you don’t want to be alone, just say the word and I’ll come back.”

He still didn’t know she was spending today with Emerie then.

“Do you not own any decorations or do you just not like them?” she asked, looking around the room.

“What decorations?” Nesta strained in her thoughts, there was a lot of extra shit in Feyre’s living room last year…

“Solstice decorations.You know, candles, holly, garlands,” Emerie explained. It sounded like what Feyre had up - and what most of Velaris had up - but in all honesty she was not sober enough last year to make the connection that it was for the holiday and wasn’t just some seasonal nonsense. Emerie squinted at her and placed a wrapped box on the table. Presents!

Fuck. That’s right. Fae exchange presents on the Solstice.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Emerie squinted at her. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Nesta shrugged. “Humans don’t have holidays.” At most they had festivals, but they were distinctly not holidays, just an excuse to drink and dance with as many strangers as possible. The closest thing they had to a formal holiday was Treaty Day, and even that was not the intimate affair this seemed to be. She hadn’t even heard of a Solstice dinner until Feyre asked her to go last year.

“How do you not have holidays?” she asked.

“Holidays used to be very dangerous days to be human.” There were plenty of horror-stories around the suffering of human slaves on religious days. Whether they were being traded as gifts or killed as sacrifices... even if the stories were exaggerations, it led to whole-sale rejection of everything religious by human society.

“So you know nothing about solstice?” Emerie placed a hand on her hip.

“It is the longest night of the year.”

Emerie made it her mission to instruct Nesta on the finer points of an Illyrian solstice. First and foremost, every 5 years it was the last day of the Blood Rite. The theme of doing battle still continued in the other years, most tribes had hunts or tournaments for the men to mark the occasion. Women were expected to work the day to prepare for the night. The night of the Solstice was the only true peace Illyria ever saw. Solstice nights were for feasting, music, and dancing. Fighting after dark was strictly forbidden. Gifts were expected between families, friends, and especially rivals. It symbolized an acceptance that though Illyrians may compete with one another, they were still members of one army.

“Does this tribe have a tournament?” Nesta asked. Cassian hadn’t mentioned anything about it, or a feast afterwards, but he might not have thought her interested. Or ready, she thought ruefully.

“Devlon hosts a melee tournament. Puts all the entrants in the ring together and waits to see who comes out. The large feast at the end is prepared by entrant’s families,” Nesta knew she meant women in those families, “For the entrants and their families. Dad didn’t enter, so we would just watch the tournament and then spend the night at home.”

“Do you want to watch the tournament this year?”

“Yeah but you’re still in your pajamas,” Emerie laughed.

She watched by the door as Nesta dressed in her warmest clothes. Watching men fight on her day off wasn’t exactly Nesta’s idea of a good time. But Emerie wanted to go. And Cassian had tried to make the decision of whether or not she should go by not telling her about it, so that in and of itself made her want to go. Because neither were entering, and certainly neither were cooking, they wouldn’t be able to attend the feast after. But that’s just as well. A night back at the house with hot drinks and Cassian’s pantry seemed just fine to both of them.

The tournament took place in the training rings. Normally the 5 or so rings were roped off from one another, allowing different ages and skill levels to train separately. But today Devlon had taken down the separators, providing an obnoxiously large space for his melee. But it was needed. It seemed every one of Devlon’s soldiers signed up for the tournament. About 200 competitors, ranging from small boys to grown men. There were even some father-son pairs helping each other warm up in the ring.

Outside the rings, there was yet another crowd of voyeurs. Women and girls taking breaks from their preparations to watch, the merchant families - like Emerie’s, and the men too old and frail to compete anymore. Standing at the head of it all was Devlon, a poor-man’s Cassian. He caught wind of them walking up and immediately flared at the sight of Nesta before turning back to the tournament. Being a witch in Illyria had certain perks. Devlon’s apprehension being only part of it. The crowd parting for them, allowing them to stand at his side and have the best view, was another.

“Soldiers!” Devlon called as he stepped forward. All 200 men turned to him at attention, well trained by now. “You know the rules. No siphons, no weapons, no flying, no killing. You fall, you’re out. You yield, you’re out. You get knocked out of the ring, you’re out. The last men standing at sunset wins.” He raised his arm in the air, making it visible to all. He took one last look around the ring, took a breath, and dropped his arm and stepped back as he bellowed, “Lay on!”

The chaos was immediate. One of the younger kids, there without a father to hold them up, fell immediately. The rest were at each other's throats, kicking, punching, wrestling. Part of her was worried that the battle-royale would be too similar to the war. But without the clang of steel and the geysers of blood, she found this was more similar to the crowded dance halls in Velaris. Devlon, now standing next to the girls, kept his eyes on the mock-battle as he spoke. “I thought you’d be with Cassian today.”

“And miss a battle royale? Honestly Devlon, do you know me at all?” She smiled at him, relishing how he flinched at her grin. “Can’t help but notice none of the girls are competing.”

His jaw tightened. “The Solstice melee is not training. It’s tradition.”

“Now you said the same thing about the girls training, too, did you not?” Nesta had no interest in ever learning how to fight herself, and didn’t really care if girls trained or not. But there was a difference between choosing not to do something and not being allowed to do something.

“If Lord Cassian wants to insert his views here as well, he should be here to do it himself.” The harsh words were undercut by the bead of sweat racing down his cheek. He wasn’t wrong. That was part of the reason Cass was stationed up here full time. Changing the rules around women required full time intervention. In Nesta’s mind, it also required more input from the women, but that was a discussion for another time.

“Maybe next year,” Nesta yawned. She watched the battle progress. After the initial early eliminations, they had plateaued into a minor stalemate. Some alliances also became clear. Groups of friends or families fighting together, watching each other’s back, catching each other before they fell. She didn’t cheer as the crowd or Emerie did. Rather, her and Devlon seemed to be the only calm people there.

Then… something odd happened. One of the teenage boys fell suddenly. He didn’t seem to get hit particularly hard, for one. And secondly, he didn’t get back up. Both Devlon and Nesta leaned forward, looking closer. She saw it first, sniffed it out. Blood. The boy had been hit in the side and was bleeding from the wound.

“Devlon,” she said very carefully.

“I know, I didn’t see who did it.”

“We need to get him out.”

“His friends will get him out.”

She held her breath, watching. No one came. She hadn’t been watching him particularly, but she didn’t remember him teaming up like the others. The way they walked around him… “He doesn’t have friends,” she snarled. Even Emerie gulped as Nesta’s anger stirred the well of her power. Cass told her stories. Back when the shakes and cold sweats were unbearable, he stayed up with her and told stories, trying to distract her through it. Trading one dark truth for another. She told him about watching her mother die, he told her that he was alone for years until Rhys. A bastard that was left to fend for himself, potentially to die if he wasn’t strong enough. From the way they walked over this kid, he was the same. She needed to get him out of there. He was bleeding out and no one was doing a damn thing about it.

“We cannot interfere with the melee,” Devlon said, “it’s against the rules.”

“So is weapons, but someone clearly has a knife,” she spat. Devlon didn’t say anything to that. He just kept scanning the make-shift battlefield, searching. “There!” he shouted, and his green siphon flashed. Another teenager was plucked into the air by his wings. He kicked and thrashed, a small knife in his fist. Devlon pulled the kid to him, releasing his magic’s grip and decking as asshole as he got in range. The boy went down with just that one hit.

But the first boy was still out there. He was still bleeding out. Alone in a crowd. He was going to die. He was going to die in this little mock battle where killing was strictly forbidden. Was this why Cassian didn’t tell her about it? Did he have holidays like this? Did older boys gang up on him and try to kill him without anyone noticing? Was he left alone to bleed on his own?

“Nesta!”

Emerie’s voice was farther away than it should have been, and muffled by a crowd of idiots fighting with one another. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got here, but Nesta was standing over the fallen boy. As they registered her presence, one by one the soldiers stopped. “The witch.” “It’s the witch.” “Why is the witch here?” She ignored them all, kneeling down to the injured. He was pale and grimacing, having lost a lot of blood - still losing it, actually. The knife had gotten him just below the ribs, catching who knows which organs. Without another word she picked him up, allowing his head to rest against his shoulder and his body to rest on her torso.

She turned back to Emerie and Devlon, one watching with concern, the other pissed as hell. She stepped towards them, slowly, carefully. She didn’t want to jostle the kid’s injuries more than necessary. No one came near her as she walked out of the ring. At first she thought it was the same as the audience, that they were simply afraid of the witch. But a glance around gave her a different answer.

Her power extended around her in a sphere, creating barriers of ethereal flowing silver. The grass around her withered and died, and no man here wanted to see what would happen if they touched the walls of silver flames. When she got to the edge of the ring, the rope touched her power and rotted to nothing. She didn’t know how this boy still lived in her arms, but he was still breathing- barely. She spoke to both Devlon and Emerie.

“He needs a healer.”

“I’ll find Marta and have her meet you at the house.”

Nesta nodded to her friend and turned to walk the familiar path to Cassian’s house, her power dying down as she crossed the threshold.

Marta arrived at the same time she did. They set the kid down on the kitchen table as the old woman got to work. The boy did get stabbed, but only in the liver. It took longer than Nesta would have thought, certainly longer than the battlefield-healing she remembered from the war, but Marta was able to stabilize him and stitch him up. She left them with instructions to make sure the boy didn’t get infected or pop a stitch in the night.

“Not how you planned to spend the Solstice, I’m guessing?” Nesta asked.

Emerie tilted her head, “No but seeing every warrior in the village piss himself is worth it.” She slumped down on the couch. “We have a moment, want to open your present?” she gestured to the box on the table.

“Y-yeah, just let me grab yours.” Nesta ran back to her room. She grabbed the stack of books Elain bought her, still wrapped from this morning. Definitely a faux paus, but she would never know.

Nesta came back out with the present and set it in front of Emerie. “Happy Solstice.” The look of awe and excitement was worth it. As Emerie began to untie the books, Nesta began to unwrap her present. Under the paper was a long, thin box. She unlidded it to find a set of leather and wood hair pins - Illyrian style hair pins, made to not get cold in winter.

“Thank you,” she said, still admiring the etching on the leather thong.

“I’d thank you but, I think mine goes to Elain.”

“What?” Nesta whipped her head up to see the first book open on the table and Emerie holding a hand written note. She was clearly reading it but let Nesta snatch it from her anyway.

“So should I let you borrow the books or-”

“Shush.” Emerie laughed and paged through the first novel as Nesta read the note.

Dear Nesta,

I know you are still upset with me, and with Feyre, for sending you away. And you are right to be upset. You were there for me, after the Cauldron and after Grayson. You held our family together after Feyre left. And when you needed us, needed me, I didn’t know how to help.

I don’t know if it is the power or just my own knowledge of you, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew that if I tried to help, I would only fail. And that is not an excuse. Fear of failure does not make not trying ok, but it is what I did. And I am sorry.

I know putting this in a letter hidden in a book is still the coward’s way, but I don’t think I could face you if I didn’t apologize first. I hope to have Azriel take me for a visit after the Solstice if you would have me.

Your sister,

Elain

___

They stayed up most of the night, playing cards, reading, and watching over the boy. Nesta had planned to stay up the full night, but using her power that day and waking up at 6 am had taken its toll. She found herself drowsing into her cards. Around 3am, Emerie sent Nesta to bed, agreeing to stay up and keep watch. Nesta’s head barely hit the pillow before she was out.

She woke in darkness. Not odd for her. Waking up in the middle night was fairly common. But when she looked to her window, she saw that it was not night. There was sunlight shining behind the makeshift curtain someone had thrown over her window. She pushed herself up. Who?

“You’re up.”

She turned her attention to the chair on the other side of her bed. Cassian sat there, watching over her with an indecipherable expression. She sat up.

“When did you get home?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was down and knotted, unusual for him. There were bags under his eyes. “Last night, before dawn. Az brought me back,” he brought his hands together and looked at her. “Emerie told me what happened. You lost control again.”

“How’s the boy?”

“Petros is fine. I moved him to my room to sleep off the rest of the potion the healer gave him.”

“That’s good.”

“No, you couldn’t,” his hands gently reached out and lifted her face to look at him. “Why couldn’t you?”

Cassian moved to the bed, sitting next to Nesta. “You lost control for him.”

“I-I couldn’t just let him bleed out,” she explained, staring at a spot on the bedspread.

Because he reminded me of you. She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. But Cassian’s answering kiss was so soft, so gentle, so sweet, she didn’t care. She responded to his kiss in kind, her hand cupping his face, finally feeling those perfectly chiselled cheekbones. His tongue passed over her lower lip and she opened for him, inviting him deeper. She met his tongue with her own and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him closer. He grinned through the kiss, gently placed his hand on her shoulders, and pushed her back down on the bed.

It was the first time Nesta stayed for breakfast after.

___________

Tagging potential readers:

@perseusannabeth

#secret snowflake #Nesta Archeron #Nessian #Cassian #post Acowar #post acofas #elain archeron #emerie #Nesta and Emerie will be besties if it kills me #Nesta and Cassian adopt that kid.#Potato-burp is ask-able tumblr #so that one is in the exchange.#but my writing goes here so here we are #never posted fic directly to tumblr before.#weird

68 notes · View notes

whilereadingandwalking · 4 years

Photo

Naomi Novik and V.E. Schwab in Conversation: Fan-Fiction, Runways, and A Deadly Education

Last night, I was lucky enough to attend a virtual conversation between Naomi Novik and V.E. Schwab to celebrate the release of Novik’s newest book, A Deadly Education. The book is part of the Scholomance series, the Scholomance being a legend of a dark void where wizards could go to learn dark secrets, but where at graduation, “the Devil took the hindmost” in payment. In her books, protagonist El is a witch struggling to survive with her peers and hoping she’ll make it out alive.

Naomi Novik’s Process

While Schwab sees her creative projects as many burners mulling at the same time, and one on high heat, Novik sees hers more as a runway: one project at a time can be on it, the others will have to wait. “I write first for me,” Novik said, “I write to find out what happens next.” She starts with the first line, and moves onto the second. As she discovers new information, or decides new things, she goes back and revises everything to make that match—so when she gets to the ending, the draft is often done.

When it came to the Scholomance books, Novik decided she wanted to write the whole thing in one long go, rather than the more traditional one book at a time, because she needed to write the ending before she could be sure that the beginning made sense. In the end, she wrote all of book 1, 70% and a sketched outline of book 2, and most of book 3, all before A Deadly Education went to her editor.

Lessons from Fan Fiction

Novik admits that part of her process, as well as the fact that she rarely suffers imposter syndrome, is that her passion was born in fan fiction. She started writing purely for pleasure, with no worries over how many readers she would have. After years of fan fiction and game design, she began to feel frustrated by the limitations of a world she had to work within, and that’s when she decided to write her own. But those years have helped her feel very free in her writing.

“In fandom, you don’t have something to prove,” Novik said, “No one can stop you from publishing in exactly the same place as everyone else.” Her greatest advice to writers is to “go make art as play.” She advises that if anyone gets stressed about criticism, they think of their absolute favorite book, “and go on Amazon, and read 1-star reviews of it. Because it has 1-star reviews.”

Memory & Belief

This isn’t to say writing is purely easy for Novik (although it can occasionally sound that way). She says the hardest for her is when she is fighting her own process—when she allows herself to skip ahead and write a future scene and then has to connect the dots—or when she’s struggling to make a conversation and dialogue be both genuine and progressive for the story. She also has a rather bad memory—she once was halfway through reading a story, and decided to look up the author, only to discover it was her.

The school in A Deadly Education is a giant machine that eats people up, a machine that Novik actually built and sized using modeling. Within the narrative itself, blueprints of the school are posted on the walls, so that students’ belief in the architecture will help keep the building existing. Novik was tickled when she saw these blueprints illustrated within the hardcover of her book. “It’s actually performing the same function for the reader as it does for the students in the school,” she said, with a grin.

#a deadly education #naomi novik #ve schwab #scholomance #new books #all mine

131 notes · View notes

ofmermaidstories · 3 years

Note

Spoilers for the latest chapter of Something!

I'm gonna go ahead and apologize now because this is long; please feel free to ignore my wordy ass, I just have a lot of feelings about a certain someone that showed up in the new chapter lol.

I am still trying to get my shit together enough to write a proper review, but I did want to come yell at you for making the grape boy somewhat likeable, like...

Firstly, how??? Secondly, why?????!?!

Lmao, in all seriousness tho, it's nice to see him have a personality that isn't just "Mmmm, tits" *drools* I like to think that everyone in the series grows up and (mostly) out of the worst of their habits, and while Mineta is still a bit of a lecher here he isn't nearly as offensive/creepy as he comes off in show. In fact he's actually sympathetic in a lot way. The bit about seeing his first dead body before "getting laid" hit different like... He tries to play it off like a joke, but dude has to have just as much PTSD as the rest of them, maybe even more given that he wasn't able to fight back in the same way as someone like Bkg or Deku would be able to with their super powerful offensive quirks. They were all just kids, but they had to face hell full on from jump, and let me stop before I get too in my feelings lol.

In a lot of ways, he reminds of you the boys from school — crude. Taking for granted the safety from being in a pack, unchallenged. Leering at posters, saying off-colour things because no one corrects them.

That's exactly the way I view him, just a crude little thing that refuses to be put in his place for long lol. Still, with his being a hero I would hope that he keeps a cap on it while he's on the job--in fact I'm sure he does; if he didn't I'm sure that Aizawa would've yanked his licence by now, the likes of Deku and Kiri wouldn't continue to associate with him, and that's saying nothing of the shit that would get posted to social mead and such. I feel like the only reason he says what he says to the Reader is b/c she's a little gremlin herself and he knows he's got a bit more leeway, yanno?

The little hangout session that they had at the end of the chapter was weirdly heartwarming?? I want a friend(???) that I can be a surly little shit with and draw on and that will call my bf that's not really my bf but should be my bf because he's (that is Mineta) got more emotional intelligence than me lmao. Never thought I'd see the day when the grape would make for such an excellent wingman--tho I gotta wonder what that text he sent to Deku said. Probably something along the lines of "come get yo girl, she must be bored/lonely af because she asked to hang out with me" followed by "are you ever gonna close the deal or not? or have you already hit it??? >:)" just to give the guy an extra push (or maybe he's got a better sense of self-preservation than what I give him credit for, idk lmfaooo...)

Okay, this is WAY too long, I just had to get it out of my system lol. I loved the new chapter lots and I cannot wait to see how things play out in the next one!!

LOL, oh Puck, i adore you sdlkfjsdlkfjsdlkfj

me being a shit-stirrer/asking myself questions i don’t have answers for under the cut

Cat asked me this question earlier today, actually — why Mineta. And honestly? Part of it is the challenge he represents — like, how do you write him into a fic and mature him up so that he’s at the very least, tolerable, but also keep the backbone of his character (which is being a little degenerate). Like, is it possible? One of the most popular tags on ao3 for mineta minoru is something along the lines of “mineta minoru is replaced with shinsou hitoshi” LOL so…….. why didn’t I just use Shinsou? Or Aoyama or Iida, as Cat suggested? And beyond the part of me that delights in giving myself perceived challenges, there were two stark reasons that stuck out to me, when i was first mulling over his inclusion.

1) the fact that he can draw. it’s literally as simple as that. ever since the BNHA exhibition opened up in Japan and it was revealed that there was a scene in there with a class blackboard and the kids having their little drawing competition — and that Mineta was objectively the most skilled — i was like, “i have to include that”. LOL. it’s like you say, Puck, our Reader is a little gremlin herself — i thought if I was going to write a Reader that could handle interacting with him (ie, be in a position to pay him out) it was going to be this one. I think being in the manga industry and starting out on this journey of creating and drawing a Shonen manga sort of put Reader in this unique position of… being in what seems like a boys’ club? So she’d be used to the male gaze within her field. I follow Horikoshi’s assistant (former assistant?) on twitter and let me tell you, that man is not shy about the things that he likes to draw LOL.

the 2) thing was the philosophy i’ve sort of accidentally given myself LOL and that’s the fact that — as a Bakugou stan, if i’m giving grace to a character who was a literal violent bully then………. i can use my magic powers and hand it around to the other characters, too, LOL. and like, i would argue that with Bakugou it’s different, like we’re currently seeing in the manga how he has grown and learnt and is actively changing, which is the key to any kind of redemption. do i think Mineta will ever undergo that in cannon? absolutely not lmao, i see him as being being Hori’s idea of comedic relief, he’s always going to be a horrible little degen. but i want it for him…… if only to justify why the boys of Class-A collectively ignore his bullshit, for the most part? Like, none of them actively call him out on it?? i think of the time he tried to climb the wall to spy on the girls in the onsen — and how it was literally only Iida scolding him and how it took a child to stop him. Or the one when he found the stupid hole into the girl’s changing room and while the boys all looked grossed out….. Jirou’s the one that point an end to that?????? I saw a TikTok (derogatory) suggesting how like, none of the girls of Class-A would trust Aizawa, as adults, because he didn’t do anything to put an end to Mineta’s bullshit, and it was a devastating suggesting. None of us want to believe that our favourites would be passively okay with this kind of behaviour, right?? Which means……. Mineta’s gotta change LMAO. And if Hori isn’t going to do it then imma borrow him and do it myself. Does it work? I have no idea LMAO i can’t judge anymore, my meter is broken. but i’m gonna work with what i’ve given myself and it either will, or it won’t LMAOOOO kldsfjlksdjflkdj fic is about having fun at the end of the day. :’)

But it’s like you point out, Puck — Mineta is also a child, when these kids get trotted out to their first War. And he’s also not as offensively built as the hard-hitters like Deku and Bakugou and Shouto are. Even if it’s not explored in the manga, that War is going to change them all somehow.

So, my gameplan for Mineta was to grab ahold of the tiny things about him — the talent for drawing, the like one [1] observation he has about the wreckage of the war/pro heroes during the war arc, his tears for Bakugou when B wakes up afterwards and how he tells Deku how cool he was and how much he admires him, in the current Bring Deku Home chapters — and try to envision a sleaze bag who learns that the bullshit he pulls won’t be tolerated, even if he’s still ultimately a skeeze LOL. i mean, he’s never going to drop that er…. appreciation for the female form. and i mean, hey, live your best life King, i’ve distinctly noticed a hand-fetish floating around on this site lately so i’m not gonna be like “NO men can’t like ANYTHING”. But the thing with him being a sleaze and open with his leering is like, he’s actively made the girls of his class uncomfortable with that in the past — how do you write it so that he’s not doing that in a position of power with the women he works with (and saves!), as an adult?? Maturity only goes so far. How much can I bank on the war and the subsequent bullshit they’re gonna face from it on…. transforming him??? It shouldn’t be up to the girls he’s learning with to police him, they’re just children. I have a vague gameplan for it — whether or not it works will be one thing; whether i can naturally shove it into the fic is another, LOL. Guess we’ll see. 🧐

SAYING ALL THAT,,,,, i’m actually really glad you liked (???) the ending scene with him because it’s my favourite LMAO lkdjflkdsjflkdjfkldsjf. 😭😭 Reader is by no means perfect, and she and Mineta both need to start treating each other with more respect, but her bullying of him was fun to write and I like imagining a Mineta who considers himself to be close with Deku (whether or not Deku thinks the same is up for debate) going along with it. i could see this version of Mineta being enough of a shit-stirrer to say something like, “gotta lock that shit down” to Deku LMAO kdfjlkdsjflkdsfjdklsfj and then getting left on a skyscraper somewhere…. RIP short King.

#the puckish rogue: adventures and magic 🪄✨🔮#something just like this - fic #mer-spoils-everything #ofmermaidstories-asks #mermaids talks about 🍇#puck you are always thoughtful and lovely with your comments and i want you to know how much i appreciate them — but mostly how much #i appreciate you for existing in this world 😭 and how by chance we exist at the same time and like the same things 😭💕🌷

8 notes · View notes

ingu · 4 years

Note

(1/2) I came here straight from finishing your TUA fic when I saw you had a Tumblr. Honestly, I could gush about it all day?? There's not enough space in these comment boxes, so I might review it chapter by chapter when I have the time, because there were so many things I thought you just NAILED about the characters. It was also one of the most thought-provoking fics I've read in the fandom. There were so many moments where my eyes lit up, because I felt you were really onto something.

(2/2) So yes, I just wanted to thank you for contributing such an amazing story! I was actually curious if you'd be writing anything else for this fandom, but to my delight I saw you posted some ficlet prompts. HMMM... What about "Promise me you’re not gonna over-react." or "It’s four o'clock in the morning, what are you doing?" Whichever interests you!

Gosh anon, thank you so much! This was such a sweet message to read and your words are massively kind. I would be absolutely thrilled if you ever decide to leave reviews on the chapters. It’s been such a relief to hear that the characterisation has been working for you guys!

Also, ask and you shall receive, here’s a non-canon(?) mini AU? continuation? of my TUA fic for you.

The house was quiet in the early morning, and even the sounds of the city outside were more muted than usual. With almost a dozen superpowered people sharing the house, it was also the time in the day where Five could be guaranteed a quiet moment to think and work on his equations without the danger of harassment.

Five mulled over his equations as he walked down the stairs toward the kitchen, holding his empty mug. He was right on the cusp of something big, and he knew that he could fix the imbalance in his maths. His calculations had gone wrong somewhere and he needed to redo the working, though he wasn’t entirely sure where he’d made the mistake.

As he walked, Five paused at the sound of ominous creaking in the floorboards ahead of him. It sounded like someone very heavy trying their best to be stealthy, and failing.

“Luther?” Five said, a frown falling across his face.

There was sudden silence, and Five stepped around the corner to find none other than Number One, skulking in the hallway.

"It’s four o'clock in the morning, what are you doing?" said Five, squinting at Luther in suspicion.

“Uh…” said Luther eloquently, his eyes wide and screaming with guilt.

Five stood unmoving, waiting for a response.

“Nothing?” Luther said in a tone that screamed something.

Five stared at him for a doubt filled moment, before deciding he didn’t really care. If it was anything truly important Luther would be rounding up the troops, not sneaking around like he was scared of getting in trouble with Dad.

“You really need to work on the lying thing,” Five said, and then jumped past Luther to get behind him.

“Wait!” Luther suddenly hissed, whirling around in a panic.

Five paused, then turned around with an annoyed frown. “What?”

“Wh- Uh, where are you going?”

“Kitchen.” Five gestured with his mug, before turning away again. He needed more coffee.

“No, stop!”

Incredulous, Five turned back. “Christ, what do you want?”

Luther made a frustrated, grumbling sound. “Okay, look. I’ll tell you. But you have to promise me you’re not gonna over-react.”

Something in Luther’s tone sent alarm bells ringing in Five’s head. “Luther, what did you do?”

“Nothing! I didn’t do anything, I just wanted a snack but then you-” Luther cut off suddenly, his mouth slamming shut.

“I what?” Five said, eyes narrowing. Luther had better be careful how he finished that sentence.

“Look just, come with me, alright?”

“To where?” Five said, as Luther pushed past him and started heading back the way he had come from.

“The kitchen.”

Frozen for a moment by the ridiculousness of the situation, Five rolled his eyes, and followed after Luther.

This had better be important.

The lights were on as they approached the kitchen, though it was hard for Five to see beyond Luther’s massive bulk.

“Oh hey, you’re back already?” Vanya’s voice sounded as Luther crossed the threshold. “Where’s the-”

Vanya’s voice abruptly cut off as Luther moved inside and Five, behind him, finally saw just what Luther had been hiding in the kitchen.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Five muttered, as he found himself face to face with his thirteen year old self.

At the kitchen table, Vanya sat next to Five’s younger self. The thirteen year old Five looked miserable, sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a mug of something looking like hot chocolate. His hair was the same, but he wasn’t in a uniform, and wore a dark striped sweater with jeans and boots, looking unsettlingly like any other teenager he could walk into on the street. The younger Five’s clothes were creased and rumpled, but clean, and Five wouldn’t have been able to tell that he was a runaway if he hadn’t already known.

Five felt faintly proud of the fact that his younger self managed to not look starved and homeless despite what had to have been a week on the street.

He also couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Holy shit,” the younger Five murmured, staring back at the adult Five with widening eyes. “How-”

Five made a face, then shrugged. “Congratulations, you can’t age anymore.”

Then, he walked around both Vanya and his younger self to check the coffee maker.

“Five!” Vanya chided as his younger self’s eyes went wide.

“That’s not true, Five,” Luther said with a look of confusion, before alarm fell over his face. “Wait, is it?”

Five shrugged. He was just fucking with them, but they didn’t need to know that yet.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” the younger Five muttered, echoing Five’s own feelings, before he suddenly cried out. “Wait, is this why none of you came home?”

Five frowned as he put down his mug and picked up the empty coffee pot. It was strange to hear such obvious hurt in his own voice. He scratched at his neck, and then sighed internally as he took note of the new itchy patches that sprung up across his skin. Right, the damned psychosis.

“Well, this is certainly an interesting development,” Five said, turning around to face his siblings and his alternate self. “I’m going out to get some coffee.”

Everyone watched him in surprised silence. There were tears in Five’s younger self’s eyes, and that was an even more unsettling thing to see.

“Luther?” Five continued, turning toward his brother. “I expect to see you at Griddy’s in twenty minutes.” He gestured between himself and the younger Five. “We need to talk about this.”

“Wait, you’re just going to leave?” Luther said, stepping forward.

“Luther, do you remember what happened the last time I spent too long near my alternate self?” Five said, smiling mirthlessly. “If you don’t fucking do as I say, then don’t blame me if I skip straight to the homicidal rage.”

Five turned and jumped out into the alleyway before Luther could respond. He was getting really thirsty, and needed that coffee. Griddy’s had better still be open.

#mind mumblings #replies #anonymous #tua fic #mine: fic #f: the umbrella academy #m: fic

93 notes · View notes

mshermia · 3 years

Text

2020 Writer’s Year in Review

A big thank you to @lbigreyhound13 for the tag!

Total number of completed stories: 5! (I guess this stat is a little misleading for me though. I wrote all those stories between mid-October and December while procrastinating from finishing my main story, which still remains unfinished.)

Total number of words: 290.991 (257.523 of that was for “If They Knew All About You”)

Fandoms written in: The MCU, specifically for Irondad & Spiderson

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d expected?

In fics as in stories, I definitely wrote more than I expected because I was not expecting the prompt fills for whumptober to draw my attention like they did. However, I was definitely expecting to finish my long Bio!Dad story, but. No. Will still need a couple of months on that one... ;)

What’s your own favorite story of the year? My favorite has to still be my Bio!Dad fic “If They Knew All About You”. It’s not just that I spend the most time on it, but while there was a lot of set up for the story in the first half of it, this year I could put out a lot of the scenes I started the story for in the first place - scenes and chapters that I had written months ago, that just sat there in my inbox, waiting for their turn to come. (Tony and Peter both finding out about their history, Tony finding out about who’s to blame that his son was taken, Tony coming to Peter’s rescue... I could keep going :P). I’ve been waiting to publish some of those scenes for more than a year (especially Tony reacting to finding out that Peter is his son) and it’s been so great to see people’s reactions to it as well!

Did you take any writing risks this year? Erm... I had one chapter for “If They Knew All About You” where I went for a bit of a different approach. I knew what I wanted from the chapter but I wanted it to be less linear. While I do have other chapters that are structured similarly (like for example early on Tony is in the lab working on a project and then he mulls over the situations he’s in with the team and I cut back to an excerpt of their conversation so I can have the just of the situation without having to go on and on about everything happening around it.)

For Chapter 55 - Time To Take A Shot - I took it a bit to the extreme starting the chapter out with Peter holding a gun and having shot someone because I wanted it to have a shocking effect, but I’m still not sure if it was a bit too much or if it worked. Honestly, I’d might write it differently now if I had to do it again, but well, it is what it is ;)

Most popular story of the year: Easily “If They Knew All About You”. At Chapter 29 on December 31st 2019 the fic was at 34.357 hits. On December 31st 2020 the story had grown to 73 chapters and was at about 148.000 hits, (150.000 as of yesterday) which just blows my mind.

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: “Nothing Left to Lose” which is part of my post-Endgame series and a (late) Whumptober prompt fill. It’s not finished yet, but compared to the other stories in that series it got *very* few hits. I really like the premise of it about the consequences of undoing the Snap and also Peter and Tony’s conflict with each other, but for some reason there are very few hits and just one comment I think, which honestly surprised me. I think maybe my summary was too vague? Who knows. Maybe it’ll get better with the second chapter :)

Most fun story to write: Probably “Are We Out Of The Woods Yet?” which was the first prompt fill I’ve ever written. With Morgan and Peter being a few years older in this one, it has such a different dynamic than every IronDad story I had written and I really enjoyed the change of pace.

Most unintentionally telling story: Chapters 56, 57 and 58 of “If They Knew All About You” where Peter (and also Tony) find themselves on the receiving end of the wrath of the NYPD police chief Clarke, who seems to be hell-bend to make their lives as miserable as possible, trying to force hospital staff to ignore procedure to get whatever he wants. I had written those chapters months before I put them up (actually inspired by a Utah nurse who was threatened and then arrested by an asshole cop who tried to force her to ignore her patient’s rights) but when it came time to publish them, they fell smack in the middle of the demonstrations and riots going on in the US in June/July against police brutality and those chapters got very strong reactions. I hadn’t planned any of that but I guess it’s a sign of how long and publically this problem had already existed before people couldn’t take it any longer.

Biggest surprise: Probably how much I enjoyed dusting off my old tumblr account. I still tread carefully trying to avoid as much Endgame stuff as I can unless it’s an unapologetic “Tony Stark lives” one, but I’ve really enjoyed finding short one-shots like @jen27ny or @superherotiger as well as just connecting with fellow fans and fellow fanfic authors, especially to bounce some ideas off. Compared to other social media sites where I focus on a lot more social issues and politics, tumblr feels like a wholesome and happy place, that’s getting rare to find online (as long as I can dodge those dreaded Endgame gifs) ;)

...

I still don’t follow enough blogs but tagging who I haven’t seen post this yet (no pressure :P) @spagbol99 @ninjazzz3 @polaroid15 @jelly-pies

#writer's year in review #2020 #IRON DAD AND SPIDER SON

17 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Worlds Collide, Chapter 5.1 (Biadore/Witney) - Albatross

AN: Well…this got long. Enough that it has to be posted in at least two parts and even after all these months, its still not entirely written. But hopefully I’ll have the second part finished and posted soon. Until then, thanks for staying with me 💜

Adore was like a breath of fresh air.

She brought a sort of lightness and laughter to Bianca’s life, not unlike how Shangela and Courtney did. She was always there with a beaming smile and a word of encouragement whenever Bianca needed it. And whatever she said, she meant, Bianca realized soon enough. She wasn’t one for subtleties, if she liked or disliked something, she had no problem saying it. If she thought one of the outfits Bianca was working on was absolutely hideous, she’d let her know. Always with a joke or teasing grin to follow soon after, but she was honest and Bianca appreciated that.

More than she ever thought she would.

It was nice not to have to guess so much or try to investigate via her powers. No, she only tried going into Adore’s mind twice and the mental spam she was bombarded with was quite enough, thank you very much. But whatever Adore was feeling at any given moment was fairly obvious, at least to her. She liked that simplicity.

And it wasn’t long before Bianca realized that Adore idolized her. She hung on Bianca’s every word, whether it be theater talk, related to schoolwork, or even just chatting about some TV show. She listened as though every syllable was the most interesting thing in the world and admittedly, Bianca loved that feeling.

It was a nice little ego boost.

As for Adore, it was hard not to look up to Bianca. She seemed so self-assured and confident. Calm and collected. People relied on her…why wouldn’t Adore want to be around someone like that? That wasn’t to say that people didn’t rely on Adore as well but at times she felt more like a pack mule than someone that actually contributed anything of value. Oftentimes she was asked to teleport to retrieve things or drop them off somewhere. An errand girl basically. But people respected Bianca’s opinions and that was what Adore admired most.

And, despite how emphatically Bianca denied it, she was kind. More than she ever liked to let on. It was a quiet, subtle kindness or buffered by extremely sarcastic comments but it was there all the same. Adore would see it in the way that Bianca would work extra hours to get an outfit just right to make a cast member happy, how she’d sometimes cover for other stage workers’ mistakes, when she’d lend out her notes without a second thought to a total stranger, and in the way she always tolerated Adore’s presence.

Adore knew she could be a bit too enthusiastic, too moody, even too combative at times. But Bianca was patient with her. She understood what Adore was feeling and let her express that. And she’d always try to help or talk to her whenever she could. Sometimes Adore just needed a sounding board and Bianca allowed that.

It was nice to feel like someone understood her.

Whenever Adore needed to get out of her head for a while, Bianca was always there to suggest an activity. Sometimes she let Adore help design her sketches, other times she taught Adore simple sewing techniques, but her latest proposal encouraged Adore to pick up an old pastime.

Instead of letting things fester, Bianca suggested trying her hand at writing lyrics again. She hadn’t written anything since moving to the school, at least not seriously, but once she began, it was like finding a lost piece of herself. It turned out to be more cathartic than she remembered.

Sure, her first attempts were a bit rough in the beginning but as she reviewed and revised, it all began to flow together. It felt as natural as a breeze whistling through the trees or a fish swimming in the cool creek water.

Before long, Bianca even supplied her with a notebook she picked up specially for her. It was filled with unlined pages and absolutely perfect for Adore’s dramatically slanting handwriting and tendency to scribble along the borders. Bianca even decorated the cover before giving it to her.

The moment Adore saw it and flipped through the blank pages, she knew it was perfect. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she beamed brightly at Bianca and gave her a very grateful, “Thanks!”

The pair grew closer and closer, enough that it was a rare sight not to see them together after classes had ended for the day. Oftentimes Adore could be found backstage with Bianca (along with Courtney) or the two would visit the greenhouse and even more frequently, they’d spend long hours talking into the night in Bianca’s room. Sure, others joined them as well but Adore always stayed the longest. Not that Bianca minded.

She was glad to have found Adore. She valued her as much as she had Shangela and Courtney.

The day she realized that, she felt odd about it. She hadn’t expected someone to become so important to her so soon…not after she was still getting over Shangela. But here Adore was; now one of her closest friends and in only a few months…almost as quickly as she and Shangela had connected with each other.

But Adore did have that way about her. She drew Bianca in and made her curious. Made her want to see Adore happy.

It felt good to care about someone like that again and to have the sentiment returned.

For the first time in a long while, Bianca felt normal again.

******

It was another typical afternoon for the pair; Bianca working on the latest batch of adjustments for the musical’s costumes and Adore sitting on the old, beaten couch, hunched over her notebook. Usually when she was like this, she was rapidly scribbling away notes, filling up the page with rough drafts and hasty edits. Today however, her pen was mostly still, aside from the occasional impatient tapping.

Her expression was distant and confused as she lost herself inside her own head. She was clearly mulling over something, but as to what, Bianca had no clue. When she had to walk over towards the rack of clothes nearest Adore, Bianca snuck a quick peek over her shoulder. There were a lot of scribbles and a lot of crossing out but very little of anything that looked usable. Even that much Bianca could see.

Writer’s block again, she thought with a soft, sympathetic smile.

Adore was so withdrawn in her headspace she hadn’t even realized Bianca was standing next to her. The playful ruffling of her hair took her by surprise.

“Whatcha thinking about so hard, hun?” Bianca asked with a teasing grin. Adore’s hand quickly flew up to bat hers away. She took a short sidestep to rifle through the rack of clothes but she still kept a careful eye over her shoulder.

“I just…I can’t get it to sound right,” Adore complained, flopping backwards into the cushions. “Like, I know what I want to say but I just…can’t find the right words.”

Bianca let out a noise of understanding and thought for a moment. Pulling out the next piece she wanted to work on, she suggested, “Why not just take a break then? Fussing over it’s doing no good. Maybe just take a step back and work on something else for a while? Might help.”

“I’m gonna have to,” Adore conceded in a grumble. “It’s going nowhere right now.”

She shifted her weight as Bianca walked back to her work station. She kept it surprisingly organized considering how often she moved things around or laid them out for later. Adore marveled at how efficient she was. She always seemed to be a step (or three) ahead in everything she did. It was amazing.

Adore mused over the fact that she had never seen Bianca unprepared for any situation she encountered, no matter how sudden. She always seemed to know exactly what people wanted, even if they themselves didn’t know just yet. Then another thought struck her entirely…they’d known each other for months and Adore still had no idea what Bianca’s power was.

Actually, she wasn’t sure if anyone knew.

No one ever talked about it as far as she could remember. For most students, they’d mention it or demonstrate their power sooner or later. Some actively showed it off or had a practical use for it, like Courtney and Shangela repairing the school’s landscaping or working in the greenhouse…even Adore would often teleport whenever she felt the need to.

But not once was she aware of ever hearing Bianca talking about her power or using it…she was rather curious now…and it would provide something else to think about that didn’t involve stressing over this latest song.

“Hey, B.”

“Yeah, baby?”

Adore’s lips curled into a small smile when she heard the pet name. Bianca loved to pepper them in, she never really bothered for most anyone else, bar Courtney, and it made her feel kinda special. Pushing that thought aside for now, Adore asked, “What’s your power anyway? You’ve never told me.”

“You never asked,” Bianca replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Never thought about it.”

Bianca laughed in spite of trying to wrestle with the fabric to sit right on the mannequin. “All these months and now you’re curious?”

“Yeah,” Adore said, now sitting up properly to watch her friend work.

Sparing a quick glance in Adore’s direction as she carefully maneuvered the garment into its proper position, Bianca asked, “Is this just a distraction or-?”

“I wanna know,” Adore assured her, a warm smile resting on her lips as her eyes lit up with sincerity. “But if you don’t wanna talk about it, I-”

“It’s fine.”

Huh, Adore thought, She almost looked like she was throwing her voice when she said that.

But she knew that was wrong. She was just so tired and distracted from this writer’s block that she was seeing things.

So she waited another few seconds for Bianca to continue speaking but when nothing came, she asked, “So are you gonna tell me?”

Bianca blinked in confusion for a moment, cocking her head to the side as she stared at Adore from the other side of the mannequin. “I just showed you,” she said calmly.

“What?” Adore exclaimed. “I missed it! Do it again.”

Bianca rolled her eyes, placed her hands on her hips, and said “Fine.” Adore heard her say it. But nothing seemed to happen. Bianca didn’t budge an inch nor did it seem like anything else in the room was immediately affected.

Adore continued to watch her friend expectantly, waiting for any sign of her powers activating, but nothing caught her attention. She even darted her eyes around the room in case there was a hint elsewhere but she saw nothing. “Did you do it?” she asked again.

“Oh my god,” Bianca grumbled.

Marching away from the mannequin, she strode up to Adore, tilted her chin up so they were looking each other directly in the eye, and said, “Watch me.”

Adore did. Intently. It was hard not to look at her, especially when she was so close. But what did Bianca want her to watch? Her eyes? No, they were the same warm, chocolatey brown they’d always been. Nothing unusual there.

Her lips?

They were still coated in that beautiful, perfect shade of burgundy lip matte as earlier. They hadn’t even so much as twitched-“Oh!”

“Get it?” Bianca asked with a smirk, now stepping back. Her lips definitely had not moved when she said that. But all the same, Adore could hear her clear as day.

“So you…you can go into people’s minds?” she clarified.

“Yeah,” Bianca replied casually, heading back to her work station to resume her adjustments to the outfit.

Adore lit up with the information. All at once she had a million questions to ask and blurted them as soon as she thought of them, “Like everyone, all at once? One at a time? What’s it like? How far away do you have to be? Can you-”

“Hold on, just calm down,” Bianca laughed, “One question at a time, alright?”

Adore gave her an apologetic smile and took a moment to reign in her thoughts. Certain things she knew she wanted to ask right away so that seemed to be the best place to begin. “Okay, so…can you go into everyone’s mind?”

“Yeah, for some people there’s a bit of resistance getting in but I haven’t had anyone stop me yet.”

Huh, Adore thought to herself. Wonder what she means by resistance? Mm. But she quickly moved onto her next biggest question, “Is it, like, all the time with everyone or-”

“It’s one at a time,” Bianca explained patiently, “and only when I want to. Otherwise, all you fuckers would have driven me crazy by now. Well, more than you do already.”

Adore flipped her off with a wide, toothy grin. Of course Bianca would make a joke out of it but there was probably a good bit of truth to what she said. She could only imagine how draining it would be to hear everyone’s inner thoughts at all hours of the day. It’d be enough to drive anyone batty in just a week. Leaning forward in her seat, Adore continued, “So do you have to be real close to them or can you do it from anywhere?” Then lighting up with a deep interest, she asked, “Could you pick someone from town and read their mind from here?”

Laughing, Bianca shook her head and continued moving her hands deftly along the garment. As she marked certain areas with her brightly colored pins, she stated, “There is a limit. No more than a few feet away is best. Then I don’t have to do as much work to keep the connection going…” She paused for a moment to concentrate on pinning the hem but soon resumed what she was saying. “But I’ve gotten it up to a few hundred feet before. The connection usually breaks by then cause it’s too hard to maintain it and try to dig through their memories at the same time…but it’s possible, I guess.”

Adore nodded absently and mused to herself for a moment. She watched as Bianca pulled the outfit back off the mannequin and set it on the only clear space at her work table. She was threading her sewing machine with the proper color and filling her bobbin when Adore thought to finally ask, “What’s it like in there?”

Bianca turned away from her machine to look Adore in the eye, she knew sooner or later this question was likely to come. Almost everyone asked once they knew about her powers. She still had yet to find an answer she really liked. But here was another chance to try. “Well…that’s a bit hard to answer.” Her fingers drummed across her thigh as she explained in a carefully slow manner, “Everyone’s different. It really depends on their personality and thought process, I guess. Take Raven, for example, her memories are always very straightforward but they’re all flat at first. Like the scenery we use for the stage…But once I spend more time in there, the emotions she connects to each memory starts to come out and everything gets more depth. Then I can try to figure out the meaning behind everything.”

Adore nodded like she was hanging off every word and she probably was. Bianca’s lips curled into a small smile as she offered another example. “Katya, on the other hand, is totally different from that. She’s like one of those flip books for animation. The kind where you turn the pages really fast to make the picture move? Except for her, each page can have a detail be just a little altered or it can be totally and completely different. Like changing from a bouncing ball to a bright green elephant and then back again. It just depends on what she’s thinking about and how much.”

“Have you gone into Courtney’s mind?” Adore suddenly asked.

“Yeah. Hers is like…playing hopscotch and running a marathon at the same time. Each thought is like a single block and sometimes it goes in a straight line, skipping from one thought to the next, but then out of nowhere, you have to make a mile long side jump. And if she’s really thinking about something? It’s like trying to run a 5k in under a minute. It’s exhausting,” she grumbled.

“Oh, that’s so cool! What about Alaska?”

“Haven’t gone into hers.”

“Laganja?”

Bianca made a face at the suggestion, “Hell no!”

“Shangela?”

The name struck her like a slap upside the head. A very familiar ache began to rear its ugly head as she said, “Um…it’s like a spiderweb.” Before Adore could even think to ask for a better explanation, Bianca tried to move on with, “But yours is-”

“You’ve gone into mine?”

Adore’s expression was hard to read but Bianca didn’t take much notice. Waving her hand, she said dismissively, “Only twice. Yours is kinda like visiting a spam page without an ad-blocker. Like everything is calm at first but then a bunch of random ads start popping up all around you can’t close out of them. Or sometimes they close out on their own, it just kinda depends on what you’re thinking about, I guess. Like there’s the main thought you’re trying to focus on and then all these other little thoughts bubble out from certain parts, like if a word or something reminds you of anything else, that becomes a pop up and stays there for a while until you move onto another thought. But now picture that times 10. That’s what your brain is like for me.”

“Huh.”

Adore sat silently, still watching Bianca with that strange look. It was a bit unsettling, actually. Enough that Bianca was shifting in her seat. Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned that after all?

There was a loaded pause until Adore finally forced back a tense swallow to ask, “B, you said you’ve only gone into my mind twice right?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Shrugging, Bianca simply stated, “Just to see what it’s like really.” And that was the truth, plain as it was.

She gave Bianca another odd look as she cocked her head to the side and asked, “You don’t…always go into people’s minds whenever you feel like it, do you?”

“No, not unless there’s something I want to know.”

Adore shifted in her seat, gave a soft ‘Okay,’ and picked up her notebook again. At first Bianca had hoped she finally broke through her writer’s block and turned back to resume her work. But after a few minutes with only the sound of Adore’s pen tapping on the page and the hum of the sewing machine, it was very apparent that that was not the case.

Bianca just couldn’t shake the feeling that she had said something wrong. She only answered Adore’s questions, right?

But maybe she did say more than she ought to…

Stepping away from her station, she took a seat next to Adore. When she didn’t stop the drumming of her pen or fingers, Bianca called her attention with, “Hey. Adore, look at me.” Reluctantly, Adore did so but not without darting her eyes away once or twice. Softly, Bianca asked, “You’re freaked out by this, aren’t you?”

Adore tried to play it off, but it was true. At first she hadn’t thought much of Bianca going into other people’s minds but after learning Bianca had gone into hers? That changed things. She tried to reason with herself that Bianca wasn’t always in there looking for all her private thoughts and feelings but she couldn’t shake that feeling of violation and vulnerability. After all, she wasn’t even sure just what Bianca did in there…or what she now knew.

Scooting in closer, Bianca urged her again to look in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Adore. I shouldn’t have gone in there without letting you know first. But I promise, I wasn’t looking for anything while I was there. I was just curious at how your mind worked. I didn’t touch or manipulate anything, honest.” Her tone radiated sincerity as she vowed, “And I swear I’m not going into your mind anymore, okay?”

“Really?” Adore gave a cautious smile.

“Really,” Bianca assured her. Though Adore would never admit it, that smile of Bianca’s pushed aside most of her fear. Even more so when it became accompanied by a teasing, “Besides, it’s not that interesting in there anyway.”

“Bitch!”

******

After learning about Bianca’s powers, it took a few days for Adore to feel totally comfortable again. Even though Bianca assured her she wouldn’t go into her mind again, Adore still felt a constant paranoia lurking in the back of her mind every time they were together. Usually it was a small amount, easily pushed away, but other times, like when writing lyrics, her thoughts would be consumed with wondering if Bianca would break her promise. What if she was reading the lyrics right now? What if she saw what was inspiring them? What if-No!

Bianca promised.

Adore had to have faith in that. After all, Bianca’s never lied to her before. Adore could trust her.

But no matter how often she repeated that, there was always that tiny fear that Bianca would let curiosity get the better of her again, go into Adore’s mind while she was writing, and see all of her most private thoughts. Thoughts that she didn’t quite dare say to Bianca, at least not yet.

She was still confused by them and that had carried over into her writing. Normally, she’d work out the confusion while working on the song. She’d put all of her jumbled thoughts onto paper and reorganize them into something that made sense. It gave her clarity on the situation, whatever it was. But not this time.

No matter how many times she tried writing it down, it just didn’t seem to make sense. She just didn’t understand how she felt about Bianca.

She liked her, sure. Admired her, felt close to her. But was there more?

She thought there might be. In fact, she was pretty sure she did but she had her doubts from time to time. She blamed it on Bianca.

She just left her feeling so confused sometimes. Sure, they’d flirt a little and Bianca always used pet names and teased her and talked to her about everything…but how does Bianca actually feel about her?

Adore couldn’t help but wonder…and oftentimes that wondering took her a little too far into her own daydreams.

She’d replay all the instances of them laying together on the couch or bed, just watching TV or talking. Adore would usually curl into her and Bianca would absently toy with her hair, joking that she needed a touch up with the dye or should take a comb to it again. There was never any bite to what she said, only something to make them both laugh. Then Adore would think about what would happen if just one day she leant up to kiss Bianca or if Bianca tried to kiss her. She’d muse over every detail of what that kiss would feel like, what they’d do during it, where it would go from there. Recently, she’d been imagining it going quite far but then she’d snap back to reality with a very guilty conscience as she realized that Bianca was right there.

And now that Adore knew Bianca could read her mind whenever she wanted, those thoughts didn’t feel so private and safe any more. She tried her best not to think about them or anything even remotely connected to her daydreams but of course, her mind always decided to go into overdrive and pull up those memories at the worst possible times. Namely, whenever they spent time together.

During class, Adore felt safe enough to think about them, just a little. Surely Bianca was too far away and focused on her own classes to read anyone’s mind…but then when they had lunch together or she visited Bianca backstage or went to the greenhouse or hung out in the dormitories?

All these little inconspicuous things Bianca did would just remind her of her daydreams and flood her thoughts with these stupid feelings and questions and wondering. It was no surprise she had writer’s block, she could barely think, let alone write something coherent.

Bianca picked up on the frustration pretty quickly. She had hoped that it would pass in a few days but between the defeated groans as she wrote and the sudden skittishness whenever Bianca would come close, it was hard to ignore. Bianca was so used to Adore slipping away into her own little thought bubble as she worked on her lyrics. It made for a comfortable silence as both of them did their own thing while backstage. But now Adore seemed hyper aware of everything and guiltily hid or tore out pages from her notebook.

By the time this behavior had carried over into the following week, Bianca couldn’t help but think it all circled back to her revealing her powers. She’d seen this behavior before; people would learn that she could read minds and then avoid her like the plague or worse; stay with her but always treat her with suspicion. It hurt…especially because it was coming from Adore this time.

Before long Bianca resolved to talk with her. She just couldn’t bear to let this go on any longer and risk losing this friendship.

“Hey, Adore, can we talk for a minute?” Bianca asked one afternoon.

Adore looked startled. She’d been staring at her notebook once again and trying to work on anything that wasn’t related to Bianca. She’d made some progress but it was slower than she’d like. But just when the pace looked to be picking up, that was when Bianca asked to speak with her. She tried to act casual but her mind was going a mile a minute as she wondered what Bianca wanted to say.

“Sure.”

Taking a seat next to her, ignoring the jab she felt in her heart as Adore shifted uncomfortably, Bianca continued, “I wanted to talk about the other day again. When I told you about my powers.” Adore nodded her head guiltily. “It made things weird, didn’t it?”

Adore visibly faltered. She stared up at Bianca like a deer caught in headlights as she tried to think of a way to explain all of her conflicting emotions. She wanted to be honest but she didn’t want to hurt Bianca’s feelings, at least no more than she had to. Taking pity on her, Bianca offered a consoling smile and gently pointed out, “Adore, I can tell when you’re bothered. You don’t really hide things that well, hun.”

Another wave of guilt washed over Adore’s face. She really was caught with no way out. The best thing to do was just be totally honest, she figured. “Okay, yeah. It…I mean-”

“Hey, I get it,” Bianca said, “I know it’s weird and hard to get used to.” Scooting closer, she laid a cautious hand over Adore’s and reiterated, “But I made a promise to you and I swear I’m gonna keep that. I’m not going into your mind again.”

They looked at each other for the longest time; Adore lost in thought and Bianca studying her friend for any sign of how she was feeling. Bianca just hoped she looked and sounded as sincere as she felt. She really did want to do her best to keep that promise. But all of it would mean nothing if Adore was still uncomfortable around her.

After a loaded pause, Adore finally spoke again, “Can I ask you about something, too?”

“Of course.”

“When you went in there, when was that?”

Not exactly what Bianca was expecting but she’d gladly answer any question she could. Thinking hard, trying to recollect the events as accurately as possible, Bianca mused, “Um…the first time was a few days after we met, maybe two weeks?”

Adore nodded, then probed a little further, “And the second?”

“Mm…I think that was almost three months ago now…during one of our lunch periods when you started following me down here. During school hours, I mean.”

Adore was silent for a few seconds, clearly still turning things over in her mind. Bianca felt a vague curiosity as to why Adore was so interested in when but she supposed Adore had her reasons. She wasn’t going to push it.

There was an inquiring tilt to Adore’s head as she asked, “Why then?”

“Well…the first time I went into your mind, it was when Courtney, Alaska and a few others were hanging out with us too. I didn’t really know what to expect and got bombarded right away with a bunch of spam in there.” Bianca smiled at the memory for a moment before admitting, “I couldn’t follow any of it even if I tried and got out almost immediately…Then when we started hanging out alone, I got curious what your mind would be like then. You were helping me organize some of the outfits that day and seemed distracted so I thought, ‘why not take another look?’”

“Was it different?”

“A bit. It was more calm but you still had that pop up thing going on,” Bianca tried to explain, “This time I could follow some of it. I remember the outfits reminded you of some horrible movie you had to watch as a kid. But that was as far as I went with it.”

“Okay.” Her voice was calm. It almost sounded flat.

It was weird to hear that from Adore; usually there was some kind of overarching emotion in her tone, whether it be good or bad. Hearing her sound like this just felt…wrong. But she wasn’t angry or rushing from the room so it couldn’t have been all bad, right?

Very cautiously, Bianca asked, “Are we good?”

She held her breath, waiting for some kind of answer, and nearly sighed with relief when Adore cracked a smile and replied, “Yeah.”

All the nerves Bianca had built up finally began to relax away and soon she was returning a grin of her own. Figuring now was as good as any for a change of subject, she noted, “While I’m thinking about it, did you want to go into town next month? The 28th?…Just us.”

“Sure,” Adore beamed, even laughing just a little as she asked, “Why the 28th though?”

“It’s move-in day,” Bianca groaned, “The campus is gonna be crazy for a while. Figured we’d have more fun in town.”

Adore’s eyes danced with delight as thoughts of an afternoon truly alone with Bianca filled her mind. She could hardly keep her excitement contained as she answered, “Yeah, it sounds great!”

******

Things finally went back to normal and by the time their afternoon outing came around, they were as close as ever. Going into the city, if only for a few hours, had been wonderfully relaxing. They could forget about everything for a while and just enjoy each other’s company. Bianca already had a few places in mind she wanted to visit with Adore; a charming little outdoor cafe for lunch, a hobby shop they could easily wander and get lost in, some window shopping at the boutiques. Adore even suggested a few places of her own.

It was a shame when they had to return to campus.

But neither of them could stop smiling for the rest of the day, especially when recounting to their friends all the fun they had together. It was the perfect trip to end their school break with. Next week classes would begin again and it’d be right back to endless amounts of homework for the foreseeable future.

Strangely enough, that wasn’t the last exciting thing they heard that week.

About two days after the latest batch of students moved in, Courtney was out wandering the school grounds. Somehow she managed to stumble upon a hidden grove full of plants that most certainly came from another world. She and Shangela organized an effort with some of the other plant elementals to retrieve the foreign plants and bring them back to the greenhouse to study. Even Adore got roped in to help transport some of the larger samples. Her powers made easy work of moving them across the campus in record time. But again, she couldn’t help feeling like some kind of pack mule.

Only Bianca was able to break her out of her peevish mood with an offer to buy her dinner (pizza delivery from the town in this case) and a quick joke that she needed a shower. It was as she was changing into a fresh set of clothes that Adore noted once again that Bianca always seemed to have a soft spot for her. After all, she wasn’t offering to buy pizza for Shangela or Courtney and they certainly had more work to do than her.

She couldn’t help but feel special that she was given extra consideration and she had to wonder what, if anything, it might mean. There was no denying there was a certain warmth that spread throughout her chest at the thought. Even the way Bianca smiled at her as she wandered into her room left her heart fluttering. The entire time they talked that night, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Bianca’s attention was focused solely on her for a change and…it was nice. Great, even.

The way her eyes would sparkle when she teased Adore or how loudly she laughed every time Adore made a joke. The way they would lean into each other as they huddled around her laptop to watch a movie…it just felt very…right.

******

With the discovery of the intermittent portal and cataloging all of the new plants, Courtney’s visits to the theater department dramatically declined. That wasn’t to say she never hung out with her friends, they often could be found together in the dorms late at night or on the weekends, but the afternoons backstage seemed to be reserved strictly for Bianca and Adore now. Every so often, they’d wander to the greenhouse or Courtney would appear backstage for an hour or so of chatting, but the time spent together as a group had noticeably decreased.

Adore was surprisingly fine with that.

She loved having the chance to spend more alone time with Bianca. Their conversations were always entertaining. But one thing Adore noticed the most with Courtney’s absence was Bianca’s flirting. Pet names were always a given but lately there seemed to be more to it. It was more frequent but also seemed…more serious?

Earlier, Bianca would restrain herself to just a few comments here and there. Nothing that pushed the limits too much and Adore always responded in kind. In fact, most times she’d push the envelope just a bit further and would work out an amused laugh from Bianca. Then they’d both back off and talk about something else…but now, Bianca was taking it one step further. Testing the boundaries more. Their banter always seemed to have a suggestive undertone to it, the kind that left Adore’s head feeling swimmy and giddy as she tried to keep up.

It was exciting and had her heart racing in her chest.

Just maybe, she thought, Bianca feels the same as her?

Maybe now that Courtney isn’t here to dilute their conversations, Bianca feels more comfortable flirting with her? Maybe she’s trying to figure out if Adore is serious too?

Every day, these questions would pop up in her mind. She tried to work them out through her writing but the lyrics always ended up sounding confused or turned into something embarrassingly sappy and romantic. She was frustrated that she didn’t have any more answers but admittedly, she still loved this sense of wonder and the blissful daze she often found herself caught in.

She was happy, she realized. Even if she didn’t know for certain yet, she just felt so sure. The signs were all there when she looked. It was only a matter of time before one of them broke and secretly, she couldn’t wait to see which of them it would be.

******

The next semester had begun without much incident and the pair quickly found themselves resuming normal after-school activities; Bianca focused on creating costumes, accessories and props for the next production while Adore helped out with small tasks or focused on her own thing or even just skipped out if she had other things to do. It was comfortable and all too familiar. Like returning back to a favorite beach or playground as a kid after being away all winter.

They’d chat the afternoons away until Bianca had finished her work and then they’d usually pick up Courtney from the greenhouse and head back to the dormitories to hang out with the rest of their friends. With the start of the new semester also came the introduction of new friends, including one Willam Belli.

Before Bianca had a chance to properly meet the new arrival, she had already heard stories about the fire elemental. The first occurrence came from Courtney of all people; she had just met Willam by chance earlier that day and thought the meeting was important enough to mention to Bianca. Perhaps because Willam was Alaska’s new roommate?

Bianca brushed off the news and instead reminded Courtney of why she was visiting the greenhouse in the first place; some rare flowers she had collected from another world were finally blooming and Bianca ‘just had to come see them’. Courtney’s reasoning, not hers.

The next instance caught her attention though. It seems Willam has a little quirk of huffing out fire whenever she feels like it. Caught some students by surprise…or that might’ve been because she almost lit some girl’s hair on fire.

Then Raja even mentioned the girl, albeit very briefly. She had met Willam while smoking behind the gym. Talked to her for a few minutes before leaving to hang out with her new roommate and Raven.

Now Bianca was interested.

If Raja made it a point to tell Bianca about this new student, she must be interesting. And it wasn’t long after that, that Bianca and Willam were finally introduced. The meeting went well enough and they seemed to get along. Willam had the same sense of humor as her so that was always a plus. Bianca thought little more about this until Courtney mentioned Willam again…and again…and again.

Willam was entertaining, Bianca did have to admit, but Courtney was utterly fascinated with her. Her eyes lit up with interest whenever they were together or Courtney would make sure to recount every new story she had heard from or about Willam whenever she and Bianca saw one another. It offered a change from her gushing over whatever new plant species she catalogued but there was a limit to how much Bianca could take of all this. Before long she was sharing a long-suffering look with Adore whenever the subject of Willam ever came up.

It didn’t take a genius nor even a quick jaunt into Courtney’s mind to recognize her infatuation. But it did raise Bianca’s curiosity about Willam. The pair never really spent one on one time together, not like her and Courtney did and certainly not her and Adore. Bianca couldn’t help but wonder how Willam felt in all this. She certainly loved to tease Courtney at every chance during lunch but when the topic of hanging out after classes came up, she always seemed to avoid committing herself to anything like that.

It left Bianca wondering. Did she find Courtney too eager? Was she genuinely just busy with other things? Or maybe there was something else going on?

Bianca resolved to find the answer and luckily it didn’t take too long before she got her chance to go into Willam’s mind. She wanted to time it carefully; she waited until Alaska had brought up hanging out after classes in the common room, probably watch a movie or two. ‘They could even paint their nails together!’ she exclaimed.

Willam merely shrugged and replied, “Maybe.”

It was here Bianca took her chance. With little more than a push, she found herself inside Willam’s mind. It was like a perfect scene of the cafeteria (from her point of view) but as Bianca looked around she saw the oddest little pockets of other thoughts hiding in the background. They played like little movies on a constant loop, sometimes only appearing briefly, others lasting for several moments and some never left. But strangely they didn’t seem to be memories, or at least not all of them. Some displayed scenes that Bianca was sure had not happened, like Willam’s napkin suddenly catching fire and spreading over the table, her fingers sparking and singeing Alaska’s clothes…sitting in the rec room and knocking over a vial of nail polish…making a mess of her paint job on someone’s nails…burning a handprint into one of the couches.

No, none of those seemed real. Bianca was sure if they had happened, the news would have spread all over the school by now. It all seemed to be Willam’s expectations or even fears of what she might do. All accidents, Bianca noticed…and then it made sense. That’s exactly what they were; her worst fears of what might happen. She was scared of doing something embarrassing or having her powers act up.

At that point Bianca quickly took her leave from Willam’s mind. She was beginning to feel something not all together pleasant…Sympathy, perhaps? It left her feeling weird so she decided it was best not to dwell on it. But she had her answer, or part of it. She hadn’t really learned how Courtney plays a part in this, if she does at all, but she did come to understand why Willam usually remained vague when commenting on group plans. She probably had to argue with herself on whether or not it’d be a good idea all the way up to when it came time to commit. And Bianca didn’t really blame her for that. If Willam thought she might accidentally hurt someone, it was no wonder she would try to avoid them whenever she felt her control slipping.

After that day, Bianca didn’t really feel a need to go back into Willam’s mind to dig around any more. As weeks passed, she had her suspicions as to how she truly felt about Courtney. Willam’s powers seemed to be very in-tune with her emotions. When she was relaxed and enjoying herself, there never really seemed to be a problem. But once she started feeling annoyed, anxious, or even over-excited, then little sparks or licks of fire might start to appear. And it didn’t take long to notice she often felt that way around Courtney.

With Bianca, the two could exchange friendly jabs for hours on end. Willam would always end up laughing (an ugly, infectious sound that managed to leave Bianca cracking up too) but never did she really get offended by anything that was said. She brushed it off and remained calm and collected. It was almost the same with Alaska, though sometimes there would be an annoyed huff or two complimented by a short burst of fire whenever Alaska would bring up training after school. But aside from that, Willam seemed to feel fine.

With Courtney however…that was another story. Willam tried to tease her like she did with the others but Courtney was far from being a pushover and just taking the playful jabs. She’d engage just as enthusiastically with Willam and though her comments were never quite as pointed as Bianca’s, they did seem to get under Willam’s skin more easily. Then she’d just shoot off one of her ‘innocent’ smiles and bat her lashes and in a few seconds, Willam’s mood might sour or fingers might begin to spark.

She didn’t seem to know quite what to do once Courtney really started fighting back. Her voice might jump a little higher, she might get a little more defensive and then before she realized it, she’d make a joke that went a bit too far. Then Courtney would get annoyed, then Willam, Bianca’s eyes would roll, Adore would find something else to focus her attention on and then someone might step in and try to play peace-keeper. Usually Alaska, sometimes Raja or Shangela. It was a never ending cycle, really.

Courtney just always seemed to put her on edge but Bianca never noticed Willam pulling away, not seriously at least. Within a few hours all would be right again and the pattern would repeat. It was exhausting, really.

Anyone with half a brain could see they cared for each other, but whether it was like Courtney and Bianca’s relationship, one of friendly bickering or more like Shangela and Alyssa’s, flirty teasing and play-fighting, well…Bianca had her guess…as did most others. But the question of it and when the pair might eventually explore their feelings…Bianca decided very early on that she was not going to get involved. No, she had her own mess of a love life and certainly didn’t need drama from someone else’s spilling over. Not while she could help it.

#rpdr fanfiction #biadore #witney #alyssa x shangela #shangela laquifa wadley #bianca del rio #courtney act #willam belli #alaska thunderfuck #adore delano #humor #fluff #angst #boarding school au #magical girl au #worlds collide #albatross #submission #lesbian au

10 notes · View notes

jade4813 · 4 years

Text

Resolution

Fandom: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist

Title: Resolution

Rating: G

Pairing: Zoey/Max

Synopsis: Sequel to Fallout and Repercussions (and episode 7 of the series). Zoey has finally figured out how she feels about Max, but when she tries to get up the never to tell him, Everything. Goes. Wrong. Will the two of them ever manage to get on the same page?

The clock on the wall read 6:22 a.m., and Zoey was already on her third cup of coffee for the day. She remembered with some regret the way she’d once expressed surprise at Joan’s suggestion that they share a drink in the middle of the afternoon. Her day hadn’t even officially started, and she was already wishing she had something to steel her nerves.

All the caffeine she’d consumed was making her jittery, the coffee roiling around in her otherwise empty stomach until she felt sick. She briefly considered grabbing some cereal or perhaps a piece of bread to settle her stomach, but the thought of consuming food just made her feel slightly ill.

She pressed her hand to her chest and sucked in a deep breath. She could do this! She had a plan! When Max showed up to work, she’d take him aside and tell him that she’d realized that she loved him and wanted to give their relationship a shot! How hard could it be? After all, she already knew how he felt about her, right?

Except…he’d been even weirder than usual with her over the last couple of days, ever since their last conversation, when he’d suggested she should go talk to her mom.

“Zoey? Uh…what the hell was that?” he’d asked.

“What was what?”

His eyes narrowed, he looked at her in confusion and concern. “You…you didn’t just…you didn’t hear that? Are you messing with me right now?”

Completely at a loss as to what he meant, she shook her head slowly, “Max, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Hear what? Did something happen?” she leaned to the side to look around him, scanning the office for something out of place.

He stepped back, running one hand across his face. “I’m losing it. Lack of sleep or…I-I thought you…I must have imagined it. It’s fine. Never mind.” She threw him a reassuring smile, but he hurried back to his desk and avoided her for the rest of the day. And for the two days since, although she occasionally caught him watching her closely, like he was trying to figure her out. Or as though she might bite.

“I don’t bite,” she reassured herself in an undertone. But what if his strange behavior was because he’d realized his feelings were all a mistake? What if he’d realized he wasn’t in love with her anymore – at least, not like that? She hadn’t heard any of his heartsongs since the night he coopted a scooter for her, after her dad fell. Was it possible he just wasn’t romantically interested in her anymore?

Zoey pushed away the thought with a grimace and a stern self-reproach. “Not. Helping.” Desperate for a distraction, she grabbed for her tablet and tried to focus on her work, instead. Her love life might be a disaster at present, but this was a language she understood. This came naturally to her, in a way that navigating her love life did not.

In her very first computer course in college, Zoey had been tasked with programming a robot to wind its way through a maze. She had managed to complete the assignment faster than any of her other classmates, going on to earn an A+ in the course at the end of the semester. When she took a step back and considered her current situation, it wasn’t that different. She just had to get herself and Max through the maze of confusion brought on by intense emotion and miscommunication. And then everything would work itself out.

Reassured by the thought, she shot a quick glance around to make sure she was still alone. Her day hadn’t technically started yet, so she took her tablet to an isolation pod and curled up inside to craft some code. By the time she started to hear her coworkers filter in, her simple program was up and running – a digital Zoey and Max, her programmable “robots,” were winding their way through a complex maze. She smiled when she programmed the code directing the two to lean in for a kiss (hearts showing above their heads and all) when they finally made their way to each other.

It was a silly little program, but it made her feel better. Maybe she was overthinking things. She’d tell Max she wanted to be with him, and the two would kiss. How hard could it be?

Lifting the sliding door to the pod, Zoey stepped out and stretched, working out some kinks that had settled in her shoulders. With one last reassuring glance at her ZoeyBot’s progress through the maze, she closed the program and pulled up her notepad.

Any project was possible, as long as one went in with a plan. Almost every task could be broken down into straightforward, manageable steps. Like programming code. Just take each step in turn, one after the other, until the task was finished. With that in mind, she jotted herself a quick note.

Get Max somewhere private.

Show him MaxBot?? (He’ll get it, right?)

Tell him you want to be with him.

Kiss.

Four steps. Possibly three, if she decided she was too embarrassed to show him her computer program. Three or four completely simple, totally manageable steps. Completely doable plan. Now all Max had to do was to show up, and she could put her plan into action.

Unable to sit still, she dropped her tablet onto her desk and headed towards the restroom. All that coffee was taking its toll, but she also hoped that pouring some cold water over her wrists could help her stay focused and calm. She lingered a few extra minutes to give herself a silent pep-talk and practice an eloquent speech about her feelings before steeling her shoulders and heading back outside.

She returned to the office just in time to see Max grab his tablet from his desk and head towards the wicker seats – the pattern of avoidance he’d established over the last couple of days. Hoping to catch him before he got too wrapped up in code and she lost her nerve, she darted to her desk and grabbed for her tablet.

“Max!” she barked abruptly, a shade louder than necessary. He jumped, startled, and spun around to look at her. Softening her tone, she offered him a sheepish smile as she asked, “Do you have a second? There’s something I wanted to show you.” Her program was perhaps a little silly, but maybe he’d find it endearing? She could only hope.

Before he could come up with an excuse to turn her down, she jogged up to him and pulled him aside. “Okay, promise you won’t laugh. I know this is a little silly, but I wanted to show you – uh –”

Her voice trailed off as she held up what she thought would be her tablet and realized that, in her anxiety and rush to catch him, she’d accidentally grabbed her stapler instead. She actually had a stapler? Why? She couldn’t even remember the last time she needed to staple something!

Max seemed equally as confused. “Your…stapler?” he offered. “It’s…nice.”

Completely mortified, her courage fled. “Ah…yes. My stapler. I was…um…wondering. If you had any staples. I think I’m out.” That was unlikely. It was probably holding the same staples that had come with it when it was shipped from the factory, for all she knew. These things came preloaded, right? She had no idea.

“Ah,” he replied, drawing out the word for several seconds. “I don’t think so. Have you tried the supply closet? There might be some in there.”

Zoey forced a laugh. “The supply closet! Right! Makes total sense! Duh,” she waved the stapler wildly, almost clocking herself in the head. “Thanks a lot, Max…i...million.” She heard the ill-advised nickname as though it was coming from outside of herself, from someone else’s mouth, and looked at him in horror.

His smile was uncertain. “No problem. That’s not really a nickname we’re planning to run with, is it?”

“Nope! No, we’re not!” she promised. Trying to cover for her gaff, she aimed a playful shrug at his shoulder to break the tension, somehow completely missing and punching the tablet out of his hands, instead. “That’s…oh, sorry! I’ll…I’ll replace that if it’s broken.” Maybe discretion really was the better part of valor, she decided, not even wanting to see the look on his face as she backed away as quickly as she possibly could before she accidentally broke something else.

It turned out programming code was much easier than telling her best friend she had realized he might be the love of her life.

Later that evening, once she was safely back at home and unlikely to humiliate herself any further, Zoey scowled to herself and she pulled up her ZoeyBot/MaxBot computer program. It didn’t take her long to add a giant, menacing stapler that chased ZoeyBot down the first section of the maze.

Then, heaving a heavy sigh, she pulled up her To Do list. It hadn’t served her very well so far, but she still had confidence in the basic premise. Make a plan. Stick to the plan. Don’t break anything. Check. With that in mind, she reviewed her list.

Okay, so maybe she was too nervous around him to make a smooth job of it. Was there any way she could take the actual confession part out of her hands? She mulled over the question as she stared off into the distance. Finally, it hit her. Balloons! Everyone liked balloons, right?

Grinning at the brilliance of her new plan, she pulled up a web browser and search for a balloon delivery service in the area. Once she found what she wanted, she placed the order for the next day. In the morning, a courier would bring her balloons, reading “I Love U Max.” The last was a specialty balloon – they’d write in his name, and the sample online looked decent enough. Before pressing the button to finalize the order, she gave it one last critical look. Love? No, she should go with the heart instead. Less awkward, she decided, hitting “submit.” The plan was in place! He’d see the balloons and…that would be it! Not risk of ambiguity or bodily injury!

Well, maybe not it, exactly. If they were going to be in a relationship, she was going to have to talk to Joan. She would hardly be able to hide it, since she was planning on confessing in the middle of the office. Once the cat was out of the bag, she wouldn’t be able to continue to be his supervisor. It wouldn’t be right. But she was confident they could find a solution. Feeling much better than she had an hour or so before, Zoey made a few revisions to her list:

Get Max somewhere private.

Show him Maxbot?? (He’ll get it, right?)

Don’t break anything.

Balloons arrive

Tell him you want to be with him.

Kiss.

She didn’t know the exact time the balloons would arrive; more like a narrow window. So she might have to take things a little by ear. But with a plan this solid, surely nothing could go wrong, right?

Right.

The next day, Zoey realized she’d been humming happily to herself off and on all morning, but she couldn’t help it. She was in such a good mood! This plan of hers was going to come off perfectly. When she walked up to the elevator bay and saw Max waiting for the doors to open, she threw him her brightest smile. “Good morning!”

He looked a little taken aback. “Morning, Zoey. You seem to be in a good mood today.”

She nodded. “Yup! I think it’s going to be a fantastic day. It’s just a feeling.”

“Well, then, I hope you’re right,” he replied pleasantly.

She considered taking the moment of privacy to go ahead and confess her feelings, but then others joined them on the elevator and the window of opportunity was lost. No matter. She had balloons! The balloons would not fail her!

“I don’t understand,” she told the balloon courier with an askance look at the two balloons he held out for her to take. “Where are the rest of them?”

Not appearing to be terribly concerned, he shrugged and offered in insufficient explanation and complete lack of apology, “We were out. My boss said we can complete the order next week.”

“Next week! That doesn’t help! I had a whole plan and now all I have to show for it is ‘U Max’. What am I supposed to do with ‘U Max’?”

He shrugged again. Clearly, it wasn’t his problem. She took the balloons from him with numb fingers and briefly considered letting them loose in the stairway to hide evidence of her failed plan when she heard Max speak behind her. “’U Max’? What’s this about?”

Come up with an excuse! Fast! She ordered her poor, beleaguered brain as she spun around. “Maaaaax-i-mus!” Again? Seriously? What the hell was wrong with her? “I got you these!”

“I can see that,” he replied, staring up at the balloons in question. “I’m just trying to figure out what they mean. U Max? Max U? Is this a secret code?”

Her laugh was forced, high-pitched, and veering on hysterical. “No! Of course not! It’s just a new…management plan I’m trying. I’ll be randomly bringing balloons in to people on the team. To let you know that, uh, well, you know. We…see you. And we…appreciate…you know, you. That is, you. Max. I read it in a book somewhere, I think.”

“Really? That’s a little weird. What book?” She would have thought he was on to her, but he sounded more curious than suspicious.

“Oh…I don’t even remember now. Would you just take your balloons?”

He reached for them. “Sure thing. Well, thank you for reaffirmation of my name, anyway,” he teased.

Her answering chuckle was almost genuine. “We spend so much time in this building some days, I thought there was a chance you might have forgotten.”

“Is that the reason for the new nicknames? Because, for the record, I don’t think I like Maximus any better than Maximillion.”

“No, but duly noted,” she replied with a forced smile, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt as she returned to her desk. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joan look over at her, Max, and the balloons and shake her head in bafflement before returning to her own work. Zoey was almost pathetically grateful her boss didn’t call her in to demand an explanation. She wasn’t entirely sure she could explain what was going on with her right now, even to herself.

When she saw him walk away and thought he might not see her, she rested her forehead on her desk with a groan, tempted to bang it repeatedly against the hard surface if she wasn’t sure that would bring her too much attention.

Why did her efforts to sweep Max off his feel keep going so haywire? What was she doing wrong?

“Mo, this is getting out of hand. You have to help me!” she cried, pacing back and forth in her neighbor’s living room. Saying it was “getting out of hand” was probably generous. Things were getting downright dire. Her plan was on Day 4, and it had just been one disaster after another.

“I’m not sure there’s any help for you,” Mo offered, shaking her head. “Have you tried just talking to him?”

“Yes! I tried today!”

Mo sat back on the couch. “And?”

“Aaaaand…I decided I would casually drop it in over coffee. But I didn’t realize my ZoeyBot program was up on my screen, and he saw it and asked what it was. One thing led to another, I freaked out and tried to cover it up, and I accidentally…kinda…tripped and…threw an entire cup of coffee at him.”

He blinked. “Wow. I knew you were a mess, but I think you may be even more of a mess than I realized.”

Zoey moaned and sank to the couch beside him. “Really? It’s not even remotely a surprise to me.” Closing her eyes, she leaned back and mulled over her predicament. Then she bolted upright. “I know! What if I do a some kind of flash mob for him?”

“No.”

“What? Hear me out! I get a bunch of people together…”

“No.”

“…and we do some kind of song…”

Mo put a hand on her arm. “Let me stop you right there. So far this week, you’ve brought him a stapler. You got him exactly half of your love confession in balloons, but not even the half that would actually convey what you wanted him to know. And you tried to give him third degree burns. You really think you can get through a whole choreographed dance number without breaking something? Like yourself? Or him?”

Zoey had to reluctantly concede the point, but she wasn’t quite ready to let this idea go. Remembering how she’d imagined him singing outside her window, she suggested, “So what if it’s just me? I could bring a boombox with me and sing outside his window. I saw it in a movie I watched with him once.”

Mo threw her a skeptical look. “Do you even have a boombox?”

She shrugged. “No. Do you?” His answering stare spoke volumes. “Okay, no background music. Just me.”

“Uh huh. And what would you sing?”

“I don’t know; I’m sure I could come up with something. Like, ‘Oh, my lo-‘”

“Nope.”

“Okay. What about, ‘It’s a little bit fu-‘”

“Absolutely not. You should not sing for him. Trust me.”

“But I –” she began.

“No.”

She broke off with a groan. “Okay, what do you suggest?”

Mo sighed. “The same thing I’ve been suggesting all along. No props. No gimmicks. Just walk up to him and find a way to casually drop into conversation that you want to have lots of sex and babies.”

“Are you actually dropping a Love Actually quote on me right now?” Zoey asked in disbelief.

“I’m trying to speak your language,” he replied flippantly, breaking into a grin.

She rolled her eyes as she rose to her feet and headed for the door. “All right. Fine. I’ll just…tell him how I feel. There’s no chance that can end in disaster!”

The table was set. Dinner was in the oven. Zoey was wearing her best dress. She paused long enough to make sure she had matches to light the candles in the candelabra she’d borrowed from her parents’ house earlier in the day, then checked to make sure his jacket was hanging by the door.

She’d gotten Max’s jacket from her mom when she stopped by to visit earlier that day. He’d apparently left it at her parents’ house by accident a few evenings prior, when he’d stopped by to bring her dad some soup from his favorite restaurant across town. It was as good a pretext as any to get him to Zoey’s place, where she would serve him a romantic dinner and confess. Everything.

Wanting to make sure everything was ready, she grabbed her tablet to review her plan one last time. Her (many-times) revised list read:

Get Max somewhere private.

Show him Maxbot?? (He’ll get it, right?)

Don’t break or burn anything. or anyone!!!!!!

Balloons arrive

Bring him coffee

Dinner at home??? “Ham is easy but shows effort”

Make it romantic (candles, yes! Flowers, no. Don’t take your chances)

Music! (Mo says no singing Sing if necessary)

Touch nothing hot until it’s over

No liquids either

Pretext of having his coat?

When he shows up, tell him you want to be with love him.

Kiss.

She took a quick glance around to make sure everything was set up according to her list. Perfect. Things seemed to be going according to plan, for once.

With a satisfied smile, she grabbed her phone. Of course, she probably should have made sure he was free before going through the trouble of cooking an entire ham. But it was too late for such regrets. She tapped her phone with her hand as she paced back and forth, practicing what she was going to say.

“Hey, Max! It’s me! Zoey. It’s Zoey. Do I even need to say that? He has caller ID. Okay, just go with hey, Max! Oh, but he knows who he is. Maybe just hey! Now I sound like a chipmunk. Heeey? No, that sounds creepy. Hi! Howdy! Ugh. Hey…”

As she paced back and forth, she lost track of what was going on around her and so didn’t notice the smoke billowing out of her oven until the fire detector went off, beeping shrilly in her ear. “No! No, no, no, no no…” she muttered desperately as she raced to the oven and pulled it open. On second thought, she should have kept it closed as a ball of fire followed another billow of smoke. “What the-”

She was catapulted out of the way when Mo came in from out of nowhere, shoving her aside to spray an entire fire extinguisher’s worth of suppressant into her oven. As he worked, she jabbed the fire detector with a broom until it fell silence. Then she returned to the stove to throw her meal a morose look. If her ham hadn’t been ruined already, it was now.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Mo demanded in aggrieved affrontery, pulling out her obliterated meal once he’d assured himself that the fire had been extinguished. Wiping off some of the chemicals coating the top, he poked around at the charred meal and exclaimed, “You left the plastic on?”

“What? No, of course not! I removed the plastic!” Zoey peered around Mo’s shoulder to look at the ham, poking it with one dubious finger. “There was a second layer of plastic on the back half of it?” There was, now both firmly baked into the outer skin of the ham and crispy from where it had gone aflame.

Mo sighed and looked around, taking in the scene. Zoey in her dress and heels, way beyond “stay-at-home casual.” The dining table, set for two. The romantic music playing softly over her radio.

“I-I-I-” Zoey stammered, trying to come up with some sort of self-defense, but Mo wasn’t hearing it.

“What did I tell you about props and gimmicks? Would you please go tell Max how you feel about him before you burn down this entire building?”

“I just thought…a romantic meal…”

Grabbing her gently but firmly by the shoulders, he steered her towards the door. “Go. Tell. Him. How. You. Feel.”

“But my meal!” she protested weakly.

He shook his head. “It’s already had a Viking funeral. There’s nothing more we can do for it now. Go take care of this while I dispose of the body. Go.”

Dejected that her plans had once again followed through, Zoey dug in her heels. “Wait! I need my jacket. That black one. And – and my purse.”

She gestured and Mo leaned over to grab both items, passing them over with a dubious look. “That’s yours?” he asked when she slipped the jacket on. It smelled like Max, and Zoey breathed in deeply, pretending it was his arms wrapped around her.

It was huge on her, but she nodded. “Yup! Okay, well…I should go, I guess.”

“Uh huh. Just try not to do anything weird between here and there. I don’t want to get any calls that you’ve been sent to the hospital. Or jail.”

“You won’t. Scout’s honor. You have nothing to worry about!”

Mo shot a pointed look over his shoulder at her demolished kitchen. “Uh huh.”

Zoey rocked back and forth on her toes as she stared at the door in front of her. Too scared to knock, she pulled her phone out of her purse and texted him instead. Hey, are you home? My mom said you left a coat at her place. I’m in the neighborhood, so I can drop it by if you’re there.

She could actually hear his phone chirp through the door. A few seconds later, she got the response. You don’t need to do that! I can swing by and pick it up later if you don’t want to go out of your way. Or you can bring it to work. Thanks for the offer!

He ended his text with a smiley emoji, and she spent much longer than necessary trying to decipher what that meant. Was he genuinely just worried about her taking a special trip? Or was this part of his efforts to avoid her?

She considered making a run for it, but she suspected Mo wouldn’t let her back into her apartment unless he was certain she’d told Max the truth and would theoretically no longer be a danger to herself or others. Before she could lose whatever shred of nerve she still retained, she shrugged out of his coat (admittedly reluctantly), lifted her hand, and rapped briskly on his door.

He opened it a few seconds later, his face a mask of surprise. “Zoey? Wow, that was…really fast.”

What she meant to say was, “Hey! Like I said, I was in the neighborhood.” What she actually said sounded like, “Hey, Ma-nipples.”

He was shirtless again. Didn’t he know what that did to her self-composure? To her ability to string a coherent thought together? Granted, it wasn’t exactly fair of her to blame him. He’d had no real reason to know she was lurking outside his door when she’d sent him that text. But still.

He looked adorably awkward as he lifted one hand to run his fingers through his wet hair, trying to get it in some semblance of order. She’d apparently caught him coming out of the shower. So he was standing in front of her both half-naked and damp? Good. Lord.

Oblivious to her sudden struggle for air, he explained, “Yeah, sorry. I just got back from the gym. I didn’t realize you were coming by.” He hesitated for a moment and then asked, “Do you want to come in?” As she stepped through the door, he looked over his shoulder like he wasn’t sure if he should go grab a shirt. Or like he wasn’t alone.

She stumbled to a halt, her heart seizing in her chest. “Oh, god. You’re not busy, are you? I mean, if you have someone here -”

He cocked his head to the side, throwing her a confused smile. “No, of course not!” Glancing down, he leaned in, his hand reaching towards her. “Oh, I should –”

His face was moving closer to hers, and Zoey’s brain backfired. This was it! The moment she’d been waiting for! Her little MaxBot and ZoeyBots had traversed the maze, avoiding homicidal staplers, menacing balloons, and boiling vats of coffee (and, after tonight, actual bursts of fire that she might as well program in when she got home), and it was finally time to do the thing she’d fantasized about all week! Success!

Completely forgetting that she was holding his coat – and that she hadn’t actually gotten around to confessing her feelings yet – she lurched forward, convinced he was about to initiate a kiss. A kiss she fully intended to reciprocate. The most perfect first kiss one could ever possibly imagine, she was sure.

Instead, in her haste and panic, she missed the mark. Instead of a romantic first kiss, she accidentally semi-headbutted him, her lips landing somewhere in vicinity of the air below his chin. He jerked back in surprise, causing her to lose her balance and stumble forward, stomping on his toe.

“Zoey! What was that?” he yelped, hand cupped over his nose, as he hopped on one foot. Is it broken? Am I bleeding?” She was too horrified at herself to respond, so he pulled his hand away to check for blood before throwing her a bewildered look. “Did you come over here to headbutt me for not being able to hang out lately? Because I really have been busy.”

“What?” she protested. “Of course not!”

He must have seen the misery on her face, because his grimace melted into a soft, reassuring smile. Clearly struggling to hold back a wince, he asked gently, “Okay, then, do you want to tell me what this is all about? Trust me. You have my undivided attention.”

She clutched her hands in front of her, trying to stop them from trembling, and tried to find the words to explain. She found she couldn’t look him in the eye and form a coherent thought. His lips also seemed a little too daunting. His chest was…nope. Still bare. She wasn’t even going to attempt it. Fixing her attention to a spot roughly around his Adam’s apple – that seemed more or less safe enough – she tried to remember part of the elegant speech she’d prepared earlier in the week to tell him how she felt. The only thing that came to mind was “You Max” and she’d already discovered first-hand how insufficient that was to get the job done.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged forward. “I’m…not very good with people. I think we both know that. The only thing I’m really good at is programming! And so I just thought…if I could get the Zoey-Bot and the Max-Bot through the maze…”

Even she could tell she wasn’t making any sense. His Adam’s apple moved as he asked, “The…Max-Bot? I-I don’t…You want me to build some-”

“No. That’s not what I’m trying to say.” Staring at his neck wasn’t helping, so she squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to pull herself together. “I’m trying to say that I took your advice and I talked to my mom.”

Silence fell between them for a few seconds before he replied gently, “Oh. Well, that’s good! Isn’t it? What did she say?”

She opened her eyes, meeting his unflinchingly. “She said…after she met my dad, she could spend the rest of her life running from the way she felt about him, trying to protect her heart. Or she could take a chance that she might lose him one day, and cherish every moment they were lucky to have each other along the way. The good days and the bad, as long as they were together. She said that you can never know the future, but the happiness she found when she chose to take a chance on my dad, when she chose love, outweighed all the pain. Even the pain of losing him.” She had said that, no matter how much it would hurt to lose Zoey’s father, she would never, ever regret loving him.

Max didn’t move. Didn’t speak. As far as she could tell, barely breathed. So she took a tiny step towards him and confessed, “And Max…I promised I would be honest with you, so I will. I’m still scared. And I don’t want to ever lose you. I don’t know how I could bear it. But I’m pretty sure I fell in love with you…a long time ago. Even though I was too scared to admit it to myself. And, who knows? Maybe I never would have if it weren’t for my superpower. Maybe? What I do know is that being with you…it makes me happy. So I’m – I’m choosing love over fear. I’m choosing you. I mean, to be with you.” Her courage depleted, she finished lamely, “I, I mean…if that’s…if that’s still what you want?”

He reached out, trailing fingertips down her arm until she released the death grip she hand on her hands and took his in hers. Her skin felt cold and, she was afraid, probably clammy. But she could swear he was trembling, too, and it wasn’t just her. “What I want? Of course it is! Zoey, I’m not trying to push you into anything. We don’t have to go fast with this! I know you’re scared about what might happen. I’m scared, too. I don’t want to lose you, either! It’s why I didn’t tell you how I felt for so long. But I also know that when I think about the future – my future – I want you to be in it. And that’s worth taking a chance on. I don’t mind taking this slow, as long as we’re doing it together.”

Her breath escaped her with a whoosh, as she felt the tension drain from her shoulders. “Really?”

“Really,” he responded reassuringly, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “As long as you promise Manipples also isn’t going to be my new nickname.” That elicited a laugh, so he suggested, “I have an idea. Why don’t I…put on a shirt,” his mouth curved into that boyish grin that she loved so much as he gestured vaguely at his chest, “and then we can watch a movie together.”

“I’d like that,” she replied, rocking up onto her toes as she returned his smile.

“But first, if you don’t mind…could we try that kiss again?” At his surprised look, she smiled sheepishly and explained, “I’d like to be able to say that I managed it without nearly sending you to the hospital. I made a promise to Mo, after all.” Plus, it was pretty mortifying that he hadn’t even been aware that’s what she’d been attempting when she nearly knocked him out.

“Yeah, of course,” Max breathed, tugging gently on her hand to pull her forward. Stepping into his embrace was like coming home, she realized, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him down towards her. With one hand resting between her shoulder blades and the other at the small of her back, he pulled her tight against him. Zoey closed her eyes as she savored the feeling of his lips as they brushed softly against hers once, then twice. She parted her lips and heard him groan deep in his throat as he deepened the kiss.

She thought she could stand there in Max’s entranceway, kissing him forever, but he finally gave her one last, tender kiss and pulled away, pressing his forehead against hers. “I love you, Zoey,” he whispered.

“I love you, Max,” she breathed in return.

#zoey's extraordinary playlist #zep #fanfiction #my fanfiction #zoey clarke #max richman #zoey x max #max x zoey #humor #fluff #awkwardness #everything goes wrong #team max #@aubreystilinski

54 notes · View notes

yoondoze · 5 years

Text

ultimatum | l.dh

donghyuck is a cute regular who has seen your spectacle reserved for rude customers a number of times and just can’t get enough of it.

pairing: donghyuck/reader

genre/au: fluff, coffee shop! au

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

a/n: i kinda forgot that i had this in my drafts and decided to finish it! this was the mcdonalds au i once mentioned but thought that a coffee shop might work better. hope you enjoy <3 also, this was inspired by an incident from this post

When you’ve been working in fast food for long enough, your skin gets real thick.

There was just about nothing that could get to you, not even the wrath of a fifty-year-old man with a heavy southern accent calling you a whore because a barista accidentally gave him whipped cream when he didn’t ask for any - even claiming that whipped cream was emasculating! It wasn’t your fault and you knew it, even though he treated it like you killed his firstborn son. Still, you didn’t let it stress you out. You were tougher than nails - in fact, you were the type of person to throw nails into your mouth like sunflower seeds, chew them, and spit them out. When you were at work, anyway.

However, that didn’t mean you enjoyed dealing with it. Sometimes, you couldn’t get customers to leave you alone - Jesus Christ lady, I already gave you a refund and a coupon if you ever want to come back (please don’t), what more do you want? And you had a perfect way to get rid of it.

It was just a thing. Your coworkers laughed til their ribs hurt every time you pulled it and it was undeniably hilarious. You knew you weren’t supposed to anymore and perhaps it was a bit manipulative, but in your book, they deserved it.

And here we go again.

“There are no straws left,” she said abruptly. Her horribly cut side bangs swept to the right of her face screamed that this would be more troublesome than you were willing to put up with. When you looked over, she was correct. There were no more straws left in the basket on the counter. Big whoop.

“I’m sorry ma’am,” you replied in your most polite, high pitched voice, “I’ll be right on it in a moment.”

You continued taking the current customer’s order, hoping a coworker mulling around might have heard it and would get her the damn straw. No one stepped up though, leading you to believe that they almost wanted it to escalate, especially when Jisung - who was “busy” making a drink - gave you a look. Nothing had happened all day and everyone was bored out of their minds.

“Alright, your total will be-”

“Excuse me?” Her eye twitched as she interrupted you.

“One moment please ma’am, I’ll be right with you.”

“...Are you kidding me?” She scoffed. “All I need is a damn straw, and you kids are just going to ignore me?”

In the blink of an eye, you were wearing an anxious expression like a mask and your voice was faltering with worry. The customer who was right in front of you, who was actually quite pleasant, was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the woman leaning into his bubble just to get in your face.

“Ma’am, I’m dealing with another customer-”

“And you were dealing with me first!” she yelled, bringing up a poorly manicured finger to point at you. “This place is horrendous. I cannot believe how low the bar is for the service I am receiving right now. You are one lazy little girl, and let me tell you, not one member of your generation is fit for the workforce right now. Always in your phones, not even able to refill the straws! When I get home, I am going to leave a Yelp review that will bring this place to the ground!”

You had to stifle a laugh in your throat.

It was dead silent. Conversations came to a halt, food was left half-chewed in people’s mouths as they focused on the ordeal up at the register. Some people in the place had seen you do it once or twice, if they came here regularly when you were working. Those people met your eyes and watched with excitement. One who you were familiar with, Donghyuck, looked up from his phone and raised his eyebrow at you from a corner booth, anticipating your next move.

The first time viewers were in for a treat.

Cue the waterworks. Your eyes filled to the brim with glassy tears, something you learned to do on command since you started working here, and brought your hands to your face. It was just natural at this point.

In a choked voice, you stumbled over your words, “I, I’m so sorry ma’am, it’s just that I… It’s my first day today and…”

You watched as her anger melted away and guilt began to take place. “I’m so sorry for messing up, I just got overwhelmed and…”

“No, no, no darling, I am sorry for yelling at you and I shouldn’t have. You’re new and it was my fault…” Her cheeks were incredibly red at this point, eyes wide and absolutely astonished. While you kept crying, sobs comparable to those in an afternoon soap opera, she had no clue what to do. Everyone in the store was looking at her with judgemental eyes, even her kids sitting at the booth. You spared a quick glance to Donghyuck, who gave you a concealed thumbs up as he tried not to laugh.

Instead of finishing the conversation, she simply hurried away back to her table, embarrassed, putting on her jacket and quickly pushing her family out. Trying to hold in your laughter, you ran to the back and let another watching worker take your place.

The others on break burst into laughter when you walk in and you couldn’t help but join them. It just felt good to see rude customers get what was coming to them, even if you had to lie a little. You wiped your eyes and patted your face dry with a towel as they complimented your performance. It was unbelievable that you weren’t being cast in movies instead of working a minimum wage barista job.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you’re so good at that!”

“It never gets old, I swear.”

“Just don’t let the manager find out you did it again.”

That was the one problem you had with the joke. Your manager, Doyoung, was strict and held way too much pride in his direction of the café. He maybe smiled at it the first time and then warned you not to pull the act again or there would be consequences. Since then, it always had to be something just between the employees. He was friendly but took his work in the fast casual business seriously and wouldn’t hesitate to let you go if you presented any problems, and unfortunately, you needed the money.

“Well, I’m not letting him know anytime soon, so you better not either. I’m your only source of entertainment around here, anyway,” you laughed, setting down your towel.

After it was safe to go out again, you received a few comments from customers who had witnessed it. Some were apologetic, clearly those who felt sympathetic for the new worker. Others were happy to praise your acting, and the shared laughter made you forget about the possibility of getting fired for it and wondering if it was worth the effort.

It was a little while later that you noticed that Donghyuck still sat in his corner booth. It surprised you, as the boy was typically only here for an hour max to do schoolwork before heading home. To be completely honest, you were always a bit disheartened when he left. You thought you worked better when there was eye candy present, encouraging you to do your best. Not like correctly making lattes would impress him, but you get the gist.

You memorized his order fairly quickly when he first started coming around and always tended to him with much more care than other customers. Your coworkers noticed it and teased you about it constantly - especially Jisung - but nonetheless let you have your fun.

Donghyuck was fairly talkative. Typically you would only listen half-heartedly when it came to customer conversations, but you paid full attention when he was speaking. He talked about his group of friends at school, his teachers, and sometimes you were even treated with a fun story of something that had happened recently. He was really kind and charming, not to mention that he was so cute that it made your heart hurt sometimes.

Occasionally you left a smiley face next to his name on the cup when you were feeling lucky, but not much came of it other than a small laugh, which you were still delighted to see anyway. Jisung suggested for you to write your number down a few times, but you wouldn’t be able to deal if he rejected you like that.

In other words, you had a big fat crush, and him staying later today gave you an ounce of sweet, sweet hope.

It was close to the end of your shift when he came up to the counter. Jisung had gone to the back to get his things since the place was pretty empty, so it was just you.

He looked like he was just going to leave, with his backpack slung on his shoulder and all, but he didn’t. You tilted your head to the side as he approached the pick-up counter rather than the registers. “Not ordering?” you asked.

“No, actually,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I, uh, I just wanted to talk to you for a little.”

It was safe to say that your heart leaped from your chest. This had to be it!

“Oh, okay... well then what’s up?”

He sighed and then smiled. “That act you pulled earlier… I swear, I never get tired of it.”

You laughed in return. “Yeah, me neither… I don’t know, it’s pretty entertaining for me, too.”

“How do you do it?” he leaned in closer and lowered his voice for dramatics. “Like, you start crying on demand. It’s amazing!”

You could only shrug, trying to keep your cool as he talked. “I couldn’t tell you. I just make myself get really upset, like it’s actually my first day, and go from there. I’m no actor, but... I’d say it’s pretty convincing.”

“No, it’s definitely convincing. I think I’ve seen it happen about four times now, including today. It’s great, like you just flip a switch and boom! Oscar-winning performance.”

The two of you giggled over it, sending your heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings. You couldn’t see yourself in a mirror but were sure your face was flushed red. Eventually, as the energy started to die down, he began again.

“Anyway, so I think you kinda know that I’m not just here to talk - I, I mean I like talking I just had something else to say-”

“It’s fine,” you said, grin prickling at your lips, “Don’t worry.”

He sighed, fingers entangling themselves as they rested on the counter. Donghyuck cleared his throat and then he said quickly, “This is a bit awkward and probably not the best place to ask but since I don’t know when else I could do it… would you go on a date with me sometime?”

He waited for your response with wide eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. You were so shocked that you couldn’t get any words out. It was your dream come true, yet you were still screwing it up.

“Um, you know what, nevermind, it was stupid of me to ask and especially while you were at work-”

You waved your hand as you realized where he was going. “No, no, it’s fine! I was just surprised, that’s all!” It was especially shocking that he was so flustered. From what you had seen from him, he was calm and collected. This wasn’t smooth as you imagined, but it was incredibly endearing.

You bit your lip mischievously. “I mean… I don’t know, Donghyuck. You’re a customer. Why should I?”

Fortunately, he received your playfulness well. What you didn’t expect was for him to come back even stronger. “Well, if you want to get serious… I’ll leave a complaint that you fake cry to make annoying customers feel guilty?”

A loud, hearty laugh made its way out of your chest. “Okay, fair enough. As long as you don’t tell my manager, I’d be happy to go on a date with you.”

You gave him a cheeky wink and grabbed a notepad and a pen and started to scribble down your phone number. When you handed it to him, that adorable signature grin spread across his face.

“Okay, I’ll... call you sometime. Thanks, Y/N.”

Then he was off, out the door with a certain bounce in his step that made you giddy, too. You had to turn around, letting yourself do a little dance of joy. At that moment, Jisung came out from the back with a smug look on his face. He punched you on the shoulder lightly as he walked out behind the counter.

“Finally,” he laughed as you protested. “It’s literally been months.”

You squinted your eyes as you stared at the boy who was now cleaning up. He had been gone for quite a long period of time, and wasn��t he just getting his things? “Did you have anything to do with this?”

He just smiled to himself as he washed his hands.

“Jisung!” you whined, swatting at him.

“Hey, hey, I only dropped some hints! Nothing explicit, it’s not like I paid him… just some hints!”

Scrunching up your nose, you crossed your arms and looked away.

“C’mon, Y/N, I’m your wing-man! You needed it and you know it.”

“Okay, maybe!” you threw your hands up in surrender. Then, in a small voice, you mumbled, “Thanks.”

But that pretty much decided it. If you could get yourself a date with the cutest boy you’ve ever seen out of it, the risk of being fired was more than worth it.

460 notes · View notes

thebiasrekkers · 4 years

Text

Sincerely, Yours - JJK

For the @btswriterscorner - Amor Fabula Launch Project in celebration of the month of Valentine’s Day!

Plot: Jeon Jungkook hails from humble origins, his family ranked as Laborers. Since he is the youngest of three children, his time for the lottery has not come. But when it does, he refuses to conform to society’s system and runs away. Disowned, he’s now become a fugitive, taking on odd jobs here and there as a “runner-for-hire”. What he doesn’t realize is that he will find love in the most unexpected place.

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: dystopian!au/dystopian themes | angst | romance/fluff

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Female OC (Nikita Meyers)

Warnings: Strong language, vandalism, violence, interracial/intercultural relationship

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 7,607

AN: This is the companion piece to my first story, Touch In The Dark. This is the “rebel” view of what transpires in the world that I built. In all honesty, I think I may like the MYG version a little more, but I think it’s mostly from my love of hurting my own feelings. I still had a lot of fun with this one and I hope you all enjoy it. Writing for Jungkookis is always a good time. All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

~ j.j. ~

Jungkook swung his legs back and forth as he sat on the edge of a nearby building. He whistled a tune to himself, a song from a life he could barely remember these days. A former Laborer, now turned Runner, Jungkook could say that he left a life that he knew wasn’t meant for him. The Class system was such a bogus way to create order and balance in the world. The Blue Bloods stayed in the upper tier and those born in poverty or with lesser means were meant to work for the rest of their days. Throw in The Lottery Bill and that was just the cherry on top of a fucked up sundae.

A soft breeze pushed against his form as he watched the sky transform into a mesh of warm colors: pinks, purples, oranges and yellows. The sun was starting to set and the world’s light would dim, blanketed by the cobalt sky littered with the few stars he was only allowed to see as he ran from rooftop to rooftop. Running free, no longer tethered to the rules of the world that dared to shackle him to a life of meaninglessness.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he scrolled through the messages and noticed the priority one at the very top. Brushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed quietly as he glanced over the message. His newest client was scheduled to meet him in an hour. It was a standard escort job. It wouldn’t be too hard and the pay was decent.

In their society, it was a crime to “fall in love” with anyone. Period. Not even the spouse that was chosen during an individual’s Lottery drawing. Love fueled emotions that often led to the ruins of others. Passion had the potential to overshadow logic and reason. When logic and reason were cast aside, only terrible things happened. Emotions were just bad things and led to bad times.

Jungkook didn’t buy into that horseshit.

It was the main reason he abandoned his station in life and lived in the moment. He didn’t worry about yesterday. He could care less about tomorrow. Today was all that mattered and all that would matter when it was finally said and done.

He slid his thumb over the screen, dialing the number of his new “job” detail. The man answered quickly, interrupting the second ring.

“Is this Jeon Jungkook?”

Jungkook smirked at the hushed tone in the man’s voice. “It is. Is this Min Yoongi?”

“Yes,” he replied softly, as if trying to gauge Jungkook’s own tone, “were you able to secure safe passage for both my wife and me?”

Clambering to his feet, he dusted off the backs of his weathered jeans and knocked a bit of dirt off his boots. “That’s not my area of expertise, I’m afraid. That was taken care of by a different handler.”

He knew he was being a little shit, but sometimes it was all about asking the right questions.

There was a semi-long pause from the other end of the line, followed by a slow sigh of what could be presumed as mounting exasperation.

“So why was I directed to you?”

Jungkook’s grin grew a little wider. “Because I’m the one who’s going to get you out in one piece.”

“I see,” Yoongi said, as if he was mulling over something, “so you’re a Runner.”

It wasn’t a question.

“That’s right.”

“I just hope you’re as fast as that mouth of yours.”

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “I’m faster, trust me.” Pushing back the sleeve of his jacket, he spied the time. “I’ll meet you at the Square in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

And without waiting for a reply, Jungkook ended the call. Pulling out his earbuds, he connected the jack to the phone and slipped the buds on. It didn’t take him long to find the song he wanted, cranking up the volume as the intro crescendoed slowly. Inhaling lungfuls of air, he stretched his arms out wide and then raised them up so they were parallel with his head. Once he loosened up the muscles, he rolled his neck and hopped up and down - shaking his arms for good measure.

He always had to psyche himself up for things like this.

As soon as the balls of his feet hit the ground, Jungkook lunged forward. Up and over the edge of the roof. The world rushed by him in a blur of motion, his dark hair flying off his forehead. The night was cool, but the wind stung his eyes - making them water. He quickly wiped at them, curling his body inward and then extending his limbs. The concrete scraped at the pads of his fingers, but it didn’t take him long to realign his body, forcing his lower half to swing off to the side so that he could catch the railing of the fire escape.

The bars rattled violently when his heels planted themselves onto the platform, but he was already climbing up the bars to reach the next rooftop. Once Jungkook made it over the edge, his legs pumped the ground in tandem with his heavily beating heart.

Unconsciously, his mouth spread into a wide open smile.

Free-running. They couldn’t have called it something better if they tried.

Sweat broke out across his brow and the pulse of the song’s bass seemed to reverberate throughout his entire body. With every jump, lunge, catch and pull he performed, Jungkook’s elation only seemed to climb. It would be too soon if he could never run as free as he was now.

Heaving and halfway covered in perspiration, Jungkook arrived at the designated meeting spot within fifteen minutes. It gave him just enough time to grab a bottle of water from a nearby vending machine, emptying half the contents over his head and soaking his hair. Onlookers peered at him curiously, but he didn’t pay them any attention. He almost never did. He drained what was left in the bottle, savoring the feeling of re-hydrating himself.

Craning his neck, he located a nearby waste bin and was about to toss the bottle into it - arms stretched like he was shooting a basketball into a hoop.

He stumbled forward suddenly, his body pushed forward from an unexpected impact. Grunting, he quickly pivoted on his heels to see who was responsible, but all he caught sight of was a ball cap flying in his line of sight as auburn curls flew past him. Jungkook reached out and snatched the hat out of the air as the owner turned to catch a glimpse of him.

Her dark gray eyes glared at him, catching Jungkook off guard. Despite living in South Korea, Jungkook was used to foreigners. But he certainly didn’t remember seeing someone with those eyes and soft caramel skin. Her hair looked dyed, but it strangely suited her.

Jungkook took a step forward, holding her hat out to her. Instead of taking it back, she continued to shift her gaze from him and then to the hat. He grinned.

“Not even a thank you, huh? You don’t want this back?” He waved the cap back and forth, as though he were trying to keep a cat’s attention on him. “Is this mine now?”

He hadn’t seen her move. In fact, he didn’t even realize she’d closed what small distance existed between them. Not until Jungkook felt a soft burst of pain near his stomach. The wind was knocked from him almost immediately and all he could manage was a wide-eyed stare at her.

She grinned, twisting her fist into his stomach a little more. “Not a chance, you fucking tool,” replied the girl.

Jungkook collapsed to one knee when she took a step back, her hat not back in her possession. He struggled to reclaim what air was stolen from him, one dark brown eye glaring up at her. Not to say that women were weak, but he hadn’t expected a punch from a pretty girl to hurt this much.

Hopping back on one foot, she waved the hat at him in a farewell gesture before sliding it back onto her head. She turned and bolted from the square without so much as a second glance at him. He coughed, rubbing at his chest in an attempt to regulate his breathing again.

Wow, what a bitch, he thought, but Jungkook found himself smirking once the pain subsided.

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment.

“Are you alright?”

The voice jarred him from his thoughts and he quickly scrambled to his feet. He was face to face with his temporary charge, Min Yoongi. Standing beside him was a woman with dark brown curls, hazel eyes, and mocha skin. She peered at Jungkook curiously, her hand laced through Yoongi’s. She was also a foreigner from what he could tell, and well-known through the news as the “Charity Selection” picked from The Lottery two years ago.

He folded his arms across his chest. “This might be a little difficult.”

Yoongi lofted a brow. “And why is that?”

“Well,” Jungkook began, taking a few steps toward them before circling around both of them, “your wife’s kinda popular.”

The older man narrowed his eyes. “So you’re not going to be able to help us?”

“I didn’t say that.” He held a hand up and then waved it through the air, as if shooing away a gnat. “I just said that it’ll be a little difficult. Not impossible.” Jungkook met their gazes and grinned. “I got this. Trust me.”

~ n.m. ~

“Nikita, that was reckless.”

Removing the baseball cap, she roughly ran her fingers through her curls while scoffing. She carelessly tossed the parcel onto the table. “What does it matter? I got you what you asked for.”

The man seated at the table steepled his fingers, dark eyes peering over his knuckles at her. Nikita waited for him to say something, but he merely sighed and began to untie the twine wrapped around the brown paper packaging. It was his way of dismissing her, but letting Nikita know that she wasn’t completely off the hook. He’d find a way to pay her back and it wouldn’t be pretty.

She knew this because it wouldn’t be the first time.

Not wanting to press her luck, Nikita quickly vacated the office and closed the door behind her. She rested her shoulder against the door frame, mentally kicking herself for what she’d said. She knew she didn’t mean it, and yet she continued to come off as cold and unfeeling in these situations. Nikita was about to slam her head into the door when someone suddenly cleared their throat beside her.

“Keep it up and you’re going to put Minjae Hyung into an early grave.”

Craning her neck, she cut her eyes at the shaggy-haired individual - his shit-eating grin never failing to irritate her.

“Shut-up, Taegi-ah,” she snipped, walking past him. Predictably, he followed but Nikita ignored him, focusing her attention on the warehouse.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Nikki-ah,” he whined at her back.

She rolled her eyes. Nikita hated that nickname and he knew it. She also knew that he didn’t care that she hated it.

Because that was the kind of person Yoon Taegi was.

A pain in her goddamn ass.

But she couldn’t hold it against him. Because he was the one who helped her break the chains the world decided to put on her the day she was born. Without him, she knew she would still be living the life of a woefully ignorant aristocrat - blind to the truth of society’s agenda. Nikita lived in a castle made of glass and didn’t understand her purpose outside of being a breeding agent for some future husband she would never be able to relate to.

When the day came for her to be matched with her significant other, Nikita was ready to accept that lot in her life. She was prepared to walk down the path that she was groomed for. What reason did she have to believe otherwise; to be aware that there was something else beyond the veil?

The truth wasn’t known to her until she saw a couple being arrested on the streets - cuffed and pulled away from each other. They screamed until their throats were raw, and then continued yelling for each other. They managed to share one final kiss until each were thrown into separate police cars and driven away to be incarcerated.

Their fates were declared on international television.

Taegi was the man she’d seen carted away and three months later, he broke out of prison. As punishment, the woman he loved was put to death. It was their attempt to shatter his spirit, to break him.

They failed.

Sighing, she looked at Taegi’s smug expression and couldn’t help marveling at how far they’d come. A loaf of bread, cheese and meat was all it took to barter for the truth. Taegi gave it to her and Nikita knew she could never go back to her life of privilege. Not if there were people she could help in the process. It didn’t take her long to find herself pulled into Rebel circles - all of them graciously accepting her into their fold.

hree years passed since then and Nikita didn’t regret leaving her family or her “duty” behind. She was free and she was fighting for a cause that meant something. Even if she’d never experienced it for herself.

Love.

Sliding the metal door aside, Nikita stepped into the warehouse. The smell of gunpowder and kerosene instantly filled her nostrils - causing her eyes to water slightly. She quickly wiped at them and sniffed, fishing through a crate on a nearby table. Her hands stilled momentarily as she felt Taegi’s palms slip over her shoulders. He squeezed them gently and she sighed, hanging her head a measure as her eyes stared into the box of homemade pipe bombs and hand grenades.

“Sometimes I worry that the fighting is never going to end,” Nikita said softly.

Taegi rubbed her shoulders in a comforting motion before moving away from her to lean against the table. He folded his arms across his chest, his face lifting to the ceiling. “It’ll stop one day. We just have to stand strong and in solidarity.”

Nikita shrugged, pulling out a few pipe bombs. “I just hope we’re around long enough to see it.”

She checked the fuses, gauging their length, before placing them back in the box. She set one hand grenade out, flicking a finger over the pull pin. After making sure that it was secure, she dropped it into her messenger bag and moved to the next crate. It contained knives of varying shapes and sizes. She opted for a switchblade of decent length, slipping it into her back pocket.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Pulling it out, she scanned the message on her screen. It was from Minjae, as expected. He was sending her on another assignment. There was another potential ally they could have on their side versus running amok on the streets.

Turning to move to another table, she felt Taegi’s hand grasping at her arm. She looked at him and saw the worry lines etched across his forehead. Nikita couldn’t help but smile at him.

“You just got back and you’re already prepping to head out again.” He frowned. “You’re like a machine, woman.”

“Can’t help it,” she said, chuckling slightly, “I’m not one to sit around and do nothing.”

“It’s not about doing nothing. It’s about resting. You’ve been gone for three days.” Taegi sighed, releasing his hold on her. “Hyung can’t pass this off to someone else?”

“Nope.” Nikita shook her head. “Recruitment’s my main gig. You know this. Besides…” She paused, meeting Taegi’s gaze, her own expression softening a bit. “...if we don’t have more people on our side, what good is any of this? It’s never going to stop until every last one of us are either dead or re-educated. Numbers mean everything.”

Looking back at the phone, she opened the file Minjae sent her. It was the most current dossier on a person willingly living off the grid. They had been for some time now.

She recognized his picture immediately. He was the guy she’d run into earlier that day. The same guy she punched in the gut for teasing her when she was in the process of playing “courier” for their group.

Nikita couldn’t help the bark of laughter that escaped her. Taegi looked at her curiously but she shook her head, slipping her phone back into her pocket. This was going to be interesting. Maybe he’d hear her out despite the terrible first impression she’d given.

My job just got a little bit harder. Great.

~ j.j. ~

Jungkook lazily sprawled himself out on the largest branch of an old tree near the edge of town. Swiveling a toothpick between his teeth, he looked around at the people who passed below him obliviously. It amused him, in a way, how they could mindlessly continue with their lives. They were like sheep to the slaughter, unaware of the truth of things.

Then again, he didn’t really know what the “truth” was himself.

All that mattered to him was no longer having a label stamped on his body as though it were a badge of shame. Society deemed that he was destined to be poor. Society claimed that his ideal match would be someone of their choosing. Society was right and the average person didn’t need to question this.

Well, society could go eat a bag of dicks.

Again, his phone buzzed. He picked it up from where he had it laying on his chest to stare at it - the screen illuminating his face in the shadows. It was another job forwarded by his employer. Sighing, he opened up the dossier of the person he was sent to help this time. When he saw the picture, however, Jungkook sat up so fast that he nearly fell out of the tree.

It was her. The woman who nailed him in the gut without batting an eyelash. The woman whose dark auburn curls and gray eyes failed to vacate his mind.

He was immediately suspicious.

Normally he would forward a job he didn’t want to another Runner. It wasn’t like Jungkook was hurting for money. In fact, he was planning on taking a small vacation soon - taking himself off the grid completely for a few weeks before coming back. But his curiosity was a damning thing and he didn’t mind being damned if it meant knowing who this woman was.

Nikita Meyers. 25. Former Blue Blood. Currently wanted by authorities due to her association with various Rebel factions throughout the world.

Blinking, he read through the short blurb again to make sure that he wasn’t misinterpreting anything. But what was there to misinterpret? This woman had it all and threw everything away to be a fugitive? Like him? He didn’t get it. Wasn’t the high life a life of pleasure and carefree days?

Why would she ever want to toss it away for the gritty life?

Jungkook frowned, thinking back on the life he left behind. He refused to conform to society’s whims and ran away from home when it was time for him to have his partner chosen through The Lottery Bill. He didn’t know what love was and he wasn’t sure if he wanted any part of it if the government was hell-bent on minimizing it throughout the globe. Jungkook could admit that he did stupid things when he was emotionally unstable, hence why he was living the life he currently was in the first place. But he also wasn’t too keen on the idea of bending to the whims of others.

Even so…

Sliding his thumb over the screen, he dialed the number his contact provided for him. It rang three times before someone answered. Her voice filled his ears and he leaned his back against the trunk of the tree as he listened.

“Jungkook-ssi?”

He smirked. “Oh, are we using polite words now?”

He heard a sigh from the other line. “I won’t apologize for what I did. I had my reasons.”

“Sure you did.” His tone dripped of sarcasm, but Jungkook felt his smile growing wider. “It’s alright. I forgive you anyway.”

“You’re so gracious. So, are you gonna help me or are you gonna pass me off so I’m someone else’s problem?”

His lips formed into a small ‘O’ while he scratched the side of his nose. “Is that normal for you?”

Nikita scoffed. “I don’t make it a habit to become a problem for anyone in the first place.”

“That’s a shame,” he replied while shifting his position to stand on the tree branch, “it’s fun to be problematic.”

“I’m sure you’d know that.”

“Of course. That's why I said it.”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

Jungkook was going to help her. He’d made that decision the minute he saw her picture on his phone as the next job he was supposed to take. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to have fun with her about it.

“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to have some free time slotted in my schedule.”

“Good. Now come down from that tree and meet me face-to-face.”

His smile fell from his face and he sat up again, looking around in every direction. He quickly craned his neck down and saw she was standing below the tree he was currently perched in. For a long moment, the two of them just stared at each other - each of them holding their phones to their faces; listening to the other person breathing.

Then he saw her smile up at him. It was a smile that clearly said that she knew more than he did; that she’d gotten the best of him. A smile full of secrets, daring someone to try to discover them.

It was a smile that made his heart twist sharply in his chest.

Hanging up the phone, he slid it into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Without batting an eyelash, Jungkook effortlessly hopped off the tree branch, landing with an unnecessary flourish in front of her. Nikita slid her phone into her pocket as he slid his palms over the thighs of his jeans.

Again, neither said anything. They just took in each other’s presence.

Now that he got a better look at her, Jungkook was at least half a head taller than her. The strap to a dark gray messenger bag was pressed across her chest at an angle, enhancing the swell of her bosom. Other than that, there was nothing else about her that would elicit inappropriate thoughts. No skin showed outside of her bare neck, face, and thin wrists peeking out from the sleeves of her dark green field jacket. She wore charcoal gray cargo pants stuffed into a pair of shin length combat boots. A black newsboy hat adorned the top of her head this time.

“So,” Jungkook said, finally breaking the silence, “where am I escorting the lovely lady?”

“We’re too exposed here.” Nikita moved past him and he pivoted on his heels to follow after her.

They were heading back into the city.

Just as he was about to suggest they could go somewhere a little more private to chat, she hopped onto a nearby dumpster and scaled up the fire escape as easily as snapping her fingers. Jungkook slowly arched his neck, watching her fling herself up one iron landing until her body swung in a half arc to allow her the reach she needed to grasp onto the edge of the building’s rooftop. Her booted feet scraped over the brick, crumbling small bits to the ground until she disappeared over the edge.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned,” he mumbled, his smile returning. This woman was just full of surprises.

“Are you comin’ or not?” she called down to him.

Not like he needed to be asked twice. Jungkook made a game of it, determined to scale the building in half the amount of time she had. Once he reached the top, he pulled himself over the edge in time to see her running at full speed across the building.

“Hey!” he shouted after her, his own legs eating at the ground in hot pursuit, “Wait a minute!”

But just as he was starting to close the distance, Nikita jumped from the building and curled her body inward. Jungkook was almost to the edge and was preparing his own dismount when he saw her successfully clear the gap. She grabbed onto one of the metal pipes and swung herself into an open window. Jungkook didn’t have a chance to relish in the adrenaline pumping through his veins, his eyes memorizing her movement patterns so he could follow the trail she was leaving for him.

Dust filled his nostrils, causing him to cough from the onslaught to his senses. The room smelled of old wood and mold. The building had long since been abandoned and there was clearly no interest in changing its state of disrepair. The boards creaked under each step that was taken and Jungkook mentally worried if the floor would crack and collapse right beneath him.

A beam of bright light blinded him and he hissed, moving his forearm to cover his eyes.

“Yo, what’s the deal?!”

His words sounded snappish, which hadn’t been his intention, but what did anyone expect when suddenly rendered unable to see?

“Sorry,” Nikita said, lowering the light to give him a chance to adjust to the darkness, “I wanted to make sure you were right behind me.”

Jungkook rubbed his fists into his eyes gingerly, shaking his head to blink the golden spots away from his vision. “It’s fine.”

She gestured with the flashlight toward the stairs. “Follow me. And watch your step.”

Everything in the building seemed ancient and forgotten. Jungkook swore he heard it groan in response to their presence there. It gave him an eerie sort of vibe that he wasn’t sure he wanted to really wrap his head around.

Once they reached the ground floor, Nikita disappeared through a door to the right. It looked like an office building of some kind now that he got a better look at it. He could hear her roughly pulling at drawers from what he assumed were old metal filing cabinets. Jungkook took a lean against the door frame, folding his arms across his chest as more dust flew in the air from Nikita’s manic investigation methods.

“Need any help?”

She slammed a drawer closed and yanked at another one, fingers dancing over the folders. “I’m good.”

He shrugged, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. “So what is this place?”

“Used to be a Public Records office until everything became digitized and moved to the various data hubs all over the globe.”

“And now?”

Nikita pulled out a folder and sifted through the papers inside. “Now it’s a place for squatters and a go-between for Rebel units.”

Jungkook hummed in understanding. But something puzzled him.

“So why are we here?”

Turning to face him, she waved the envelope at him. “Gathering intel for another client.”

“Wait.” He stepped inside the room. “This isn’t an escort job, but a recon mission?”

Nikita grinned, shutting the drawer closed with her hip. “Yup.”

He frowned. “Then why was I hired for this? You do know that I’m a Runner, right?”

“I know.” She stuffed the envelope into her bag, using the beam of her flashlight to rifle through whatever contents were also inside. “I know exactly who you are, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook didn’t know why, but he didn’t like what she was insinuating with those words.

Nikita pulled something else from her bag, but it was too dark for him to see. Using her other hand to secure the bag’s clasp, she stepped toward the window and slid it open. Jungkook watched her poking her head out, presumably to see if anyone else was coming. It was dark and most people had normal work schedules so there wasn’t a chance for anyone to be out after midnight.

Well, except for them.

“It’s a waste.”

“What?” Jungkook slightly tilted his head, confused. “What is?”

“You left everything behind the same time I did, but all you’ve done is float through life without a care in the world.” She glanced at him from over her shoulder. “It’s a waste.”

Rolling his eyes, he frowned. “What the hell do you know?”

He didn’t appreciate her judgmental attitude toward him. It wasn’t like she knew him. It wasn’t like she understood what he’d gone through up until that point. Living off the grid wasn’t easy and it wasn’t for everyone. Sure, he could have gone back home and ponied up. He could have turned to those fighting against society’s rules and regulations, seeing refuge from a dying world. But he wasn’t about to let himself become dependent on anyone. Being dependent on others equated to marginalized freedom and Jungkook didn’t want that either.

Even if it he had to remain alone to maintain it.

“I know you’re a Runner,” she said, flashing a shit-eating grin at him, “so I suggest you do what you’re good at. Running.”

Jungkook wasn’t sure what she was getting at. But before he could question her further, something fell to the ground. It rolled across the floor and into the sliver of light that leaked in through the window from the streetlamp outside.

It was a hand grenade.

“ARE YOU CRAZY?!” Jungkook barely heard his own voice through the panic cadence of his heartbeat.

Nikita reached out to grab his hand, pulling him toward her. “RUN!”

They both tumbled out the window, rolling onto the grass in a tangle of limbs. They dislodged themselves from each other, frantically scrambling to their feet as they hurried to put as much distance between them and the building as possible. The heat from the explosion pressed against Jungkook’s back, forcing his body to lurch forward. Something cut the side of his face and he grunted as his shoulder collided with the concrete. He thought he heard someone calling him, but it was hard to make out from the soft ringing in his ears and the alarms going off.

“Shit,” he muttered as he sat up on all fours, shaking his head back and forth to chase away his rattled nerves.

Someone grabbed roughly at his jacket, yanking him up to his feet. His face was inches from Nikita’s, her stormy eyes reflecting the fire and smoke eating away at the building behind him.

“Come on,” she said, her hand reaching out to grasp his, “we have to go!”

He didn’t have time to yell at her. He simply followed her direction. Besides, he knew better than anyone that he couldn’t just walk away from this. Jungkook was an accomplice - willingness be damned.

He was a Rebel now.

~ n.m. ~

She’d be lying if she hadn’t planned it out that way. Nikita never had any intention of outright asking Jungkook if he would join their cause. Instead, she chose to be a dirty bitch about it - forcing his hand and leaving him no other option but to stand at their side. The Rebels weren’t necessarily losing, but they weren’t winning, either. The more skilled people they had on their side, people like Jungkook, the more likely they would win against society’s preconceived notion of what “success” and “happiness” was.

Nikita did it because she knew that they had to have him. That she had to have him. She didn’t feel guilty about taking him away from the life he’d chosen for himself.

A month later, however, the guilt started rearing its ugly little head. Usually in the dead of night; when the urge to smoke overtook her. She puffed on a cigarette, her thoughts swirling around in her head like a busted washing machine in desperate need of repair. Minjae told her that she didn’t need to tell him the truth about that day; what her intention was. She normally never questioned Minjae or his motives.

Now? Another month passed. She wasn’t so sure anymore..

A strong gust of wind pushed up against her body, causing her to take a half a step forward. The wind was always powerful the higher a person was. But the rooftop of their hideout was the only place she could find any solace. More and more people were joining their cause, but more people meant less space. Maybe it was the former high-privileged snob in her, but she liked being able to have a little breathing room in her life.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were here,” a voice said from behind her.

She turned to glance over her shoulder, seeing that it was Jungkook. Her brows furrowed, a soft ache building at the center of her chest. But she didn’t say anything. He took a step back, his hand reaching behind him so he could push the door back open.

Nikita exhaled a thin stream of smoke, tapping the ash off the side of the building. “Stay if you want.” She shifted her gaze back to look at the twilight sky. “You don’t have to leave.”

The door closed, but the sound of feet shuffling closer toward her caused her to release a silent breath of relief. She didn’t want the awkward feeling to continue between them, and in the last month Jungkook proved himself useful. He never demanded to leave, because the people around him wanted him to stay. It made Nikita wonder if he’d never felt a sense of community before now; if he’d always been alone.

She was decent enough not to ask.

“No assignments. That’s rare.” He said it so easily, like he’d been a Rebel for years.

Shrugging, she lifted the cigarette to her lips. “Can’t be busy all the time. Batteries need charging and all that shit.”

He chuckled, sidling up beside her but giving her at least three feet of space. Nikita cast him a sidelong glance, watching him lean against the railing with his forearms.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Jungkook reached into his pocket and pulled out a toothpick. She raised a brow, unable to force back the smirk forming on her face. It was a habit she’d never understand, but it strangely suited him. She shook her head as he clamped his teeth over the twig, making it swivel back and forth with his tongue.

“What about you?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I’m heading out in two days.”

Nikita wouldn’t ask him where. It was better if she didn’t know. The less she knew, the less likely Jungkook would be compromised should something happen while he was away.

For a while, neither of them said anything. She finished her smoke, tossing the cigarette butt off the edge. Jungkook was focused on the starry night sky, so she knew he didn’t notice her looking at him. His hair shifted in back and forth motions from another gust of wind. He looked so lost in thought, yet completely relaxed.

Anything could happen between now and tomorrow. Jungkook could turn his back on them and possibly reveal everything he’d learned to the authorities. Or he could just get captured or killed. There were no guarantees in the world they were both fighting against and fighting for.

“I’m sorry,” Nikita said, surprised at herself with how suddenly the words came tumbling out.

“Huh?” Jungkook straightened up to his full height, flashing her a confused look. “What for?”

“I put us in that situation back then so that you’d have no choice but to come with us.”

He appeared to not understand what she was getting at. Was he really so gullible? Or was he just that innocent? How had the world not broken him?!

Nikita closed her eyes tightly, biting her lower lip that was already beginning to tremble. “I purposefully set you up. I forced you to become a Rebel.”

She couldn’t see him, much to her relief. But the sound of her heart hammering roughly against her ribs drowned out the sounds of the city. If he was saying anything at that moment, Nikita was confident she wouldn’t have heard him.

“I know.”

Those two words pierced through her loudly pounding heartbeat. Opening her eyes wide, she jerked her head to face him. He was closer to her now, but still wearing that gentle expression. The one of someone who understood something that she hadn’t been able to glean. The kind of expression that told volumes about a person’s life.

About the pain they were forced to endure.

“I know you did. And that’s okay.”

She blinked up at him, gobsmacked by his words. “Wh-What?”

How could he say that it was okay? What part of what she said was okay? As far as Nikita was concerned, none of this was okay!

“Because it was only after being here, I realized why you did. To me, that’s all that matters.”

Nikita’s brows furrowed in disbelief. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. It was like she’d lost the ability to speak or even formulate coherent phrases.

He continued.

“I’m a Runner. You said it yourself, running is what I’m good at. People only ever needed me to run for them. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

She watched him take a step toward her.

~ j.j. ~

Nikita looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Jungkook felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach; like something was fluttering inside of it. He wondered if he looked the same. If he had that same expression on his own face. Jungkook hoped he didn’t, but he felt weirdly calm. He couldn’t quite place why, other than he believed everything he was saying at that moment.

And he believed that Nikita would hear him; truly hear him.

Because for damn near two months, Jungkook couldn’t get Nikita out of his mind.

“My family didn’t care about me running away from my responsibilities. If they did, they would be looking for me now.”

He took another step forward, his eyes flicking downward to see if Nikita was going to take a step back. She didn’t, and that strange feeling in his stomach intensified.

“My two siblings are making up for my shortcomings. They’re happy and so I kept running. Here. There. Everywhere. It never mattered where I was or how long I was gone. Because running is what I do.”

Nikita looked like she was really listening to him. He knew it because of how focused her eyes were; shaking.

“J-Jungkook,” she stammered.

He knew he should take a step back. Reassess things and think about just what the hell was tumbling from his mouth. It wasn’t like he’d planned this and he hadn’t expected for her to apologize for making him a sucker. One day was all he needed to figure it out. After the initial internal battle he had with himself died down, Jungkook was planning to get the hell out of that place. He would play nice and then bounce. Simple as that.

But one day turned into one week. Then two. Then three.

Until a month passed by.

He realized it hadn’t bothered him as much as he initially thought. Because in that short amount of time, he saw Nikita in ways that he was sure she didn’t realize was being showcased. Jungkook discovered every nuance about her as their paths crossed every single day. From the way she preferred hats with bills than beanies, to how she would scratch at the bridge of her nose when she was annoyed. She preferred dogs over cats, but had a special kind of love for horses. She liked dark liquors and she hated beer. Nikita hated mornings, but she would always get up early to see the sunrise before going back to sleep.

And she was one helluva free runner.

Taking one more step forward, there was now less than a foot of space between Nikita and him. Again, he looked down to see if she would step back. And again, she didn’t.

“For the first time in a while, no one wants me running anymore. And when I have to run, I know I have a place to run back to. Because there are people waiting for me.”

He reached out to grasp her wrists, feeling her pulse jumping with life beneath his palms. For a split second, he suddenly felt self-conscious that his hands might be cold, clammy, or all of the above. But Jungkook selfishly refused to let go. He would apologize later for it if she shoved him aside.

Or off the building.

He waited - the soft clouds of breath meeting hers as she breathed out in sync with him. Nikita didn’t move or was thinking about what to do at that moment. Jungkook knew he needed to hurry and say what was churning inside of him.

What he’d been wanting to say for almost a week now.

“Because people like you are waiting for me.”

His hands moved from her wrists, slowly gliding up her arms until his palms slid over the delicate curve of her shoulders. Jungkook even knew how strong she was under all the bulky clothes she wore. It was how people kept underestimating her. It was how she survived.

But even under that strength was a gentle and compassionate woman. A woman who cared about the people around her. A woman who decidedly left her comfortable entitlement to help anyone suffering under the injustice of the world’s system. A woman who cried in mourning for those who could not be with the ones they loved.

Jungkook’s hands cupped her neck, using his thumbs to stroke over Nikita’s jawline. He gently pressed them to her chin, lifting her face to his. He could see the tears forming in her eyes and he paused, feeling his own hands trembling. Could he afford to hesitate? Could he really let this moment pass by, only to fade away into the darkness where it would never return to see the light of day?

He had to keep trusting her. Trust that she would keep listening.

“Jungkook, what are you--?”

“I love you.”

Jungkook felt like his insides were going to fall straight out of him. He said it. His nerves felt liquefied, but he said it.

“W-What?”

“I love you, Nikita.”

Not wanting her to push him away, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. He felt her gasp in his mouth and he waited for her to retaliate. To kick and scream and threaten to toss him over the side to his death. He would have deserved it. His death would be justified.

But Nikita didn’t shove him to the side. No. And he lifted his lips from hers when he felt her hands cupping his elbows. What tears were in her eyes spilled down her cheeks. Jungkook saw her brows furrow, but there was a watery smile now on her face.

And then he kissed her again, harder. His hands left her face so he could wrap his arms around her, fully pulling her up against him. He needed her close. Closer than he’d ever been able to get to her. The need was terrible and he didn’t want to chase it away. He sucked in air through his nose, drinking in the subtle smell of her shampoo. Nipping and tugging at her lips between his teeth and tongue, he relished the soft taste of ash from the cigarette she smoked earlier. But there was a hint of peppermint. Nikita always ate a peppermint before smoking because she despised the taste.

Jungkook would continue his mission of getting her to quit.

They parted the kiss long enough to get air. He could just barely see her through the clouds of their breaths. Even in the dark, her eyes seemed to glow. He loved how Nikita always looked like she could see right through him.

“I fell in love with you. I don’t know how. I don’t know why.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers as their noses touched. “I just did. I just do.”

Turning to bury his nose into the curve of Nikita’s neck, he smiled against her skin.

“It’s okay if you don’t right now. We have as much time as we need to figure it out. Until then, just let me keep loving you as you are now. As I am now.”

Her body shook with how roughly she was nodding her head. Jungkook pressed his fingers against the back of her neck as he held her aloft. And for awhile, that’s all they did. Hugged each other. He could feel how hard their hearts were hammering against each other. All the anxiety and hesitation felt like it was bleeding out of him.

Nikita laughed a little. “Damn,” she whispered.

Jungkook smirked. “What?”

“Guess this means I love you too.”

They shared a laugh. He leaned forward to pull her into a hug. Jungkook appreciated how good it felt to know her arms were around him. It may have been a selfish beginning, but it wouldn’t be a selfish end.

He knew things would get harder from now on. But that was okay. Because the hole in his heart was full.

Because he loved this woman in his arms.

43 notes · View notes