#no duck umbrella today

[princessanneftw]

Princess Anne looks on ahead of the Injured Jockeys Fund Maiden Hurdle Race at Taunton Racecourse on 30 March 2023 🏇🏻

[clusterduck28]

If ONE MORE embarrassing accident happens to me in the next 7 days I swear to GOD I'm changing my pfp to Donald Fucking Duck.

[doflamingadonquixote]

Worthy {PT 1/2}

Parings: Lucifer Morningstar x Sinner!Dom!Reader

Warnings: no one in this chapter, just a little bit of swearing and an hurt/comfort situation

Words: don’t know, more than 7000

Summary: After returning to the hotel from a day at work, you find Lucifer sitting alone and in misery. A confrontation ensues that you would never have imagined in your unlife.

A/N: English is not my first language, I apologize for any errors but I also rely heavily on a translator. Criticisms and your opinions are always welcome. I decided to divide this mini ff into TWO parts. The second will be more spicy. Let me know who would like to be mentioned for next part! Enjoy!

You rushed in through the front door, waving your umbrella and shaking off the drops of acid rain that were quickly eating away at your jacket.

It was the fourth this week. Something was going wrong with the weather in the circle of pride.

The room had probably emptied by now given the time. There were only a few little sinners left in the armchair, entertaining themselves with their phones.

Their rooms must surely be near Alastor's radio tower. After several complaints it was discovered that the closer you were to it, the more those little gadgets seemed to have problems or interference.

“Don't be too late. Tomorrow morning Charlie will set up the new program for the week.” You communicated to them, moving behind the chair and letting a hand ruffle the younger sinner's hair.

He muttered something but nothing that was too rude towards you. As you approached the staircase back to your rooms, a white-clad figure at the bar caught your attention.

Lucifer was bent with his elbows on the table, between his fingers a half-full glass of some liquor that he had stolen from Husk's supplies.

With a loud sigh he brought it to his lips but before it could reach them, your fingers blocked the advance of the glass, pushing it down by the top again.

Lucifer turned to look at you quickly but his shoulders visibly relaxed when he acknowledged your presence.

“Whatever answer you are looking for, you won’t find it in that glass, sir.” You warned him and, in the distraction of his gaze on you, you slipped the glass from his hand, brought it to your mouth and emptied the contents down your throat.

The liquid burned faintly, causing you to cough barely. Yes, it had definitely touched Husk's good reserve.

“You've been out a long time today. Any news?” He asked as he watched you set the glass down in the sink, beyond the counter.

“Not much, really. Sinners are still very hesitant.” You shrugged but turned a happy smile on him. “At least they listen now, though. They don't accept, but they listen to what you have to say. Small steps.”

You and Lucifer met after Charlie hired you while she was in a meeting with Camilla. You worked with her in the beginning, identifying potential clients all around the circle.

Charlie probably saw some salesmanship in you that she could also exploit in convincing sinners to redeem themselves.

You were not a longtime sinner. You had recently died so you hadn’t had a chance to take an interest in the royal family.

The first time you saw Lucifer you expected something more threatening, malevolent.

Instead, you had been confronted by a little jumping baked bean who made pancakes in profusion for breakfast.

You had immediately sympathized with his personality. You considered yourself a very mild-mannered fellow so his influence was a healthy touch for your motivation as well.

You had also worked together on some proposals to present to the newcomers though with some difficulty in agreeing among yourselves.

For some strange reason his idea about the duck pool exceeded yours in preference. Seeing the hotel sinners enjoying themselves in the yellow duck pile was hilarious and utterly unbelievable.

Because of that, you had grown very close to the King and respected him very much.

Therefore, seeing him in such a pitiful state as he was in at that very moment threw a sense of unease upon you.

“Shitty day for you too?” You asked, almost as if you were disinterested. If he didn't want to answer, he could have ignored you and not felt forced to necessarily say anything.

However, the soft sound of sobbing reached your ears loud and clear.

You turned quickly but his face was bent away from you on his shoulder, not allowing you to look at him properly.

The only thing you could see was the tremor in his back and how his hands had closed forcibly on his crossed arms, resting on the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the two remaining little sinners giggle over something they had seen on their phones, oblivious to what was happening a few feet away from them.

You didn't know what to do. Touching him seemed to be too much, and you weren't sure of your comforting skills at that moment. You felt you did not know him well enough to afford certain words of comfort.

So you did the only thing you thought wise.

Hide him.

Your coat slipped over him with a gentle rustle, covering him totally from head to toe thanks to your stature.

Lucifer turned in wonder at you, his eyes bright and red with unshed tears under the loose hood falling over his face.

You gave him a smile as his cheeks turned a soft rose color.

“You know, if you have any problems you can talk to me, right? I can't assure you a very good therapy session but I think it's good just to talk about it.”

The ex Angel remained motionless for a few seconds, and you read the situation as a choice to prefer silence.

You didn't blame him, in fact you were a little embarrassed that you had the temerity to propose such a thing to him.

You got up from your chair, ready to say good night to him and retreat when one of his black hands twisted around your wrist, preventing you from moving further away.

You blinked a few seconds, confused but returned with your butt to the chair, your body fully toward him.

“Today is eight years since Lilith left.”

You smiled sadly. You had to understand that Lilith was the reason. After all, she alone had the ability to make him unhappy, besides his daughter but she never made him unhappy.

“Oh, that must suck.”

“Yeah.”

You frowned. After eight whole years had the man still not moved on? And Lilith hadn't even deigned to give an explanation or try to communicate with him the whole time? What man waits for his wife for eight years without moving on with his own life? How could she refuse the love of such a pure being?

Fuck, she really doesn't deserve him! If only he were yours…

“Do you really think so?”

Lucifer's voice made you jerk.

“What?” You asked confusedly, forcing your heart to suppress that senseless anger born out of nowhere.

“What you said, that she doesn't deserve me...” his lips quivered and his eyes had reached the size of those of an needy dog.

Shit, had you said that out loud!?

“Um, I think so,” you shook your head, looking away from him. “I'm sorry, I had no authority to say that. It's just...I don't know...you're an exceptional person, Lucifer. You deserve the best.”

You bit your lip. That drink really must have had powerful effects to let you open up so much with a being who could disintegrate you with a snap of his fingers.

“I..…T-Thank you.”

Flabbergasted, you noticed how the king's pale face was slowly turning a scarlet red and stretching to below the collar of his shirt.

He was flattered by your words? Did he not intend to kill you for disrespecting him?

“I only said what I think.” You added at the end, as if to solidify that you had gotten away with it.

You went back to looking in front of you, now unsure of how to continue that conversation, and you noticed how a light complexion had been added to your own cheeks as well.

But it seemed that Lucifer had not finished.

“If I were yours...”

The lump of saliva you were trying to get down stuck in your throat and you began to cough convulsively in surprise.

“D-did you hear that too?!”

What the hell was wrong with you that day? You had never been so brazen and indelicate. But there was something about Lucifer that set off all the right points for you.

You couldn't reason with him.

“Do you mean it? Would you appreciate me if I was?”

His body language had changed. He still looked embarrassed but the way he leaned toward you, the fluttering eyelashes and a little pout on his lips clearly told you that something had changed for the better.

You didn't blame Eva for accepting that damn apple. The man was driving you crazy and you were sure he knew it.

The hood of the vest over his face brushed your forehead, awakening you from the little trance you had entered.

“I would. I would adore you as the king you are and deserve to be.” Your hand reached his neck, preventing him from advancing any further. “But you are not in the right condition, sir. I don't want to take advantage-“

He puts a finger to your lips, forcing you to be silent while, with the other, he gently supports your face.

“Show me.”

[clamenstell]

Meant for two

one drop turns two, then three as little pitter patter of water droplets start to fall onto the earth as a hand raised out to feel the falling droplets.

"oh. rain."

gojo satoru was currently near the gates of jujutsu tech as he just returned from a mission assigned by his teacher, finishing it begrudgingly. he didn't realize the sky had turned dark as the gloomy clouds hid the bright blue skies.

it's okay, he had his infinity, the rain can't touch him and he won't get wet from it. very convenient if you ask him, though he has to focus and manually activate it, it's definitely a good use for small things like this. never needing an umbrella or having to rush to a nearby shelter, especially sharing an umbrella and getting your shoulder wet from the small space from the temporary shelter.

yeah, his infinity is definitely convenient.

"oh, satoru."

your voice snapped him out of his thought and he shifted his gaze to see you approaching him, grocery bags in one hand and an umbrella in the other.

"you arrived earlier than i thought. i was planning on meeting you by the gates after i dropped off some things since it's raining, but i guess you beat me to it huh." you laughed.

"missed me that much sweetheart?~" the corner of his lips quirked up as he gave you a teasing tone, you rolled your eyes.

"it's raining dummy, didn't want you to get soaked by the rain and get a cold obviously," you huffed. "seems like you got it covered though."

"of course, i'm the greatest after all~" he chuckled.

"of course, how could that slip my mind, even rain can't touch the great gojo satoru," you teased before sighing. "guess you don't need the umbrella then, how convenient. wish i don't have to worry about needing an umbrella when it rains. looks like we don't need to share the umbrella then," you chuckled but that line caused the cerulean-eyed teen to freeze. "let's go, satoru."

you turned to walk back to the dorms, expecting your companion to follow but suddenly he shoved to your side, ducking his head under the umbrella with you.

"w-what the?! satoru, what are you doing?" you stared at him wide-eyed as he stucked his tongue out.

"whoops, looks like my infinity stopped working, seems we gotta share the umbrella now sweetheart~" he wrapped his arm around your shoulder to bring you in closer, "don't want me getting soaked under the rain right?" you rolled your eyes.

"what happened to being so great that even the rain can't touch you?" you teased but he only chuckled and squeezed your shoulder.

"don't worry your pretty little head about it~" he hummed, taking a look at the bags in your hands. "what'chu buy anyways? any snacks for me?~" his hand reached for one to take a peak but you pull it away before he could.

"absolutely not, these are for suguru and shoko."

"aww what," he pouted, sticking his tongue as he makes a thumbs down at you, "booo.."

"oh? guess you don't want these pastries then? i'll give 'em to suguru and shoko too then," you raised the bags to reveal a pastry box stamped with the logo of a local bakery you both frequent to that went unnoticed by satoru and shrugged.

"wha-?! hey!" you snickered, "come one sweets, i've been gone all day working hard and this is the payment i get? cruel," he raised a hand to clutch his chest as he turned his head dramatically.

"i'm just joking satoru, of course these are for you. you did good today," you smiled softly at him as he turned his head back to you to basked in your praise, his arm still around your shoulder tightened a bit.

"let's go then! can't let these pastries lose their freshness now!" grabbing the bags to carry them for you, he dragged the both of you in a hurry to the student living quarters.

"i've just bought them, no need to rush," you giggled.

who needs infinity for small inconveniences like rain when he gets to be so close to you under an umbrella, sharing laughs and spending more time with you. he doesn't even mind that his shoulder is getting wet as long as you were warm and dry, under the temporary shelter with him, touching shoulders.

umbrellas were meant for two anyways.

[landwriter]

Desperate Measures | Dream/Hob | 1.2K | G v silly and fluffy, literally 90% air, dream attempts a romantic gesture, hob is a sap and forgetful, human au, part text fic

for @domaystic drabbles, Day 6: Under the Same Umbrella

---

Dream woke up to 26 texts from Hob. He put on his glasses and began his morning read. It’d replaced Times for him. The editorial quality, he thought, was far superior.

Hob (7:19 am) heading out, gave you a wee forehead kiss and you didn’t even stir. sleeping bloody beauty. love you disgustingly much x

Hob (7:26 am) couldn’t find my umbrella anywhere can you take a look if it’s not too much of a bother? feel like i’ve gone mad

Hob (7:30 am) christ it’s bucketing down!! standing under the eaves just to tell you how much it’s bucketing down

plants will be happy at least so will my goth boyfriend ;) hope your writing goes well today love. extra atmosphere!!

Hob (8:42 am) nevermind don’t look for it remembered that i left it in my office told johanna she can use it since i’m at the archives all day anyway glad i’m not the only one who’d forget their own head if it wasn’t screwed on :) :) :)

Hob (10:11 am) you should’ve seen the look lisa gave me when i showed up had to dry myself off in the men’s w half a forest of paper towels there goes my carbon offset from walking i said christ you’re probably still in bed asleep warm dry!! lucky bastard

wish i could come back already and drip puddles all over you

Hob (10:37 am) if this keeps up i’m going to look like mr darcy in the rain on your doorstep tonight don’t worry i promise not to propose marriage while insulting you xx although i do love you most ardently

...elizabeth

Dream smiled, read them all again, contemplated, and then sent his reply.

Dream (11:01 am) Sir, I appreciate the struggle you have been through

Hob replied moments later.

?? you sound like a customer service agent wait you’re quoting the film you can’t reject me if i’ve not proposed to you!! yet!!!

Dream snorted. 'and I am very sorry I have caused you pain' went the line. They’d watched it last weekend. Hob had cried, and Dream had privately decided that if Hob proposed, he’d say yes. Even if it was poorly done. It wouldn’t be, though. Not if Hob was doing it. He sent a second text.

...and I am very sorry you were drenched by rain.

Then he got out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen. His phone buzzed anew as he made tea and toast. He smiled at the sound. On their first date, Hob had warned Dream that he had a bad habit of annoying boyfriends over text. Dream, on his first date in six years, had wondered what it might be like to be so effusively charming that you could have enough boyfriends to form habits around them at all. He hadn’t known what to say, and Hob had ducked his head, grimacing a little, and said, “Just tell me to piss off, please, if I do? I know I can be a bit much.”

Dream believed it, because the man was telling him about his habits with boyfriends after one date. Not that he minded. And three months in, Dream had yet to tell him to piss off.

Turns out, a bit much was exactly what he’d wanted. Needed, in truth. Someone to tether him to the real world. His phone had become a modern-day lodestone in his pocket, a comforting pull of Hob-ness that would always point him back to life whenever he’d emerge, blinking and disoriented, out of the mire of his work. Work that he loved - creating worlds out of nothing, writing stories that would change people - but, coming on the age of thirty with nothing to show for it but recurring wrist strain and an upmarket flat that never had any guests, work that had also made him spend so much time apart from the rest of humanity that he was sometimes unsure how to rejoin it.

The tipping point had been when his eldest sister had found out that he hadn’t spoken to anyone else in between two of their regular dinners. Which were monthly. It had been mortifying. She’d smiled sadly, which was excruciating enough, and then gotten the gleam of a plan in her eyes, which had been far worse. “I’m setting you up,” she’d said. “I know just the guy. We go way back. I think you’ll like him.”

He had. Now, when his phone buzzed, he found himself frowning if it wasn’t Hob. (An exceedingly rare occasion.) But this time it was, of course. Four short messages sent one after the other:

hahahaha ok fine that was v good enjoy your day x

Five hours later, not even the curtain of rain awaiting him outside could douse the anticipation in his belly. An idea, he knew, was a powerful thing. Dream didn’t have an umbrella - Hob always shared with him, and would’ve apologetically nicked his if he had - so he would make the first leg of the journey as Hob did. He intended to go and get something nice, but once in the cold downpour, his resolve failed him almost at once, and he ducked into the first shop that had umbrellas in the window.

“Hiya,” said the girl at the counter without looking up from her phone.

Dream ignored her, blinking the rain out of his eyes, belatedly registering all the merchandise had a unifying theme and that he’d made a terrible mistake, borne of sheer desperation.

“Would you happen to have any other umbrellas? In black?” he asked. Hidden behind the counter, perhaps. If only you knew to ask.

The girl looked at him with an air of disbelieving reproval only accessible to teenagers and the very elderly. “You could try Boots, you know. It’s just down the street.”

Dream looked out the window. Rain torrented down. Commuters hurried past with their sensibly coloured umbrellas. From places exactly like Boots.

“Or we’ve got rain ponchos,” she added. It sounded like a threat.

“Nevermind,” said Dream quickly. “I’ll take it.”

“Enjoy your visit in London, sir,” she called out as he left.

He stepped outside and flicked open the umbrella with slightly more force than necessary.

Dream waited a few paces outside the archives, wanting to surprise Hob properly. Two separate pairs of tourists had thought he was their London Ghost Tours guide, and he was beginning to regret not holding out for longer, drenching be damned. Then Hob emerged, striding out and immediately stopping to pull out his phone. He was smiling at it. Dream smiled too, in anticipation.

A moment later his own phone buzzed loudly in his coat pocket, and Hob looked up in surprise.

“Oh my god,” he said. Then he said it again.

“I heard you needed an umbrella,” said Dream. He’d had the line already, since he got the idea. It had been very dashing and romantic in his head. It was somewhat undermined by the dreadful costuming choice that had been forced upon him.

Hob looked between Dream and the umbrella, bafflement melting into a happy laugh. He ducked underneath, pecking Dream on the lips. “I’m not sure I needed one quite this badly. Did you rob some poor tourist?”

“Unhappily, I paid for this.”

“Oh no,” said Hob, pulling away and pretending to inspect him for injury. “My poor darling. Your dignity.”

Dream sniffed. “I will recover.”

“Here,” said Hob. “I’ll carry it for you. You’ll only be guilty by association, then.”

They began walking, a bobbing Union Jack in a sea of blacks and greys. After the chief sin of ugliness, it was also a little small for two grown men, but Dream found he didn’t resent that at all, as Hob tucked him tightly into his side to keep them both dry. People gave them a wide berth. Tourists could never be trusted with umbrellas.

“You’ve rescued me, you know,” said Hob, nuzzling into his cheek.

“It wouldn’t do to have you dripping puddles all over the floors,” said Dream.

“Even if I looked terribly handsome, all wet and ardent?”

Dream bit his lip and smiled a little. “Perhaps you can be wet and ardent in the shower. Instead.”

Hob laughed again. It was Dream’s favourite sound. “Much warmer than the rain anyway. Deal.” Rain drummed down on their private nylon ceiling. “I was thinking chicken tikka masala for dinner?”

And so they made their way home, and although the rain never let up, Dream was so content and warm that he might’ve sworn they were walking in the sun.

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter One

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 4690 Rating: General Summary: After a dreadful day which saw you drenched by a rainstorm after leaving a hectic day at work, you reflect on your love for Mando and upcoming excitement for the sci-fi convention you will soon be attending with your internet best friend. Content Warnings: None! Author's Note: Hope you liked the start! My love of mass transit systems bleeds through, I think. But I hope I captured how wonderful being part of a fandom and forming online friendships can feel! Thanks to @suresnips for being my beta!

1. Why Does It Always Rain On Me? [Reader's POV]

Spending your mid-twenties obsessing over a fictional character with fellow fans online was not exactly how you envisioned your life unfolding, but it seemed that the universe had other plans in store for you. You couldn’t be too disappointed with this outcome though, as the comforting familiarity of your favourite show and the community surrounding it was like a tight, warm embrace that had seen you through your toughest days. Just like today, when you would lean on The Mandalorian as a crutch yet again, as settling in to watch an episode would be the comfort you needed at the end of yet another miserable day.

It had been a draining day that seemed like it would never end. You seemed to be having an awful lot of them recently, where any little thing that could possibly have gone wrong had gone wrong. Work was busier than usual, with plenty of colleagues pestering you with questions and asking for assistance on tasks, when you had quite enough of your own work to occupy yourself with. Perhaps worst of all, you had forgotten to charge your headphones. Your heart sank as you went to turn them on just before you left work, only to find that there was no charge left. It was a major inconvenience as it meant that the soundtrack of your favourite show was not there to transport you to a different galaxy as you began your journey home. Instead, all you could hear was the relentless noise of the city. The cars and the people that never seemed to shut up for even one single second.

Your feet thundered against the pavement, the rhythmic thuds helping to ground you despite the loss of comfort that your precious headphones provided. Things were finally starting to look up. Well, they were, until you felt a spot of water against your left cheek. You sighed and looked up towards the sky, noticing the grey clouds that had suddenly rolled in from nowhere, and the eerily cold breeze that was suddenly swirling all around you. Rain was imminent. 

To add insult to injury and make your already torrid day even worse, the heavens promptly opened. And you had not worn a coat, nor brought an umbrella in the trusty backpack you carried everywhere. Even though the sky was a little grey, it had been a perfectly pleasant, warm morning when you stepped out of your building that morning. 

You muttered curses under your breath as the rain began ferociously pelting you, furious at your unpreparedness. You quickened your place, hurrying to the closest station to the museum you worked at as you continued to curse the weather with a variety of colourful language, but it had predictably done nothing to halt the relentless downpour. Even though summer should be approaching, the weather was awful. For what felt like weeks now, the weather had nothing but cloudy, cold and grey. It was beginning to grind you down. You just wanted to finally see some sun so you could enjoy the warmer months. Winter felt like it had never really ended. 

Mercifully, you eventually made it into the station, after ducking and weaving through the dithering tourists that lingered outside the prestigious institution in which you worked. You shook your head, hoping some of the water that had drenched your face and hair would at least fly off and prevent you from sitting on a crowded tube while soaked to the bone. You brought your arms around you, suddenly aware of how unpleasantly cold you felt after getting so wet in the rain.

But fortunately, as you descended deep beneath the city to the platform, the temperature rose. The tunnels, far below the city, had been built long ago; with their poor ventilation, they retained all the heat generated by the crowds. Sometimes it could be stuffy and feel as though there was no air, but today you were weirdly appreciative of the quirks of the tube.

Your momentary appreciation for the mass transportation system soon disappeared though, when you finally emerged onto the platform. There was a seemingly endless sea of bodies, crowding into every available space. You took a deep breath and squeezed between them, taking advantage of several confused tourists to position yourself just behind the yellow line in a spot that you knew would be in a prime location for the doors when the tube finally pulled up.

You tapped your foot impatiently as you stood on a crowded platform waiting for the tube to finally arrive, surrounded by the terrible din of an unappealing combination of annoyingly loud tourists and stressed-out commuters. To top off your miserable day, the line you needed to take to get home was suffering from delays, a fact the irritating trill voice of the announcer kept reminding you. They were sorry if it caused you inconvenience – of course it did! The empty apologies did nothing to quell the pounding in your head.

You were sick of crowds and noise, you had endured more than enough of it for one day. Work had been so busy that at one point, you felt as though your head was going to explode from all the tedium. The gradual buzzing in your head that you felt when you were annoyed had quietly begun in the early morning and had just gotten louder and louder throughout the day. You were exhausted. 

The rumble of the train finally hurtling through the tunnel towards you was for a moment, you were convinced, the greatest noise you had ever heard. You took a few deep breaths in preparation before it finally pulled up, now was time to fight your way through the sea of limbs and bodies to cram yourself inside the sweatbox on tracks that would take you to the comfort of your own home. To Mando. The man who helped pick you up whenever you were feeling down, without ever being able to know the impact he was having on your life.

It was the thought of how your heart would leap when you started the next episode in your rewatch and first saw his shiny form sauntering across your screen that seemed to carry you through the crowds you usually detested without draining too much of your dwindling energy reserves. You still winced, though, as you clambered aboard the sweltering carriage that was already likely too full to accommodate any more passengers. You knew there was no getting around it. This was just the reality of living in a major city like London. It was you who had been so determined to move here, after all. Eventually, after a lot of shuffling, you found yourself face-to-face with the dark brown musty jacket that belonged to a man who seemingly had not been acquainted with the wonders of deodorant. 

You fixed your gaze on the ceiling above you and tried to imagine yourself anywhere but here. You pictured Mando scything through a group of bad guys and imagined you were as strong as him. You reminded yourself over and over that this would not last long; there were only a couple of stops to a major train station, meaning the crowd would thin and you would hopefully get some more peace far away from the man’s musty jacket. You just about held it together for the next few stops, wishing you were already at home. You visualised the euphoria of finally walking through the door to your apartment, ready to change into comfortable clothes and settle down to watch your favourite show. Unfortunately, your illusion was constantly shattered by the crowds in the carriage with you.

Finally, though, you arrived at the stop where most crowds would depart and with the worst of the crowds having departed the tube, you were able to find a seat facing the window. Although there wasn’t much to see in the tunnels, you knew with every rattle that you were closer to home. You briefly considered the possibility that if your fellow travellers knew that sometimes, the only thing that got you through the day was knowing that you could come home and watch an episode of The Mandalorian, they would dismiss you as a pathetic loser. But you supposed that people coped in other ways, with harmful and destructive habits that caused pain to other people. You were not harming anyone with your passion and love for The Mandalorian, even if you knew it was not the most socially acceptable hobby for a grown woman.

Despite how sad your routine would probably sound to most people, the bond between you and The Mandalorian was stronger than any disparaging remarks that could come your way. Indeed, there were very few people in your life who truly understood the love you had for that show. Oh sure, there were casuals you had encountered, like your friend and colleague Tom, who was also a viewer of The Mandalorian – at least you had someone to occasionally discuss the latest episodes with. 

But your chats with your workmate were nothing deeper than how many people Mando had taken out in the latest episode and whether one day he could be seen on the same level as Vader in terms of iconic Star Wars characters. It was all very surface level and you felt reasonably sure, despite your closeness, that Tom would be at best bemused by your online activity and contemplate involving some kind of local authority at worst. Better that some things were kept secret.

Fortunately, you had a community of people online who unquestionably got it. You had them to talk to about the show that had become such a big part of your life. The Mandalorian had come to you at a difficult time in your life, a time when you most needed it. Recent years had not been kind to you, as they hadn’t been for most people. With global pandemics and both man-made and natural catastrophes, there were plenty of horrors awaiting you at life’s every turn. But you were so grateful that you had the show you loved so much and the people you had found because of it to help see you through. 

It had seemed that you were destined to find it at the exact moment when you did. At one of your lowest points, Mando had been there, with his deep voice and confident swagger to soothe you on your darkest days. To lose yourself for a few precious moments at the end of each difficult day and just watch the character that you loved so much flying around space, fighting bad guys and leaving each place better than he found it was deeply engrossing and comforting to you.

It didn’t matter to you that you did not have the faintest idea about what the man behind the helmet looked like. To you, The Mandalorian was the perfect sci-fi character. You had grown up loving the galaxy far far away and all things Star Wars, always keeping up with the latest releases and discussing them with your family and friends, but you would never have considered yourself a superfan who knew everything about it. It was not until you had started watching the show about the lone bounty hunter that a switch in your brain was flipped and you became completely, hopelessly obsessed with it. The musical score captured the mood perfectly and complimented the stunning visuals, the wide shots of landscapes as your favourite character travelled across whatever planet he found himself on that week, flying through the galaxy in his beloved Razor Crest. Every time you listened to music from the show – you were rarely seen without headphones, they were seemingly glued to your head – it was as though you could imagine yourself pacing through the galaxy alongside Mando. It was a way to get inside his head, imagine his emotions and how he carried himself.

You had been a little late to the party, only watching the first season after it had already aired in its entirety. But you had more than made up for lost time, completely immersing yourself in the world. You were pretty sure you had read absolutely everything about him and memorised the scant details that you knew about his life. Part of the allure of the show was how mysterious the character was himself. No one had ever seen his face nor did anyone know his real name, he was simply known as Mando. His need for secrecy was necessitated by the ancient Creed he belonged to, that followed a strict way of rules. Mando would never bend or break them for anyone, no matter how much fans fantasised about being the one to finally pull the lone gunslinger out of his shell and break through the harsh emotional walls he had put up for himself. 

After you had finished watching the first season, you joined the online fandom and quickly met a group of like-minded fans who were just as obsessed with all things Mandalorian as you were. You had found your tribe; you found solace in your online friends. They all shared the same passion for the show in a way that none of your friends in real life understood. The first person you had ever really spoken to had grown to be your closest friend Ria. You still remembered how nervous you were about speaking to her. She was a popular author who wrote many of the most well-received fanfics about Mando that appeared online after the first season had aired. But after you had nervously left your username on social media in her comment section, you found that she was just as lovely and welcoming as you had hoped when you began talking to her. After all, you were both, by definition, nerds who most people would see as losers for being so obsessed with one character. There was no need for hierarchy or competition here. 

After meeting Ria, she introduced you to some of her friends and you had all joined a group chat where you seemed to message each other constantly. On the train on the way to work, at lunch, last thing at night… there was always someone there to chat with about Mando. It helped that you were spread out across so many different times, all the way from Australia to Argentina and many places in between. The anticipation you had all felt for season two had reached a fever pitch before it was aired and, thankfully, it had lived up to all expectations. Speculating about what was to come in each episode with your online friends had been incredibly exciting. Not knowing what was coming next, who Mando would have to find or where he had to travel had been thrilling. After you had seen the first season, there had not been long to wait for the second season, which was released within a year. But now, there had been no new episodes for a few months as they worked on the next season. The wait was agonising, but your friends were helping you through.

Every single one of you in this group chat had undergone, at various stages, an identical process where you became completely enamoured by this same character, finding yourselves thoroughly charmed by his swagger and mystery. Each one of you, despite the distance that separated you, had found yourselves falling down the rabbit hole and becoming completely obsessed with the lone bounty hunter from a secretive warrior society, bound to never reveal his name or face to a single soul. 

The casting had been perfect… because just like the character on the show: in real life, you had absolutely no idea who the actor behind The Mandalorian was. Not a single one of you had any idea who portrayed Mando. His identity had been kept a complete secret – with the most watertight NDAs in history, you suspected – which was a highly unusual move in Hollywood. You were sure whoever he was must have a good reason for it. After the popularity of the first season and the viral phenomenon it had become, you couldn’t help but suspect that the man who played Mando, whoever he was, was probably extremely thankful for his decision to stay out of the limelight. You were sure that he would have been subjected to insane levels of scrutiny from the media and fans of the show. Indeed, even without his name and face being public knowledge, there was still plenty of that. 

Sometimes you felt a little sad that you would never get to hear about Mando from the actor’s perspective. Other cast members gave interviews and attended cons, but there was no way to ever get that interaction with your favourite character, the one you cared about the most. Although you remained in the dark both about his identity and the reasoning behind all the secrecy, you respected whatever reason he had for hiding it. After all, you knew for certain that there was no one else on the planet who could have played Mando as well as the actor who was portraying him. With his confident walk and deep, gravelly voice, he was already an icon without even knowing it.

Despite your respect for the actor behind Mando – you never really joined in with the speculation unless it was a joke. The trend #beyonceismando had been your favourite example of that. But sadly, most fans of the show did not share your restraint. Some of your friends could even be guilty of taking it a little too far sometimes, but you let it go. Life was too short to go around policing what other people did on the internet. Besides, you knew your friends well enough to feel confident that they could never be truly malicious. 

Due to the actor’s anonymity, speculation reached dizzying levels that you sometimes worried could be too much for anyone to live up to – you had seen every possible theory online. To you, online speculation should be fun without turning into something creepy and invasive. It was a fine line. A line that you did your best to tread, remembering there was ultimately a human being at the centre of the speculation. Your friends could let themselves go a bit more, but you tried your best to reign it in. 

The secret identity of Mando’s actor led to all kinds of wild theories. Some swore that he was actually a she, there was a woman underneath the suit and that was why Disney had to keep it secret. Others insisted that Mando was really an alien, with super strength and abilities straight out of Star Wars. There was also a sizable majority who believed the reason for his secretive identity was because the actor was straight out of the army and had killed thousands in real life. Speculation ran particularly wild on social media: everyone hoped that their favourite actor was somehow the man behind the helmet, even if their schedules did not line up and their voices did not match, which led to more theories that his voice was being altered somehow to conceal his identity. That particular theory meant everyone could now imagine their particular favourite actor was behind the character that had become such an iconic figure in pop culture.

Indeed, most of The Mandalorian’s appeal to the general public was the mystery and the speculation as to his true identity. Some people only watched every episode, thinking that would finally be the week he removed his helmet and their theory would prove to have been the correct one all along. Some people scrutinised every single shot, wondering if the mask had slipped for even a second. People had even tried to hack into the CCTV cameras of the studios where the seasons were being filmed.

You couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t enjoy indulging with your online friends. You had spent countless hours talking to them, laughing at their attempts to piece together his identity from the scantest of information. They scrutinised the internet for images to compare his build and height compared with other known actors who were in the right age range. They were convinced that perhaps the way he held himself – the gait of his walk, the stance he took with his hands on his hips, the way he often shifted his weight on one leg – could give them clues as to his identity that they were so desperate to crack. You left them to it, laughing at how they could turn the smallest things into some kind of full-blown theory and proof. But to you, Mando was just as amazing without you ever knowing anything about who he was beneath the helmet. You loved the show and the character much more than you loved the online theories.

Ultimately, watching the speculation unfold was all good fun (at least for you) and proved to be a welcome distraction that helped you to get through the horrors of being in your mid-twenties. Like the situation you found yourself in now – having to exit the tube and make food after a long day of work. 

Daydreaming about Mando and the friends you had made had passed the time perfectly, your stop was next and you couldn’t wait to finally be off the tube with all of its furious rattling. Thankfully, by the time you made it to street level, the rain had ceased. The humidity had increased in its place, though and any remaining dampness on your clothes from your earlier drenching magically evaporated in the hot air.

Only the stairs up to your apartment separated you from Mando now, and you felt the final energy reserves draining as you ascended them. You sighed as you turned the key and pushed the door open, both in relief at finally being home after such a difficult day and pure exhaustion. 

There was nothing you wanted more than to sloth out in front of the TV and watch your favourite space cowboy do his thing on your screen. But unfortunately, you were an adult. No one would magically appear with a plate of food, much as you would have appreciated it. You headed into the kitchen to begin preparing your food. You wondered what Mando would be like in the kitchen (everything came back to him eventually) – did he even eat? You had never seen it on screen, at least. You wondered if he even could eat under the helmet. Perhaps you’d text Ria about that later, and see her thoughts. Maybe she’d even write a oneshot based on it and gift it to you. 

As you stood there in your small kitchen, stirring the ingredients in the pan that would constitute your dinner – you realised just how this show had invaded every crevice of your brain. The Mandalorian had undeniably entered your brain in a way that made you think of it almost constantly. Sometimes, when you were walking around on your lunch break, you would imagine whether anyone you passed in the street could be the man that you were so enamoured by. You felt certain that you’d recognise Mando’s broad shoulders anywhere, even if you were right next to him. But it was a fruitless task, one that you knew deep down you would never get answers to. It wasn’t like he was just going to magically appear next to you one day or anything.

With your dinner plated up, you made your way to the front room to eat in your preferred position – on the sofa, in front of the TV. Sure, being an adult was hard sometimes but it meant that you got to indulge in little luxuries like this. Your family would probably freak out if they saw how you ate – hunched over on the couch, squealing with a mouth full of food over scenes you had watched dozens of times before – but you didn’t care. 

As you flopped down on the couch, ready to watch another episode of The Mandalorian while eating your dinner, your phone buzzed with a message from one of your best online friends. You had met Ria shortly after you had felt compelled to make an account after finishing the first season of The Mandalorian, but you had yet to meet in person. That was all going to change very soon, though: she was flying in to attend a convention with you next week. The promise of not only finally meeting your best friend, but also getting to spend time surrounded by others who loved The Mandalorian just as much as both of you did at the convention, had honestly kept you going recently. It was the subject of the con that was the reason for Ria’s messages:

[thisistheslay] 17:57: OMG! OMG! There’s gonna be a Mando panel at the con next week. WE HAVE TO GO!!

You tapped out a reply:

[ilovemando] 17:57: what panel? and when?

[thisistheslay] 17:58: Literally the first day at 2pm. It’s called ‘The Man behind the Mandalorian: Exploring the Identity of the Galaxy’s Best Bounty Hunter.’ We NEED to be there, like you don’t understand!!

[thisistheslay] 17:59: HELLO bestie, what if HE’S THERE! What if they finally unveil who he is!!

You put your phone down on your lap and let out a small laugh as you rolled your eyes. Ria was constantly convinced that Mando was finally going to reveal his identity. It was based on pure speculation at worst and half-baked rumours at best. It had been an ongoing debate between the two of you throughout your friendship, you doubted that Mando would ever reveal himself. He had left it this long, why would he choose to reveal his identity now? But it was all in good fun, after all. You knew how much Ria truly loved the show and Mando. Just like you, for Ria, this speculation was all a bit of fun. She wasn’t one of the toxic people who said they would never watch another episode if the actor who played Mando turned out to be ugly. Yes, unbelievably, that was something that you had actually seen people write publicly online, for others to see. Maybe even the man who played Mando himself. It made you feel sick, they didn’t deserve him or the show. 

You texted back:

[ilovemando] 18:03: oh i do, but not like you. yeah we’ll go… don’t be disappointed when mando doesn’t show tho

[thisistheslay] 18:04: No he’s going to be there! I can just FEEL it!!

[ilovemando] 18:05: ok sure, whatever u say. gotta eat but i’ll message you later

You really did have to go. No distractions would come between you and an episode of The Mandalorian, especially not while eating your dinner. As you sat back and watched the episode you had seen dozens of times before – in this one, Mando was tasked with hunting down a group of rogue mercenaries on a prison ship – your mind wandered back to Ria’s messages. You knew she was just being her usual ridiculous self, losing it over crumbs in an exaggerated, ironic way… but you couldn’t help but wonder about what you would do if her words came true. What if you did, one day, come face to face with Mando? What would you say? Would you even realise when he was in the same room as you, would it be an obvious, earth-shattering feeling? Or something far more subtle?

It was a ridiculous topic. But despite yourself, it was one you spent the rest of the evening ruminating over. The prospect of attending the con was nerve-wracking already – it was going to be a large, crowded event with many people in an unfamiliar environment. That was already setting your nerves on edge, even without the prospect of Mando being there. But thinking that there was perhaps the smallest chance that you could be about to lay eyes upon the man who brought your favourite character to life…

Well, that was a whole other level of nerves. 

Next Chapter

[homunculus-argument]

Things I saw today on my visit to Helsinki:

Three rabbits in broad daylight in the middle of an open field as the bus drove by. Two of them were beating the shit out of each other.

It looks like those 90s style crop tops with short cap sleeves are back in fashion, countless of girls wearing them.

A laughing woman trying to pull a large dog into a vet's office. The dog wasn't having it.

An idiot needlessly crossing the same road twice in an attempt to find a path with more shade (me).

A 90s style goth wielding a black umbrella as a parasol to shield herself from the sunny day.

A tourist bus with japanese writing on the sign plate.

A child outside a fast food place screaming as if in pain, due to being forced to endure the torture of having sauce wiped off his face. Nobody involved in this situation seemed to be enjoying it.

Rainbow flags everywhere, in shop windows and on one person's balcony, in pins and clothing, even a whole staircase painted with the colours.

A woman walking a tiny mexican hairless, that looked like a really bulky, broad and tan bald chihuahua. Imagine if The Rock was a really small dog.

A very dapper older gentleman in flowing pinstripe trousers and a floral pattern shirt, walking and talking with a buff early 20s dude in a pastel polo shirt, who looked far too clean-cut and tidy to be sporting the elbow spiderweb tattoo that he had.

The flag of Ukraine flowing over the central train station.

A man with a convenience store hot dog running to escape a particularly persistent and aggressive seagull (also me).

A comic book store with real oldies like Star Trek and classic Donald Duck comics on display at the window, which had been there for so long that the colours had faded into nothing but the shades of blue and pale pink.

A spandex biker halting an electric scooter by attempting to dodge the faster vehicle by halting in the middle of the bikepath sideways, therefore physically blocking the entire road.

An old hearse, painted dark brown and decorated with fur dice.

[luxora]

The Glory -> {Highschool AU} -> You Find Them Crying

Requested: No

Kdrama: The Glory

Genre: Angst. Fluff?

Warnings: Mentions of bullying. No remorse. Swearing. Mentions of homophobia. Mentions of blood and violence. Mention of drugs.

A/N: I absolutely do not condone anything that was presented in the kdrama. No one should ever bully others. This is all purely fiction. Love everyone and treat them with kindness.

Moon Dong-eun 

The icy bite of the wind completely seeped itself deep within Dongeun’s body as she remained tied to the school chair in one of the side courts of the school, one of the school gym ropes tied tightly around her arms and legs while the rain poured down on her body, her bullies long abandoning her hours ago, leaving her to freeze in the freezing rain.

Even though it was fruitless, Dongeun couldn’t stop the tears running down her cheeks,nor the sobs which were wracking themselves out of her throat. She had heard somewhere that crying can serve as some sense of stress reliever, and yet she felt no sense of relief as she continued to cry. She did not feel any relief when Jaejun and Myeong-oh dragged her outside and tied her to one of the school chairs they snatched out of the school hall, nor did she feel any relief when Sara and Hyejeong snapped photos and messed around with her with the metal rulers which had become a popular classroom tool among High school students. And of course, Yeonjin watched the whole ordeal, smiling serenely, her eyes darkening in sadistic delight as she took in Dongeun’s suffering.

Even though she had no reason to believe that any of them has any good in them, she had the minuscule hope that they would release her after their fun in the rain, an action they would usually take after one of their ‘play sessions’ in the hall, but she was denied that small kindness today. All of them had flashed her delighted smiles before turning their backs and leaving her alone, conversations about getting some food breaking the previous silence which had contained the echoes of Dongeun’s cries, providing Dongeun with the peace of no more pain but also the promise of a freezing cold night with wet clothes and stinging wounds.

Her wet clothes felt like an extra layer of skin to her body, but instead of providing her protection and warmth, her clothes only serve as a dark reminder of the further suffering she will potentially have tomorrow if the quintet decided to return to her. She can only hope a member of staff will find her before Yeonjin and the others, them being the only ones to save Dongeun from her situation, and yet the past has proved the teachers of being just as bad as quintet.

She just felt so hopeless, and cold, and alone.

Her sobs suddenly ripped themselves out more roughly from Dongeun’s throat, her tears almsot feeling like boiling acid as they streamed down her cheeks, her body shaking while the rain pelted down on her. A strong gust of wind traveled through the courtyard and stabbing cold went through Dongeun’s clothes and body, making her hurl another sob as she attempted to press her limbs together to try gain some warmth, only to meet resistance from the rope. She was certain that she was going to be spending the even there, her head ducked in defeat and her ears blown out from the freeing cold that she did not realize that her name had been called.

“...Dongeun? Dongeun!”

Dongeun raised her head slowly at the sound of her name, intimidating fear overwhelming her as she feared to see who had come to see her in this state. She already pictured Yeonjin appearing to continue a more one-on-one play session which did not include her friends, but then she was pleasantly surprised to see you hurrying towards her with an umbrella in hand, your school bag being left on the floor under the school outside corridor shelter. Your eyes were wide in shock and horror as you eventually reached her, immediately sheltering from the rain with your umbrella over her head.

“Dongeun...what...why...w-who...”

Both of you knew better than to ask the last question as you both already knew the answer. It was hardly a secret within the school that Dongeun was the property of Yeonjin and the others in the terms of being their favorite form of entertainment. Dongeun had always hoped, or prayed, that someone would be able to stand up to the quintet and to help her out of her situation, but she knew that it was hopeless. Yeonjin practically ruled the school and literally could get away with anything, even murder, and no one will ever choose the side of a nobody like her.

And that thought brought a new set of tears and sobs from her, immediately startling you as you dropped the umbrella, immediately allowing the rain to pelt down on her.

“S-Sorry, just...I...just hold on!”

Dongeun watched with blurry vision as you immediately knelt down in front of her and got to work to untie her legs from the school chair, your eyebrows furrowed in rushed concentration as your hands tried to undo the tight knots which Jaejun and Myeong-oh. Your face screwed up in frustration as you struggled with the tight knots, cursing at times while wiping at your face as the rain poured down on the both of you. But a small sense of relief did finally was over her when you managed to get one of her legs free, immediately moving to untie her other leg, the blood rushing through her free one, which provoked some numbness and slight pain but for once it was the kind of pain Dongeun did not mind because it was better than being stuck in that position.

You managed to free her other leg, allowing Dongeun to finally press her legs together to gain some personal warmth, before standing up and moving to untie her arms which were still in rope confines. Once you eventually managed to untie both arms, Dongeun immediately cradled herself in a hug, trembling as she attempted to warm herself up, the blood rushing back to her arms while the rain continued to pour down on her. But then you reached for your umbrella and brought it above your heads again, your own body as soaked at Dongeun’s.

“...Are you okay?”

Even though you probably knew it was a stupid question, it was something that somewhat made feel Dongeun feel slightly noticed, or cared for in some kind of way. No one ever asked if she was okay, or if she was even alive, she was practically a walking corpse within a living school, only a corpse would be offered the peace she could only dream of. She shook her head, her teeth chattering together as she continued to try warmth herself up.

“Um...” You started out, glancing around the courtyard in slightly thought and caution before turning to face Dongeun, her face already lifted to gaze at you. “Do you...have a ride home?”

Dongeun immediately shook her head. She only got to school by walking, and in this freezing rain, she knew it was going to be a long and wet journey home. She thought that the session with Yeonjin and the others was suffering enough, but almost anyone could agree with the horrid experience of walking in the Winter cold rain was a punishment that only the most evil deserved. And between herself and Yeonjin, she doesn’t believe she is the deserving one for such an experience.

“...want to come to my house?”

Dongeun snapped her head up in shock, so fast that she felt her neck crack, your eyes widening at the sound of it. Despite helping her, Dongeun immediately felt herself curl up defensively in the chair, her arms protectively crossed over her chest as if she was readying herself to be tossed to the floor for a beating. Her body was trained for it, and it has practically become her second nature as of late to be prepared for a sudden attack. But your eyes immediately softened at her obviously cautious stance, water drops falling from your hair in front of your face as you shook your head slightly.

“It’s just...its not to be weird or anything. It’s raining, dark and...I just think you need a place to get warm and stuff. I...I promise I won’t do anything! I, I just want to help, that’s all.”

... Dongeun wasn’t used to help, or kindness, and your concerned tone sounded as foreign as a foreign language to her. The answer ‘no’ was practically on her lips, it being an answer she always says and yet is never accepted. The times she has begged the answer, screamed it, and yet it went as unanswered as her not saying it at all. Her lips were trembling, along with her entire body, and the rain had done a good enough job to numb her entirely, and yet you stared at her with such worry that it make some sort of shift within her.

“...I don’t want to bother-”

“You won’t be bothering me at all! I just...I want to help you Dongeun. Please...let me?” You sounded unsure towards the end of the sentence, but she noticed you tighten your grip around your umbrella handle, a slightly hopeful look flashing in your eyes as you continued to gaze at her. She noticed your eyes glance down at her body but then you immediately looked up to look at her face, your bottom lip getting slightly chewed on but your eyes still expressing genuine concern. “It can be a secret if you want. It’s just...I want to help you. Please can I help you?”

...

She nodded.

You let out a slightly sigh of relief before you offered a hand out to her, gazing at her softly. Dongeun stared at it for a few moments before hesitantly reaching out for it, your fingers curling around her hand as you gently pulled her out from the chair. Your hand was warm.

“Let’s go then.” You said, giving her hand a slightly squeeze before pulling away and guiding her with the umbrella towards your fallen bag, some of the contents having fallen out of it from your hurry to save her from the rain.

Park Yeon-jin 

Her cheek was hot. And stinging.

The sound of the door slamming still echoed in the living room after her mother removed herself from Yeonjin’s presence. She most likely was going to have some sort of praying session with that Shaman, her mother becoming involved as a member of a cult would, her entire devotion become a drilling pain in Yeonjin’s side, especially when her mother believed it was necessary to join in some of the sessions with the Shaman. But it seemed she was spared for today, spiritually wise that is.

Her mother did not often lay a hand on her, at most, she only probably have struck Yeonjin about three times in her life, which was probably why it was such a shock to her right now. Her head had nearly practically twisted off her head from the force her mother had used with the slap, the sound of skin hitting skin ingrained in Yoonjin’s head, along with the hot pain that came with it. Yeonjin slowly lifted her hand to cup her cheek, pressure building behind her eyes as she stared at the close front door, almost waiting for her mother to reappear and to deliver another blow to her pristine face.

Although she couldn’t say it was pristine right now, the struck skin still throbbing from the slap.

But thoughts of you preventing her from waiting for too long. She had left you in her room to grab some snacks for the two of you, only to be intercepted by her mother along the way to the kitchen. She doesn’t even really understand why her mother was mad in the first place. Whenever her mother was angry, she always seemed to speak in riddles; albeit she did recall her mentioning something about her behavior at the Church, Sara’s mother having called her mother after the service. She didn’t understand why it was a big deal, it was just something fun and stupid she did with Hyejeong and you, albeit you didn’t participate because you didn’t want to, nor did Yeonjin allow you to.

Even though your chest was fantastic, it was only reserved for her, not for some creepy churchgoer who tries to act like a conservative and holy saint. The two of you came back to her home afterwards, Yeonjin wanting the private time with you, but it seemed to be too much to ask since her mother attacked her out of nowhere. 

As of late, like Sara’s fathers newly devoted followers, her mother has become hysterical with her beliefs linked to the Shaman and she has become a lot more...direct in a sense with Yeonjin. Sure, she has messed up a bit, but that it what teenagers do. Her mother wanted her, and so she must help clean up her messes. She signed up for it while wanting to be a parent, so she must stick it out for Yeonjin. But still...it did not mean that sudden actions like slapping her didn’t shock her.

No one ever dared to hit Yeonjin, not even mother, and yet in the past few months, Yeonjin has become the sudden recipient of them, along with some venomous worlds which would make a vipers bite seem durable.

You were probably waiting for her, that thought being the only reason she did not allow the pressure behind her eyes to increase. She instead silently walked to the kitchen, grabbed some snacks, and then walked back to her bedroom, the door slightly ajar with soft music trickling out of it. Yeonjin took a small moment to smooth out her expression before pushing past the door and into her room, her eyes immediately moving to your figure on her bed, your legs kicking behind you as you watched a music video on your phone as you laid on your stomach.

You were dressed in a pair of silk pajamas she had bought for you, your legs and arms exposed due to the short length of the shirt and shorts which coincidentally matched the white colour of Yeonjin’s pajamas. You had previously pointed out the matching colors, but Yeonjin always shut it down. It was just a coincidence, that was all, and she was not saying anything else about it despite integrally knowing the intention behind the purchase. She liked your legs, especially your bare legs, so that’s why she got them. And walking into her bedroom, your legs was the first thing that her eyes traveled to, only shifting to your face when she noticed you turned your head to look at her.

“...Jinnie?” You called out, your eyebrows furrowed in slight concern as Yeonjin stood in the doorway. Yeonjin immediately stepped closer in the room and kicked the door shut.

“Don’t call me that.” She ordered, walking towards the bed and dumping the snacks on top of it. “Mess on my bed and I’ll kill you.”

Even though her words were vicious, there was no real poison behind them, something which only you could recognize at times. When the two of you were in public, Yeonjin was the way she always was: superior, extraordinary, and pristine. No one dared to contradict or oppose her. Her entire friend group were wary of her, even Sara and Jaejun, her two closest friends. Myeong-oh wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a Gucci or Chanel and Hyejeong was just a loss cause altogether. But you on the other hand, despite being a new asset to her, you were about the only one to have some deeper level of understanding to her.

Even though she just snapped at you, her words took almost no effect on you. Instead of ducking your head down and submitting to her demands, you instead moved so that you were on your knees on the mattress, your entire body facing Yeonjin as she took a seat beside you, pointedly keeping her injured cheek away from you, keeping her gaze down, an action which was very unlike her. Neither of you said anything, Yeonjin busying herself by grabbing one of the packets of snacks and opening it, ignoring your movements until she suddenly felt your fingertips on her chin.

She could have easily fought against your fingers, even turn and snap at them like some wild animal, always being a biter, and yet she did not do anything as you moved her face until she was facing you, your eyes immediately zeroing on her cheek. Even though the throbbing had subsided, Yeonjin could feel the swollen skin created by the strike, her cheek no doubt forming a red hand print, proof of her mother’s presence on her face. Your fingertips on her chin moved until they were gliding along her cheek, Yeonjin flinching at the action.

“Jinnie...” You whispered, your eyes moving to lock with Yeonjin’s dark ones, concern and sympathy in your eyes while your fingertips trailed along her cheek until your entire palm was cradling it, your thumb tracing her cheekbone with tender strokes.

She didn’t say anything, she simply stared at you silently, trying her best to hide her true feelings but with your tender expression, Yeonjin was unable to resist the pressure building up behind her eyes. And when you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to her injured cheek, she was unable to keep the gates closed as tears began to escape her eyes. You no doubt felt it against your hand, and tasted the saltiness of her tears as you pressed a second kiss to her cheek, but you did not say anything as you instead moved so that you were hugging her, your hand on her cheek guiding her face to your neck where she immediately nuzzled.

Like a python, her arms wrapped around your waist in a deadly grip, her tears unable to catch up to one another despite running down her cheeks like a waterfall. While she usually was the one that held you in such embraces, she couldn’t help but melt into your arms as you comforted her, a hand tangling itself into her hair and massaging her scalp while your other hand was wrapped around her back, subtly rubbing her back as she cried into your neck.

Yeonjin hated crying. Crying meant weakness and that was one thing that Yeonjin certainly did not posses. She was Park Yeonjin. She was untouchable. She was feared and respected, an object of envy, and yet she was all but a whimpering fool in your arms. She hated it, and yet, with you, it was something that she was perhaps open to because she knew that you would never tattle about this situation for two reasons. The first being that no one will believe it and that Yeonjin will immediately exact revenge on you, but the second reason being the fact that you knew that bubbles like this was rare between you and Yeonjin.

Despite everything  that has happened between the two of you, neither of you could resist the presence of the other. Moments like this was yearned for, and neither of you could deny the dynamics between the two of you. It was twisted and complicated, and yet so delectable. Yeonjin could be broken apart in front of you in privacy, same as you, and it was something which only the two of you were aware of. Walls were in place for a reason, to protect the truth of the two of you, most notably the truth of Yeonjin.

Jeon Jae-jun 

Jaejun hated reminders, most notably the reminders of his condition.

While school has always been a pain to Jaejun, it had been a relatively okay day for him so far. He met with Myeong-oh, managed to let go of some tension in gym class, got a good grade for last weeks English test, and of course managed to have a hot make out session with you during lunch on the roof. But it was during the self-study lesson did the whole day go to hell when one of his idiot classmates made a comment about your eyes, most notably about the colour of your eyes which Jaejun was unable to see.

It was not like he asked for it. If he had any kind of choice, he obviously would take on the chance to be able to see colour, no matter the situation. Despite his parents able to buy him anything, they couldn’t get him the one thing that he wanted, and the fact that everyone else know about it infuriated him. But nothing infuriated him more than people rubbing it in his face, most particularly when he was with you, the one person who was probably the one person he valued in this hellhole.

He heard your voice screaming at him, begging him to stop as he rained punched on his classmate, but it practically became a buzzing noise as he kept punching. Myeong-oh had managed to pull him off at first, but then Jaejun swung and delivered a punch to his face before diving back on top of the idiot, unaffected by the bloody mess which he had already created on the idiot’s face. He just kept punching, punching, and punching until he eventually was pulled off by four of his classmates.

“Get off me! Get the fuck off me!”

He managed to wrestle his way out of his classmates hands, his eyes remaining on the bloody asshole on the floor. His eyes were closed and his face almost looked unrecognizable, but he didn’t care. He could be dead but it hardly made Jaejun feel any better as shame and anger was still swirling within him like a storm at sea. Everyone else in class simply stared at the scene in shock and silence, no one daring to say anything in fear of Jaejun’s reaction, and with the way he was feeling, he was about ready to pounce on anyone who ever dared to say anything.

“Jaejun!”

...anyone except you.

You had reached out to him but Jaejun did not allow you a chance to touch him as he swiped your hand away and then stormed out of the classroom, his lips tightly retracted form his teeth as he bared them like a wolf, cursing constantly under his breath as he stormed down the corridor, students from the other classrooms peaking out to watch him only to duck their heads back inside when he made eye contact with him.

Good, because he was close to ripping one of their damn heads off.

He heard footsteps behind him, along with his name getting called, but Jaejun did not react as he continued his journey through the corridor, his body walking its trained journey to the roof, the only place where he could think without the hindrance of others, well, except you. But you were never a hindrance to him, not even when he was angry, which was probably the reason why he didn’t turn around and slam you to the floor like he would to anyone else if they were following him in this state.

Your footsteps echoed with his as the two of you climbed the stairwell and eventually walked onto the school roof, the sun and sky greeting the two of you. When Jaejun heard the door close, that was when he finally unleashed his fury in the form of words.

“That fucking bastard!” he screamed, swinging his fists in the air as he cursed. “He fucking thinks that he can say things like that to me? Fuck him! Fuck him! Fuck him!”

Jaejun twisted on the spot and kept pacing, his fists raining punches through the air, his vision blurred and buzzing as he continued to curse. His body was tight with fury, his teeth grinding together so tightly that he wouldn’t be surprised if they cracked under pressure. He twisted wildly on the spot, kicking the roof floor as he continued to pace and stomp. He noticed movement from the corner of his eye, your hair moving as you started walking towards him, a hand reaching out.

“Jaejun-”

“I know what colour your eyes are! They are bright! They’re gorgeous! That’s all I fucking need to know!”

Jaejun swung around and delivered a hard punch to his other hand, pain immediately throbbing from the strike but he did not care. His mind was just consumed with the mocking tone of his classmate when he had asked what colour your eyes were, fully knowing that Jaejun could not be precisely sure of it. He delivered another punch to his hand, and then another and another until it was not only pain that he was feeling in his hand but in his face too as tears began to escape as he continued to punch the air and himself.

And then he felt you wrap your arms around him. Your arms were feeble, a weak restraint that he could easily break out of, but when he felt them around himself, he couldn’t help but crumble on the spot. He dropped to his knees, let out a frustrated sob while he tightened his hands into fists, tears escaping his eyes while he felt you fall to the floor with him. You pressed yourself against his back, your face going into his neck while your hold on him only tightened, fingers flexing as your pressed your fingertips into his abdomen.

You didn’t say anything as he began to cry, only nuzzling his neck and pressing an odd kiss to his neck while he crumbled apart in front of you. He hated the fact that he had this damn condition. For his parents always claiming that he was perfection, he hardly felt he was perfect due to his colour blindness. He couldn’t even gift shopping on his own because he needed help to identify the colours. He could never just surprise you with a gift, or give his opinion about an outfit whenever the two of you did go out together. He could just comment on the outfit’s effect on your body lines, but not on your complexion, hair or face.

He was useless. He felt useless, and it did not help that others could see it from afar.

He moved in your arms, turning around on his knees until he was facing you, his hands immediately moving to cradle your face in his hands, your skin soft against his palm, eyes staring into his very soul. He swallowed thickly, tears still trailing down his cheeks as he continued to stare at you, his thumbs tracing your delicate cheekbones.

“You’re eyes are pretty. I love your eyes.”

Your eyes were always the most expressive part of you. He loved your eyes because they always told him what exactly you were feeling. Fear, worry, love...he loved being able to read you so easily. And seeing the trepidation in them, it just made his gut twist up painfully in a knot. He brought your head closer to his, pulling you close enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he tried to regain control over himself, your touch helping him in some sense.

“Your eyes are everything to me.”

“Jaejun-”

“Just...stay quiet.”

He needed silence. He needed to breathe. He just needed you to stay where you were in the moment. He will get over it, just...in a moment.

Lee Sa-ra 

Sara never has been someone to plan very long-term, but even she could admit that she should have planned this out better, especially since she had been avoiding your for so long.

She couldn’t even say that it was your fault because it wasn’t, but it was her pride and mind which kept blaming you because she didn’t want to blame herself. She was the one who kissed you, not the other way round. She was the one which had pushed you onto her studio couch and pressed her lips to yours in a messy kiss. Sure, she was high, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t feel anything in the kiss. No, the weed had made the experience even better. It compared to the damn movie comparisons about first kisses, fireworks and shit, and Sara realized that you had become her new bad habit. She had just started experimenting with weed, her and Myeong-oh smoking it together, but your lips simply tasted so divine that it could easily be the replacement.

You were so intoxicating. Even before she pulled you into her group, you already were such an enigma to her, even though you were regarded to be so plain. You were anything but that to her. She could not understand why, but her heart always fluttered whenever she saw you in the school corridors and whenever she had you pinned against a wall, desk, or any flat surface, she simply felt so hot that she felt for certain that a fire was igniting itself on her skin. Sara was not a stranger to obsession, specially since she could easily be taken away by inspiration into a vortex of art and painting, but she found her new obsession with you becoming eerily similar to the obsession that Yeonjin had with a certain Moon Dongeun.

Sara was possessive over you, like how Yeonjin was possessive over Dongeun, but instead of allowing others to inflict pain on you, she preferred inflicting a different kind of pain on you, one which consisted of her own touches and lips. She liked touching and squeezing your skin, watching the different reactions she got out of you. Pain, pleasure, and then a mixture of both. She enjoyed trailing her lips along your skin, making goosebumps in her wake, enticing her to bite at your skin, a mixture of pain and pleasure escaping your lips when she marked your skin.

She enjoyed touching you. She enjoyed tasting you. And since the last three works, she has enjoyed kissing you.

And it has been tormenting her ever since.

With her religious bringing and her father’s growth in religious following and his preaching, Sara has always been aware of the traditional ideas of relationships and did not expect herself to go against everything that she has been taught. She was to date boys and marry a man, have children and be a good wife, and she had fully committed herself to such a future; albeit with some twists of her own in terms of her interest in art. She was in no rush to commit herself to a man, enjoying her young life while she still can, but she was aware of the path she was expected to take.

And then she met you and everything went to hell.

She simply thought she liked you as Yeonjin like Dongeun. You entertained her and she didn’t want to get rid of her favorite toy; hence why she kept you. But since kissing you, she realized that she liked you in a way which she should only feel towards boys. She has dated before, she has kissed plenty of guys, but all of them faded into the background since kissing you. Your lips were smooth, soft, and perfectly fitted with hers. Your lips were intoxicating. She could spend hours kissing them and she practically did that night she pinned you down on her studio couch, but afterwards, a bitter ball had formed in her stomach and she had been unable to look at you ever since.

She liked it. No, she loved it. She loved kissing you, but she shouldn't love kissing you. It went against what she was brought up with, and when she had attempted broaching the topic with her parents during dinner, without actually confessing what happened between the two of you, she was immediately met with a horrified and fiery reaction. Her father immediately began to preach about the Bible, about its sayings between man and woman, while her mother simply nodded in agreement, not saying anything that contradicted her father. They then of course began to demand answers from Sara, demanding to know why she had such thoughts in her mind and where they had come from. She eventually managed to get them off her back without too much trouble; albeit with the demand to attend more of her father’s nightly services, but her parents opinions towards the matter had made her even more confused with herself.

She had been avoiding you since that night, and entire time she was separated from you, she felt as if she was in the burning inferno of hell. You had become a constant figure in her life, to the extent that her parents had asked why you were no longer attending her father’s services or coming by the house anymore. They believed that the two of you were best friends, but they were so unaware of the complicated dynamics between the two of you, which was a good thing because she could already predict her parents reactions if they found out the intimacies of your relationship with one another.

Sara even stopping forcing you along to her group session with Yeonjin and the others, which was immediately noticed by her friends. Jaejun did not care much, but Hyejeong couldn’t keep her damn mouth shut about the possible reasons why you were no longer with them. Yeonjin only listened to Hyejeong in mild interest, but she her eyes did glint whenever Sara got annoyed with Hyejeong’s damn mouth and shut her up with a rough push to the floor. She hated it when Hyejeong spouted dumb shit about you, and she practically decked Myeong-oh in the face whenever he made a remark about your body, blood immediately spouting out of his nose after Sara’s hand throbbed in pain. It was only when they decided to go home did Yeonjin whisper advice into her ear.

“To make things better for all us, just bring back your bitch and shut up about it. You’re being a fucking pain in the ass.”

 Eloquent as ever, but Yeonjin’s words remained in her head for another week, marking one month since she first kissed you, eventually being the trigger to push her to travel all the way to your house in the middle of the night in the pouring rain. Your parents weren’t home, she knew this because she had overhead you speaking to one of your classmates about them leaving, for another business trip, leaving the you to the house on your own, which became a blessing in disguise because it meant that there would only be you who she would have to face.

Sara did not understand herself, not her thoughts or her heart, but she knew that both called for you, which was sign that you needed to be a part of her life. Her confusion over her feelings for you were stressful and tiring, it taking a toll on her as she had been unable to sleep properly ever since the kiss, but standing in front of your front door in the pouring rain, her body jumping from the nerves, it had more of an effect on her than she thought. And when she heard your voice on the front door intercom, a pressure behind her eyes and her throat suddenly built up, almost making it difficult to speak as she looked up at your front door camera.

“C-Come out here!” She demanded, her hands tightening into fists as she started to lose her nerve, the cold air biting at her body due to her thin clothes.

You didn’t respond to her words, a few moments going by without another word, but then she heard unlocking sounds behind the door, the noise immediately sparking more nerves in her body, which contributed to the panic she felt in her throat as the door eventually opened and revealed you dressed in some night clothes, hair slightly ruffled from sleep.

...

She couldn’t hold herself back. She all but threw herself at you, the force of her body making you stumble back into your force. You let out a gasp of surprise from the sudden force into your body, but then you squeaked when Sara’s lips pressed themselves against yours, a different sound leaving Sara as she kissed you again after a month of being separated.

She didn’t know that kissing you was going to be like a switch, but suddenly, she felt tears escaping her eyes. As her lips enveloped yours, whimpers escaped her lips, tears breaking out and trailing down her cheeks and onto yours, her hands gripping your cheeks tightly as she kept you in place. You were completely shocked, your hands frozen midair while Sara kissed you, but your lips...they moved with Sara’s.

Just as they did the night the two of you first kissed, after a few moments, your lips moved with hers in a rhythm only the two of you understood. Your lips fitted perfectly with hers and eventually your hands lowered themselves so that they were holding onto her waist, the touch sparking warmth in Sara’s body which prompted her to tighten her grips on your cheeks, her lips seeking out yours even though her lungs were begging for air. Only when she felt she was going to pass out from the lack of air did she finally separate from you, her tear-filled eyes staring at your still closed eyes, her hands trembling as she continued to hold you.

“...You’re mine.” Was all she could say, because even though she was beyond confused with herself and her feelings for you, she just knew that she wanted you. You had become something that she craved and could never tire of, you were her obsession and bad habit. You were hers, the foundation of everything stemmed from that one fact.

You were hers, and nothing else.

“S-Sara-”

“Say it.” She demanded, her forehead pressed against yours while she held you in place. “Say it now.”

“S-Sara-”

“Say it now, or I will make your life hell.”

“Y-you already-”

“You are driving me insane.” She hissed, her body pushing against yours until she had you pressed against the wall, a position she has grown to love ever since she had taken an interest in you. “Say that you are mine, otherwise I will do things to you which will ruin you.”

“...is that a threat or a promise?” You quipped, your eyes locked with hers and yet your head ducked submissively, the usual position you take when Sara pins you down. And despite her tears, Sara smiled. She moved her thumb to trace your bottom lip, threatening it with her nail.

“What do you think?”

“...I’m yours.”

“Good girl.”

And then she kissed you again, more passionately this time, and more claiming.

Choi Hye-jeong

There was nothing more that Hyejeong wanted to do but to chase after you, but she couldn’t, not right now with everyone watching. Yeonjin and the others all laughed sadistically at your reaction, your tears serving as a source of humor to them, your running away sending them into hysterics because there was nothing more entertaining to them than the defeat and brokenness of others. Hyejeong was extremely experienced with pain, even though she hardly had much physical pain inflicted on her by the group, but she knew how poisonous the group could be, especially towards those they decided to use as their source of entertainment.

It was not often Hyejeong had to prove herself to the group since she was already a part of them, but lately Yeonjin and Sara had been ganging up on her to assert herself more in the group, well, that is asserting herself over their entertainment. Both the girls and the boys had teased the fact that Hyejeong was the weak link out of all of them due to her lower social status and lack of real power in the school and the group. Yeonjin was obviously the highest out of all of them, followed by Jaejun and Sara, leaving Myeong-oh and Hyejeong to scrape the bottom of the barrel. But despite the both of them being the same social class, Hyejeong had to admit that Myeong-oh was ranked higher than her simply because of his friendship with Jaejun and the fact that he was a guy, and so she had to prove herself more than he did in order to avoid being dropped in the group.

Hyejeong did not have any real power within the group, which is why she had to become more ruthless in the company of their toys, that of which consisted of you. Dongeun dodged the bullet by dropping out, which left you to take the brunt of everything in the group. But despite of everything, the two of you managed to form some kind of...attachment despite the circumstances. Hyejeong was not the same when she was with you privately. Her more genuine side came out, her more humane side, the side which is squashed each time she is in the company of Yeonjin and the others.

You knew that Hyejeong hated the group as much as the others and yet she could not help but cling herself to them. They were everything that she wanted to be. They were rich, prestigious and powerful. None of them understood the pain of struggling or to stress over the possibilities of paying rent or making enough money. None of them understood the daily struggles of the common folk, if they did, they would never last because they would be unused to the struggles which were so common to people like you and Hyejeong.

But to make it in the cold cruel world, one needed connections, and the only connections which Hyejeong was able to make was through Yeonjin and the others, and unfortunately, connections came to the cost of personal relationships like you and her.

She will admit that she had gone too far with you, even though she did not lay a hand on you. Despite her difference in social class with the others, one thing which Hyejeong has always been able to protect herself with was her mouth. She knew exactly what to say to cut people down to their knees, and she used that exact talent on you in the middle of class, all classmate being present to her complete destruction of your dignity. Yeonjin and the others found it hilarious, along with the rest of the class, but Hyejeong instantly felt guilt the second she crossed the line.

You had run away and didn’t appear for the next two periods, something which Hyejeong immediately noticed but pretended not to care. No one else noticed your absence, and when lunch time came, your complete humiliation all but became a thing of the past, something was both horrifying and sickening in the school, and yet no one were able to escape such a thing from occurring. It was dog eat dog in this school, and you were someone who unfortunately was getting eaten by the bigger dog, that dog being Hyejeong.

Eventually Hyejeong could not take it anymore. She needed to see you. She managed to pardon herself from her friend group and immediately sought out for you, trying her best to keep her emotions in check as she searched for every possible place you could be. When she eventually heard your sobs from the school roof, did her stomach make a twist. Hyejeong knew that you were upset, but seeing you cry was always the worst sight for her, and knowing that she was the reason made the twisted feeling even worse.

“Y/N...” She called out, closing the roof door behind her and locking it for good measure to make sure no one else would enter the roof area, giving the two of you absolute privacy.

“...Go away.” you snapped, your back facing you as you cowered against the roof building wall, not allowing Hyejeong a glance of your crying face.

“Y/N...” She said again, taking a step towards you, only to freeze when you raised your voice.

“Go away!”

You were a quiet person, something which had drawn you to the group in the first place. Naturally submissive, but you did at times show some fire, such as now, something which always surprised Hyejeong because she was so used to seeing your weaker side. But it seemed when Hyejeong was on her own, she would not be presented the side, not when she did not have the backup of the others.

“Y/N, I-”

“I don’t want to hear it Hyejeong.” You said, your head shaking as you raised it from its position of resting on top of your knees. “Just leave me alone.”

“Y/N, I didn’t have a choice, you have to know that I-”

“You did have a choice. You always have a choice, but you choose to hurt me instead of the others. Every time, you don’t choose me.”

You turned your head to face her, your face red and puffy from crying. The sight immediately punched Hyejeong in the gut, the young woman feeling a pressure build up in her throat as she continued to look at you, your words hitting her like daggers to a wooden wall.

“Y/N...I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean it. You have to know that.”

You scoffed.

“Sure Hyejeong.”

“I’m serious, I-”

“It doesn’t matter if it is serious. You knew exactly what to say to get me down. You knew exactly what to say to hit me where it hurts. And I can’t forgive you for it. Not for that.”

Even though she knew that it would be hard to make you forgive her...it hurt to hear that, to the extent that she felt pressure building up behind her eyes, guilt and remorse twisting in her chest as her throat tightened.

“Y/N...listen, I just-”

“Hyejeong, just leave me alone. Please.”

“No, I need you to-”

“Hyejeong, I don’t want to talk to you! In fact, I am just done with all of this! I’m done!”

“...done?” Hyejeong repeated, her eyes widening and her heart dropping to her stomach as your words began to swirl around your head. The pressure behind her eyes increased, her head beginning to shake as walked towards you, hands reaching out. “W-What do you mean?”

You looked at her with a suddenly exhausted expression, eyes burning with exhaustion and pain, but with a silent resilience.

“I mean I’m done with us. With whatever is with us. I’m done, just done.”

...

The tears just came out of nowhere. Despite the circumstances between the two of you, the two of you made things work, in some kind of twisted way. But this was the first time you mentioned an end to the two of you, the end of whatever kind of ... relief the two of you have with the privacy of one another. And even though she was a very proud woman, she couldn’t stop the tears escaping her eyes from the prospect of the end between the two of you.

“W-Wait, let’s just-”

“No Hyejeong, I’m done.

“Y-Y/N-”

You shook your head, raising your hand to stop Hyejeong from talking as you stood up from your spot on the floor. You wiped at your eyes before taking a deep breath and turning to stare at her.

“I can’t stand being second anymore Hyejeong. I am enough pain as is, and you playing both sides is only making things worse for me. If you aren’t going to choose me, then I am going to choose myself.”

You gave her a hard look before brushing past her, not sparing her another look as you unlocked the roof door and left her behind, left with nothing but her own thoughts, cracked heart, and tear-filled face.

[e-dubbc11]

Ominous October Sky

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: couple of swear words, this one is a little dark, violent, description of wounds, but again…I gotta have a little fluff

Word Count: 2.6k-ish

Summary: No one threatens Billy or the woman he loves and they’re about to find out what happens when he’s pushed too far.

A/N: I had such a good time writing unhinged Billy in Under the Pale Moonlight, I decided to do it again. I hope it’s as good as I think it is, fingers crossed 🤞

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The chill in the autumn air could be felt down to your bones and the piercing wind gusts assaulted you from all directions as you walked through the park.

Fallen leaves from the trees crunched underneath your feet as you watched small children smile and laugh as they picked up brightly colored leaves to show their parents.

The steady wind swept the leaves up into small funnels and pushed them across the grassy hills and deposited them along the walking path.

The sky looked unsettling and ominous. You wanted to get home quickly before the darkness and the rain came. The low rumble of thunder was what prompted everyone to gather their belongings along with their children and head for the indoors.

Some of the kids cried because they were having too much fun and didn’t want to leave. They were just so innocent and pure which made you smile and you remembered what it was like to be that young, having fun playing in leaf piles at your childhood home.

With that warm smile, you whispered to yourself but directed it at the children. “Time to go inside, little ones, it’s going to get ugly later.”

The dark gray clouds in the distance were gloomy and dismal, the small patches of sunlight were shining brightly through the fluffy black clouds, like Mother Nature couldn’t make up her mind of whether she was going to let the sun shine or rain downpour on top of you.

A few rays from the sun touched down on the path in front of you before being engulfed by the smoky clouds above.

You took a moment to gaze up at the sky…the unwelcoming early evening October sky. It was getting darker earlier and earlier, you noticed.

The musty fragrance of dead leaves crept up to your nose as you raced faster toward home and the once dull roll of thunder that had been off in the distance was now a gentle boom overhead.

“Please, just wait until I get home.” You silently begged. “Please.”

Someone was looking out for you that day, because as soon as you walked through the revolving door and stepped out onto the lobby floor, the sky exploded with a vengeful crack and a jagged bolt of lightning split the sky right down the middle before sheets of rain pelted the sidewalk on the other side of that revolving door.

Massive raindrops trickled down off of the street lights, clobbering people’s umbrellas, their raincoats, and for the unprepared…their heads. Watching from the lobby doors, those people moved much faster. They ducked into shops and bistros, hoping the rain would die down enough for them to move again.

You were glad to be home.

After stepping off the elevator, you could hear the rain hammering incessantly against the roof. Typically, you didn’t really get thunderstorms in October and even though it was cool today, the past couple of days had been on the warmer side.

Maybe he came home before the rain too.

You unlocked and opened the door to the penthouse…it was blanketed in darkness.

“Billy?” You called out softly.

It was a long shot that he got home before you but you figured you’d try anyway.

No answer.

You thought about how it was strange that you didn’t hear from him at all today. He always called at some point during your work day to see how you were which made your heart swell. The smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth was hard to contain when you saw his name and picture light up the face of your phone.

You loved him…and he loved you, more than anything.

Pulling your phone out of your purse, you looked at it to see if he texted or called while you were walking home but there were no messages or missed calls which worried you but only a little. You knew Billy was very busy, always working, always in meetings but he ALWAYS found time to call or at least text during the day.

What could he be doing?

The only way you could warm up was by taking a shower, the chill inside your bones was finally gone, and you warmed your hands against the mug of hot tea in your hands but you still haven’t heard from Billy.

The clock on the wall said 8:00 PM.

You tried to call but it went right to his voicemail.

“Hey handsome, it’s me. I—uh, I’m just a little worried I haven’t heard from you today. Ok, that’s a lie, I’m a LOT worried I haven’t heard from you today. Please call me when you get this, please? I love you.”

You placed your phone down on the coffee table and tried to not let your mind wander but it was difficult not to. Was he hurt? Is he ok? Is he out in this rain?

“Please call me back, baby.” You thought to yourself.

The book you were reading couldn’t hold your interest. Between the menacing rain drumming against the roof and the windows and not hearing from Billy, you couldn’t concentrate and just kept reading the same paragraph over and over again. You tried a few times to get going but ultimately gave up and tossed the book aside.

You were confused, scared, and you started to feel cold again so you decided that maybe you would try and get some sleep. Drawing the blanket up to your chin, you tucked your knees into your chest and listened intently as the powerful wind and rain lulled you to sleep and wherever Billy was, you hoped he was safe.

He was always very quiet when he came home. Like a cat, he barely made any noise as he moved throughout the apartment. Billy wanted to rush at you, he wanted to pull you close and hold onto you tightly and say he was sorry for worrying you but he didn’t want to disturb your sleep. Instead, he sat down in his chair with a glass of bourbon, in the dark, listening to your gentle breathing.

Billy’s clothes were dirty, bloodstained, and soaking wet. Rain stuck in his eyelashes finally dripped onto his hand when he lowered it after taking a sip of his drink.

His once white undershirt stained a light red thanks to blood and rain and his raven colored hair tumbled into his eyes while drops of rain trickled onto the floor.

Those were the only noises he could hear …drip…drip…drip…drip…inhale…exhale…inhale…exhale

The bourbon was supposed to calm his nerves but he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking and he wouldn’t be able to hide from you that they were covered in blood.

“No one is taking you away from me.” He said, in barely more than a whisper.

Some of the blood was his but most of it was someone else’s. It was Carson Wolf’s blood.

Billy knew Wolf was a corrupt Homeland agent, just like he knew Rawlins was corrupt CIA. But unlike Wolf, Rawlins knew he couldn’t threaten Billy and get away with it. Billy didn’t need Rawlins’s money or connections, he built Anvil all by himself and turned him away when he wanted Billy to betray his best friend. Rawlins was lucky Frank didn’t take his other eye when he found out about that one.

No one was going to tell Billy Russo what to do, especially knowing what he would do to them if he tried.

But Carson Wolf was a cocky asshole, a Homeland Security official, highly skilled in hand-to-hand combat, and thought just because he was in a position of authority, Billy would do whatever he demanded him to do. But he was mistaken and didn’t think of the consequences to his threats.

Billy didn’t answer to anyone, he was the boss, he didn’t take any job that he didn’t want to and didn’t respond well to threats against him…or threats toward his girl.

“It would be a shame if something happened to that VERY pretty girlfriend of yours, Mr. Russo.” Wolf had said.

“All I want is for you and your team to leave the Senator unguarded for a minute and I won’t have to kill her. We can make anything look like an accident, these days.”

He really shouldn’t have said that.

It got dark quickly tonight thanks to the fast moving clouds so Billy waited patiently under the cover of those somber rain clouds for Wolf to come home.

That man was going to die in his own house tonight.

No one could hear him scream as Billy sliced his skin with his hidden blade. He knew all the places to cut that would cause him the most pain and cause him to bleed profusely before he finally stabbed Wolf multiple times in the chest and across his throat. He looked like a piece of butchered meat when Billy was finished with him.

Sure, Wolf held his own against Billy for a minute or two but in the end made several mistakes that ended in his demise and before he left, Billy cleaned his blade with Wolf’s pocket square from his suit jacket, dropped it onto his lifeless body and destroyed any evidence that he had been there.

Billy didn’t call you today because he left everything at Anvil, his phone, his car, even Frank didn’t know where he had gone.

And now he sat quietly in front of you, his eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and he could finally make out your silhouette, just thankful that you were ok and that you were safe. Billy never lost his composure after Wolf threatened your life or while he was torturing him.

“See, you should have known better than to threaten my girl. Do you know what it feels like to have your Achilles sliced open? Or how ‘bout the femoral artery? Because you’re gonna know and it’s gonna hurt…a lot.” Billy had said to him with an evil smile.

Billy Russo was a soldier, a scout sniper, highly skilled and trained to be a killer. His hands never faltered and were steady but after it was over, he allowed himself to feel scared, to think about what he would do if something were to happen to you, that’s when they started to shake.

The bourbon finally helped him calm down, his hands were less shaky and his heart rate had come down when you started to wake up.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you saw his silhouette in front of you as you sat up on the couch.

“Billy? What time is it?” You asked softly.

“It’s almost midnight, sweet girl.” He replied, happy to hear your voice.

Reaching for the lamp, you flicked it on. The site in front of you was like something out of a slasher movie, his hands stained with blood, along with his clothes, his hair was soaked from the rain and you could hear it dripping onto the floor.

You sat there for a moment, frozen with your hands covering your open mouth before speaking again and going to him.

“Oh my god! Billy? W-what happened?! Is that your blood?!” You asked with concern in your voice before rushing to the kitchen to retrieve some hand towels.

“Maybe a little…but it’s mostly his.” Said Billy, stoically.

Taking his glass from him, you placed it on the coffee table and started to dry his hands.

“His? Whose blood is it, Billy?” Your voice hitched and cracked as you asked him.

Billy gazed at you with his endless brown eyes, they looked like two shiny pieces of black glass. He had never felt more relieved, he had never felt love like this, and he had never been more in love with you than he was right now watching you care for him and comfort him.

“Whose blood is it, Billy?!! Answer me!” You said sternly.

“Wolf…It’s Carson Wolf’s blood.” He said gently.

You recognized that name, he worked for Homeland Security, and pictured his face in your mind. You remembered meeting him at a fundraiser that Billy brought you to and you also remembered how he sent shivers down your spine, obviously not in the good way. The man had a crooked smile, he put out an evil vibe, and eyed you all night long like you were a piece of meat.

The man gave you the creeps.

“He’s…dead?” You asked, shakily.

Billy clenched his fist and gnashed his teeth as he spoke again, and didn’t directly answer your question.

“I’m not gonna be who they want me to be, y/n! They’re not gonna tell me what to do and they need to know what happens to anyone who threatens me or anyone who threatens…you. Rawlins already knows…Wolf will NOT get another chance to do it again! I’ve never needed anyone, I don’t need their money, I don’t need anything from them but I…I need you.” He said.

You tried to comprehend what Billy just confessed to you. He killed him, he killed Carson Wolf. The threat he made against you was real and Billy made sure that threat was his last.

The spatters of blood on his face, the little red flecks that decorated his beard were everywhere, and there was a streak of red going across his cheek. All of it should have scared you, it should have made you think twice about what he had just done but it didn’t.

Billy didn’t scare you even though you knew what he was capable of and you tried to imagine the look Carson Wolf had in his eyes as he took his last breaths, realizing too late that he should have left you out of it and he should have done his own dirty work, but he would never get that chance. The senator was safe from Wolf, whatever it was he had planned for him. He was safe…for now.

“I’ll kill them all, baby…no one is taking you away from me. I love you.” Said Billy, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to yours.

As you towel dried his hair, his obsidian colored eyes silently told you how much he loved you, the way he did not want to break that gaze, and the way he brushed the soft skin of your cheek with such a gentle touch.

Those actions all relayed to you that Billy Russo was catastrophically in love with you and showed the world what he would do to the people who tried to take that love away, the love he craved, and the love that he deserved.

After rising to his feet, you led him to the bathroom and turned on the shower. Neither of you took your eyes off the other as you stripped off each other’s clothes, leaving them in a pile in the corner to be disposed of later.

There wasn’t anything left for you to say as the tears streamed down your cheeks, thankful he was alive, thankful he was home with you, and thinking that there was no way that you could ever repay him for what he had done for you.

But Billy didn’t want anything in return except to be loved by you.

He gave you a warm smile before kissing you once more. He pulled you flush to his chest, squeezed you tightly, and let the hot water splash against his back.

Glancing at your feet, you watched the blood from his body, and yours, wash down the shower drain…just like the rain outside washed away the dirt from the sidewalk.

You’ve never felt safer and you never would with anyone but him.

Billy’s beard tickled your lips as you kissed his cheek and whispered softly in his ear.

“I love you too, Billy.”

Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @idek-what-to-put @anastasianeedstoread @ratsys @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @mrsbillyrusso @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @justaharlequin

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[duckprintspress]

Get to Know AETHER BEYOND THE BINARY

We are only ONE WEEK away from the launch of the Kickstarter campaign for Duck Prints Press’s sixth anthology, AETHER BEYOND THE BINARY.

What would the Earth look like if the very atoms that compose the planet were suffused with magical aether? How would our lives in the modern world be different if this aether was discovered last year, or last decade, or last century, or last millennia? How might the people who inhabit this very different but still modern Earth explore their gender identities? These are the questions we posed to the 17 authors chosen to contribute to Duck Prints Press’s newest anthology Aether Beyond the Binary. Their diverse answers are bound together in this must-not-miss collection of stories about magical worlds, adventures and mysteries, new chances and well-earned endings, and characters as gender-diverse as the worlds they inhabit. 

What is aetherpunk? Imagine a world where there’s technology not unlike what we have in the modern world, except that instead of that technology operating using the principles that we, now, would call “science,” that technology operates using magic! That’s aetherpunk—the awesome union of technology and complex magical systems in magic-filled worlds to produce unique settings that resemble modern-day Earth but are also very, very different. With aetherpunk stories, the impossible becomes possible, and new solutions to the world’s problems become available! You can learn more about the history of aetherpunk and what aetherpunk is in this blog post!

What is a character outside the gender binary? The gender binary consists of the two most common genders: male and female. Most people, whether they are cisgender or transgender, fall within this binary. Nonetheless, gender is a spectrum, and there are many gender identities that are outside, between, among, or combinations of cis and trans, male and female. One umbrella term for these identities is non-binary, and specific identities include agender (like our lead editor!), genderfluid, bigender, demigender, pangender, and x gender. Every story in Aether Beyond the Binary features at least one non-binary main character, and many stories utilize neopronouns.

The core concept of Aether Beyond the Binary is simple and compelling: create intriguing main characters outside the gender binary and set them loose to explore the modern world twisted or unchanged, enhanced or destroyed by magical aether.

We have been working on this project for over a year, and are so excited to finally be bringing it to y’all. We launch on December 26th, with a funding goal of $14,250.

Follow our Kickstarter pre-launch page TODAY and make sure you’re among the first to get notified when this super-cool, innovative anthology becomes available!

Love what we do? Want to get an awesome, exclusive bonus merch item when you back this campaign? Become a backer on our Patreon, support Duck Prints Press year-round, and get awesome stuff!

[leiawritesstories]

A Door Opened

written for @throneofglassmicrofics using the prompt "Rain"

word count: 965

warnings: negative thoughts, some angst, hurt/comfort

enjoy!

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

As if the universe truly hated her guts, the moment Elide stepped out of the office building, she was faced with a spring downpour. These passing showers were typical of Perranth, usually lasting anywhere from three to thirty minutes before they blew through. With a deep, exhausted sigh, she pulled her old umbrella out of her bag, opened it up, and prayed to Anneith that the busted old thing would last until she was home.

She was a block away from her apartment building when a gust of wind flipped the useless piece of junk inside out, thoroughly drenching her.

Elide ducked her head and trudged onwards to her building, thankful that the pouring rain obscured the tears dripping slowly down her cheeks, hiding her soul-deep exhaustion. She pushed open the doors and stepped into the mercifully warm lobby, taking a few minutes in the coatroom to wring out her blouse and skirt as best as she could and shake the excess rain off of her short boots. Her old ankle injury throbbed, screaming for her to kick off her shoes and elevate it, but she had five flights of stairs ahead of her before she could do that.

At the top of the last flight of stairs, Elide stopped, head drooping as she braced herself on the stairwell door, her whole body protesting with aches. There were days when she cursed her uncle for inflicting the injury, when she raged against Vernon--who was long since dead--for crippling her both literally and figuratively through his vile, poisonous words. The only reason she'd been hired at the marketing firm she worked at was because her few good friends had worked tirelessly to dismantle the lies Vernon had spread.

After a long moment, she pushed open the stairwell door and trudged, sodden, down the hallway to her door. She pulled her keys out of her bag and pushed the right one into the lock, wriggling it around and around. Her door was notoriously finicky, and it often took several tries before the key clicked.

Today, though, nothing worked.

Defeated after what felt like an eternity of trying to wrangle her key into the godsdamned lock, Elide slumped to the floor in front of her door, past caring who happened to see her sad, crumpled figure, and let the hot tears drip down her cheeks.

Days like these were the worst--they had a way of letting in the dark thoughts that she kept locked up at all times. When her mental guard was this weakened, it became so easy for all the years of her uncle's insinuations to slip in and wheedle sweet poison in her ears, in her heart.

Maybe he was right.

Across the hallway, a door opened, the soft swish of wood against carpet brushing faintly across Elide's hearing. Heavy footsteps crossed the hall, pausing directly in front of her, and a broad shadow descended across her as the inhumanly tall man from across the hall crouched down in front of her.

"Li?" Lorcan Salvaterre's deep rumble poked through the thick fog of her thoughts, its familiarity like a breath of sunlight amid a rainstorm. Ever since she'd moved into this building just over a year ago, she'd had a sort of casual friendship with the solitary, brooding man, a kind of mutual partnership where they would bring each other little things on bad days.

She couldn't find the strength to lift her head. "Go away."

"Nope." Carefully, Lorcan reached out and tucked the fallen hair away from her face. "Come to my place, Li."

"Don't need your pity," she muttered.

He glanced from her slumped position to her locked door. "It's not pity, it's just what friends do. C'mon. I'm not gonna let you stay out here all night."

"Make me."

"Fine." Effortlessly, Lorcan hoisted both her and her bag into his arms and carried her across the hallway, into his apartment. He set her down on the kitchen counter, knelt down, and tugged her boots off, being extra gentle with her bad ankle.

Elide hissed as she flexed her ankle. "It's fine, I just need ice." She waved off his concern. "Gods, Lor, I'm dripping all over your counter."

"Not a problem." He went over to his freezer and returned with an ice pack. "Here. Wanna dry off in the bathroom?"

"I...I don't have a change of clothes." Her voice wobbled.

"Li, you've left so many sweat sets at my place that I practically have your whole closet." Lorcan braced his arms on either side of her, lowering his head to eye level with her. "I'm not gonna pretend to know what's going on, but you've clearly had a shit day, and I want to make it better."

Drawn to his comfort, the side that he rarely showed, Elide leaned forwards, her wet head dropping against Lorcan's shoulder. "I just want to sleep."

His arms wound around her, enveloping her in warmth. "And I want you in dry clothes first, okay?"

"Okay." She relaxed into his hold as he carried her to the bathroom, where a short stack of fresh towels and a neatly folded sweat set of hers waited on the countertop.

She emerged shortly later, dry and in clean clothes with her hair in a braid, to the enticing smell of Lorcan cooking dinner. Too tired to eat, she just went to the sofa and bundled herself into a blanket, curling into the small cocoon of warmth. He finished up cooking and padded over to the sofa, lying down and tugging her into his arms, her body curled against his beneath the blankets.

He didn't say anything, but the barely-there kiss on her forehead and the familiar comfort of his hand on her back said everything.

I am here for you.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@aelinschild

[bump1nthen1ght]

Campus Romance

Pairing: Art Teacher!Sex Demon x Writer!Gender Neutral!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1786 words

Summary: You stumble into an art lecture while around your new college campus. Luckily, the hot professor doesn’t seem to mind

Request: UH BELZ HELLOOO???? You can’t give this gay anon a He/They art professor sex demon and not expect them to request a fic??

Anyways- can I humbly request a meet cute fic of Belz with a reader (GN or Male either or) who’s a writer? Maybe they meet on the college campus Belz works at or they meet over the phone cause of Belz’s night job, whatever floats your boat I just want flirty demon pls (/lh)

A/N: For those who haven’t read it, heres the piece where I introduced Belz!

What a perfect first day. No rain coat, no umbrella, an open campus and a downpour of rain. You hold your (hopefully) waterproof binder over your head as you race across a crosswalk, just avoiding getting splashed by a campus gardener.

This is what I get for waking up early. This is a sign from god.

You had meant to peruse around the college today, taking a note of the building you’d soon be teaching out of and the general layout. But the rain has turned everything into a blurry mess and you end up ducking into the nearby arts building. Your future office is technically only one over, but you’d rather not spend that extra 5 minutes and have your jeans get soaked through.

After shaking off like a dog, you begin wandering down the halls trying to find a bathroom, at least to see how much of a mess you must look like. The building is heated, thank gods, but only few of the classrooms are occupied. You’d guess most people decided to ditch or cancel their 8 AMS after seeing the weather outside.

You’re shrugging off your damp sweater when you see a propped open door, a vivacious voice and the sweet smell of incense luring you in. At first you intend only to peek, maybe ask where the nearest restroom is, but what you had expected to be a dull lecture room ended being much more interesting.

Numerous paint cases and student exhibitions line the wall, the tables well loved with paint splatter and pencil scratches. In the center of the room is a giant marble statue of a man in a rather artful pose, surrounded by multiple students and their easels. They all sit hunched over, charcoal smudged on their fingers as they sketch the form in front of them. But what really catches your eye is the lecturer, standing right next to the subject.

“Now, I want you pay special attention to the movement lines of this piece.” They say, running their fingers down the statues upturned arm. Long, black nails trail down the side of the figure, tracing the defined side and the hip bones. “Notice the flow of the Contrapposto stance, how it positions his limbs around the slight twist in his torso. If you want to come and see up close, you may.” The lecturer smirks, “Starting next week we’ll have live models, so this will be the only subject you can get flirty with.” The lecturer slaps the statue’s butt, a general murmur of laughter coming from the students.

The lecturer steps off the stand and brushes back their shaggy hair. Their billowy shirt exposes a lean clavicle and several necklaces. Their blue skin is complimented by the dark red of their boho pants, only adding to their relaxed air. Their gaze wanders around the classroom, observing their students before landing on you, the wet stranger lurking in the corner. You give a wave, hoping it doesn’t look too awkward.

Their eyes go wide at your soaking wet form, briskly walking over. You’re able to catch the small name tag pinned in their shirt.

Belz (He/They)

“Howdy.” They mock salute, eyes wandering down your wet clothes. “My goodness, you’re drenched! Here-” They reach over, grabbing a smock from a nearby hanger, “It’s not much but hopefully it should warm you up some.” Before you can protest they’ve thrown it across your chest, ducking behind you and grabbing onto the laces. You feel the faint brush of their claws as Belz quickly ties up the back, cinching it tight to your waist with a few precise movements. The fabric itself may not be particularly cozy, but you feel a warmth covering your body nonetheless.

“There,” Belz mutters, rubbing some imaginary dust off your shoulder. “And look at that, it fits perfectly.” He mutters, his chuckle at his own little joke just as inviting as the classroom itself. “Now, what can I do for you, stranger?”

“Oh, nothing! I actually was just escaping from the rain when I saw the door open. I guess I just got…drawn in?” You straighten out the front of the smock, realizing now how random this encounter is. “Just thought I’d observe. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“It’s no problem at all, my lessons are for all, as is art itself.” Belz brushes a stray hair back before sticking out their hand. “I’m Belz.”

“____.” You shake their hand, “I-I’m actually a new literature professor, I was supposed to be touring the campus today, but, well….” You gesture outside, an ironic crack of thunder echoing as you do. But Belz isn’t dissuaded by the storm, a big smirk coming across their lips.

“Well, I’m happy to be your welcoming party, Professor ____.” Belz wraps their other palm around the outside of your fist, enfolding your hand in theirs. Their warm palms feel refreshing against your icy skin. “Now, do you like muffins?”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so-”

“Perfect!” Belz keeps your hand in his as he leads you to his desk, a big tray of different muffins sitting right by his laptop.“My mom always said the cure to bad weather is good food, so you may have the pick of the lot. Though my students have probably pilfered the best ones. Can’t let your mind work on an empty stomach, after all.”

Belz sits down in their chair, giving it a little spin before grabbing a chocolate muffin from the basket.

“Thank you! These look delicious.” You grab a banana-nut muffin, shocked by how warm it still was, like it just came out of the pan.

“I get them every morning from that bakery right near campus. It’s to die for, you have to check it out.” Belz takes a big chomp out of their muffin, immediately swooning at the flavor. Their noises are almost..erotic.

You take a bite of your muffin, trying not to think about that. But Belz is right, these muffins are delicious, you can almost forget about your waterlogged jeans.

“So, you’re a banana nut fan, huh? Underrated flavor in my opinion.”

“Agreed. But I think my favorite is blueberry.”

“Hmm, good to know.” Belz laughs, tapping their cheek as their eyes elevator up and down. You take another bite of your muffin, hoping he can’t see your cheeks flush. Instead you look around their desk, multiple knick-knacks and smaller art pieces scattered all around. Right near their laptop is a framed picture, one of those cheesy ones with a photoshop caption from the early 2000’s, of two rats. The caption reads “Benny and Jet <3”

“Are those your pet rats?”

Belz gasps, excitedly nodsing before holding the photo proudly up to his face.

“Yes, these are my babies, the loves of my life, my platonic soulmates. I would’ve brought them to class today, if not for the weather.”

“They’re really cute.” You point towards Benny, who is almost all white except for the brown spot on his hind. “I had a rat that looked like Benny when I was a kid. She was an absolute sweetheart, though my friend would freak out whenever they saw her.”

Belz tuts, “I don’t trust people who disrespect rats. It’s my ultimate judge of character.”

“Well, one of those friends did throw a pudding cup at me a year later, so I’d say it’s pretty accurate.”

You both laugh, Belz throwing his head back. He’s got a pleasant laugh, resonant like a bass guitar. His countenance is infectiously friendly and when he smiles your way, you can't help but feel a little more giddy.

“Well, good to know you have great taste in food and in pets, Professor. Hopefully that good taste rings true elsewhere, hmm?” Belz leans on their palm, giving you another wink.

You find yourself stuttering, rubbing the back of your head as you try to come up with a funny retort, but then-

“Professor? Could I ask for some advice on something?”

Belz stands up with a flourish, their billowing clothes making the motion seem extra elegant. “Well, it seems my people need me.”

“Of course, I’ll let you get back to work.”

Belz places a hand on your shoulder, that flirtatious smile making the contact feel even more electrifying. “Feel free to stay as long as you like, I have a kettle if you’d like some tea to warm you up.”

“Thanks again, but I probably should go and find my office. Be brave and face the rain.”

Belz smile widens, their eyes wandering down before locking you in with a sultry gaze. “Well, feel free to holler if you need anything. And you can stop by my class anytime.”

Belz begins ti walk away, but keeps their hand lingering on your shoulder. Their fingers glide across the back of your shirt, only loosing contact only when they’ve walked too far away.

Goosebumps rise to your skin, and you know it’s not from the wet clothes.

“Who knows, maybe you could be the model next time.” With another sultry wink, they walk away and to their student, immediately shifting into teacher mode as they look over the sketch.

You scurry out the door with a weak goodbye, hoping the cold rain will help your burning blush.

—-

Its your first official day of teaching and you're leaving the lecture hall with a pep in your step. Your students are much more engaged than you thought they would be for a morning class and you have a nice hour break before office hours. A warm lunch waits for you in your mini fridge, though you’re slightly regretting not grabbing those cookies you had back home; You were really craving some sweets.

You’re fiddling with the keys to your office door when you notice a small bag sitting right outside. It might have been mistaken for garbage, if not for the sticky note with your name and a heart stuck to the outside. You pick it up, nudging open the door with your hip as you walk inside, opening the bag with two fingers.

The first thing you see is paper wrapping, the thin kind all bakeries use, and then you the sweetest, most delectable looking blueberry muffin. It’s still warm to the touch, with a tasteful amount of sugar crystals on the top.

You place the muffin down on your desk, noticing the note underneath it. You unfold and read it as you sit down in your office chair.

You’re favorite, hope you’re having a great first day <3

-Belz

The smile that creeps up on you is a giddy one, quickly tesring open ghe muffin and taking a large bit.

Damn, this is delicious.

[mickittotheman]

hii 🤗 for the kiss trope: Gallavich and 11 or 49

Hi!!! 🤗🤗🤗

49. ...out of necessity

Ian sighs, drumming his fingers against sun bleached red plastic. Debbie pops out of the water for the millionth time, shoving her soaked hair out of her face and turning to beam at Ian excitedly. He gives her a stained smile and a halfhearted thumbs up.

Okay, yeah, he could probably be more enthusiastic. That had been a pretty impressive flip. 

But he’s tired, and he’s bored, and he feels like he’s cooking in the sun, the shade of the ripped umbrella above him not nearly enough. By the end of the summer, he’ll be nothing but one big freckle. 

It's a good gig. They need the money. He’s been trying to avoid the Kash and Grab, trying to avoid Kash. The pay is decent, and his siblings get free admission. He’d been excited about the prospect of maybe helping someone, maybe saving someone, maybe being the hero for once.

So far, he’s only had to save the occasional bee, and, on one notable occasion, a rat.

He sighs again. Gazes at the water longingly. He wishes he could jump in. He wishes something exciting would happen.

He scans the surface again, scans the perimeter, looking for trouble. It’s busy today. Crowded. Probably because it’s hot as fuck.

There’s a few people from school he recognizes, but there's one group in particular he’s been eyeing, one person in particular.

Mickey Milkovich.

Ian’s never actually talked to him before. But he’s seen him. 

He leaning his back against the fence, smoke wafting up from his lips to the “No Smoking” sign posted just above his head. He’s hot as fuck– in every sense of the word. He’s wearing all black. Black tee with the sleeves cut off, black ripped jeans, black heavy boots. He’s in the shade, but Ian can see the sweat glistening on his skin from all the way over here, and it’s kinda making his mouth water.

He swallows. Looks away. Inevitably looks back.

Mickey’s sister is sunbathing face down on a lounge chair, a skimpy black two piece on her steadily reddening skin, a handful of boys drooling over her, only kept at bay by Mickey’s glare. One of the other Milkovich brothers is there– Iggy? Colin? Ian can never tell them apart– but he’s preoccupied, having ditched guard dog duty in favor of rubbing sunscreen onto some college girl’s back.

He forces himself to focus on the water again. If a kid dies because he was too busy thinking with his dick he’d never live it down.

He’s trying so hard not to look. He blames that on why he misses the initial commotion. When he finally glances over at the sound of raised voices Mandy is standing up, a red mark the shape of a handprint on her ass and a murderous expression on her face. Mickey is already decking the one Ian assumes is the culprit.

Shit.

Ian fumbles for the little whistle around his neck.

Mickey whips around at the shrill noise with a glare, and the other guy seizes the opportunity to shove Mickey into the pool and run.

There’s gasping. Some yelling. A few people scatter, not wanting to be around for when Mickey clambers out and goes fucking ballistic.

But Mickey doesn’t clamber out. He sinks to the bottom in a mess of flailing limbs. 

Shit. 

Ian is in the water in a heartbeat. The shock of cold against his flushed skin is jarring, but he barely pays it any mind. Mandy had jumped in too, and together they manage to haul Mickey up and out and onto the searing hot pavement.

“Shit, Mickey, come on you stupid shithead,” Mandy mutters, smacking at his face.

“I need you to move,” Ian says, and he’s distantly shocked by how calm he sounds.

She doesn’t put up a fight like he was expecting, just scrambles back to give Ian room.

He’s only ever had to do this on crusty foam dummies, but miraculously, muscle memory takes over. He starts compressions. Quick, quicker than you think they should be but not too quick, deep but not too deep. He reaches thirty. Moves his hands up, tips Mickey’s head back, ducks down.

He barely has his lips sealed over Mickey’s when Mickey gasps.

It’s not as romantic as it is in the movies. 

The first thing Mickey does is turn his head and cough up a mixture of chlorinated water and bile. The second thing he does is start biting out curses and kicking.

“Shit,” Ian hisses, scrambling out of range of Mickey’s heavy boots.

“Mickey, Mick, stop,” Mandy scolds, slapping at Mickey again. 

Mickey’s gaze darts around, taking in the situation, the way Mandy is pale and wide eyed, the fact that his clothes are soaked through, the people standing around gawking. 

His skin goes pink. He scowls mutinously. “What the fuck are you people looking at?”

People look away so fast, Ian wouldn’t be surprised if they had whiplash.

Ian laughs, nearly giddy with adrenaline and relief. “Come on. I can get you a towel.” 

And some privacy, goes unsaid, but Mickey picks up on it anyways. He drags himself up, unsuccessfully trying to bat away Mandy’s and Ian's arms as they hook under his shoulders. 

They find the second lifeguard in the locker room with a fresh hickey on his neck and a giggling blonde clinging to him. He goes wide eyed when he sees them, shoves the girl away unceremoniously. “Holy fuck. What happened?”

Ian rolls his eyes. “I’ve got it covered. Will you please just go do your fucking job while I handle this?”

“Don’t need your fucking help,” Mickey grouses. Ian and Mandy ignore him and wrangle him into sitting on one of the benches. “Where the fuck is Iggy?”

“He went to chase after that guy. I’m gonna go grab our bag before someone steals it.” Mandy pats Mickey on the shoulder once. Turns to the door. Pauses with just one foot out to look back.

She bites her lip. Drags her gaze up and down Ian’s form, lingering on his lips, on his still heaving chest, on where his wet swim trunks are clinging to him. “Thank you. For saving my brother. I owe you one.”

“Oh. Oh.” Ian feels his ears go red. He occupies himself with fumbling around in his locker for his towel. “Uh, thank you, but it was nothing, I–”

The door slams shut, Mandy already gone.

“Shit.” Ian sighs. Closes his eyes for a moment. Rubs at his forehead.

Mickey eyes him skeptically and snatches the towel Ian holds out to him. “You know by ‘owe you one’, she means a blowie, right?”

Ian burns even redder. Doesn’t quite manage to keep the grimace off his face. “Yeah.”

“What? You think you're too good for her?” Mickey sneers, bristling like a porcupine.

“No, no! She’s just. Uh. Not my type.”

Mickey glowers at him. Scowls. “What are you, a fucking fag or something?”

Fuck. Mickey wouldn't kill the guy who just saved his life, right? 

Right?

Mickey scowls even harder when Ian flounders. Brings his tattooed fingers up to rub at his mouth. “I oughtta cut your fucking tongue out for putting your goddamn lips on me like that.”

“Trust me, I didn’t exactly enjoy it,” Ian snarks, and he swears, he swears, he sees something like disappointment flash through Mickey’s eyes. Something like hurt. 

His breath stutters. He swallows hard.

“I mean. I didn't exactly get the chance to.”

Mickey freezes.

Ian holds his breath.

Mickey stands abruptly. Tosses the towel towards Ian's chest. Stomps towards the door. 

Oh.

Ian deflates a bit.

Well. Could be worse. Mickey could have straight up murdered him.

Mickey pauses just inside the doorway, one foot out. Looks back. Shoves his tongue out to lick at the corner of his mouth. Looks Ian up and down with a cocked brow. “I owe you one.”

Ian’s eyes widen, but Mickey’s already gone.

send me a number~

[oftenwantedafton]

Hush - William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 2

Word Count - 3k

Rating Explicit

CW - implied/referenced character death, sexual content

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @Alex_zlo on X and Instagram

William Afton can’t go home like this.

Not with hands that are shaking, stained…

So much of it. Why was there so much from such a small body?

A sickly shade of pink, the first patters of rain diluting the crimson on his fingers.

Warm, such heat, cold air…

He manages to get back in the car, fumbling for the keys he’d just had seconds before. He’s not thinking clearly, he’d put them back in a pocket after unlocking the door. Which pocket, pants or jacket or…?

There. The metal is slippery, everything sliding from his slickened grasp.

The rainwater in his eyes or tears or…?

He’d just narrowly escaped the worst of the deluge.

There’s an umbrella tucked into the molded pocket built into the lower frame of the car door, along with a Matchbox car—Michael’s or Evan’s, he couldn’t say—some forgotten toy belonging to one of his sons lodged there.

The restaurant owner forces his hands to cooperate. Ignition started. Hands on wheel. Destination?

The nearby bar. Already filling up with patrons. But no one pays the murderer any mind, engrossed in alcohol, in conversation as he enters, the umbrella now useless, busted, that sudden gust of wind had come from nowhere, a last breath of vengeance from an unseen spirit.

Haunted, now, or…?

He’d only intended on ducking quickly inside the restroom, hands shoved into pockets to conceal what he’d just done until he reaches the sink, grateful that no one is there to see. He scrubs until the skin is red and feels raw.

Only there to wash up, but a drink would steady him, he thinks, asking the bartender to toss the ruined remains of the umbrella into the trash, requesting a glass of whiskey. His hands are clenched into fists, trembling, and he wills them to relax, unfold, be still. He glances back towards the glass front entrance. The storm’s fury was increasing. There’d be no escaping it next time. He’d have to go back out into it, and then, and then…

Afton doesn’t know. He takes a large swallow of his drink, considering his next move. The depleted glass refilled. Better now. Nerves soothed a bit. Hands steadier. The killer becomes aware of the weight of someone looking at him. Someone that knows him? Will he be forced to make small talk, try to explain…

Had he been discovered?

Relief floods through him. No. It’s a young woman. A stranger. Dripping wet, the unusual downpour’s latest victim. His eyes drop back to his drink. He toys with the glass, looking into the depths of the liquid there as if it could divulge secrets, help him plot and plan his next course of action.

His eyes focus on you again. Contemplating. Considering.

You’re walking towards him.

***

You’re back in the bar.

Feeling foolish but unable to help yourself. Just out for a drink, nothing wrong with that, right? It’s been a couple of weeks. The sting of the breakup lessening.

You’re not going to let yourself feel disappointed that William is not present.

That’s your real reason for coming back, of course. And it’s absurd. Even if he had been present, it had surely been a one time thing. Two strangers comforting each other at random. Better than a relationship because it had none of the complications that came with it. No obligations. No commitment. Just enjoying each other and then moving on.

You’re not moving on.

This has rebound all over it. You should stop thinking about him. But you don’t. At random moments while you’re working. While you’re packing up your ex’s things. You’d left a message for him to come get them while you’re out. You don’t want to see him ever again.

This new man, though. Those eyes. The way his hands and his mouth felt. Being inside of you. Reckless, crazy. But good. So good.

The door opens and your head swivels rapidly. It’s him. Tall, dark, and handsome. Work clothes again. Jacket today. Dress coat. It looks good on him. Pausing when he sees you. A little surprised, maybe, the long lashes lifting, an arc of white above the steel colored irises. Then pleased. A little smirk on his features. He sits beside you.

“Hi,” you greet him softly.

“Hi. How’s everything going?”

You inhale and exhale deeply. “It’s going okay. Got my ex’s stuff out of my apartment.”

“Good.”

“What about you?” Margarita today. Sour. A little shiver when it goes down. “How’s work?”

“Busy. But fine. Everything’s fine.” William rests an elbow on the counter, his head propped on his fist. Watching you. Sliding your drink over and taking a sip. Well, I mean why not, right? It’s not like you haven’t swapped saliva before. “This is terrible.”

“They’re kind of gross. But they get you tipsy pretty easy.”

“Are you trying to get drunk again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t come here for—”

“—Why are you back here?” His eyes are glittering. He knows. He absolutely fucking knows and he’s teasing you. Enjoying this.

“Why are you?” You challenge, taking your drink back and gulping down another swallow.

“I asked you first.”

You run your fingers over the stem of the glass. “Looking for you,” you admit, darting a quick glance at him through your lashes.

“What if I didn’t show? What would you have done then?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Come back a different night, maybe.”

“Hmmm.” He hums thoughtfully.

“You’re in a good mood tonight.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You look…satisfied.”

“Not completely satisfied yet,” he murmurs, and another shiver runs through you, this one not fueled by the alcohol you’ve imbibed, but anticipation. He’s flirting. He’s interested in another dalliance. “If you want to enjoy a tequila properly, you should be doing shots. Salt, lime wedges, the whole bit.”

You consider the small amount of liquid left in the Magarita glass. Only your first. Why not get a little intoxicated?

“Alright.”

He straightens, signaling the bartender. You’ve never done shots before, but you got the gist of it. You wait for the older man to take the lead. Watching as he licks the curled crevice of his hand between his thumb and index finger, sprinkling a pinch of salt that adheres to the damp skin. Meeting your eyes when his tongue laps that salted patch, then throwing back the shot quickly, followed by a bite into a slice of lime and that bemused smirk appears again. Challenging you. Well, fuck. It’s on.

You repeat the process. Strong. You struggle not to cough, wincing a little.

“Good girl. You’ve got this.”

Another round for you both. Another. You’re getting accustomed to it. Your hand finds its way onto his thigh at some point. Not exactly discreet, but you’re kind of past the point of caring. You’re starting to lose count of what shot you're on. Five, maybe? Six. Definitely six. He grabs your hand and laps at it before sprinkling the salt. You return the gesture, diverting your attention to his thumb, sucking the pad gently, watching him through lidded eyes.

“Your place?”

No quickie in the car? Interesting. “Yeah.”

“I’ll call a cab.”

William lends you support when you slide from the barstool, leaving you clutching the counter heavily to make the call on the pay phone. You should have eaten something. Lunch was a long time ago. Or not done so many shots. Or…

He’s back. Looking a touch concerned. “You feeling okay?”

“I feel…great.” You frown. “How come you still look sober? Are you buzzed at all?”

“Quite. I’m better at concealing it, that’s all.”

He leads you outdoors. The cool air hits you sharply before you’re in the back seat of the taxi. You give the driver your address. William’s hand clutches yours. His left hand. No wedding band today.

“You knew I was going to be there tonight,” you murmur.

He doesn’t answer.

***

Your ex’s stuff is gone when you get back to your apartment.

You heave a sigh of relief because honestly, that would have been beyond awkward to have him here with your new lover in tow.

You’re suddenly feeling shy. Awkward. After offering to take your companion’s coat and hanging his beside yours, your shoes and his tucked neatly side by side on the mat before the front door, you don’t know what to do next.

William is standing in the living room. Surveying your living space. “Nice couch.”

“My ex picked that out.” You scowl at the black leather furniture.

“I take it back. It’s absolutely dreadful.”

“See, now that’s why you and I get along so well.” He smirks. You suddenly remember the etiquette of having a guest over. “Did you want something to drink, a glass of water or…”

“Just you.”

Oh. A little sound you’re not even certain you manage to make. Perhaps just lingering in the depths of your mind when he steps towards you, seating his hand on the side of your neck, bending to kiss your mouth. Once. Twice. His tongue touches yours and you push against him, guiding him towards the nearest available surface. That damn couch. Well, might as well create some good new memories on it.

He sits and you climb on his lap. Hot. It’s hot in here, isn’t it? You should turn the heat down. The alcohol. Dilating your vessels. Bringing heat to the surface. William’s mouth is fire. Wet. Your fingers in his hair. It had been fun that night in the car, the frenzied rush at each other’s bodies within that confined space, but you like this location even more. Taking your time. His hands rub your back, your buttocks. You jerk the leather strap of his belt free from the buckle, sucking his bottom lip. Caressing his erection through the layer of briefs beneath the surrendering front of his trousers.

“I’m glad to see the alcohol didn’t affect this any,” you murmur appreciatively, teasing the hardened flesh, letting the tips of your nails drag over the fabric covering his cock. There’s a haze of arousal mingling with your intoxication now, a pleasant sensation tingling in your extremities as you ease yourself down to kneel on the carpet between his legs.

“You’re breaking the rule. Ladies first, remember?” He watches you pull the waistband of his underwear down, revealing the flushed sex beneath, his hips sliding forward a bit as he relaxes that long body of his, the new angle bringing him closer to the edge of the couch.

“We can make an exception just this once, can’t we?” You grin before you lean forward to lap at the head of his dick. Clean taste, faint soap. Light musk. Something a little salted leaking from the tip. It reminds you of doing the shots earlier. Your mouth engulfs the end, stretching your lips, sliding down part way. Your nails dig into his thighs. His breath hitches.

A car horn outside. You hate living in the city. You’re ex’s idea. You don’t want to think about him. You shove the man from the bar’s cock down your throat, holding it in place. His long fingers nestle in your hair. Your head lifts, thick saliva coating his erection. You wrap your fingers around the shaft and stroke up and down, massaging the frenulum, curling over the domed tip with each pass, alternating with more head bobs, sucking, sliding. His hips lift to meet your mouth, the hand curled over your head pulling you closer. Still unhurried, lazily fucking your mouth, the pace and depth varying. You gag and gasp for air and your eyes meet his. Those blown pupils an abyss. “Bedroom,” he says, and you push yourself to your feet, guiding him there, the loosened metal belt buckle jingling with each step, one hand clutching the waist of his pants to keep them in place as he follows you. “Off.” Another one word instruction that you obey, removing the blazer he tugs at, his fingers assisting you in pulling the blouse overhead, sliding underneath your bra straps while you unhook the back. You’re wearing pants today, the garment roughly dragged down over your hips along with your panties. He’s getting more impatient, pushing you back onto the bed before you have a chance to return the favor of divesting him of his clothing.

William grabs one of the pillows from beneath the comforter at the head of the bed, curling an arm around your legs and lifting you so he can slide the cushion underneath your buttocks. His hands part your thighs, his lips grazing the inside of one knee before he descends to kiss the sensitive place between your legs.

You’d had a sneaking suspicion that wicked tongue of his would be ideal for licking pussy and oh, you were so right. It curls around that bundle of nerve endings, flicking in firm, rapid strokes, building the pleasure and then backing away, sliding through the pink petals, teasing your entrance, kisses pressed in the crease of your groin, your mound, over your clit, sucking, teasing, leaving you whimpering and gasping. One of those large hands of his is splayed over your lower abdomen, applying pressure, stretching your pussy upward so he can perfectly access that throbbing pearl. You’re on the precipice of orgasm, pushed forward and then dragged back, a delicious dance between the two as he prolongs the sensation. Careening forward abruptly and you’re on the brink again, then the fury of his tongue lessens, gifting gentle taps, soft kisses.

“William…”

His mouth latches over your pussy. Rough again. Demanding. The pressure in your core builds. His tongue is relentless. Your hips arch up, mashing you against his face. There. You’re there. Your breath coming in quick, shallow pants. Gasping his name over and over. Your nails scrape his scalp.

The older man doesn’t give you time to recover. His body is already moving, climbing over yours. Shoving your legs back, his cock piercing your entrance. You gasp again. His torso drops down, hips rolling against you, mouth on yours.

You taste your juices all over his lips, his chin, his cheeks, his tongue. A hint of roughness along his jaw, the start of new growth of facial hair this late in the day. He’s buried in you. The languid way he’s fucked your mouth earlier forgotten. Sharp slaps of sound as his dick penetrates your cunt while his hands roughly knead your breasts. You wish he wasn’t still dressed, wish you could see his body. Touch it like he was caressing yours. You reach for a button of his shirt and he grabs your hand, pinning your wrist down. Repeating the process for the other. You’re trapped beneath him as he pummels you. That thick, long prick of his filling you, hitting you just right. His face hovers above yours. Watching you with those dark eyes. Still smudged underneath. A permanent fixture, perhaps, irregardless of the amount of sleep he got. His breath hot against your lips. You let saliva pool in your mouth, offering it up on your outstretched tongue that he sucks on greedily. You flex the walls of your canal, massaging him. Every part of you is throbbing, tingling, a post climax feeling that still hasn’t dissipated. Your pelvis matches his rhythm, your bodies rocking together. Perfectly in sync. He relaxes his grip on your wrists, his fingers slotting between yours. You feel him shudder. An echoing answer as your pussy milks his erection. He moans against your mouth. Spurts of hot liquid fill you.

William withdraws and flops beside you. You shift onto your side and he lifts an arm, allowing you to rest your head on his chest, that same limb now draped over you, fingers absently stroking your bare skin. You listen to the rapid heartbeat deescalate, the gasped breaths gradually deepening, their frequency decreasing. You still need to pick up your car. Get your clothes ready for work in the morning. Maybe you should just call out. There was no way you wouldn’t be hungover.

“Shower with me?” You offer, murmuring it against his chest.

“Another time. If you don’t mind I’ll use the restroom. Wash up…”

“Mmm-hmm. There’s a spare toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.” You pause. “I had fun.”

“Good.”

Your head lifts as you raise your torso, shifting into a sitting position, looking down at the dark haired man. “Am I going to see you again?” It sounds needy in your ears. You wish it didn’t. You’d meant it to be more of a playful invitation.

“Very likely.”

“Very likely, hmm?” You comb through the errant tresses falling across his forehead. Think about him going back out into the rain just to kiss you goodbye last time. The start to this causal affair.

You haven’t had to share the narrow space in front of the bathroom sink for awhile now. William takes up so much room, those long arms of his jostling and colliding with yours. You like watching him get ready. There’s something pleasing about the movements of those deft fingers as he restores order. You impulsively grab the lapel of his suit jacket before he has a chance to rinse the toothbrush you’ve lent him, kissing the mouth that’s layered with mint and the persistent flavor of you just beneath it.

Back behind the bar, it’s time to part ways. He’s walked you to your car. Said goodnight, imploring you to drive home safely. Still standing beside you. Your lips part to speak. He captures them and whatever words you’d been about to conjure scatter. Then he’s gone, another dark shape lost in nighttime shadows.

[simplysslytherin]

The famed Hero of Baldur’s Gate decides to take their relationship with Astarion to the next level. They’ve gone steady for a couple of years and are both serious about each other—Tav uprooted their life to live with Astarion in the Underdark, after all.

Tav, after receiving an invitation from their parents to come home for a family reunion, decides it would be a good time to introduce Astarion to their family. They’ve raved about him in their occasional check-ins with their mom, so their parents are more than eager to meet the man who’s captured Tav’s heart.

“Are you sure this is fine?” frets Astarion, scrutinizing his doublet and fiddling with his curls. He grips the handle of his umbrella—enchanted with magic to shield him from the sun—a little too tightly until it scrunches in his palm, and he worries his bottom lip between his fangs.

Tav peers back at him over their shoulder. A smile creeps its way onto their lips. He’s so nervous, and it’s positively adorable. They haven’t seen him this antsy since they were first intimate without ulterior motives, and he was eager to please his beloved.

They sidle up to Astarion to twine their arms together. “Astarion, you look amazing. My family will love you. Hells, my mother already adores you. She’s one of the hardest people to please. You have nothing to worry about.”

Astarion scoffs, trying to mask the nerves exploding beneath his skin. He pats your hand clasped to the bend of his elbow, eyes swimming beneath the dark lenses perched on his nose. “How often do you bring home guests with fangs?”

Tav bears a contemplative look, a finger tapping their chin. Astarion blanches. They can’t be serious. He was merely joking. He would hope he’s their only lover with a penchant for…well, blood. Speaking of which, how would they take to his appetite?

“There was that one guy,” you say, causing the vampire to sputter. You giggle, ducking away from him when he attempts to flick your forehead. “I’m only kidding, Astarion.” You gaze at him with a disarming twinkle to your eyes. “Trust me, your fangs are the least of your worries. If anything, you’ll be the center of attention because of them. My family loved weirdos.”

“The only weirdo here is you, my dear.”

“Is that why you fell for me?”

“Well, that, and your incredible ass.” You chuckle as Astarion draws you closer with a pinch to your rear, planting a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

They smile as they welcone him in. Guilt isn't a new feeling for Astarion. No one could say guilt is a confort but one can be comfortable in guilt. Astarion is on of those people, he is comfortable in his guilt of all the 7000 spawn he killed and the victims he lured back. That is a normal condition of being Astarion. This guilt is new.

He hasn't seen Tav smile like this before. Their brother had come with his family and Tav was in love with their new niece. Cooing and playing with the six month old baby. This is what he stole. Their family. The chance to know their brother's children.

Tav's mother enters the room.

"Look at all my darlings all together." She gushes, "now your settled down with a nice man don't you think you should gove your nieces some cousins?"

"Mama!" Tav's voice is shocked and Astarion feels another stab of guilt.

It was clear Tav wanted children, but had never asked Astarion. Astarion didn't even know if he could have children.

At the end of the day when Astarion nuzzles into Tav, Tav clears their throat.

"Astarion?"

"Yes my darling?"

"Are you alright? You've been so quiet today."

"I stole all this from you."

"Stole what?"

"Your family. You could be up here with them, instead your down in the underdark with me."

Tav caresses his face, "I do miss them yes,

But I can't imagine life without you." He leans into the touch guilt can wait for now.

[convexicalcrow]

There was something to be said about the way Cub was staring at the ground. Not in a bad way, or in a curious way. Sort of like... Almost staring at his feet, but also gazing at nothing in particular. He was in a strange mood, if he was honest. Too much going on as usual.

The city was quiet, which was unusual for the time of day, but the rain was probably keeping a lot of people inside. Except Cub, of course. The pavement was wet and glistening, the rain falling softly around him. He walked slowly, lost in thought.

He'd forever claim he had too many thoughts, but it was a lie. There was only ever one thought: Scar. And not in any kind of bad way either. Cub was just forever thinking about Scar. How his day was going, what he was up to, whether he'd arrive back in time for dinner, whether he'd booked another amazing date for them, the usual. Scar just occupied his thoughts. He was a man obsessed, and he was more than happy to admit it.

He smiled as he saw the park approaching. It was bright lush green today, in spite of the damp, and perhaps he fancied a walk through there today when the park would be far less busy. He crossed the street, umbrella at hand, and headed in through the gates.

It was a different place here. It was like the walls of the park insulated him from the world outside. Cub didn't mind. He felt it's what he needed. There were a couple of very committed dog walkers that he passed, but he mostly had the park to himself.

It was strange to see it empty, as if some apocalypse had happened while he was at work this morning, and now everyone had gone except for him. He stopped under trees, paused near park benches, wandered through the paths with a peaceful heart. All it needed was Scar, and his day would be perfect.

If only, though. Scar worked across town. There was no way he'd get here in time before Cub had to head back to the office. Still, Cub liked to dream. Maybe he'd bring him here on the weekend. The weather was supposed to be warming up by then. Maybe they'd take a picnic and a rug, and a thermos of coffee, and enjoy their time together. It had been a while since they'd just spend a morning together.

Cub stopped by the lake, watching all the ducks swimming by. He followed a small path over to the gazebo in the middle, where he could sit in the dry. He shook his umbrella out and sat down. He slipped out a small notebook and pen, and opened it to a new page.

Words circled through his head. That did tend to happen in a place like this. All the poetry in the world seemed to find him here. He sketched, wrote out words, tried out different phrases. The birds sung their encouragement. Every now and then, he tapped out a beat with his foot.

He took out his phone, called Scar. "Hey, Scar, can you hum a little tune for me? Something to get me inspired?"

"Oh, sure, I can do that. What kind of- oh I know where you are. Here, try this," Scar said as he began to hum.

Cub smiled. Scar always knew what he needed. The tune was bright, but cosy, reminding Cub of their ski trip last year. Not the skiing itself, but of the lodge they stayed at that was forever the warmest place they'd ever found. Big rooms, big roaring fire, and big mugs of hot cocoa. Maybe next year they'd go back again.

Cub made more sketches. Drafted more lines. Somehow, he felt it getting closer. He could see it forming in his mind. A distant roar of thunder rumbled across the sky.

"I sang a song, the thunderer roared, and all went back to hide. I sang a song below the sky, and it becan to cry." Cub paused, quietly reading the words again. "Hmm. I like the rhythm, but not the words."

He put his pen and notebook away and grabbed his umbrella. He needed to look at the flowers. That would help him find his muse.

The beds were large and well-planted with many different kinds of flowers. Not all reminded him of Scar, but some did. Really, he was looking for the right flower, and the right scent, that would give his thoughts form.

There was a beautiful rhododendron, and a big bright spray of chrysanthemums. Cub liked these. He liked how they looked in the rain, too. Maybe he took a couple of photos to share with Scar when he got home. He always loved seeing pictures of the flowers.

"I see thee in thy brightness, I see thee in thy sorrow, my friends, my flowers, shining bright, against a dark grey sky," Cub said, half-singing the words that came to mind as he saw them.

He wandered over to the roses. Traditional, of course. But his eyes were drawn to some sunflowers, whose yellow faces shone more brightly than anything else. Cub went over to them and softly brushed the petals. That was Scar right there. His sunshine. His sunflower.

"One day you'll see, that the light you shine, that you shine just for me, burns brighter and hotter than a thousand stars, giving life to all you touch. Laugh, cry, turn your face to the sun, for all that you are is beautiful," Cub murmured.