#thank you for the interesting questions!!! apologies for the meandering answers!!!

[ilgaksu]

🎉 and 💔 for the fic writer asks?

from this series of fic writer asks

🎉 What leads you to consider a fic a success?

definitely engagement. i actually have several fics abandoned currently because of lack of engagement.

(the one that came to my mind immediately is the fic discussing hei xiazi's past as a sex worker in canon, which never did as well as i hoped, but also i had very limited hopes for the appeal of a fic about a cis and very masc man's relationship to female-oriented sex work. it is, however, entirely accurate to the actual sex work industry in the country he was operating in, as well as refusing to view sex work with anything but respect for a profession. do i sound bitter? i'm a little bit bitter.)

in my original writing career, engagement is less of a pressing issue to me because i have exchanged actual money or some other form of renumeration for labour. fic for me is less a handing over an item (because outside of a commission, you haven't paid for access to it and also then do not take any ownership of it or rights to it) and more of a form of communication with other fans. i want the influencer-capitalism shift of fan subculture into content creators and content consumers as two separate groups to die in a fire, actually. subcultures should not seek to mimic the dominant culture; modern fandom was created, as i've said before to a friend, by a group of women in a house talking about star trek, who had the audacity to treat each other as equals to each other and to men, when the world refused to view any of them as such. there is no such thing as "more equal than others" outside of animal farm, and especially not based on productivity.

having said that, i think if i was pretending that engagement isn't part of the reason i'm spending my limited time on earth writing two fictional and borrowed people, i would be being disingenuous. i am using it as a form of communication and communion with other people who love the thing i love, and the fic itself is a way of me expressing and processing my love, especially in a sociohistorical era where we are often far more distanced from who we want to be in community with. everyone wants their work and love to be acknowledged, and the use of their time, especially when it's on something that is viewed as a waste of it in the dominant culture; especially when it's viewed as silly and small, because current western culture denigrates love of the silly and small, especially a big love of something that cannot be made fully marketable. and so, it's hard to feel like a little kid at show and tell with your craft project, only to feel as if all the other kids are just walking by. it's why i'm always open to questions about characterisation and construction of fics/headcanons/theories, as well as writing craft; i just don't discuss the last one unless asked very often because i dislike seeming as though i need to provide a thesis defense for my creative practice to preface my work. like, what are you, my phd supervisor?

but to go on further, because it's my blog and i can elaborate if i want to, there are other aspects too. to follow the argument for engagement further, i sometimes get comments that echo that i have verbalised or represented an experience that felt personal to someone, and personal to the point of it feeling isolating. when i specialised in trauma studies, i focused a whole dissertation on caruth's theory of the unspeakable in trauma and looked it with a literary studies focus. caruth argues, to try and condense it quickly, that trauma is the experience of an unspeakable event, and, by that argument, we can surmise that only by articulating the trauma can someone begin to process that trauma. (i think a lot about what it means to live in a current culture that is trauma-obsessed and obsessed with making our trauma marketable for the algorithm to the total invasion of privacy, and yet deeply lacking in empathy to when trauma makes a person behave outside the bounds of what they consider acceptable, btw. but that's another topic for another day.)

so, for example, getting a comment saying that someone has felt seen and heard feels incredible to me. even if that's the only comment i get on that fic, it feels like this form of communication in a world that's starved us of that kind of communication, and that will make the real work and time that goes into writing feel worthwhile.

however, overall, i've moved away from as being as metrics-focused as i once was. when i began writing in heihua fandom, for example, i assumed, with absolute certainty, that nobody was reading, that nobody was interested in what i had to say, that nothing i was writing would be viewed with grace. and as a result, i felt free in a way i hadn't in previous fandoms where i was very publically involved; if i was writing alone, just for me, what would i write? and so now a great deal of is a fic a success for me is based in: do i read it back to myself and enjoy the process of that? does it feel like, if it wasn't written by me, and i wasn't worried about egocentricity, i would acknowledge that this fic was made entirely to my own tastes? am i having fun? did i love the process?

those are the questions i try to focus on now, and so now it's about 50/50 with that and actual external engagement, which is huge progress.

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

OH, BOY, THIS ONE'S THE BRUTAL QUESTION.

short answer: yes, there's been several, and i immediately thought of them when you asked.

longer answer in a reply that's already had a very long answer:

several fics of mine reflect claustrophobia and hopelessness i felt at that point in my personal life. i am proud of them and i am proud of myself for them, but not because i believe the purpose of pain is to make art, or that it makes personal misery worthwhile. i am proud of them because of their honesty. they break my heart in that to look at these works at the point in my life i'm at now is to feel an intense love and compassion for the version of me who wrote them. i try and avoid autobiographical readings of my work, because i think they're often used to pigeonhole marginalised creators to fit into the box of literary criticism, but i think it's important as a creator to value how you can see your own personal development outside of just skill development in your own creative work.

[schizosupport]

Hey there! Hope you are well, I have a bit of a complicated question that I’m not sure you can answer, I’m seeing my psych in two weeks but it’s a burning question and my mental space isn’t good enough to research. I have treatment resistant schizophrenia, but I also think my consciousness is more of a plural one, like I just don’t think I have a single consciousness, i can’t tell if the extra conscious states are from my schizophrenia or possibly from the repeated childhood traumas. Also how do I go about phrasing this to my psych? She’ll take me seriously cause she’s the coolest psych around but I don’t speak this eloquently in real life and I want to make sure I get my point across. Thanks so much !

Hey there! Sorry it took me a while to get back to you, I'm traveling with a friend! I have not slept in a while, so I apologize if this is unusually meandering.

Ok so first of all, I am to a large extent of the opinion that you have the final say on how to interpret your own experiences, but that doesn't mean that my input or your psychiatrists' input can't be very valuable.

You've said here that you are diagnosed with chronic schizophrenia, and that you experience your consciousness as 'more of a plural one'. You also mentioned repeated childhood trauma.

So first off, here's my two cents, but keep in mind that both you and your regular psych know your experience and situation and history better than I, a rando with too many fucking cents on my person at any given time :P

But the one thing I may be able to provide is perspective and knowledge, that you are currently struggling to gain bc your mental health isn't a place to research stuff. And honestly, this is also one of those things that present a rabbit hole of research and opposing views etc. Even I, despite this being something of a personal interest of mine, have barely skimmed the surface.. And anyone who tells you that they know all there is to know on the subject, and can give you definite answers, are conceited, ignorant or naive.

First off, I am curious about what it means when you say that you experience your existence as more of a plural one. I think that elaborating on that experience would be the key to communicate this experience of yours. I'm asking because from the phrasing, I can interpret this in various ways, which are all potentially consistent with the other known facts.

You have chronic schizophrenia. So a lot of people with schizo spec disorders experience variations of what is known as 'ipseity disturbance' or 'self disorder'. It's one of those concepts that is hard to boil down, but it often includes hyper-reflectivity upon "the self", seeing the 'self' as separate from the person perceiving the 'self', potentially perceiving yourself as having multiple selves or even no self at all. Apparently for a large part of the population the 'minimal experience of self' is a given that very much 'just is', there is nothing for them to reflect upon, because their sense of minimal self is the act of being itself... In a way.

I'm not sure I'm managing to explain this very well, but my point is that in certain ways experiencing your self as "more of a plural one' could be congruent with ipseity disturbance.

Because it involves a lot of feelings of "otherness" towards parts of your self/consciousness that other people experience in a more inherently singular manner. When thoughts don't feel inherently like your own, when your find yourself analysing thoughts in the brain to understand what 'you' are getting at - I feel like in a lot of ways, ipseity disturbance can lead to/be explained as a plural experience, and it's something I wish there was more talk about.

Second, you mention repeated childhood trauma, and I'm guessing you're bringing this up in the context of whether the plurality in your self-experience could be explained as dissociative barriers created to protect the self, between compartmentalized versions of 'the self'.

Third, I think some people regardless of trauma and mental health history, have a tendency to feel plural in their self-experience and/or thrive with a plural self-expression.

There are probably yet more ways that we could account for this experience, but let's stop there.

I think in preparation for the meeting with the psychiatrist, these are a couple helpful questions to know the answer to:

1) is the feeling of plurality scary? Comforting? Does it help you cope or does it make life harder for you?

2) Is the plurality of your consciousness more an inherent almost "philosophical" quality of how you experience your mind? Or is it more literal - there are a multitude of consciousnesses sharing (or not sharing) your brain/life?

3) if there are multiple consciousnesses - do you know how those other to yourself 'identify'. Do they claim names and other identity markers, do they have different opinions or feelings than 'you'?

4) if there are multiple consciousnesses, are they 'internal chatter', are they all parts of 'you' or do you experience it as if any of them ever 'takes over the reign' from 'you'?

5) if you experience such 'losses of control', how does that feel? Is it "you" becoming "someone else"? Is it a blackout? Is it like getting relegated to the backseat while someone else drives the car?

And so forth. I think it's important in a way to be clear in your own head about what they experience is like for you, because even good psychiatrists will sometimes read their own expectations into vague statements.

I also think it's worth mentioning here that while a lot of people will tell you otherwise, the lived experience of SOME people with schizophrenia and SOME people with dissociative disorders that involve identity compartmentalization, are actually very similar, for reasons that are too complicated to get into here. Another thing is that the two can definitely be comorbid.

A last thing is that personally, I try not to bring up symptoms/experiences with psychiatrists unless I think that them knowing is gonna be helpful to my treatment. It sounds like you got a great psych, so I don't think this is an issue, but when I personally tried to bring up my own experiences with plurality, they were immediately interpreted as active psychosis in a way that proved detrimental to the mental health of all of us.

So I'm mostly putting this here for other followers, who are debating whether to bring up something interesting/weird about their experience with a psychiatrist.. in a general sense most doctors err on the side of caution with things they perceive as potential psychosis... So at this point in my life I only bring up symptoms that are painful/bad to me, personally, bc I'm pretty tired of psychiatrists medicalizing every aspect of my identity and experience..

[windvexer]

Hi this is the anon that asked about the religion thing. I do really appreciate the original answer you posted. It made sense to me and thank you for taking the time. The multiple choice analogy was great. I think I mostly sent it in as curious meanderings, I'm sorry if I caused any anxiety or annoyance! I just thought that maybe since you have had contact with different gods that you could answer maybe even a tiny portion of my own existential wonderings. It's been a question on my mind now for a long time especially with so much talk of diety work on Tumblr. Anyway I just wanted to thank you for taking me seriously and to apologize for not being clearer with my intention. You have really interesting and unique insights.

Hi, Anon. The ask was up for such a short period of time that I felt bad deleting it before you could read it. But, I realized I felt uncomfortable commenting on such issues, even in a very abstract way. I'm glad you had the time to read it.

I dealt with similar existential concerns when starting out on my path. It took a long time for me to find a comfortable place.

Spirituality shines because it is the one thing in the world that does not need to be verifiable by measurable tools.

It's inverse to the normal world because what is correct is up to us, it is not universal but what makes us complete, and truth - real, actual, spiritual truth - can shift for each of us.

I've said it before, but the real and actual spiritual foundations I stand on shift about once every two years. I'm anticipating shifting a year from now. But maybe a year from now, I won't.

Maybe it'll be something new by staying the same. You know?

I'm not a member of a strong cultural religious group, so I can only speak for myself. My practice is, ultimately, very solitary in terms of other humans.

But for myself, this is what I know: it's not supposed to work the same for everyone.

And that's a good thing.

[phantomato]

Thank u for ur amazing work. I have a (longish, apologies) question about Heartbeat. I'd been a Tomarry fan for some time but recently have become lukewarm. I read your meta posts as to why you consider its not a realistic ship. I also read work by metalomagnetic which made me alive to the fact that Tom would likely never pursue a romantic relationship with Harry outside of some Macchiavellian manipulation arc. How do your reconcile your view on Tomarry with writing Heartbeat and why pursue it?

Hey! It’s lovely to get an ask, thanks for sending in this question! 💕

I’d say a few things in answer to this—

I still don’t like Tom/Harry as a romantic ship. It doesn’t do it for me for all those reasons outlined in my old Tomarry essays, that hasn’t quite changed. What has changed is that I’ve become more comfortable and interested in exploring parts of Tom’s character where he doesn’t get to be his best self: he doesn’t find the self-actualization and contentment that I want for him in an ideal happy ending. He might still get a happy ending! At least, in the sense that he’s whole and healthy, and generally free. But there’s some wiggle room within that—see my stories like Changeling, or Pygmalion, for example. Those, and others I’ve written, are realistic in the sense that they’re ways I see Tom/V believably acting, as I characterize him. But they’re also not especially romantic in the way that I write, e.g., Nottmort. Or there’s Proximity or Lush, for stories that are more happy/romantic but not meant as end-state relationships for Tom/V. He learns and grows, we get to see someone else who is meaningful to him and hear part of their story, and yet he’s not done by the end, there’s clearly more he will experience in those lives before he settles into something long-term and committed.

I tried to write Heartbeat in February, and I failed to do it. At that point I hadn’t yet written any of the stories I name above; I hadn’t figured out what I want out of this kind of fic. That version of Heartbeat meandered too much through Harry’s experiences, because I thought I needed to do so if I were going to write from his POV. And this story needs to be his POV, as it happens. I’ve long promised myself that I wouldn’t write a tomarry fic unless I felt I had something interesting to do with it, I wouldn’t write it just to drum up attention for my other fics (that seems… fraught and likelier to result in frustration than success), and yet I still got caught up in how other people tend to write the ship and imposed expectations on myself that were contrary to the story I had planned. It came out all wrong, I hated the thought of adding more to it, and I scrapped the entire work on AO3. I’d rather lose those subscribers, comments, etc. than be burdened with my initial poor telling. So it really is not the case that Heartbeat has been an easy or comfortable journey for me, and I pursue it anyway, as it’s a story I’ve wanted to tell.

Finally, I will say: you haven’t read the end of Heartbeat yet, whereas I have. I don’t find that I have much conflict that needs reconciled.

—

I’ve got another tomarry in the wings, a one-shot I hope to publish this week. I don’t ship it, no, but I tell stories about Tom. This fandom has decided that pairing these two characters together is a major avenue for telling stories about Tom, and so I will use the ship as fits my needs.

[pleasantanathema]

Sinful Hymns

Pairing: Erwin Smith x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Warnings: Hair pulling, some rough sex, sex on a desk, religious allusions, a dash of authority kink, no spoilers past early season 1

Word Count: 4k

A/N: In celebration of Season 4 of Attack on Titan airing today, here’s a fulfilled request for Commander Handsome 💕 Thank you so much to the anon who requested this, I had so much fun writing this!

           You couldn’t sleep. There was a nagging in your mind, shadowy visions of titans ascending mountains, climbing walls—the same nightmares that plagued you ever since you joined the scouts all those years ago. You found yourself in the showers, all alone scrubbing away your sins and torments. But even a cleansing couldn’t seem to quell your thoughts, so you roamed.

           The meandering halls of the old scout regiment headquarters were cold, musty, unwelcoming even with Levi’s cleaning. Glimmering lamp light under a cracked door caught your attention, the only light you’d seen while on your stroll.

           The Commander was still awake.

           You weren’t sure what compelled you to stop, to bring your knuckles to rap against the wood of the door. You’d once been quite close with Erwin, back when you were both cadets and working your way up the ranks, but he’d become quite elusive since becoming the Commander. You’d always been interested in him, found your gaze lingering on him a little too long when was around. There was some kind of irresistible, seductive pull towards him, like if you got close enough, he might let you explore the man under the armor. You wondered if he felt it, too, or if your lust was one-sided.

          You were just too curious about what would keep him awake at night. Maybe he struggled with the same miseries you did when the nights felt too dark.

          Tentatively, you slid past the open door.

          Blue eyes caught your movement, his handsome face tilting towards you from where it was seated in his palm.

          He whispered your name, smile tugging at his cheeks.

          “Commander Smith,” you acknowledged, “you’re up quite late.”

          “Seems I’m not the only one.” There was an amusement in his voice that you couldn’t quite place.

          He leaned back in his chair as you stayed in your place, a sudden rise of bashfulness making you bite at the inside of your lip. You were sure you were pestering him; you should’ve just wandered back to your room. Your feet were ready to move, heels pressed against the floor to turn and leave at his behest.

          “Is there something I can help you with?”

          “I—no, I just couldn’t sleep. Apologies, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

          “No, you’re no bother. Rather, you’re quite a pleasant distraction at the moment,” he gestured to his desk, littered with paperwork and books opened to forgotten pages, “come in, shut the door behind you.”

           You did as you were so kindly told, clicking the door into place behind you before moving in closer. His office was warm, bathed in dim candlelight from the lamp on his desk, shadows being cast from the bookshelves that lined the walls. You noticed he was in only a white button-down and trousers, his ODM gear placed neatly on a chest behind where he sat.

          Your hands came to rest on the chair that was placed in front of his desk for his visitors. You remained standing, not quite ready to be so familiar as to just sit and talk with him. There was humor in his eyes as they scanned your figure, undoubtedly surprised to see you dressed so casually as well, simple pants and shirt being all you brought to wear after taking your late-night shower.

          “Tell me, what keeps you awake?”

           There were many answers to his question, but you erred on the side of simplicity.

           “Nightmares. What about you? What’s kept you awake tonight?”

            Erwin sighed, deep and heavy from his chest. You observed how his long fingers gripped at the armrest of his seat, knuckles white.

           “Letters. Demands from the Military Police to hand over the boy who turns into a titan, demands from royalty to execute him. But also my own curiosities. I’ve been reading to see if there are any records of anyone else like him.”

           “I see,” your tongue clicked behind your lips as you recognized the heaviness bound within his broad shoulders, “anything I can help you with?”

           He smiled fully then, white teeth curving against his pretty lips.

          “Like I said, you’re a welcome distraction. How have you been?”

           Again, there were too many ways to answer his question. But you couldn’t bring yourself to bring your burdens to him, not when he was already carrying the weight of the world upon his back.

          “Life isn’t as simple as it used to be,” not that living in this world had ever been easy.

          “No, I’m afraid it isn’t.”

           You caught an etching of the walls on his desk, details of Sina and Maria partially obscured by a leather-bound book, penciled in lines and notes scribbled around the paper’s edges. Something about it drew you in, had you moving to perch on the edge of his desk, one thigh crinkling pages of ink as your fingers deftly plucked at the drawing.

           He watched you with curiosity, eyebrows lifted as he brought a hand to his chin.

          Your nail traced against the charcoal lines, gaze scanning the comprehensive sketch of the rounded walls and the cities held within them.

         “My father used to think there was some kind of power within the walls; believed there was some unseen magic lingering within the stones to keep us safe…” you trailed off, the rest of your thoughts caught within your throat, “...I’m glad he wasn’t alive when the walls were breached, would’ve ruined the mystery for him.”

         “Was he a believer in the Church of the Walls?”

         “No,” you hummed softly, “just someone who thought there was more to the story.”

          Quite like yourself, you wanted to say, but left the words unspoken. You set the yellowing paper back on his desk, arms crossing.

          He rolled his shoulders in a quiet stretch, running a tired hand through his blonde undercut as he looked up at you. You’d always found him overwhelmingly handsome, the kind of man who changed the atmosphere of a room when he walked in. But there was always a warmth to him, like there was always something brewing, churning inside that enticing mind of his.

          “I never could understand how people could worship the walls,” he mused, shifting his weight forward, getting a little closer to where you were perched, “not when there are other, more...beautiful things to praise.”

          Heat crept up the back of your neck, your too-close proximity to him becoming all too apparent. But he kept getting closer.

          His hand found your knee, fingers trailing over the tight threads of your pants.

          The act seemed endearing, harmless, but the simple touch had your desire rearing its sordid head again. You felt emboldened, confidence swelling in your chest.

         “Then what would you worship, Erwin?”

         “I’m a man of too many sins, I doubt there’s any kind of faith that could bring me absolution.”

          Your fingers ached to touch him, your hand reaching toward his face before your mind could stop the movement. His cheek was warm, skin soft under the brush of your thumb.

          “I don’t believe that. There has to be something beautiful for you to admire…” you felt his fingers tighten against your leg, drifting higher up your thigh, pulling you in, bringing you closer.

          “I could start with you.”

          The tension snapped, splitting like a tightly strung cord between you. You heeded the call to be nearer, moving your hand to rest against his shoulder for balance as you took the initiative to settle yourself in his lap. For a moment, you worried that you pushed too far, that you’d invaded his personal space and made him uncomfortable. But those fears were battered quickly when eager hands took hold of your waist, palms spread wide as they trailed up your back.

          “I’ve always admired you from afar,” he was hushed, breath fanning over your neck, “but you’re much easier to worship up close.”

          You kissed him without a second thought. Years of attraction, of adoration, fueled your lips, your hands grasping at his jawline as he met your passion. His mouth slanted against yours ardently, impatient hands slipping under your shirt.

          You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose at the feel of his warm fingers ghosting up your skin, now suddenly very aware you hadn’t bothered to wear anything below your clothes—you thought you’d be returning to your room, not wandering into your Commander’s lap. You moaned into his mouth, his tongue slipping past your parted lips to taste you. You were overcome with too much, all your senses now flooding with Erwin, his scent, his touch, his entire being smothering you with all the attentions you had ever craved from him.

          His thumbs brushed the undersides of your breasts, a groan leaving his chest when you settled lower into his lap, your thighs draped over his own and your core pressed against his hardening cock.

          This wasn’t real—this couldn’t be real, surely you were caught up in one of your dreams again, but his lips against yours felt real, felt hungry, his large hands now cupping and holding the weight of your breasts within his hands. Your fingers carded through his hair, nails delicately raking through the roots to remind yourself that it was him, that this was real.

          “You taste like sin,” he praised, peppering kisses down the column of your throat.

          Any thought you had of replying disappeared when strong fingers pinched at your nipples, causing a heavy moan to fall out of your mouth as your head tilted back, allowing him more access to your neck. He plucked tenderly at your sensitive flesh, a noticeable smirk growing upon his lips as each tug and roll of your breasts had you gasping, whining. He quite liked that, it seemed, to be able to play you so easily.

          You mumbled curses into the air, eyes fluttering closed. You experimentally rolled your hips in his lap, an attempt to get a similar rise from him. He bared his teeth against your throat, canines nipping into your skin before pressing his lips down more forcefully, sucking and lapping at your neck. Heat bloomed from where his mouth met your body, a telling sign that you would have a mark there to remember him by. He was careful, choosing a supple spot below where the collar of your uniform would cover you tomorrow.

           Erwin’s hands released your aching breasts, moving down to grasp at the hem of your shirt.

          “Take this off,” he demanded, a string of saliva still connecting his lips to your neck.

           You dropped your hands from his hair, trailing down his broad chest before meeting his hands and pulling your shirt up over your head. It fell to the floor carelessly, the chill of the room making your skin pebble with gooseflesh.

           You took note of how his cheeks were flushed pink, blush faint across his elegant aquiline nose.

           His intimidating, icy eyes flickered up to you, making your own flush spread across your body. You felt like he was looking through you, reading your thoughts, hearing your internal screams for more. Then, his gaze fell back to your heaving breasts, hands greedily taking them again, lips wrapping around one of your nipples and making you whimper.

           You could feel his cock pressing against you now, harder and thicker than before, the ridge of it nestled against your throbbing cunt. You rolled yourself against it, delighted sounds leaving both of your mouths at the contact. His tongue swirled around your puckered nipple, teeth just barely daring to drag against your flesh. You buried your fingers into his shoulders, feeling his muscles tighten and then relax at your touch.

          “Oh-oh fuck, I—,”

          “You’re dripping,” he interrupted, one of his hands unclasping from your breast and drifting down your belly to rub at the damp spot between your legs, “I can feel you against me.”

           You shivered at the wanton touch, thighs clenching against his legs.

          “Did you come here tonight to seduce me?”

           He mumbled the words against your breast, tongue flattening against your nipple with a few long, heavy licks as his eyes flashed up to you, waiting for your response.

           “No, sir, I promise that wasn’t my,” you moaned as a thick finger slid against your clit through your clothes, “that wasn’t my intention.”

           His wet lips left your breast, coy smirk painting his face.

          “Shame, that was my plan the moment you stepped into my office.”

           You always did fall for his tricks; if only you’d known his hand against your thigh earlier wasn’t so harmless after all.

          “And how did this plan of yours end, Commander?”

           It still felt strange to call him by that title after so many years of calling him by his name, but there was something sensual about it, something alluring about his newfound authority.

           His hands were pushing at your hips, fingers crushing into your skin as he lifted you to move back.

          “With you bent over my desk.”

           It didn’t take him long to wrangle you into the position he so desired. His hands were unhurried, purposeful as he pushed you to stand, peeling your pants down your legs before pressing your face into the pile of papers on his desk. You felt so exposed, what with him being able to see your pussy on display from behind you while all you could focus on was his touch and the way the flame at the edge of his desk flickered.

           Erwin’s fingers spread the folds of your cunt, an appreciative hum sounding from his throat. You mewled at the touch, thighs shaking in your anticipation. The button to his pants popped softly, then you finally felt him, felt his hard, thick cock nudging at your entrance.

           Your hands crumpled a few pages as you searched for something to cling to. Your heart was pounding in your ears, suddenly all too aware that the Commander was still fully clothed, while you were laid out across his desk like a naked whore. One of his hands pulled at your hip, the other trailing down the expanse of your back.

           There was a boldness coming to life inside you at the realization that he’d wanted you the moment you appeared within his room.

           “Worth worshipping, Erwin?”

            You ate your words as he shoved himself inside you, stretching you to your limits as your body burned to accommodate his size. You cried out against the mass of papers, eyes blurring as pleasure burst across all of your nerve endings.

            He groaned at the feeling himself, both hands now digging into the meat of your hips.

            “Fuck,” you heard him breath in deep as he slid is cock out of you before slamming in again, “oh absolutely, darling.”

            You hadn’t heard Erwin curse before.

            But you didn’t have time to dwell on your thoughts, not with him now moving ruthlessly inside you, hips snapping against your ass with every sharp, deep thrust. Little sounds left your lips with every plunge, blissful tingles stemming from where your bodies were conjoined. You loved how you could feel the head of his fat cock dragging along your walls, thick veins throbbing under silken skin.

             You were far past believing this was a dream, now convinced you were actually in the sweet joys of a paradise beyond life.

             A coil of pleasure began to tighten within your lower stomach, hot and mean, like it was ready to tear and erupt with a rush of ecstasy. You moaned his name like a prayer, eyes closed tightly as you focused on the intensity of his cock thrusting inside you.

             You wouldn’t last long, not with the sinful hymns of his grunts and praises resounding behind you. His sounds were faint, but they were there, little rumbling of “so good, so tight,” kissing at your ears.

             God, you could die. You could die and live a happy, full life from this moment alone. You felt so whole with him inside you, felt coated with desire and praise like never before. There were bruises already forming from his grip, you could feel them, skin sore and burning beneath his massive hands.

             “You’re beautiful wrapped around my cock,” he voiced, tone deep and praising, brawny arm sweeping up your spine to fist in your hair. Your head jerked with his action, back arching as he pulled at you. You gasped at the discomfort, a dull ache forming from his too-tight grip. But the pain was overshadowed by the rivers of rapture running over your skin. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, your whole body rebounding like snapping elastic from his brutal behavior.

             The new angle had his cock slamming against that spot inside you that had your body going almost numb from the pleasure, white hot heat spreading over all your limbs, making your toes curl against the floor. You felt like you were fracturing, that thrilling tendril tightening in your belly to its breaking point. You could feel your walls sucking in his cock, your body pleading on its own.

             “Oh fuck, Commander—Erwin,” you were completely lost to the delirium, mind ruined.

            “I know,” he grunted, fingers stiffening in your hair, craning your neck back farther, “I feel you, you’re so—you’re so fucking tight.”

            You crashed down around him, your cunt clenching and pulsing in waves of euphoria, each crest making your lower muscles spasm. Your chin fell, your head only being held by the might of his hand, your brain so foggy with lust and release that you felt as if you had ascended the walls too quickly and fallen back down again. A fresh, euphoric jolt splintered down your body as he sheathed his cock fully into your depths, making your eyes flutter as your mouth opened in a glorious, blissed out state.

           Your body threatened to crumple against the desk, but he held you; the space between his palms and strong fingers was one of the safest places in the world, nothing could touch you if Erwin had you beneath his touch. The fierce tightening of your body sent him over the edge. Hot cum poured inside of you, making you cry out at the captivating feeling of being completely filled by him, the Commander’s seed pooling within your pussy. Your snug walls struggled to flutter around the girth of his cock, prolonging your orgasm and leaving you gasping for breath and basking in every dull thump of his cock inside of you.

           He gently let go of your hair, letting your spent body rest against the desk as he caught his breath. He smoothed his hands over your hips, a tinge of regret in his chest as he noticed the dark prints of his fingers etched into your skin. Erwin wasn’t used to letting go, to letting lust overtake him so mercilessly.

           You stirred after a few moments, straightening your back and finding your balance between your legs. Erwin enveloped you in his arms, hand against your cheek as he trailed his lips up your neck, capturing the side of your mouth with a fervent kiss.

          “Are you alright, darling?” Concern laced his tone, hand smoothing over your belly. You shuttered at the gentle touch, your skin cooling from sweat as you leaned back against his chest, cum sticky and crawling down your thighs.

           You still felt lost, like you were waking from the dark depths of slumber, his hands calling you to him. One palm wrapped around your neck, stroking at the column of your throat like he was helping you to find your breath.

          “Yes, yes I’m…,” you couldn’t think of the words to describe just how you felt. It was like you’d finally been cleansed, every grievous thought expunged from your mind, but also like you’d fallen back into the past, back into your daydreams of wishing Erwin would press you against the barracks wall and smothering his name from your mouth.

         “It is yes sir, to you, don’t forget I’m your superior now,” he teased between nips and kisses, a smile brushing against your skin.

         You turned in his arms, pressing your naked chest against his wrinkled shirt, the cotton soft against your breasts. You stood on your toes to try and match his height, molding your lips to his, stealing his grin and making it your own.

          “I could never forget, not with such a display of power,” you affirmed, seriousness apparent on your tongue. You knew he could take anything he wanted from you, and you were more than willing to lay yourself bare for him whenever he pleased.

          You expected there to be a stillness between you, a moment of reflection after such a callous coupling. But Erwin’s hands were greedy, selfish, cupping and kneading at the soft flesh of your ass, of the side of your breast. You were small in his shadow; a miniscule frame being devoured by a starved predator.

          “I want to see just how well you obey orders. Go to my quarters and wait for me, I’m not finished with you yet.”

           Your head nodded accordingly, your knees ready to kneel to the floor and gather your forgotten garments. But Erwin kept his fingers in your flesh, preventing you from moving from his hold when you tried.

           “Ah, I don’t think you need your clothing, not when you’ll just be shedding it again so soon.”

           There was a playful glint in his eyes, his eyebrows thoughtfully pressed together as he tried to gauge your response.

           “Erwin,” his hands cinched around your body, an acute reminder, “sir, I can’t...walk to your room naked.”

           He patted your backside before he sat back into the chair behind his desk, cock tucked neatly back into his pants. There was still a pretty blush tingeing his cheeks, his lips plump and dark pink from all their time spent sucking at your skin. You almost wanted to cover yourself under his scrutinizing gaze, icy irises roaming your body like a piece of art bought and hung on a wall for his viewing pleasure.

           “It’s late, there shouldn’t be anyone to find you,” he relaxed, arms crossing across his chest, “but, if you happen to be unfortunate, remind them that you are under your Commander’s orders.”

           Erwin took a sick delight in watching your eyes narrow at him, your lips pursing in slight irritation; but he knew you wouldn’t dare disobey him, you’d always been too good of a soldier for that, and now a promising plaything.

           He couldn’t help but survey your body as you walked towards the door, delicious curves and marks from his skin on an alluring display, his cum still flowing down your thighs. You’d be a blessed sight to anyone who got the privilege to see you on your journey to his sleeping quarters, a goddess floating down the corridors.

           You looked over your shoulder at him when you opened the door, catching his diligent gaze and matching it. He always thought you’d be amusing to toy with and you’d proven that with how easily you could match his intensity.

           “You shouldn’t be up so late, Commander Smith, nothing good happens after midnight.”

           He hid the smirk behind his hand as you left his office the same as you entered, only bare-skinned and with a new, more suitable destination.

[lilyofthesword-writes]

The Intern (Loki Oneshot)

Summary: Loki takes an interest in the latest of a long line of Stark’s interns.

Pairing: Loki x Reader (Can be read as platonic, if preferred)

Word Count: 2,809

Disclaimers/Warnings: None. Just a bit of fluff.

A/N: This wound up turning into something entirely different from the original concept. Just kinda went with what felt right. Also trying desperately to remember working with an Arduino board to make this at least semi-accurate.

Masterlist

Loki traipsed aimlessly through the Tower, his overly-friendly insomnia having kept him up past four in the morning again. Nothing seemed to help him sleep and he constantly grew bored laying around in his room waiting for exhaustion to overtake him. Wandering about seemed as good as anything. Sometimes he would come across something interesting. It seems now would be that time.

He rounded the corner and found himself gazing through the wall-length windows of Tony Stark’s lab. The armor-less Iron Man was passed out in a chair, head haphazardly lolling on a table. Usually, he was still working and would be until at least seven a.m. before Pepper would literally drag him to bed.

Movement at the other end of the room caught his eye. There you were, pulling a blanket out of the cupboard. You crossed the lab and placed the well-used cloth over Stark’s shoulders before returning to your work. Sliding your safety glasses on, you put all your focus into soldering some wires to a board.

What in the nine realms were you doing here at this hour? The sun hadn’t even reached the horizon yet. None of his previous interns ever started their days before nine. Albeit, they had barely lasted a week while you broke a record at just over a month, but the point still stood. Why were you here?

“Are you just going to stand there like a creeper, Loki, or are you going to come in and hang out?” you called out, not even bothering to tear your eyes away from the wiring.

Well, this excursion could prove to be interesting. Loki slithered through the doorway to stand opposite of you at your table.

“So what are you doing up this early?” you murmured. If it weren’t for you glancing up at him, someone may have thought it was more of a question for yourself.

Loki huffed a laugh. “I could ask you the same question.”

That elicited a quirky smile from you. “Woke up way before my alarm and couldn’t fall back asleep. Figured I’d start my day early.” You gestured toward Stark with the soldering iron. “This one over here is pretty lenient on the hours.”

“I would hope so,” Loki chuckled, “considering his own schedule.”

“A schedule that consists of planned energy drink breaks. Definitely one of the more interesting employers out there.”

“I suppose you could say that,” he mumbled, leaning heavily on his forearms propped on the table.

You set down the soldering iron in its stand and shut if off. “So I answered your question. How about you?”

“I simply could not sleep,” he nonchalantly replied.

“Hmm...” you hummed. “Lemme guess. A member of Insomniacs Anonymous?”

His chuckle reverberated through the room. This was probably one of the reasons Stark kept you around. You certainly had a particular snarky confident air about you.

Yet the corners of your mouth suddenly hung low and your brow scrunched together. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Pardon?” He was confused at your change in demeanor.

“It’s not as simple as you couldn’t sleep. There’s more to it.”

Loki’s lips parted in astonishment. Here you were in your first true encounter with him and you read him like an open book. What had you been told?

“I won’t make you say anything.” You held your hands up in a placating manner. “You probably don’t want to, and that’s okay. However.” You grabbed the notepad next to you and scribbled something on it, ripping off the paper and sliding it towards him. “If you’re ever bored and I’m not here, you can text me. I’ll probably answer.”

He reluctantly took the note that had your number written on it. “I cannot say I am very adept with these cellular devices.”

“Pretty sure you’re clever enough to figure it out,” you grinned like the Cheshire Cat. “But seriously, no pressure. The offer is always out there.”

“Wha?!” Stark snorted himself awake, his eyes shooting around wildly. “Rudolf? What’re you doing here?” He eyed Loki suspiciously. “You’re not going to scare away my intern, are you? That’s my job.”

You laughed, keeping Loki from spitting a venomous retort. “Good luck with that. You’ll have to try a lot harder if that’s what you’re going for, Stark.”

“Obviously. You haven’t run off yet. I’m surprised.” He took the blanket that was wrapped around him and began folding it. “Pleasantly surprised.”

“Sure, sure!” You waved him off.

Stark looked at his watch and swiped a hand through his purposely messy bed head. “It’s that time already. I better get breakfast before Pepper finds me... Alright!” He clapped. “Both of you, let’s go! Time for grub!”

Loki’s eyebrows shot up across his forehead. Was Stark actually having him join the two of you for breakfast?

“Yes, you too, Reindeer Games! One, I don’t want you in the lab alone.” That earned him Loki’s scowl. “Two, you seem to be behaving, so why not have you eat with us.”

You nudged Stark’s arm while shooting Loki an inconspicuous wink. “Awww, look at you! Already getting into Dad Mode and little Morgan hasn’t even entered the world yet.”

He nudged you back. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! Now come on. I’m starving!”

You continued to tease him as you followed him out of the lab with Loki close behind.

Loki lay in bed a few nights later, lost in thought. He could not get you out of his head. You had spoken with him like you would anyone else, deflected and stood up for him despite hardly knowing him. In the few years since he had been thrown to Midgard as punishment, Thor was the only one to show him a sliver of kindness, but even he held some hesitation. You did not. Your earlier interaction was genuine. He wasn’t sure what to make of it all.

In his perpetual deliberation, he had avoided the lab since that morning. Not that he didn’t like you. It was the uncertainty that kept him away, but that wouldn’t last much longer.

His phone settled lax in his hand, your name illuminating the screen. You had been right about him being able to learn how to text. Now it was a matter of completing the action. Tossing the phone to his other hand, he glared at the bright screen. His message had already been written. All he had to do was select “Send”. The clock at the top of the screen read two a.m. Surely, you would be asleep... But what if you weren’t?

With a huff, he pinched his eyes shut and hit the button, the swooshing sound seemingly echoing off the walls. The following silence was deafening. Luckily for him, the reply swoosh fell inline shortly after.

You: Hey, Loki. Can’t sleep?

Loki: How did you know who this was without me saying?

You: I can’t think of anyone else who would text me at this hour. ;)

Loki: I apologize if I woke you.

You: Nah. Already up. Trouble staying asleep. So what’re you up to?

Loki: Texting you.

You: Other than that, Mischief

Loki: Thinking.

You: Yeah? About what?

Loki: Possibly meandering through the Tower, again.

You: Liar ;)

Loki: Pardon?

You: You were obviously thinking about me.

Loki: What makes you say that?

You: You had to be. At least in the context that it would be better to text me than exploring.

Loki: Fair enough. Now, how do you know I am not planning to choose both?

You: You got me there.

—

Loki met you at the lab later that morning. The familiar sight of Stark was passed out, snuggling his face to a countertop, greeted you both.

Shaking your head, you huffed a laugh as you passed through the doorway. “Can’t really reprimand him when my sleep schedule is just as bad.”

Loki’s lips curled into a light smirk but didn’t speak a word lest Stark awaken and force him to leave. Despite your two hour texting session, he had been looking forward to joining you here.

“Thanks for meeting me here, by the way,” you called out to him as still stood just at the edge of the lab. “A little company while working is kind of nice. Gets too quiet when Stark finally shuts down.”

Taking a seat across from you, Loki quirks an eyebrow. “Would that not be considered a blessing?”

You stifled a chuckle as you flipped on the soldering iron and pulled out what roughly looked like a vambrace. The board you had been working on previously was molded to the shape. “If that happened by the end of my workday, yes. This early in the morning? Not so much. It’s boring if not a little eerie.”

“I see... So I am only here for your entertainment,” he feigned offense.

You gasped dramatically, “Me? Never!”

Laughing with you, Loki made himself a bit more comfortable as he watched you work. At the moment, you were adding tiny capacitors and securing them into place.

“If I may, what are you trying to accomplish?”

“Well,” you started, glancing up at him. “It’s a new piece of armor. Other than that, I technically shouldn’t say much else.”

“Right... Classified information?”

There was a twinkle of mischief in your eyes as you looked at him again. “It is a secret, but nothing quite as official as that.”

Loki leaned across the tabletop, supporting his chin in his hand. “So there is no harm in you revealing your project,” he tested.

“Harm? No. However, there will be disappointment on my end if you figure it out.”

“I accept this challenge,” he grinned playfully.

You smirked back,“As you wish, Mischief. I won’t make this easy for you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Darling.”

The next several weeks chaotically blurred together. At first, you allowed Loki to observe your project as you worked on it. Once the vambrace began to take on a more unique form, you were hiding it in the mornings, opting to take on a different assignment when he was in the room. The design was strikingly Asgardian, leading him to believe the new armor was for Thor. He just needed to figure out what it did. He spoke with his brother on multiple occasions but was unable to glean anything from him. Either he had no clue or suddenly learned to lie well enough to fool Loki, the latter highly doubtful.

Apart from politely harassing you via text, Loki took to locating your hiding spots, something that proved difficult when the lab was almost always occupied by you, Stark or Banner at varying times. Stark was helping you keep this little secret, a sparkle in his eyes whenever he shooed Loki from the room when he was caught investigating. Even Banner was in on it, albeit reluctantly.

Then there was that Doctor Strange who was showing up every few days, joining you all in the lab much to Loki’s chagrin. By that point, Stark had banned him from the entire floor. The project must have been coming to a close if you all were trying to cover it up so desperately. But why Strange? Was he imbuing the vambrace with magic to protect Thor better? (Not that he really needed it.) His curiosity was certainly getting the better of him, going so far as to shape-shift as one of you three when Strange wasn’t around to get into the room. Somehow, Friday always knew and alerted the lab’s occupants who would send him back to the elevator.

It was early one morning as he was perusing the contents of the shared kitchen that you initiated contact with him. He was surprised since he had been the one to text you first lately to see if you would spill your secret.

You: Hey. Can you stop by the lab?

Loki: Oh? I thought I was banned.

You: Lifted as of a few minutes ago. So?

Loki: I suppose I might be able to grace you with my presence.

You: So kind of you, my King ;)

His heart skipped a beat at you calling him “your King”. You only used it in a teasing fashion when he was acting high and mighty. Even then, it still flustered him.

Loki made his way to the elevator, deeming it a bit devious to take the long way to the lab. You had made him wait all this time. It was your turn.

The doors reopened on the lab floor, revealing that his ploy to annoy had worked. You were leaned against the wall next to the elevator, waiting for his arrival.

“Finally! Come on!”

You audaciously grabbed his wrist and dragged him into the room with an impatient grin. Stopping him near your normal workstation, you demanded he close his eyes.

“Excuse me?” he responded incredulously, ripping his arm from your grasp.

“Please, Loki...” Your pleading eyes grew larger as you pouted at him.

Stark groaned, “Just do it, Reindeer Games, or I’ll cover them for you.”

Loki’s lips reared into a snarl as he glared at the billionaire before relenting and clenching his eyelids shut. Norns, how he hated those nicknames.

“Okay!” Excitement laced your voice. “Would you hold up your dominant hand?”

“Making more demands, Darling?”

“I did ask nicely this time.”

“That you did,” he chuckled a complied, holding out a hand.

“Perfect!”

He felt a metallic weight placed on his forearm before it was clasped together with a comfortable tightness.

“Okay. You can look now!”

The sight of the vambrace on his arm left Loki’s mouth agape. The main black of the piece was lined with gold Asgardian knot designs with runes placed in a handful of the empty spaces. Near his wrist, an artificial emerald was embedded in the armor. If he had to be completely honest, the aesthetics could rival much of the armor back home.

“Well, Kid. It looks like you rendered him speechless.” Stark nudged your arm.

Loki’s gaze shot up to the two of you. Stark was leaning against the workstation while you had hoisted yourself to sit atop it, nothing but grins on either of your faces.

“What is this-”

You cut him off, “It’s for you. We noticed after some of your missions where you had to use your seiðr more than usual, you’d end up exhausted before getting back to the Quinjet. The new armor should help with that. It’s supposed to amplify your magic without draining you.”

Stark shoved you lightheartedly, again. “The kid noticed. Told ‘em if they could come up with something that could work, I’d give whatever resources needed for the project.”

“So what do you think? I mean we still need to undergo more testing and calibrations before you can use it in the field, but-”

“You made this?” Loki locked barely tearing eyes with you. “For me?”

“Yup! Kid designed the whole thing!” Stark kept you from answering. “Minus the bits we had to bring Strange in for the wizard-y things, this was a solo run. Did a pretty good job. Not sure I could have done much better.”

“Stark...” you grumbled, clearly not used to the praise.

“This is...” Loki tore his gaze away back to the vambrace. “I don’t... I don’t know what to say.” His voice was just loud enough for you to hear.

“A ‘thank you’ would be a good start. Now maybe this little intern will get more sleep,” Stark blundered before checking his watch. “Well, it’s about time for my morning scolding. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me!”

With that he whisked himself out of the room and to the elevator, leaving you and Loki in a terribly awkward silence.

“Hey...” you started. “If you don’t like it, we can scrap the design. It’s not a big deal-”

“Thank you.” His pupils were filled with a sincere gratefulness that few had ever seen before. “This is... This is simply splendid.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

Loki spun on his heel to fully face you, his hands coming to rest on the countertop on either side of you. “I mean it, Darling. This... No one has ever done something like this for me before. I would be honored to be your test subject,” he ended with a smirk.

“Well, if that’s the case,” you grinned right back at him, “I’d say let’s get some breakfast first. There will be plenty of time to optimize the vambrace later.”

Pulling back enough to release you from his cage of arms, he gestured for you to lead the way. “After you,” he breathed.

Hopping down from the table, you held out a hand for him. Hesitantly, Loki took it while running a thumb over your knuckles as you pulled him to the elevator with you.

[ohheyitsokay]

safe

part 9 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series

pairing: Francisco (Frankie, Catfish) Morales x reader

wordcount: 2.3k

warnings: none, lots of kissing 

summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball AU! Trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.

In this chapter, you discover how truly committed you are to a man you’ve only been on one real date with.

notes: just a head’s up, next week will be the last chapter of this series! I’ll give a proper thank-you then, but I also have a couple (at least three) one-shots in the universe because I... want to. hope that’s okay!

<<

When you were younger and you attended the baseball games under the summer heat with James, you spent more time watching the people in the crowd than the players. Vague knowledge of the rules and even your grandfather’s enthusiasm weren’t nearly enough to keep you interested during the long stretches of advertisements. Now, the moments when Santi was getting strike after strike were exhilarating instead of boring and you grinned with pride, like it was personal each time the ball found it’s home in Frankie’s glove.

This season had been a whirlwind as you began to appreciate the game because of the players, and you didn’t think you had any more room for excitement.

That was, until Francisco’s mother decided she wanted to attend with you and James.

The sweet catcher hadn’t even had time to apologize and offer an alternative before your grandfather stepped in, and the rest was history. You didn’t mind, of course you didn’t, how could you? It was strange, spending time with her so early in the relationship but it made you happy that she was so excited about you. The two of them hung on your elbows, and you laughed at how awkward it made walking through the narrow gap to your seats.

From somewhere in her bag, she produced an entire tupperware of homemade pan dulce, sugar filling the grooves on the bottom, and you settled in. You were fairly sure that wasn’t allowed but you were helpless against her sweet, determined face so it only made sense security would be too.

It wasn’t work, talking to her, she felt like an auntie or a friend’s friend – someone you half already knew, and who certainly knew you. She filled the silence with stories and questions and only heard the first half of your answer before excitedly pointing at her son and his friends on the field. It felt like you were at a kids baseball game, how she clicked her tongue and freely gave them advice as if they could hear her.

At some point, Will stole second base and her and James began a conversation around you. She called them niños and matched your grandfather in her personalized affection for them. You wondered if you should feel guilty for your lingering eyes on the son of the woman next to you, but she half encouraged it, telling you he got his legs from his padre.

When the opposing team was up a point, she muttered pobrecitos and grabbed your hand and prayed for Benny’s next hit.

You caught pieces of Frankie, in her. Or more accurately, you realized what parts of her he had grown into, and learned about his younger self from her eyes and her tone and her smile. Your poor grandfather was probably exhausted but you drank it in.

“Francisco was saving all his money from his work for the neighbors – his team was taking him to watch a game at this very stadium!” Without even looking she handed you a pastry, shaking sugar onto your lap until you took it. “But then his escuela collected donations for the orphanage. I told him, you know? I told him if he gave all his money I couldn’t help him, he wouldn’t get anything from the stadium.”

Her eyes were warm in yours and she squeezed your arm, trying to communicate her pride. “Mi frijol gave it all! And he did not even complain, not even once!” You smiled at her, trying to answer however you could that you understood. Maybe not completely but you saw how much he cared about other people, how hard he tried.

Around the eighth inning, she quieted, smiling gratefully when you produced an extra water bottle. Her hand was soft and maternal as it rubbed your shoulder, a foreign but pleasant feeling.

“His hermana tests him all the time,” she murmured, and you nodded cautiously. When she resolutely added, “You give him strength, hija,” you almost cried right there in the stands.

You settled for covering her hand with yours and squeezing back.

When they won, no one cheered louder, no one was prouder, but you and James gave it your best shot.

-

“So,” Frankie looked at you, his big brown eyes full of questions. Alone, you couldn’t resist him, much more when the rest of them matched his gaze.

You were all at Tom’s rental, unexpectedly. He didn’t tell anyone, but he had burst into Molly’s office, only to find it empty. It had bothered him, and when he was bothered, he took extra effort to pretend that he was not. The new opportunity to spend post-game evenings with decks of cards and childish snacks had already become the highlight to his friends, so he figured he could do that. Just a little bigger, a little better. And it’s not like any of you had enough information to say no.

The elders had long since gone home, and now they all wanted to know what secrets his mother had spilled about them.

You laughed at their faces, feeling a little devious with the power. Before giving anything up, you stuck your tongue out at Santi and meandered to the kitchen, feeling them watch you as your filled your champagne flute with apple juice.

“She didn’t say anything,” you said with exaggerated elegance, lounging against an unnecessary column.

The act broke when you had to dodge a pillow.

“Okay, okay,” you held up your free hand in surrender. You looked at your catcher with a wink before grinning almost maliciously at Santiago. “She told me she had to bring Santi socks twice last season, and one time she saw Benny eat a hot dog off the ground.”

They erupted in teasing and you waited for it to quiet a moment before you added, “And she shared that Tom,” you drew out his name for extra emphasis, “Goes to the same hairdresser as her, and she once threatened to dye Will’s pants pink for calling her ma’am one too many times.” The men were howling with laughter like they hadn’t since college, shoving each other and half tackling one another, shouting their defenses and stories alike.

When Frankie extracted himself he found you curled on the armrest of the couch, watching with amusement. His hair was messed up and his eyes crinkled in the corners. “What did she say about me?” he asked under the noise and he settled next to you, trying to be confidant as he wrapped his arm around you shoulders.

He liked that he could feel your shrug.

“That you’re practically perfect in every way,” you relaxed into him and it felt so natural he could hardly imagine it wasn’t always like this.

-

Francisco was spending his day off with his family, doing some projects around the home, but so it surprised you when your phone rang.

It surprised you even more that it was Benny, inviting you to lunch. Just to talk, I’m not being weird, he said, backpedaling when you teased him about being a little late to ask you on a date. Is that okay? He seemed just a little bit nervous, which made you laugh. Of course, you were more than happy to.

The longer you knew him, the more you understood why they all treated him like a little brother.

He was already at the restaurant – Thai food, his choice – as friendly and kind as the first time you had met him. Unlike then, you weren't even a little bit nervous sitting across from him, despite the glares of the women at an adjacent talking the two of you were still new friends, so it wasn’t quite effortless, by the made up for it with his genuine enthusiasm.

If he had something on his mind, he didn’t get to it right away, the first half of your lunch hour spent talking about you. For how loud his personality seemed sometimes, he was well spike and well mannered, and curious about almost everything. You checked the time, before finally asking if everything was okay with him, and the shortstop ran his fingers through his hair, looking past away.

His foot tapped on the rug, and you used your chopsticks to push your remaining food into a small mound in the middle of your plate.

“I’m paying, by the way,” you looked up, back into his eyes, your own eyebrows drawing together to shake your head.

“I owe you,” he defended himself before you could voice your dissent, and when he added, “for looking out for me,” you softened.

“Relationships aren’t transactional, Benjamin.” It was a gentle scold, true, but relenting.

Broad shoulders shrugged.

“Think of it as a thank you,” he said, and you let him talk. For all that his brother and the guys worried over him, he wasn’t as young and naïve as they thought of him. His eyes and ears were sharp and it’s not like he hadn’t heard the stories, seen what they were protecting him from.

“You help us look after each other,” it was almost like he rehearsed it, and his blue eyes confirmed he had been meaning to say this to you for awhile.

“And you look after me.” That nervousness from before came back, and you wondered if he still hadn’t quite gotten to the part he was meaning to say. Ben launched into a story in between flagging down the waiter and you let him pay, but even when the receipt came, he didn’t stand.

The story stuttered to a halt and you rested your chin in your palm.

“Will and Frankie have been talking about Tom – saying he’s been off.” It was abrupt, and you waited. He was restless, his habit of changing the topic becoming even more prominent. Both of you knew what he meant.

It was messy, hard, existing with them.

“Would you… will you stay?”

There was a burst of warmth in your chest, a wave of affection as if he confessed outright how much you mattered to them.

You stood, smiling and offering your hand, as if he needed help standing.

“Yeah, Ben, what are friends for?”

He looked so relieved that you hugged him. Although, you suspected he would’ve hugged you regardless, if you had given him a moment.

-

After work you had a voicemail and a text from your… from Francisco, and you drove over to his place. Walking up the stairs in the cooling evening air felt strange, like it was humming with potential.

He greeted you with slow kisses, his rough hands wandering your skin and clothes like he was still grasping that you were real. If you could’ve thought, you might’ve wondered why he called you over or looked around his apartment but it didn’t matter because all you could think of what him. The gentle scrape of the hairs on his face over your cheek, your neck, the needy pull of his fingers as he curled his fists into your outer layer.

His mouth, moving in ways you’d thought you’d never quite felt before, leaving you breathless.

It didn’t escalate, neither of you pushing for more, but when he finally moved away, he was pulling you onto the couch and under his arm.

“Hi,” he said, looking flushed and happy, despite the flash of anxiety in his eyes.

“Hi,” you figured you mirrored him, and you let out a rough cough of laughter.

Francisco joined, and your head found a rest on his shoulder, cheek squishing from the closeness. The tips of his fingers wandered over your skin, and it felt like a habit years in the making, to catch up with him about his day, his family. A stretch of silence followed, and your realized he was tired.

“I should probably make you dinner or something,” he whispered, almost to himself, dark eyebrows drawing together. Suddenly you felt shy, aching because you should’ve brought something, should cook or… he was the one who had a long day, but this was his home.

You had memorized the feeling of his hairs on your waist, and yet you didn’t know if he would be okay with you cooking in his home. Actually, you didn’t even know anything about his home.

Looking around, you compromised.

“I’m good, Frankie, I had a big lunch,” taking in the simple furniture and quickly cleaned surfaces, you didn’t notice his head tilt, shoulders rising slightly with tension until you looked back at him. The sweet man had realized he hadn’t heard about that part of your day yet but he didn’t want to pry.

“Benny got me thai food,” you offered, which only increased his distress. Your hand slipped into his as you explained.

“I think he’s just scared I’m not going to stick around,” you sighed, hoping he felt like that was as unlike as you did.

Against your head, you felt him nod, but he didn’t say anything for a moment.

“He’s right, though,” his voice seemed higher, as shy as you’d been a moment ago. “Things with us, with me are… a lot.”

As he always did, he was asking you more than you said, and you wanted to honor it so you though, really thought about what you were getting yourself into.

“Frankie, you told me you wanted me to be a part of your life,” you kissed the corner of his mouth, which pulled as he smiled hopefully. “I want that too, if you’ll be part of mine.”

A little rougher than they’d been before his hands tugged you into him, a solid kiss. No questions were buried in the touch, and it made you feel like you were floating.

Long moments later, you laughed a little, too warm to feel shy.

“Does this make me your novia?”

You weren't sure if the color on his cheeks was warming because of embarrassment that you caught the word in his mother’s talk, or because he hadn’t actually asked yet.

“Yeah,” a final kiss, on your forehead sealed the deal.

And when you moved away, it was to explore his kitchen for something to cook for the both of you.

<<

translations:

pan dulce: pastries

niños: boys

padre: father

pobrecitos: poor babies

escuela: school

mi frijol: my bean

hermana: sister

>>

hija: daughter

novia: girlfriend

taglist:

@fangirl-316 @scribbledghost @writeforfandoms @beautyagegoodnesssize @princess76179 @mrsbentallmadge

hey batter batter taglist:

@icanbeyourjedi @studyofawearymind @hnt-escape @athalien @the-witty-pen-name @daffodin @sarahjkl82-blog @pintsizemama @anaaaispunk @pjkimrn @dobbyjen @stuckontheceiling

edit: take 3 having tumblr save the taglist on this thing

[asweetprologue]

me lámh le do lámh - Part X (epilogue)

First | Previous | Masterpost

“Do you think,” Jaskier said, “that Yennefer is going to be really, truly unbearable about this?”

Geralt turned to look at him. They were on the Path back to Kaer Morhen, probably a few more days out, by his mark. Roach was meandering ahead, so used to the trek that she probably could have made it without him. The air held a sharp bite to it that promised colder days ahead, but for now the sun still shone merrily above them, keeping the frosts at bay. They had begun heading north well before the chill had truly begun to set in, both ready for the comfort of warm lodgings and old friends. Geralt smiled, thinking about seeing Ciri again soon.

Triss had no doubt told Yennefer that Geralt planned to marry the bard to grant him greater longevity, but they’d not yet told anyone that they were actually married now. Geralt could feel his own golden ring bumping against his chest, nestled next to his medallion. Jaskier’s was hidden under layers of fur and leather, Geralt having bullied him into wearing gloves now that they were in cooler climes.

He thought about Jaskier’s question for a moment. “Yes,” he finally settled on. “But she’ll be pleased, too.”

Jaskier knocked their shoulders together as they walked, reaching out to take Geralt’s hand in his bulky gloved one. He had begun doing that a lot lately—just holding Geralt’s hand, or sitting against his side when they stopped to rest. Always touching, even more so than before. It never failed to make a slow, pleased warmth spread through Geralt’s chest. It was a good thing he couldn’t blush, or this winter would be a nightmare of teasing.

As if it wasn’t going to be already.

“I admit I’m a bit worried she’ll turn me into an eel or something.” Jaskier pulled them to a stop as they rounded a bend on the mountain path. The valley spread out below them, the golden fields and dense reds and oranges of the forest winking up at them. “I’ve never been up when there were still leaves on the trees,” Jaskier said, gripping Geralt’s hand tighter. “It’s beautiful.”

Geralt kept his eyes on Jaskier, smiling fondly. “Hmm,” he said by way of agreement.

Jaskier glanced at him, and then rolled his eyes, though he was smiling as a blush spilled across his cheeks. “Oh, stop. You’re incorrigible.”

Geralt shifted closer, until he was smiling into Jaskier’s flushed skin. “Mm. I have it on good authority that you don’t mind.” He nosed at Jaskier’s hair. It was deep brown again, no grey in sight, and the skin around his eyes was unmarred by wrinkles. They might return one day, Geralt knew, but no time soon. His own wrinkles had grown a bit deeper, his bad knee a little more twingy, his reflexes a bit slower. Jaskier had been concerned the first week, as Geralt adjusted to the sudden onset of more human physiology.

It was worth it. Jaskier was here with him, and Geralt couldn’t regret a little stiffness in his joints if it meant he got to have this.

Jaskier turned his head until he could press their lips together briefly, pulling away with another smile, cheeks still flaming. “We should keep going,” he said. “Roach is starting to lose us.”

It was true; Roach had continued on heedless of their pause, clearly disinterested in her master’s preoccupation. Geralt laughed, feeling lighter than he had since he’d first laid eyes on Ciri in those woods. “Wouldn’t want to get shown up by a horse,” he agreed, turning back towards the path. Jaskier stayed close to his side the rest of the day.

*

Yennefer, as it turned out, was not the one they needed to be concerned about.

“I knew it!” Ciri crowed, clinging to Geralt’s shoulders. As soon as they’d walked through the front gates she’d launched herself into his arms. “You were so mopey when he wasn’t around.”

Jaskier snickered beside him. Their good mood was infectious, and Geralt found himself smiling as he lowered Ciri back to the ground. “Don’t say it,” he warned Ciri in good humor. “He doesn’t need the ego boost.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jaskier drawled, giving Ciri a wink. “You’ve already told me you loved me six times since this morning. A fellow might start to get ideas.”

Geralt squinted at him. “Have you been counting?”

“Yuck,” Ciri said with relish. Behind them, Yennefer made a shockingly childish gagging sound.

Jaskier flushed up to his hairline, though he still seemed pleased with himself. Geralt watched the color progress with interest.

“Well, I’m glad neither of you died in this frankly suicidal endeavour.” Yennefer stepped forward to join their small circle. She was as stunning as ever, her dark hair pinned away from her face to expose the long line of her neck. “The others were taking bets.”

Geralt sighed, wishing he could be more surprised. “So they all know?”

“Triss won the pot,” Yennefer informed him gleefully. “Though they don’t know that yet. The rest of us were less confident in your collective capacity for forthright communication.”

“Are you going to have a real wedding?” Ciri demanded, hands coming up to rest on her hips. “It’s not fair that we all had to miss it. I didn’t even get to make your crowns!”

“We didn’t wear any,” Geralt assured her. Jaskier had turned to look at him, radiating excitement. Geralt avoided his gaze. “We’ll think about it,” he hedged, and felt Jaskier’s hand reach out to squeeze his briefly.

Ciri hissed in victory regardless. She snagged Jaskier’s free hand in her own, tugging lightly. “You have to tell me everything.”

Jaskier grinned at her, and the warmth that filled Geralt’s chest at the sight of the two of them threatened to overwhelm him. “Well you know our witcher of few words will do it no justice,” Jaskier agreed, and Geralt’s huff was lost under the sound of their laughter.

*

Later, after they’d received wry congratulations from Vesemir, after Jaskier had regaled the others with a hilarious retelling of their strange coming together, after they’d sent Ciri off to bed and retired to their own room—just one now—Jaskier spoke.

“We don’t have to,” he murmured, pressing the words into Geralt’s neck. They weren’t really trying to sleep, but they were both too tired for anything more strenuous. Instead they lay tangled together under the quilts, skin to skin. Jaskier’s head was tucked under Geralt’s jaw, and he amused himself by drawing ambling patterns along Jaskier’s back. It had become his favorite way to pass the time. He felt drunk off of it every time, hazy with comfort and affection.

He hummed, taking a moment to process Jaskier’s words. The soft kiss Jaskier pressed to his shoulder didn’t help. “What do you mean?” he rumbled, enjoying the way it made Jaskier shiver against him.

“The whole wedding thing,” Jaskier said. “I know Ciri seemed excited, but—I don’t know if you would want to reenact all that in front of everyone. We don’t need to.” He brought his free hand up to trace a finger along the ring that rested in the hollow of Geralt’s throat. “This is enough for me.”

“I know,” Geralt smiled, shifting slightly so he could meet Jaskier’s eyes. “But you want to.”

Jaskier wriggled uncomfortably, flushing. He did that a lot nowadays; Geralt was hopelessly enamored with it. With him. “You know me,” Jaskier shrugged, half explanation, half apology.

“Hey,” Geralt said, capturing Jaskier’s chin so that he could press a chaste kiss to his lips. The tension melted out of him immediately, gratifying. “Anything you want, remember? I don’t mind. I’ll marry you as many times as you want me to.”

Jaskier beamed then, and their next kiss was sloppy with it. Geralt couldn’t remember being so happy in his entire life. “Don’t say that,” Jaskier warned with a grin, joy bubbling up underneath his words. “We’ve got decades and decades now. I’m probably going to want you to marry me a lot. Any way I can think of.”

They had time. He would propose to Jaskier in a hundred different ways, court him with gifts and sweet words, bind him with foreign phrases and silver rings and anything else he could think of. It didn’t matter; they were already one heart. But he wanted it, wanted to see Jaskier’s surprise and joy over and over. “Let’s start with this one,” he said thickly, brushing Jaskier’s hair away from his face tenderly. “I love you. Will you marry me?”

Jaskier laughed as he answered, “Yes, I love you too, yes,” and Geralt knew it was only the beginning.

~

and that’s a wrap! thank you so much to everyone who followed along and everyone who helped me finish this thing. if you missed them before, @herostag and @silvertonguelover created the art for this series, so go check them out! i hope you all enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!

tags: @whereismymonsterlover

[crimsonrae]

Oh, I am excited then! May I please request a Captain Syverson or Clark Kent/Femme! Reader oneshot where it's the reader's birthday, but she doesn't tell Sy/Clark because she doesn't celebrate/forgets and they find out and do something for her? Maybe a surprise dinner or something? Thank you so much, darling!!

Hey Nonnie,

As requested a birthday fic with Mr. Kent. Fluff fic - I hope you like it.

Clark KentxReader

Falling, Flying

Happy Birthday!

You sighed wearily as you eyed the balloon decorated card from the florist. A beautifully arranged bouquet of sunflowers and chrysanthemums rested on your desk. Admittedly, the amber and wine tones were striking and brought a brightness to your office that was usually lacking, but it was also like having a bright neon sign to remind you of a day that you usually wanted to ignore.

This was the problem with having with life-long friends... they liked to torture you.

You chucked the card into your trash and moved the flowers to the window. You’d text Maria later to call her an asshole and thank her for the little gift.  

“Hey, nice flowers.”

Your butt had barely touched your desk chair. Biting back another sigh, you glanced up to see Lombard loitering in your doorway, “Thanks... Did you have that election article for me?”

“Y/N, it’s all work and no play with you.” Lombard complained loftily as he leaned against the threshold.

You shook your head, ignoring him as you logged into your computer. Your fingers clacked hard at the keyboard when he didn’t disappear nor answer your question. He stood like a creepy grotesque and it only took another minute of stunted silence before you broke.

“Lombard, what do you want?” He grinned victoriously while you threw a mocking scowl at him, “Article?”

He sauntered forward and dropped into the chair before your desk, “So, what are the flowers for? Did Smallville screw up? Apology flowers? Or an anniversary? Don’t let Lois see if it’s the second, cuzzz I don’t think it’s been quite a year since they’ve broken up.”

You rolled your eyes and grumbled under your breath about reporters. Never mind that you used to work as one, editing was more in your comfort zone anyway. You and Clark had only managed to date for two weeks before the office found out.  

Bloodhounds – every single one of them.  

Including your boy.

“You should work for a gossip rag, Steve. You’d really shine there.” You stated dryly, focusing back on the screen as a few new articles showed in your inbox. It was going to be a busy day of fact-checking and proofreading.

“Oh, don’t be mean. I’m just taking a healthy interest in my colleague’s life.” A smugly amused smirk crossed his lips before a pen came flying at his face, “Hey!”

Unapologetic, you pointed at the door “Get out of my office and get your article done.”  

He moved to protest or retort, you weren’t sure, as a new voice interrupted.

“Harassing my girl again, Lombard.”

A feeling of déjà vu fell over you as you and Lombard looked to your door to see Clark leaning in the threshold. You smiled faintly at him becoming amused as Lombard actually shifted to stand. As nice as Clark was, Lombard was well aware that his arms were the size of his head. He felt it better for his ego if he never stood to close to the other reporter...or pissed him off.

And yet...

“Nice choice of flowers, Smallville. So, what did you do?” The smaller man queried jovially.

You threw another pen at him as Clark zeroed in on your present and frowned. He tilted his head curiously and came over to have a better look, allowing Lombard a direct escape if he wanted, “Those aren’t from me.”

You could practically feel a whole new level of intrigue pour from Lombard at Clark’s words. You sent the nosy reported a pointed glare and lifted a pen threateningly. He finally took the hint and left as you spun your chair to face your boyfriend.

You couldn’t stop a cheeky smile as he arched a brow at you, “Yeah...I’ve been meaning to tell you – I've been seeing other guys. You’re gonna need to step up your game, farm boy.”

Clark snorted and slanted a mockingly stern gaze at you through his glasses. You still couldn’t decide if you liked him better with or without the frames, but the meandering thought flew from your head as he nudged your legs apart with his knee and leaned into you. You spared a quick glance towards your open door before meeting him halfway for a kiss.

A soft warmth enveloped you as he nipped your lip and gently coaxed your mouth to open. He stole your breath as he delved deeper and you tasted each other thoroughly. Somehow, you always forgot how good a kisser he was.... it was almost unfair. Especially when he pulled away with that knowing glint in his eye that made you want to smack him and climb him like a tree all at once.  

He smirked, “Somehow, I’m not worried.”

“You don’t play fair.” You grumbled though an affectionate smile pulled at the edges of your lips.

“Says the woman who’s receiving flowers from someone other than her boyfriend.” Clark drawled pointedly as he leaned against your desk.

Unwillingly, you glance at your flowery neon sign. You had no desire to share the real reason for the bouquet. Your birthday had never been a particularly good day for you and the only good ones that you had celebrated had been when you were alone.  

A cup of tea and a good book to read as you let the day pass you by and ignored the fact that you were another year older... that was your perfection.

You sighed and shrugged, “They’re from Maria, so no need to be jealous.”

His brow furrowed. He had only met Maria a few times and was still trying to wrap his head around the friendship you two shared. Insults, practical jokes, and a fair bit of clothes thievery made up the majority of your relationship.

“You guys aren’t in a prank war again, are you?” Clark asked leerily.

He had been the unintended victim of a couple of your pranks the last month and you couldn’t help, but smirk at the memory.  

You shook your head, a lie spilling from your lips before you could stop it, “No. I think I need to check my closet for those new Jimmy Choo's I bought. They’re probably gone now.”

Clark rolled his eyes, “I really don’t understand you two.”

“You don’t need to.” You replied calmly but made the mental note to check your closet anyway. You never knew with Maria.  

“Y/N! Stop canoodling your boyfriend! You’ve got papers on the printer.”

A low groan left your lips as a faint heat filled your cheeks at Lombard’s voice, but you moved to get up anyway. You had no desire to have him hover in your office again.  

Clark moved to follow before a colorful glint caught his eye. A quick check showed him that you were already out of the office as he reached down to pull the florist’s card from the trash. A deep frown marred his features as he took in the festive balloons and quickly scrawled birthday wish.

Why wouldn’t you tell him it was your birthday?

He quickly nabbed Maria’s number from your phone and disappeared from your office.

  ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

Your eyes had begun to sting as you stared at your computer screen. A small headache forming at the base of your neck, as you continued to work. You hadn’t been wrong when you assessed that today was going to be busy.

Five more articles had appeared on your desk before lunch and about a dozen phone calls placed and taken before and after that – notes were scribbled into margins and glaring errors corrected. So far, you had only been able to toss back a couple pieces and it was well after six already. Tiredly, you rubbed at the bridge of your nose, more than ready to go home and collapse into bed...but there was still so much you needed to do.

“Hey, you about ready to go?”  

You started at the sound of Clark’s voice, nearly sending your keyboard skittering to the floor, “Christ! I swear you need a damn bell.”

He chuckled lowly, watching as you clutched at your chest and glared mildly at him. He came to stand next to your desk, noting that you hadn’t even begun to shut down for the night while his shoulder bag was already tucked under his arm, ready to call it quits, “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. Grab your stuff, I’m taking you to dinner.”

A rueful smile quirked at your lips as you wave him off, “Raincheck, babe. I need to get this done or Perry’s gonna have a fit.”

He frowned glancing over the mess of papers on your desk. He hadn’t planned for you to still be working and almost wondered if you had taken on extra articles on purpose, “How much more do you have to do?”

“Don’t know. Maybe another hour – two tops.” You shrugged and smiled softly at him, “You’re free to roam the skies, Captain.

Clark raised an incredulous brow. Not because you had alluded to his alter-ego, you had known for a few months now and had slowly been coming to terms with the fact that your boyfriend was a superhero. It was a road that had not been easily traveled by any means. No, his disbelief came from now being certain that you had taken on extra articles.  

You didn’t often seek solitude, but when you did it was by diving into your work... he had learned that particular quirk relatively quickly and almost painfully. But not tonight – tonight you and he had plans and he wasn’t about to let you break them.

He reached over your shoulder and hit a couple buttons on your keyboard to send your computer into hibernation. You stared in shock at his gall, “Clark!”

He was already grabbing your coat, “Dinner, let’s go.”

Your gaze swiveled from the computer to him, your headache becoming full-blown as your expression creased into annoyance, “I told you, I have work. I’m sorry if that ruins your plans, but we’ll just -”

“You didn’t have lunch.” He cut you off and crossed his arms with a mild glare of his own, “You’ve been mainlining coffee like there’s about to be a tariff placed on it. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that all you ate today was a bagel from Guillermo’s. And I know for a fact that no one has a deadline that needs to be met today or tomorrow. Dinner. Now. Don’t think I won’t drag you out of here.”

You glare at each other in a silent standoff. It wasn’t until he stepped toward you that you gave in with a heavy scowl, “What are you? My mother?”  

“A concerned boyfriend.” He retorted as he held out your coat.

You accepted it grudgingly and grabbed your purse before stepping out of the office. Clark followed behind you, not wanting to give you a chance to close the door on him. You had done it before.  

He watched you from the corner of his cerulean eyes. Your annoyance didn’t last long, but a deep weariness seemed to fall over you as the two of you left the Planet. He slid a warm comforting hand across the small of your back to grip lightly at your hip. Relief flowing through him as you leaned into his side. You weren’t too annoyed with him, then.

You made it down an entire block before you realized you didn’t know where you were heading. Both of your apartments were in the other direction and any decent restaurant required calling for a cab to get to...

You blinked in confusion, “Clark...where?”

He smiled wondering when you would ask. Glancing around discreetly, he pulled you into an alley and firmly against his body. Your brow rose, a questioned poised on the tip of your tongue that turned into a startled scream as you suddenly found yourself in the air.

Your arms wrapped around his neck like a lock as you buried your face into his shoulder. Muffled curses and small whimpers spilled from your throat as the two of you flew. Even when he slowed, now safely away from prying eyes and telescopes, you refused to look up.  

“You can relax. I won’t drop you.” He murmured into your ear, feeling mildly guilty for scaring you. He could feel you trembling and knew it wasn’t from the cold air.

A muffled curse was his only response as you gripped tighter. You did not like this.

Luckily, you were soon on the ground again, though it took you a few minutes to remember how to unlock your frozen limbs. Your heart pounded in your chest as you swallowed against a noxious turn of your stomach. You couldn’t stop shaking...

Clark rubbed soothingly at your arms as you tried to find some semblance of control over your body. Your eyes slowly opened into a dark glare, your hand already moving to smack him in the chest. It was infuriating to know that it wouldn’t hurt him, “Don’t ever do that again, you jackass.”  

His eyes widen in a way that reminded you of a scolded puppy, but you refused to bend and stumbled back a step. You turned intending to see where exactly he had dropped you and figure out how to get home but froze at the sight you found.

Twinkle lights shimmered in the burgeoning night sky as they danced about the branches of an old willow tree. A small wooden table set for two was guarded by the fluttering leaves while being showcased by the light. It was startlingly quaint and romantic all in one.

Martha smiled as she placed a covered dish in the center of the table and waved at the two of you. You were on the farm...  

“Happy Birthday,” Clark murmured behind you.

Your mouth moved silently before you turned confused eyes on him, “...How?”

“I saw the card in your trash can. Called Maria... then I called mom.” Clark explained casually as if he were talking about the weather.

Stunned all you could do was blink, even as Martha came up to greet the two of you.  

She wrapped you in a quick hug, “Happy Birthday, dear.”

Then turned to place a kiss to her son’s cheek before shooing you towards the table, “Go, eat before it gets cold. I need to finish your cake.”

Cake. The word jolted you back to reality, “Oh Martha - you didn’t need to go through all this trouble.”

“Nonsense.” She called back, already halfway back to the house.  

Distracted, Clark slipped his hand into yours and gently tugged you towards the table. Smells of garlic and tomato and cheese wafted toward you and your mouth began to water. Sheer wonder filled you as Clark pulled your chair out for you and then moved to uncover the dish Martha had left. Steam rose into the air as he revealed a freshly baked lasagna. Salad and garlic bread next to it.

Your throat constricted as you took in the care that had gone into this... A home cook meal shouldn’t bring you to tears, but you felt the sting at the corners of your eyes.  

“Y/N?” Clark called quietly. Worried that he may have overstepped his bounds with this surprise.

Your heart felt too big for your chest as you met his gaze. It was with tremulous movements that you left your seat to place a grateful kiss to his lips, “Thank you...I didn’t...You didn’t need...”

You couldn’t find the words to express just how overwhelmed you were feeling as you fell back to your seat, but not letting go of his hand.

Clark watched you with a soft smile, “I think it's my right to spoil my girlfriend on her birthday, though it would help if I had known sooner.”  

A stray tear spilled down your cheek as you shook your head, knowing that you would have to explain your distaste for this day...but you also didn’t want to dwell on those thoughts, “I didn’t expect you to...Clark -”

He squeezed your hand as if he already knew, “Tell me later, I have more spoiling to do.”

You huffed a laugh and shyly smiled, “You know Clark Kent, you really know how to make a girl fall.”

He grinned widely, “And to think you hate flying.”

“You’re still not fully forgiven for that... but I think I’ll get over it.” You murmured, joy burning your veins as his expression turned relieved.

He pressed a kiss to your joined hands.

It was the first birthday you could say that you truly enjoyed. Over a plate of hot lasagna in the late summer night as crickets chirped and frogs sang and with a man... a man who looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. That was the only present you ever needed.

  ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

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[theladyofdeath]

The Ranch {6}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

A/N: The fact that you all love this so much makes me so happy - bc it’s my favorite thing shelb and i have EVER written. Let us know what you think! x

The Ranch Masterlist

When Nesta received Feyre’s texts to go out for drinks, rather than coffee, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t hesitate for a minute. But she and Feyre really had made progress during their family dinner, enough that she’d even hugged Nesta on the way out. So she’d replied that drinks sounded great, and Feyre sent her an address and a time.

Now, as Nesta got out of her car, she scanned the surroundings of the small dive bar she was at. She didn’t recognize a single vehicle, but knew that wasn’t likely. The air was thick, so close to the Sidra, but the breeze cooled whatever heat was present before it could settle on her skin.

She felt ridiculous for being nervous, but she couldn’t control herself. Those nerves crept into the pit of her stomach, making her rethink everything as she slowly stepped toward the entrance. The door creaked as she pulled it open, and music had been blaring before she’d even stepped inside.

Spotting Feyre, seated at the bar, right away, Nesta pushed through the small crowd of people. Planting herself on the barstool right next to her littlest sister, Nesta called for a drink.

Feyre grinned, then said above the music, “I’m glad you found it! I assume you’ve never been here.”

She was right, Nesta hadn’t, but it definitely had a certain charm to it. “It’s cute!”

Feyre gestured behind Nesta, to where the music was coming from. “I come for the entertainment!” 

Nesta looked over her shoulder and found herself surprised, although she probably shouldn’t have been. Feyre had mentioned that Rhysand was a musician, which is who owned the soothing, melodic voice that filled the bar. What really surprised Nesta, though, was the guitar player behind Rhysand, strumming away.

Cassian had already spotted Nesta, and he was watching her with narrowed, amused hazel eyes.

“I didn’t know Cassian played guitar,” Nesta said, turning back to her sister. 

“I think there’s a lot of things you don’t know about him that will surprise you,” Feyre said, a secret smile on her face.

Nesta wanted to turn back around to look at the man strumming the guitar on stage, but she wouldn’t let herself. She was in awe of him, every time she turned around he was doing something else extraordinary.

Nesta sipped the glass that the bartender set down in front of her and asked, “Is Az hiding somewhere up there, too?”

Feyre chuckled and said, “No, Azriel plays a different type of music.” When Nesta looked at her with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Nesta groaned. “What is up with you all and secrets?” 

Feyre shrugged and put her bottle to her mouth, but it was so utterly obvious how amused she was - how amused they all were - with their little secrets. 

“How have things been between you two?” Feyre asked. “Since the other night.”

Nesta didn’t have to ask who the other half of you two was. But, she had nothing to hide. Everything had been simple since Nesta apologized...and completely freaked out in front of Cassian the few nights before. They had been polite toward one another, had made conversation and joked around when they crossed paths. And, the morning before, Nesta had a mini lesson in ranching from the rancher himself. If she was going to be around for a while, she may as well pick up on a few basic things so she could help out when possible.

“It’s been good,” she answered, finally.

Feyre raised a perfectly sculpted brow as she set her bottle back on the bar top. “That’s all I get? It’s been good? Last time I was creeping on you two out of the kitchen window, you two idiots were grinning like fools.” 

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Did you just call me an idiot?”

Feyre’s eyes rolled. “I’m just saying, you two were actually being friendly.”

Friendly.

Nesta guessed that was the best way to describe what she and Cassian had been the past couple of days. She glanced over her shoulder, back to the stage, only to find those hazel still on her.

“We’ve got a table down front,” Feyre said, flagging down the bartender. “Let’s get another drink and move down there.”

Nesta ordered her drink and as Feyre ordered two beers for her and Rhys, she had an idea. “Excuse me,” she said, catching the bartender before he moved to make their drinks. “But you wouldn’t happen to have a maple bourbon back there, would you?”

__

By the time Rhysand had finished his set list, Cassian was sweaty, tipsy, and wound up tighter than a rattlesnake ready to strike. Rhys hadn’t told him Feyre was bringing a guest. He definitely didn’t mention Nesta was coming, so he was pretty sure Feyre had set this one up without telling him. And from the look on Nesta’s face when she turned and saw him, he’d have guessed she didn’t know he’d be here either.

He wasn’t disappointed, just caught off guard.

He had watched her as he played, while Rhysand sang, and every time their eyes connected, she had quickly looked away and found the contents in her glass overly interesting. 

Now, as they both meandered off the stage, he decided he could definitely use another drink. 

The last time he and Nesta had been in a bar, with alcohol, the night hadn’t turned out all that well.

Rhys had gone straight to Feyre, as he always did, lifting her into the air and kissing her. He did it for a few reasons, the most obvious because he loved her and the two of them could be barely be apart for more than ten minutes before one of them began whining about missing the other. But the other reason was the group of ogling women who always seemed to show up for Rhys’ set. He wanted them to know that he belonged to someone else.

It didn’t stop them from trying.

Cass’ boots thumped down the wooden steps and made his way to the bar. He didn’t even have to ask for anything, the bartender already knowing his go to drinks, depending on his mood. A cold bottle of beer and a shot of whiskey appeared in front of him. He gave the bartender a wink and tossed back the shot. After grabbing the bottle off the bar, he began to make his way, begrudgingly, to the others.

He reminded himself to think before he spoke, reminded himself not to admire how sexy Nesta looked in her jeans and tank top, reminded himself to keep his distance. Things had only just become okay between the two of them, he wouldn’t mess it up.

Feyre was sitting on Rhysand’s lap and whispering something into his ear when Cassian got back to the table. Nesta was already watching him as he took a seat next to her.

“Are they always like this?” she muttered.

Cassian grinned, putting his bottle to his lips. “Annoyingly so, yes.”

The silence between them wasn’t a true silence, not with the music and chatter and laughter around them. But the space between them was…awkward.

Nesta cleared her throat. “I didn’t know you played guitar.”

There were about a hundred and one ways he’d like to answer her question, but instead, he gave her a polite smile, and said, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

He couldn’t read the look in her eyes as she took a sip of her drink and said, “You’re really good.”

“Thanks,” he muttered, nodding, and he continued to nod as the silence came, once again, because he had no idea what else to say.

Feyre was sticking her tongue down Rhysand’s throat. 

Nesta, following his gaze, scrunched her nose, and Cassian couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you dance?”

Nesta hesitated. 

“I’ll keep my hands in appropriate places,” he promised. 

Nesta’s hesitation turned into a small smile as she said, “Alright. Why the hell not?”

Anything was better, Cassian assumed, than watching Feyre and Rhysand makeout for the next ten minutes. Cassian pushed his chair back and held out his hand. After another second of hesitation, she put her hand into his. 

He led her out into the small dance floor, the song that was playing through the jukebox ending up and a slower song began. He once again held out his hand and she moved in closer, placing her hand in his and letting the other rest on his shoulder. His arm snaked around to the small of her back and at her sudden intake of breath, he moved it up slightly.

“Sorry,” he said, as they began to move in small circles.

Nesta huffed a laugh. “It’s okay. I don’t- I haven’t- it’s...been a while since I’ve danced. With a man.”

Cassian came to the ultimate conclusion that it had been a while since she’d done anything with a man. 

“Too busy being a badass boss the last few years?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

“Something like that,” she said, eyes bright. “What about you? Do you ask women to dance often?”

Cassian liked to think there was a little bit of jealousy in her voice, when, in reality, it was most likely nothing more than a curious question. “No, not really. Usually, by now, I’m drunk off my ass, sitting next to Rhysand and Feyre while they make a public love scene. Unless Azriel and Elain are here, of course. Then, I’m sitting in the middle of both couples while one makes out, and the other stares into each other’s eyes with such adoration that I literally am tempted to set myself on fire.” 

Nesta’s laugh was bright and beautiful as she shook her head. The sound of her laughter alone made Cassian want to grab her face into his hands and press his mouth against hers. Shaking the thought away, he cleared his throat and continued to spin her in slow, gentle circles. 

“I’ve never seen two people that are so…” Nesta let the sentence fall away, and Cassian tried to help her finish it.

“In love?” He asked.

Her eyes fell back on him as she said, “Happy.”

He didn’t know why that made his heart ache as badly as it did. “You haven’t told me what it was like when you were younger. Why exactly you wanted to leave.” When she looked down, when he felt her tense up, he added, “You don’t have to tell me now. You don’t have to tell me ever. I just…” He sighed. “I want you to know that I’m not just a pretty face, with a ripped body, and a badass bond with animals. You can talk to me, about anything you need to.”

She started laughing again, which was his main goal. But there was also a light shining in her eyes, and he decided right then that he would do anything to keep it there.

————

The next morning, Nesta was in the kitchen of the main house just after sunrise. She couldn’t sleep, especially once she had planned out her agenda before she went to bed the night before. She would work on landscaping, planting flowers and cleaning off the B&B sign out front. She also wanted to put in a front porch swing. She was hoping Cassian would help her with that part, although he had been working on the new stables lately.

First thing first, though, was breakfast. Nesta loved any excuse to try out the new kitchen, even if it was technically meant to be for preparing food for guests. Although, until the grand opening and guests began to come again, Nesta would take full advantage of it, cooking for herself. And, maybe, the ranch hand. 

She hadn’t seen him yet that morning, even having awoken so early.

It occurred to her that she didn’t know what he liked, whether he was a fan of sweet or savory, how he liked his eggs. Then she remembered that he could loosely be described as a human garbage disposal and would probably eat anything that was put in front of him.

She threw together a few breakfast sandwiches, poured a fresh cup of coffee in her travel mug, and set out for the front yard.

The sun had been up for nearly a full hour and Nesta had a pile of weeds in the grass and dirt caked under her nails when she finally heard footsteps through the pasture. But they weren’t the heavy steps she was used to hearing from Cassian. No, these footsteps were light and quick.

And they were coming right for her.

She turned just in time for Beau to barrel into her and knock her from where she was perched on her knees.

She laughed as the over-excitable puppy licked her and nuzzled into her neck. She scratched behind his ears.

“Good morning, boy.”

He licked her face in response, tail wagging wildly. 

“Alright, alright,” a deep voice said, coming up beside them, “Down, boy.”

Beau did as he was instructed, hurrying to Cassian’s feet and sitting. Cassian held out a hand, which Nesta humbly accepted. After she was pulled to her feet, she chuckled. “No offense, but you look like shit.”

He did, too. Cassian looked completely exhausted, eyes heavy, skin pale. “Oh, I’m offended.”

“How many times did you puke this morning?” Nesta asked, trying not to grin.

Cassian groaned, then yawned. “Serves me right. I know better than to drink that much before an early morning.”

“Isn’t every morning an early morning for you?” Nesta asked, and it was obvious how amused she was. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you highly intoxicated on more than one occasion.” 

Cassian reached out and shoved her gently in the shoulder. “Be nice.”

Nesta laughed, shaking her head as she picked her travel mug off the ground. “Here, coffee.”

He sniffed it before putting it to his mouth as if he didn’t quite believe her. He took a drink and sighed. “How did you know I like my coffee black?”

Nesta shrugged. “Lucky guess. Are you hungry?”

He glanced at his watch. “No, but I know I need to eat, or I’ll be puking all over the western pasture later. But I need to head into town and pick up a few things. I don’t have time to cook. I’ve wasted enough time this morning with my head in the toilet.”

“Bacon or sausage?” Nesta asked, walking to the picnic basket beneath the tree. “Or both?”

“Both?” Cassian asked, not trying to hide the suspicion in his voice.

She reached into the basket and pulled out two sandwiches. “I hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t feel like waiting to eat.”

Cassian took the two sandwiches she held in her outstretched hand. “You...made me breakfast?”

Nesta nodded, not expecting the soft tone of his voice, the sincere surprise he felt at having someone do something for him. “You said you’re going into town? Any chance you need to stop at the hardware store? I was hoping to pick out some paint colors and maybe even start on the flower beds since it’s so nice out.”

“I can,” Cassian said, opening the wrapped sandwich and taking a bite. He looked impressed. “Fuck, that’s good.”

Nesta snorted. “Why is everyone so surprised after they take the first bite of something I make? Feyre nearly kissed me after I cooked her a simple pasta dish.” 

Cassian grinned, taking another bite. “Maybe we’re just surprised something so delicious could come from someone so…”

“Perfect and polite?” Nesta implied.

He laughed, quietly, as he swallowed. “Yeah, sure, perfect and polite. My words, exactly.”

Now it was his turn to be shoved. 

“I’ll pull the truck around,” Cassian said, walking away, backwards as he grinned at Nesta. “Come on, Beau.”

The pup jumped up from the spot where he was sprawled out on top of the soft green grass and followed Cassian around the side of the house. Nesta brushed away the sweat that was glistening on her forehead with the back of her hand. She suddenly wondered what she looked like. She rolled out of bed, brushed her teeth, put her hair in a pony-tail before slipping on shorts and a tank-top, and hauled ass out of the little house out back. But then, she felt ridiculous. She wasn’t trying to impress him, anyway.

She remembered the makeup and hair products she’d left in the master bath when she was getting ready to go out. The same night she’d seen Cassian in nothing more than a little blue towel. The same night she and Cassian had nearly…

She shook her head and ran up the porch stairs and into the house, wondering how long she had before he made his way back up to the main house.

———

Cassian stopped the old truck in front of the house, cutting the engine and silencing the deafening roar of the idle.

Nesta was nowhere to be seen. The picnic basket was still under the tree and her cup of coffee was on the porch rail where it’d been when he walked up.

“Nesta?” He called, looking towards her house, down the dirt road.

When there was no answer, he climbed the porch steps two at a time and opened the front door. He said her name again and waited. “Nesta?”

No answer, but there was a creak from the second story.

With a sigh, he took to the stairs. “If you’re upstairs, please be decent, because I don’t need you yelling at me again for being inappropriate!”

Nothing. 

On the second floor landing, Cassian thumped down the hallway, glancing into her old bedroom as he passed. She wasn’t there, so he continued on, where the light was coming out of the master bedroom. 

He knocked on the door, even though it was wide open. “Nesta?”

“Sorry!” she called, from the bathroom. The door was cracked, and he could see her shadow moving across the tile. “I’ll be right out!”

“You okay?” He asked, not quite moving away from the door to give her privacy, but still half worried about her. She sounded...frantic.

“Yeah, I just...need a minute.” She didn’t offer any other information.

He gave a couple of light raps on the door. “Alright, well, I’ll be in the truck. Lock up on your way out, yeah?”

She poked her head out and he could see that a chunky braid held most of her hair off her face. “I can handle it,” she laughed.

He looked at the makeup covering her freckles. “Are you putting makeup on to work in the yard?

A look of guilt crossed her face. “Maybe.” He tried not to smile, but clearly, he failed as she said, “I’m liable to run into people I haven’t seen in ten years! I can’t go out looking like this.”

“Like what?” He chuckled. “Beautiful?”

The words hung in the air around them.

Cass mumbled, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- Fuck.”

But Nesta was smiling, softly. “It’s okay. I can take a compliment from time to time.” She trailed back into the bathroom, out of sight. “Just don’t make a habit of it.” 

Cassian chuckled. “Alright. Well, take your time. I’ll be with Beau in the truck.”

She said nothing else as Cassian made his way back out of the house. The word had slipped out. Beautiful. He couldn’t help it, though. She was beautiful. It was his first thought when he’d come up on her, knees in the dirt, pulling out weeds, sweating, her hair up.

Beautiful. 

Natural.

Sure, she was sexy as hell all dolled up, but Cassian liked her that way. Natural. Even so, he had to keep such thoughts to himself. He couldn’t risk anything that would piss her off again, especially when they had begun to get along so well.

Had started to become friends. 

Less than five minutes later, Nesta was pulling the door shut behind her and rounding the truck to the passenger side. She pulled the door open to find Beau sitting in the seat.

Cassian whistled, which usually would spur the pup into motion, but instead he looked back at her and whined, before looking back at Cass. “I’m not making you get out, you big dummy. I just need you to scoot over.” He sighed and pulled the dog onto the middle seat, and Nesta hopped up into the cab. Beau laid down and rested his head on her leg, his whiskers tickling her skin where it skimmed her thigh. She gently pet his soft head and smiled.

“Not taking the fancy truck today?” She asked, after they’d pulled off of the property and were headed into town. The windows were rolled down and the brisk morning air felt amazing on her face.

“We’re working today. This,” he said, affectionately patting the dash, “is a working truck. That’s a play truck. We can’t drive that today.”

Nesta blinked. “A play truck?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Work and play stay separate. Besides, I can’t get my play truck all muddy and shit.”

Nesta huffed a laugh and shook her head. “You’re so weird.”

“I’m not the one who put on makeup to do yard work,” Cassian muttered.

Nesta was watching him, eyes narrowed. “At least Beau is on my side. Aren’t you, boy?”

Beau’s tail started wagging, hitting Cassian against his thigh. Nesta laughed, rubbing Beau’s belly.

“Well,” Cassian sighed, “at least we had a good run, Beau. I see you’ve found a new favorite.”

As if he was confirming what was just said, Beau began to lick Nesta’s leg.

She pet his head and he stopped, looking up at her. His tongue was hanging out of the side of his mouth and Nesta couldn’t help but lean down and give him a kiss on the top of his head. She caught Cassian watching her when she looked back over. “Confession time,” she announced.

Cassian’s brows were raised. “Okay?”

She sighed. “I love dogs, but they’re just...messy.”

“Messy?” He asked.

“Yes, messy. They slobber, like to play in mud, which they then track into the house. Dogs are...a handful.”

He looked at her and then back out the windshield. “Oh gods, no. Don’t tell me.” Nesta glanced at him and he took a deep breath. “Nesta, are you a cat person?”

She burst out laughing and Beau, startled, sat up and leaned on Cassian across the cab. “And if I am?”

Cassian shook his head and groaned. “That’s it. That’s the deal breaker. I don’t think I can work for you anymore.”

Nesta laughed, reaching out to Beau to scratch his head. “You don’t like cats?”

“Cats don’t like me,” he corrected, remembering when Azriel’s childhood cat jumped on Cassian and attacked his face. After that experience… Cassian had to admit that cats weren’t his favorite.

“Maybe I’ll have to get one,” Nesta said.

Cassian glanced at her through his side eye.

“What?” She asked, smiling. “It’ll stay in my little house and keep the mice away from the B&B.”

“And make a nice snack for this one,” he said, indicating the pup who had resumed his dozing between them as Nesta scratched behind his ears.

“Oh hush, he wouldn’t,” Nesta said, giving him a belly rub. He rolled over and kicked Cassian very close to where it would have hurt.

“Oh, he absolutely would,” Cass said, adjusting himself as they pulled up to a red light. “Cats and dogs, especially the ones like Beau who are bred to still be a little wild, didn’t get their bickering reputation for no reason.”

Even though it was still relatively early, only a few minutes after seven, the city was awake, alive. People walked down the streets, stopping at the stalls and shops that were open this early along the way. The breeze from the Sidra cooled the morning down, but she knew eventually it would heat up.

People called out to Cassian, who’s window was rolled down the whole ride, from everywhere they could: in other cars, on the sidewalks, coming and going from store fronts.

“You know everyone,” Nesta observed.

Cassian waved to an older couple who’d been entering a cafe when they saw him. “I wouldn’t say that I know everyone.”

“Well, it seems like everyone knows you.”

“I get around,” he said, shrugging.

Nesta gave him a look.

Cassian laughed. “Not like that. I’ve waved at at least five elderly women, if I meant sexually, my taste in women is interesting, to say the least.”

“No judgement,” Nesta muttered, and Cassian grinned as he pulled into the parking lot of the hardware store.

“Alright,” he said, pulling into a spot and putting the truck into park. He hopped out and whistled for Beau to follow.

“They let him in?” Nesta asked, following his lead.

“Oh yeah,” Cassian said, hands in his pockets. “He stays close. Most shop owners around here like him more than me.”

Nesta looked over at him as they entered. “Is that so?”

Cassian shrugged. “Went through a shoplifting phase in high school. Some people never forget.”

Nesta rolled her eyes.

They entered the store and Cassian said, “I have to go over to the pro desk, pick up some plans they were drawing up for me. I assume you’re going to be doing some actual shopping?”

“Mostly looking, but certainly not at the pro desk,” she said, laughing. “Do you just want to call me when you’re done?”

He said, “I would do that, but I don’t have your number. I can page you over the loudspeaker like you’re a misbehaving child?”

Nesta rolled her eyes and said, “Give me your phone, you idiot.”

Cassian laughed and handed it over. She input her name and number in his phone and then handed it back after calling herself. When her phone went off in her hand, he took it before she could end the call.

“Hey, that one is mine,” she said, laughing.

“I can’t input my own contact details?” He winked at her, and continued typing. He locked the phone and handed it back as he started walking backwards. “I’ll call you when it’s time to go. Beau!” He whistled and the pup ran right to him, looking up in pure adoration as they headed to the other end of the store.

__

Nesta made her way to the paint section and looked at the wall of samples. She wanted something light, but something that stuck out, too. The shutters needed a good coat, but Nesta was trying to keep away from the mustard yellow her father had picked out in the late eighties. It was horrid. And she needed something to repaint the B&B sign, which was worn and chipped. Maybe she would paint the front door, too. She may as well, if she was planning on painting the rest.

She gathered multiple shades of blues and reds and yellows before she heard, “Nesta?”

She spun around and froze, unable to form a single thought as Tomas Mandray grinned.

“Shit, it is you,” he laughed, and he gave her a hug, although she was too frozen in place to react. She hadn’t seen him in a few years, but he had been her whole world.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” he said, standing in the way of the aisle next to her. “Sorry to hear about your dad.”

“Thanks,” she said, finally remembering how to use her words. “And yeah, it was somewhat sudden.”

He plucked one of the paint chips from her hand and held it up, comparing it to what Nesta didn’t know. “Last I knew you were in,” he paused, humming. “Paris? How’s your restaurant doing?”

“Sold it to move home.” She felt like the walls were closing in around her, felt like she was too hot and too cold all at once. She felt like her skin was too tight. She needed to get away, needed to get outside and get some fresh air or she was sure she was going to pass out. “If you’ll excuse me-.”

“I miss your cooking, Nes. I miss you.” He smiled, and though it was handsome, it made her stomach turn. “You should make me dinner sometime, we can catch up on the last few years.”

“I….um….” she hesitated, feeling as if she may pass out. In her back pocket, her phone vibrated, and she quickly pulled it out. Her screen read Sexy Ranch Hand. “Sorry,” she muttered, “I have to….Hello?”

“Hey,” Cassian crooned from the other end. “Where are you?”

“I…” she hesitated, looking back at Tomas, who didn’t take the hint and was standing in the exact same spot, watching her.

But she didn’t have to say anything else, because Beau rounded the corner, coming straight toward Nesta, Cassian right behind. He saw her, looking pale and terrified, no doubt, and his smile faded as he slowly put down his phone.

“I have to go,” Nesta said, looking away from Tomas, but he turned around to meet Cassian’s gaze.

“What do you want, Nazari?” It was practically a snarl.

It took him a moment, but Cassian put his usual smirk back into place. “Nothing. Just came to see if Nesta was ready to go?”

Tomas wheeled around, making Nesta flinch in a way that Cassian didn’t miss. “You’re here with him? Nes, he’s trash.”

She didn’t look Tomas in the eye as she said, “I have to go,” and tried to push past him. He gripped the top of her arm.

Cassian growled, “Take your gods damned hand off of her.”

Nesta’s head shot up at the venom in that usually sarcastic tone. She carefully, but firmly, pulled from his hold, and said, “Goodbye, Tomas.” She walked past Cassian, but he didn’t follow. She breathed, “Cass, please.”

Something shifted in his gaze, and she could tell he really didn’t want to follow, really wanted to stay, really wanted to kick Tomas’s ass right there in the middle of the hardware store, but he didn’t. He listened to Nesta. Nodding subtly, Cassian backed up, keeping his eyes on Tomas’s for one second too long.

“Come on, boy,” he whispered to Beau, who was snarling at Tomas.

The three of them left the store in complete silence. There were already supplies in the back of Cassian’s truck, supplies that looked like they were meant for the stables he’d been working on, per Nesta’s request. He must have put them in before he called Nesta. 

Nesta climbed up into the passenger side and Beau must have noticed her discomfort because he laid his fluffy little chin on her lap.

Cassian got behind the wheel and started the engine before asking, quietly, “Are you okay?”

Nesta nodded, unable to trust her words.

“Good,” Cassian whispered. “Sorry my alphahole personality came out.”

Nesta, despite herself, chuckled, but she still didn’t say a word. She hated Tomas, loathed him. He was the one person that she was hoping not to run into when she got back to town.

So, of course, he’d be the first person she’d see.

She was silent on the way home, not a single word or sound from her. She idly scratched Beau’s head while she stared out the window. When they’d been on the road about three minutes, Cassian asked, “Do you want to talk about it?” Nesta simply shook her head. Cassian understood, so instead, he turned the radio on and let the music play.

When they got back to the ranch, Nesta was out of the truck before it was even in park. The paint chips were forgotten on the seat and Cassian let her go, watching as she walked, but not down the hill to her small cabin by the river. He watched as he walked up the stairs and into her childhood home.

[writer-in-quotationmarks]

A scene from my wip

Jayli reveled her demon form by accident while saving Poison from wolves <3

Jayli sat on the tree stump, hugging herself tightly. She rocked back and forth slightly while Poison paced infront of her.

“So when were you going to tell me?”

Jayli looked at her shoes. “I- I don't know. I didn't mean to lose control like that. I've been trying to suppress it but…” she trailed off. “I guess i didn't try hard enough.”

Poison stopped pacing. They turned to her, a grin spreading on their face. “Suppress it? Are you kidding? That was incredible!”

Jayli’s head shot up. “Really? I was worried you might-”

“Might what? Call the Rangers? Jayli, I would never.” Poison crouched down so they were at eye level. “I don't care that you're a halfling. You're my friend.”

Jayli rubbed away a tear. “Thank you.”

“Well isn't this touching.” Poison and Jayli both looked up to see a man casually sitting on a tree branch above them, one leg dangling down. “Sorry to interrupt,” he continued, “but I think I got diabetes from how sweet this is.”

Poison was in a defensive stance before he'd finished, already reaching for her switchblade. “Who are you?” she called up.

The man jumped down. The fall was far but he seemed unharmed. He smoothed out his black button up before answering. “My name is Adrien. And I'm a friend.” 

Poison looked him up and down. “You're dressed rather fancy to be climbing trees. What are you doing out here?” They moved forward slightly to be between him and Jayli.

Adrien's smile was crooked and cocky as he meandered toward them. “As a matter of fact I'm looking for someone. I don't suppose you've seen a woman anywhere around here? Dark hair, scar on her nose?” he tilted his head. “Ill take your murder glare as a no.” leaning around her he asked “What about you? Jayli, was it? Seen her anywhere?”

Jayli shook her head no.

“Ah, well. C’est la vie.” Still addressing Jayli he said, “That was quite the performance you had there. You took out, what, three, four wolves? You're under developed but with practice you could be quite powerful someday.”

Within a second Poison’s switchblade was at his throat. “How much did you see?” Their voice was low and threatening. For good measure they gripped his shirt tightly in their fist. He chuckled. Poison glared.

“Babe, please, calm down. You'll wrinkle my shirt, and I just got this ironed.”

“Number one: don't call me babe. Number two: How. Much. Did. You. See?”

“My apologies, darling, but in my defense i never caught your name.”

Poison rolled her eyes but let go of his shirt. She took a step back and glanced around , never taking her knife from his throat. “Soda.” she answered.

“Soda.” Adrien repeated. “Interesting name. Is it french?”

Poison ignored him and repeated their question. “How much did you see?”

Sighing dramatically Adrien answered. “If you must know, I saw the whole thing. But it's fine, I won't tell.” He winked.

Poison’s blade did not waver. “How can we trust you?”

“Like this.” He grinned, and his teeth seemed sharper than before. As he flourished his hand toward his face the whites of his eyes turned red. “Trust me yet?”

[haberdashing]

The Archivists

Elsewhere University’s Archivist meets The Magnus Archives’ Archivist.

on AO3

The Archivist was inside their office, the door cracked open, when they heard nearby footsteps and rushed outside to take a closer look.

The man prowling the Library’s stacks was not from here, that much was evident from his wide eyes and the confusion crested upon his brow. If the Archivist had to choose one word to describe the man, it would be dark. Dark hair, dark clothes, dark eyes with dark bags underneath them, dark skin covered in dark scars. So unlike the Archivist, whose form (such as it was) was translucent to the eye, light and color refusing to cling to them any more than was needed to provide a bare outline of themself.

The Archivist didn’t concern themself with the man at first, though they did watch his meandering out of idle curiosity. That sort of thing was better left to the Pages, after all. One of their number would find him in time, they were sure of it.

But before that could happen, before the man was no longer visible in the library stacks that stretched and stretched and stretched, the Archivist heard a high, cheery voice call out “Archivist!”

The Archivist, naturally, turned their head to follow the sound, in order to spy who was calling them, who wanted their attention and perhaps their assistance.

They were a little surprised to find that the strange man wandering the Library turned his head to do the same, their movements nearly synchronized as the both of them looked over at the new visitor.

The Archivist recognized the speaker before long as she approached. It wasn’t the first time Timber had come to the Archivist, likely with another trinket to trade away--and sure enough, as Timber grew closer, the Archivist could see that her hands were cupped, that she must be hiding something within them. The Archivist wasn’t sure where she got all of her little charms--some seemed handmade, but others were more likely the product of other trades with beings likely to be less benign than themself.

Not their business, though. They were there to be a resource, to trade and give to those in need and to tell stories of those who came before,  not to lecture those who either already knew or already should know the danger they were putting themselves in.

As Timber met the Archivist, she opened her cupped hands to reveal what looked to be a paper flower, well-made but otherwise unexceptional.

Of course, the Archivist knew well enough that looks can be deceiving.

“I come bearing a charm to trade you, Archivist!” Timber said.

The Archivist merely raised an eyebrow; that much seemed evident enough already, but some people do insist upon following their internal scripts just the same, and this wasn’t the first time that Timber had proven to be one of that ilk.

“It may appear to be a rose made of ordinary notebook paper, but its form is firm and unyielding as stone.” Timber demonstrated by poking and prodding the flower repeatedly in a way that would crinkle or rip ordinary paper, but left the paper flower unharmed. “And if you smell it-” Timber took a deep, theatrical breath in through her nose, then held the flower up so that the Archivist could do the same. “-it always smells of a filled cranberry bog just before harvest.”

The Archivist nodded, a thin smile appearing on their face. “A fascinating charm, though I fear whoever made it may earn the ire of the Courts for so commingling their blessings. I know just what to trade for this, one moment...”

A quick pop into and back out of their office, and the paper flower was safely stored away, with the Archivist holding out a thick red pen in exchange.

“For paper, a pen. The indigo ink of this pen flows of its own accord, and it will only ever write exactly what its current owner needs it to.” Timber eagerly extended their hands, and as the Archivist handed over the pen, they added, “Do note that need and want are often very different things indeed.”

“Of course, of course.” Timber said, though her tone wasn’t a terribly solemn one, and the Archivist was less than convinced that she had actually taken their warning to heart. “I do appreciate the trade, Archivist.”

“As do I.” The Archivist responded, adding a slight nod of the head as Timber bounced back towards the building’s entrance.

Truth be told, the Archivist had almost entirely forgotten about the strange visitor to the Library during the course of their exchange with Timber, and they were thus more than a bit startled when the man, who had apparently been standing in place watching them the entire time, asked, “What is this place?”

There was a certain urgency to his question, one that could be found not in its volume nor its tone but in something else entirely, something that made the Archivist’s speech rise up before they could think their words through.

“The Library of Elsewhere University, though further in than most students will ever wander.” And they recognized what had happened, knew the stranger’s trick for what it was at least broadly, so they added, a bit curtly, “And for what it’s worth, my tongue will flow freely enough without your assistance in the matter.”

“I’m sorry.” The man said. To his credit, he looked like he meant it, looked like he truly did regret invoking whatever magic that had been, the picture of contriteness. He also looked scared, though, scared of the Archivist of all things, like their meager semblance of a body was going to lash out at him any second, like a half-being like them could strike real physical harm.

“Apology accepted, no debt owed. And do be careful about handing out apologies so easily; some on these grounds would not dismiss a potential debt so easily.”

“...sure. Thank you.”

“I’d avoid thanking people as well if I were you. ‘Please’ is also a dicey one, for the record. But I suppose you’re not accustomed to the Rules, now, are you?”

“I don’t even know which rules you’re referring to... I’m not from around here.” The man let out a bitter laugh as he added, “Really not from around here, from what I can tell.”

“I gathered that much already; the Library does have a way of picking up strays from time to time.”

“Strays.” The man laughed again, shaking his head as he did so. “Interesting term for it.”

The Archivist shrugged noncommittally.

“So you’re an archivist, then?”

That strange, unnatural urgency from before wasn’t present this time around, and the Archivist hesitated before they answered, weighing their options carefully. They knew well enough that their title was growing perilously close to a Name as their time in the Library dragged on, but... but the man had already heard Timber refer to them as such, could put the pieces together easily enough even if they tried to skirt the question, and even if their title was nearly a Name at this point, it was unlikely that he would know how to do harm with it.

“I’m the Archivist, yes. That’s been my role here for some time now.”

“The Archivist?” The man shot the Archivist a weak smile. “Funny, people call me that too. And not-people, sometimes. It gets annoying, really, I do have a name-”

“Best keep that to yourself, then.”

“What?”

“Names are valuable property, here. Better not give them out to any who ask.”

The man nodded, starting to speak with a “tha-” before stopping himself and taking a breath before restarting. “Alright. I’ll keep that in mind.”

The Archivist looked at the man again. He’d said he, too, was called the Archivist? Well, they had received a few inquiries clearly intended for another with that title, heard a few stories not about them but about another who shares their role... and as they gazed upon this man, upon the scars that criss-crossed his skin, upon his eyes that shone with an unnatural gleam, the Archivist began to put together some of the pieces.

“Other Archivist.” The man met their gaze, then, and oh, there was fire in his eyes, a sign of something burning deep within. “I may have heard your story before. Or pieces of it, at any rate.”

“Oh?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

“You are the Archivist from across the multiverse and across the pond, the one who watches and is watched in turn, the one who Knows too much and yet too little. Is that right?”

The other Archivist let out a laugh as dark as the rest of him. “That does seem to sum things up pretty well. Though... do you always speak like you’re telling a riddle?”

His eyes lit up, and some of that unnatural urgency was back, but it went away with a glare and a curt “Often, yes.”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m s-”

The Archivist cut him off before he could make another unnecessary apology. “Words are valuable here, too. Loose lips sink ships, or so they say. One should be either very specific or very vague in speech, lest the wrong thing slip out, and many here, yours truly included, find the latter to be easier and safer than the former.”

“I... I think I understand. Sort of. Isn’t this-” He paused. “This place has a strange sense of logic, I suppose.”

The Archivist shot the man a tight smile. “Between your appearance in the Library and what I already knew of your story, I suspect that you might well be able to say the same about the place you call home.”

“You’re not wrong.” His laugh sounded a little less bitter this time, a little more genuine, but there was a hunger behind his eyes. “You already know the big picture of who I am, it seems. I- I would appreciate it if I could learn the same about you.”

The Archivist’s smile widened. He was learning.

“I was human, once, long ago, lifetimes ago. I was a sailor, back them, and I drowned upon the Unsea.”

The other Archivist silently mouthed the term “Unsea” shortly after the Archivist used the term. Not a familiar one, then? Not a huge surprise; the world of the other Archivist sounded like an unfamiliar one indeed, and it was only fitting that their world would be equally unfamiliar to him.

“Fog rolled in on the Sargasso Sea, and none of us knew what it presaged. Drowning on the Unsea was like drowning on a true sea, but also like nothing you can know. It was like nothing. I washed up on the Unsea’s shores, and I was preserved, such as I am now. But much was lost along the way. Much of myself was lost. I freed myself, I sought shelter within the Library, I became the Archivist of this place.” The Archivist paused for a moment before adding, “Such is my story, or at least the grand outline of it.”

A minute or two passed where the only sound to be heard was that of the man’s breathing, neither especially shallow nor especially heavy for a human, or one claiming to be so.

“You were human, you were drawn into something much bigger than you knew, and becoming Archivist was both a gain and a loss, a role to be played in a strange new world...” The man shot the Archivist a wry smile. “I think the two of us have more in common than merely our titles.”

The Archivist tilted their head to one side and pondered this for a long moment. “Perhaps.”

“Much as I appreciate meeting you, though, I really should be getting back. There are people that need me back home.” Another bitter laugh. “Or that need an Archivist, at least.”

“Go back the way you came, then. The Library is vast indeed, but searching enough will lead back to where you started. If you need more detailed instruction than that, I can try to hunt down a Page for you.”

“No, no, that should do just fine, th- I appreciate it.”

As the man turned to head back into the depths of the Library, he waved and called out behind him, “Goodbye, Archivist.”

The Archivist nodded, a smile on their face, as they echoed, “Goodbye, Archivist.”

[softhourtxt]

where all the stars align | part 36

× pairing: txt (ot5) x reader × genre: fluff × warnings: swearing × synopsis: your friend yeonjun has had enough of your whining about being single. unfortunately (or less) he has decided to help you find a date for yourself and swore not to give up until you’re happily in a relationship with one of his many friends. now you just play the waiting game. when will the next person text you and who will it be?

you step out of the shadows, allowing the three waiting boys to see you approach them. they perk up when they notice you, taking deep breaths just as you are, preparing for the emotionally rough conversation that was about to take place. 

biting your tongue you swallow all your anxiety before you actually make a turn and run away again. not this time, you tell yourself. not this time.

the boys are all staring at you as you stop in front of them, hands balled into fists by your sides. 

"(y/n)" yeonjun starts. his voice is hoarse, undoubtedly from crying so much and you notice how red his eyes look. it breaks your heart. you've seen yeonjun cry many times before, but he has never looked so broken before. 

"yeonjun"

"i'm sorry if i-" he begins, but you won't dare let him say what he is about to say. 

"no, stop. i'm the one that needs to apologize." 

"(y/n) you had a panic attack. i should have known this was a bad idea."

you vigorously shake your head.

"even so i shouldn't have ran away. i hurt you. i'm so sorry, yeonjun."

the boy in question is rendered speechless for a moment. you notice his eyes start to tear up again as a watering gloss layers in his eyes. you bite your cheek to hold back your own tears. 

he looks down at the ground, dreading his next question, but he needs to know the answer to it. 

"so... you don't..?"

yeonjun doesn't know how to finish his sentence, but you already know what he's trying to ask. you look behind him at the two boys who have been patiently quiet through out the whole ordeal. your eyes meet with both of them. 

"i-" you try to speak, but you're also at a loss for words. you know your answer but somehow you can't translate it into speech. 

yeonjun follows your line of vision and realizes who you're staring at. he nods with a bittersweet smile, eyes cast to the ground.

"it's okay" he says with a weak voice. you hold your breath when a tear escapes his eye. "like i said, i already know."

"yeonjun, no. i just-" your eyes keep moving between all three boys. you want to comfort your best friend, but you also have to be aware of beomgyu and soobin. the latter notices your wavering eyes and let's out a huff.

"you don't have to hold back. i'll be okay." he tries to give you a reassuring smile, but you see right through it. he's hurting too.

"soobin..."

"who do you want to be with, (y/n)? just speak your mind." beomgyu also speaks up. out of the four of you, he seems the most collected. for a moment, you're grateful for that, but you can tell that even he is getting impatient. so biting your tongue, you realize you cannot get away from this situation without breaking any hearts. you ponder over the option of rejecting all of them, but somehow that seems to be the worst option.

"all of you are so important to me..."

they all knew this already, but you felt the need to let it out nevertheless. it was true. all three of them had a special place in your heart and what you were about to say broke you inside out.

choi beomgyu took a deep sigh, probably preparing himself for whatever you were about to say. the way his hand slowly crept up to clutch at his heart didn't go unnoticed by you either.

choi soobin, your neighbor kept his eyes sternly on the ground. his eyes were closed and it looked like he was holding his breath.

last but not least, your best friend choi yeonjun was staring at you, tears now freely running down his cheeks followed by small sniffles. 

no matter what, you have to tell him now. mind racing, you decide to speak your hearts desire.

"the person i want to be with is-"

you sit on your couch with your legs hugged against your chest. your heartbeat is slowly calming down, but you're still hurting. you feel like absolute shit for the two boys who were left to go home by themselves, hearts broken. you couldn't get your mind off of them.

he finally emerges from your kitchen with two steaming mugs in his hands and offers the other one to you. "here"

you gladly accept it and breathe in the calming scent of caramel tea, shyly smiling up at the boy before carefully bringing the hot mug to your lips.

"thanks."

he sits down right next to you, thighs touching each other and you're immediately drawn to the warmth radiating from his body. it feels a little better having him there.

"so... this is strange, huh?" he takes a sip of his own drink, quickly realizing just how hot it is and pulling away with his nose scrunched up.

"yes, very. but also oddly comforting."

"you're right. i'm proud of you by the way. for coming back to us."

for a brief second his words make you smile. "thank you. i'm proud of myself too."

and you were. even though it hurt, it was the right thing to do. your good friend taehyun made you realize that. and at the thought of taehyun, you were back to worrying about the two whose feelings you had to reject. how were you ever going to fix that?

"i just hope they're okay..."

you knew he was thinking about them too, they were his friends as well.

"they will be. it's gonna take time but... they'll be okay."

you desperately want to believe his words, but you can't help but worry even more. god, the books could never truly describe how awful it really felt. the boy next to you notices the slight pout on your lips and lifts his arm up.

"hey. come here."

without hesitation you lean into his warmth. he protectively wraps his arms around you and rests his head atop yours, leaving a chaste kiss in your hair.

"... yeonjun?"

"mhm?"

you brace yourself, swallowing down the anxiety that desperately wants to ruin everything for you and ask him what's been on your mind ever since it happened.

"earlier y-you said... that you're, umm... in love with me?"

yeonjun chuckles at your nervousness, it's cute to him. he has never seen this side of you and it's amusing. it gives him confidence to know he can get you flustered so easily.

"i guess i did."

"did you mean it?"

he can't help but grin. obviously this has been bothering you and he is more than happy to say it again to you now that he knows you reciprocate those feelings.

"(y/n) look at me." he decides to go for the tease.

"no, i'm shy." you mumble against his chest, pressing your face further against it. this time yeonjun laughs out loud.

"just look at me. i need you to."

he nudges your sides gently, encouraging you to do as he asked. he can feel you smiling right against his heartbeat, before you let yourself be brave again and lift your head up, gazing into his eyes.

"i meant it. i'm in love with you."

the sweet smile that follows his words make you certain he is being genuine. your heart immediately picks speed and even a few butterflies erupt in your stomach.

"i think i'm in love with you, too." you try to bite your lip to hold back the huge grin that wants to spread on your face. yeonjun doesn't, instead he brings his ear closer to your face, pretending he didn't hear you.

"what was that?"

ah, that's the yeonjun you knew, always annoying and teasing you every chance he could. he was just that cheeky and you hated the effect he had on you. you break eye contact and find the ceiling much more interesting.

"i'm not saying it again!"

yeonjun laughs again, enjoying teasing you a lot more now that things are different between the two of you.

"no please. i didn't hear you. you have to say it again!" he starts poking your arm, a shit eating grin never leaving his face.

you whine his name and try to cover your embarrassingly red face with your hands but yeonjun grabs them before you can.

"hey! don't stop looking at me."

at his gentle touch and thumb rubbing circles into your palm you gather enough courage to bring your eyes back to his. expecting a teasing smirk, you're surprised to find him staring at you lovingly, mouth slightly agape and a pink flush on his fluffy cheeks. you have to blink a couple times to remind yourself to breathe, as the boy is literally taking your breath away. he lets go of your hand to gently grab your chin instead, ever so slowly pulling it closer to him.

"a-are you going to kiss me?" you ask with a whisper, already staring at his plump lips. yeonjun stares at you in admiration, sweeping his thumb over your bottom lip.

"i am if you allow me."

your heart is about to explode, but before it can, you give him a small nod, yes. and so, yeonjun leans forward enough for his lips to press against yours so softly it feels like you're kissing cotton. 

-to be continued-

series masterlist

taglist: @madstermojo2000 @gratefulmaria @fandom-meanderer @rjsmochii @fylithia @kokoboxp @bobajuns @kooks-love-maze @brbkpop @dnylwoo @multistan-net @kerrymcc @ncityy04​ @sunsetsoobin​ @btsloot​ @cherrykoo​

[itsybitsylemonsqueezy]

Can i request an apology/embarrassed Tachibana and Kiryu kiss? ✨💞

(if you don't like this ship you can change it!)

Ah, one of my favorite readers! 🥰 And I, the author of An Invitation to Dinner, the Pioneer of the good ship Majima/Kiryu/Tachibana, not ship Kiryu/Tachibana??? Of course you can have some Kiryu/Tachibana! I love my precious boy, I never get to write about him, and no one seems brave enough to ask about my OT3 *sigh* But your request!

6. Apology Kiss + 27. Embarrassed Kiss 

It was just dinner, Tachibana had said. He hadn’t said anything about “black tie” or “cocktail hour” or “must have your own vineyard to enter.” Kiryu gulped hard, looking down at all the glittering, shimmering figures in the marble-paved gallery. He felt like a shaved ape in his brand new tux and new squeaky shoes that shined so brightly he could see his face in them. He should really know by now that he had to ask questions when Tachibana said things, but he hadn’t, and now he had only himself to blame for being stuck here. 

“Kiryu-san!” Tachibana waved to him, sweeping up the stairs to greet him, looking perfectly elegant in his satin tails and gold embroidered bow tie. Kiryu had to bite his lip and look away for fear of blushing. 

“I’ve been waiting for you, how absolutely exquisite you look,” Tachibana fawned, hovering around him, gently nudging his arms to see the cut of the suit, was that a brush against his ass? “Was the chauffeur on time? The tailor didn’t treat you poorly did he?” Tachibana continued, coming around back in front of him with his ever-present smile. 

“Wha-? No, he was... the chauffeur was fine, the tailor was fine, everything was fine!” Kiryu blurted out anxiously, feeling a little dizzy trying to keep up. 

Tachibana laughed and his eyes crinkled up in that way that always made Kiryu’s insides go all gooey. “Forgive me, I was just so eager to have you here,” Tachibana apologized gently, taking Kiryu’s arm and starting to lead him down the stairs, “These things are just so terribly dull without good company, I could hardly wait to see you.” He passed Kiryu another sweet smile. 

“Oh...” Kiryu murmured, distracted by the stares of the other guests and unsure if they were staring at him, or them, or were just looking because they were moving. “So, uh, will Oda-san be here too then?” He focused back on Tachibana. 

Tachibana’s face hardened. “No, he will not,” he murmured, his tone revealing the iron beneath the light, amiable exterior. Kiryu felt a little chill run up his spine and he scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. 

Tachibana sighed and returned to his usual cheerfulness with, “Come, let me show you around the exhibits. Have a drink, here,” he nodded to a passing waiter, “Now, this first painting is new. It was only just completed in 1987 and depicts...” 

And Tachibana began his tour of all the art on display at this gallery opening. Kiryu well-knew he didn’t know the first thing about art, but he liked to hear Tachibana talk. He knew so much and always seemed happy to explain what was going on, never bored or tired of Kiryu’s questions. He encouraged them, smiling when Kiryu would say something he liked or, more often, didn’t like. He called one incomprehensible and frankly, ugly, statue “stupid” and Tachibana cackled so loud that several patrons moved away from them. Kiryu blushed and ducked his head. 

“Did I say something wrong?” he muttered in Tachibana’s ear. 

“No!” Tachibana insisted, wiping his eye, “No, indeed. This is stupid. It’s pretentious self-expression masquerading as social critique without anything to say. It’s grotesque and self-congratulatory and everyone here is just too afraid to say so.” He smiled brilliantly up at Kiryu. “You, as always Kiryu-san, are the only honest man for miles.” 

Kiryu felt his cheeks heat under Tachibana’s praise. 

“Tachibana-san.” Kiryu and Tachibana glanced up at the sound. A well-heeled and middle-aged patron approached them, nodding to Tachibana. “The board of investors would like a small word regarding tonight’s celebration.” She gestured to a roped off alcove.

Tachibana nodded back politely, then turned to Kiryu with a sigh. “Alas, duty calls,” he rolled his eyes regretfully, “I won’t be long.” He patted Kiryu’s arm before turning to his escort and walking off, already engaged in a new conversation. 

Kiryu stood uneasily for a moment, looking after him, then gazed about the grand room. He hadn’t even had time to admire the space they were in between all the paintings and sculptures and carvings and collages. High, high above were elegant brass chandeliers. Distantly he wondered how many people might be crushed if one of those were to fall or how one would even bring one down, since there were only two stories to this gallery and the chandeliers were at least a story above that. Perhaps by repelling off the walls, if you were quick enough, you might be able to jump… Kiryu rubbed his chin then shook himself. Thinking about work in a place like this, that alone was probably grounds to throw him out.  

Kiryu brought his gaze back to the floor in front of him and found he could breathe easier with no one staring at him now. He looked over the heads of the art critics and art lovers, searching the walls for something interesting. He might as well look around rather than stand here dumbly and perhaps attract stares again. So Kiryu followed the flow of the milling crowd and began to meander. 

Most of the paintings were opaque to him without Tachibana helpfully filling in the details in his ear so he moved on swiftly. But eventually, one work did catch his eye. Deep into the hall, centered in a shadowed space, just before the outer balcony on the backside of the gallery, stood an impossibly tall ice sculpture. It rose, spiraling, into the air, climbing as if it would catch those lofty chandeliers. It didn’t, quite, but it was still taller than Kiryu would have ever expected ice to be. Its shape was indistinct, but to Kiryu, it seemed like fire. The blaze of damnation or redemption with a deep blue core in its base. 

At the very top, the spears of flame were beginning to melt and had turned transparent as glass. Looking straight up, Kiryu could see the texture of the wall behind the sculpture perfectly. He stepped even closer, to see how the shape of the thing changed at this angle, almost moving, just as fire would. He didn’t notice the velvet rope warning people to keep back until his new shoe squeaked on a puddle of run off and then the seal between rubber sole and marble tile broke and in a wheel of arms, Kiryu slid face first into the sculpture. 

For a blessed second, the sculpture only seemed to wobble and Kiryu gasped back, trying to get his bearings, but the next second there was a heavy cracking sound, the hiss of something heavy falling through the air, and then the crush and shatter of ice scattering in all directions as it met the floor. 

Kiryu squeezed his eyes open to find only a stump where the sculpture had been and a minor avalanche of ice pieces behind it. Wincing, shoulders hunched, Kiryu turned reluctantly to the horrified guests, mumbled an apology, and escaped onto the balcony as quickly as he dared. Fffffffuck. 

(Alas, this became so fucking long, I couldn’t put the whole thing on everyone’s dashes ^^; More under the cut!)

“There you are!” Tachibana exclaimed, finally finding him a while later. “I-” 

“I’m so sorry, Tachibana-san,” Kiryu interrupted upon seeing him. He was crouched under the balcony’s railing, doing his best not to be noticed by anyone. “I can’t imagine what that thing cost… I’ll find a way to pay for it.” He looked up at Tachibana helplessly. “Can you tell them that?” 

Tachibana paused, a few feet from Kiryu, looking somewhat surprised. “Well, there’s no need for all that,” he answered reassuringly, his smile bemused. He began to approach again and Kiryu noticed he was holding a plate. 

“First, I brought you some dinner. I thought it might cheer you up,” he explained, handing the plate of delicate-looking hors d'oeuvres to Kiryu before sitting down next to him.  

Kiryu gulped, staring down at the beautiful, tiny food, terrified he’d destroy this too. “Tachibana, I… just send me away, I’m hopeless!” he insisted, looking away. 

“Send you away? Whyever would I do that! I’ve never had a more charming gallery opening,” Tachibana insisted, facing forward. 

Kiryu glanced at him suspiciously, not quite raising his gaze to his face. “You paid for it already… didn’t you?”

Tachibana’s mouth parted, then he grinned, chuckling softly. “Can’t deceive you for a minute, can I?” He looked over at Kiryu, eyebrows quirked. Kiryu hardly dared look up, knowing he’d start smiling too. He looked away again quickly. 

“How much was it?” Kiryu muttered, eyes focused on the dark concrete in front of them. 

Tachibana exhaled mournfully. “It was only an ice sculpture,” he hedged, “They’re not designed to last. It would have been destroyed at the end of the party anyway.” 

“How much?” Kiryu repeated. 

Tachibana actually groaned this time. “Kiryu-san, before you insist on paying me back, the money means no-”

“Tachibana, if you don’t tell me how much it cost, I will get up and walk out of this party this instant,” Kiryu interrupted fiercely, his hand clenched on his knee. 

“...1.5 million,” Tachibana said steadily. 

Kiryu’s breath hitched and his heart sank. His hand relaxed, all the fight drained out of him in the face of that number. “Good,” Kiryu swallowed, “Good… thank you. I’ll, I’ll find a way to pay you back, don’t worry.” He was more trying to reassure himself.

Tachibana snorted. “Amazed as I am at your sense of honor, Kiryu-san, there’s really no need. I gladly would have paid you that amount to watch you destroy the damn thing.” He smiled to himself.

Kiryu glanced up at him. “It was actually the only piece in there I liked… and I ruined it,” he mumbled. 

Tachibana looked over at him and reached his hand out to his arm. “Then I’m sorry for that,” he said sincerely, “And, if you feel you really must repay me, I think I might have something easier to come by than the exact amount.” He looked down at his iron hand on Kiryu’s arm. 

“Yes?” Kiryu looked up eagerly, turning towards Tachibana, “Anything, I mean, anything of equal value. I don’t want to cheat you.” He shook his head vehemently. 

“Mmm,” Tachibana smiled, still coyly looking down, “Equal value? I suppose this will do, although frankly even I can’t put a price tag on it…” 

Kiryu began to frown. “Well, what is it? I’m not sure I have anything that valuable…” He bit his lip, starting to worry. 

Tachibana finally looked up at him and grinned. “A kiss.” 

Kiryu’s eyes widened. “A wh-what? Excuse me?” He startled back. 

“At least one,” Tachibana held up a finger, “I’m loathe to put an actual figure on your kisses, but if you force me-” 

Kiryu began to turn pink. “N-No, no! That isn’t the issue!” he hissed, “I… a-um… uh…” His eyes darted from Tachibana’s smirking face away and back again unable to rest. He scratched his sideburn nervously. “Are you sure?” he muttered. 

Tachibana beamed at him and nodded enthusiastically. “Quite certain. The kiss will act as your apology and redemption all in one, and then you needn’t feel upset about this anymore,” he explained, nudging himself closer to Kiryu, face turned up and open. 

Kiryu gulped, feeling his face burn even more. “And there’s… nothing else I could offer you?” he whispered, trying not to stare at the way Tachibana’s lips puffed out like rosy petals when he pursed them. 

Tachibana shook his head, eyes almost closed. “No equivalent offers or exchanges,” he murmured, so close now Kiryu could feel his hot breath on his skin. Kiryu swallowed again and bent down a fraction, keeping his eyes on Tachibana’s softly closed ones for just a second longer, before cupping his jaw and pressing their lips together. It was chaste and soft, softer than Kiryu would have expected. 

Kiryu pressed gently, then retreated, but found Tachibana’s hand in his hair, refusing to let him go so easily. Tachibana pulled him close again and parted his lips, sucking Kiryu’s lips into his mouth like they were life giving. Kiryu choked down a whimper but couldn’t resist pulling his arms around Tachibana, needing to hold onto him for support. 

Tachibana kissed him recklessly, mercilessly, not giving Kiryu a second’s pause to catch up. Kiryu was panting now, dizzy, and Tachibana snarled into the kiss, claiming more and more of his mouth and Kiryu let him with an open moan. Then, all at once, Tachibana slowed down, apparently becoming aware of himself again. His grip on Kiryu’s hair loosened and he sat back with a wet smacking sound. Kiryu slumped back, gasping and absently wiping his mouth. He’d never, ever, been kissed like that. 

“W-We’ll call that even, shall we?” Tachibana panted, clearing his throat and attempting to straighten up, withdrawing from Kiryu’s embrace. Kiryu reflexively tightened his hold, curling his fingers into Tachibana’s fine coat. 

Tachibana blinked up at him, a question on his face. 

“You said… at least one kiss, right?” Kiryu offered, stunned the words were coming out of his mouth. He glanced at Tachibana shyly. 

Tachibana grinned hungrily, his eyes narrowing. “So I did, Kiryu-san,” he purred, throwing a leg over Kiryu’s lap then hauling him over by the tie. Kiryu whimpered and forgot all about the ice sculpture, the party, and in fact other people period. 

[jamestaylorswift]

1 different interpretation of “the 1”

A companion piece to this.

When I first heard “the 1,” I got a rather intense musical itch. Consider this essay to be me scratching it. Enjoy, or don’t, and thanks for reading!

Note: I’ve tried my best to simplify some technical parts music theory, but my sincerest apologies in advance if the translation still seems clunky. My hope is that if this essay doesn’t make musical sense to you, it will at least make linguistic sense. The only prerequisite knowledge you need is that scales exist and a song is made from minor and major chords.

——

There are a shocking number of connections between “peace” and “the 1.” One of my favorites is a very subtle musical one. Like “peace,” I propose that “the 1” could be imagined as a conversation. The difference in perspective is again telegraphed by what the piano and bass are doing.

Here are some musical facts about ”the 1:”

This song is in the key of C major, which means that the C major chord is the sonic ‘home base.’ It is is the chord to which every other one ‘resolves,’ or quite literally returns. (In fact, this chord accounts for exactly half the chords in the song.)

The verses and prechoruses are constructed with two alternating chords, (1) either F major or D minor, and then (2) C major. This creates a kind of ‘push and pull’ effect, of harmonic tension and release. (You don’t need any musical training to feel this effect. Just focus on the first 10-ish seconds of the song.)

All of the chords in the song are made up of three notes. The F major and D minor chords share two of the same notes; both chords are thus as similar as two chords could be. Substituting one for the other is a very common trick. These chords are similar enough that Taylor wouldn’t need to sing different notes over them to sound good. Indeed, she doesn’t, and several chord substitutions in “the 1” sneak by as Taylor goes on her merry melodic way.

In “the 1,” the substitution of D minor for F major does not happen at the same point in the verses/prechoruses. The D minor to C major progression happens in the seventh and eighth lines of the first verse, but the fifth and sixth of the second. It also happens in the third and fourth lines of the first prechorus. The second prechorus is only long enough to allow the F-C progression.

Chord substitutions exist mostly to make music interesting. If they do exist, they usually follow predictable patterns. The last observation above is…itchy.

Most people are taught that chord quality is emotive: major chords are happy and minor chords are sad. Perhaps Taylor is trying to highlight that the lyrics with substituted chords are especially sad. Here are the lyrics associated with the F-C progression:

I'm doing good, I'm on some new shit

Been saying "yes" instead of "no"

I thought I saw  you at the bus stop,

I didn't though

I hit the ground running each night

I hit the Sunday matinée

//

I guess you never know, never know

And if you wanted me, you really should've showed

//

I have this dream you're doing cool shit

Having adventures on your own

You meet some woman on the internet and take her home

//

You know the greatest loves of all time are over now

These are the lyrics with D minor instead:

You know the greatest films of all time

Were never made

//

And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow

And it's alright now

//

We never painted by the numbers, baby

But we were making it count

These lyrics are sad, but I don’t see why these lines would be picked over others. All of the lyrics are pretty depressing. Plus, if Taylor really wanted to make the song sad with minor chords, she would have added a lot more.

Emotion doesn’t explain the different positions of the minor chords in the verses. What could?

Recall “peace.” Observations about the bass and piano in that song, especially their musical independence/interdependence with respect to lyrics, led to the conclusion that the piano represents Taylor and the bass represents Karlie. These instruments also suggest two perspectives in “the 1.”

However, “the 1” is more sonically dense than “peace.” The arrangement of “the 1” makes perspective shifting more complicated than ‘the piano plays independently here, therefore Taylor is talking.’ Instead, we discover perspective shifts when considering deviation from the harmonic ‘norm’ of the song. (This is not a real musical term, but rather an English approximation of how our brains/ears interpret the chord progressions of “the 1.”)

The chord substitution is the first example of deviation from the norm. F major and D minor function differently in harmonic progressions because the bass note changes (from F to D). The effect of substituting D minor for F major is that the release of harmonic tension, the ‘pull’ or resolution back to C major of the first chord’s ‘push,’ is less satisfying. That is, a bass note of F exhibits a stronger ‘push,’ so the ‘pull’ back to C is far more compelling to the ear. (Look no further than terminology for an explanation. F major to C major is an example of the beautiful “amen” cadence, a chord progression so nicknamed because it’s found at the end of many hymns.)

Per the lyric split above, Person One gets the F-C progression while Person Two gets the D-C progression.

The second example of deviation from the harmonic norm is the movement of the bass note in first and second halves of the chorus.

Consider the first half of the chorus. The bass note follows the chords at the beginning of this section. The first two chords are A minor and C major, so the bass plays A and C. Like in the rest of the song, the chords in the rest of this section alternate: F major, C major, D minor, C major. (The notes aren’t really that important, just the back-and-forth behavior.) This time, however, the bass note doesn’t hop around with the alternating chords. It walks down part of the C major scale: F, E, D, C. (Again, the notes matter less than the movement. This is a part of the song where the bass doesn’t do what the piano is doing.) The bass movement in the first half of the chorus is summarized as ‘hopping, then walking down.’

The second half of the chorus features a bass that just walks down the C major scale: A, G, F, E, D, C. The only difference between the halves of the chorus lies in the first two chords, A minor and C major. This time the bass plays A and G, not A and C. 

This bass line appears in only the second halves of the first two choruses, but the entire bridge and last chorus.

The difference between the two halves of the chorus is simple in alphabetical terms but sneaky to the ear.

The alternating chords throughout the song make C major a strong sonic home base which the ear absolutely does not want to leave. (Pretend the ear is a person who doesn’t like to stray out of their comfort zone.) The bass has to leave C to make the music interesting at all, so it facilitates a sonic reward system. The first half of the chorus offers almost instant payoff for straying from the key’s chord: A is immediately followed by C. This placates the ear, if you will, and makes the walk down the scale more acceptable. The ear gets tricked into believing it will get to return to its comfort zone, to C, if it just waits a little while while the bass walks. So consider this first section the bass’s way of expanding the ear’s comfort zone.

The bass then can be a little more audacious. It walks down the better part of the C major scale in the second half of the chorus. Even though the chords above the bass line alternate with our home base chord of C major, the bass takes the long, long way back home to C. (Essentially, this harmonic progression is a tease because it takes its sweet time to fully resolve.) Still, this walking line isn’t as jarring as it could have been, because the bass eased the ear into accepting a long walking line during the first half of the chorus.

Remember that the walking bass line is ultimately what separates the bass from the piano. The long, meandering bass line in the second half of the chorus therefore constitutes deviation from the harmonic norm.

We apply this idea to the lyrics. The chorus is first Person One’s question:

But we were something, don't you think so?

Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

And then Person Two’s answer:

In my defense, I have none

For never leaving well enough alone

But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one

In summary, the harmonic progression of “the 1,” defined more by the bass line and not the piano chords on top of it, splits the song between two speakers. The verses and prechoruses are split unevenly. The first two choruses are split in half, with Person One speaking first and Person Two following. Person Two sings the bridge and last chorus.

I’ll be the first to concede that using an observation about “peace” to prove the same thing about “the 1” might be circular logic. It’s crucial, however, to recognize that all of this musical magic is very, very sneaky and probably not accidental—especially because deviation from the harmonic norm of “the 1” does not follow a simple (i.e. localized) pattern.

Who is Person One and who is Person Two?

Perhaps Taylor is Person One because the “new shit” is the “shit” she talks with her friends in “peace.” Perhaps she’s Person Two, who “never [leaves] well enough alone” in both “the 1” and “ME!” (This depends on your interpretation of “ME!” though.) If Karlie is the bass, does that mean she’s talking when the bass is doing something normal or something different? I have my own opinion, but in the spirit of the song, I’ll leave it open for your own interpretation.

The takeaway from this exercise isn’t that the novelty of a song increases because there are multiple perspectives in it. Many of Taylor’s songs allow room for interpretations of just one perspective as well as many. (I adore “the 1” as a solo breakup song.) Nor must all songs featuring piano and bass be conversations. The bass is critical for the style of “Lover,” for example; most people, myself included, regard that song as from Taylor’s perspective. To me, “peace” and “the 1” simply highlight one interesting, beautiful way of telegraphing multiple perspectives. Taylor has introduced multiple perspectives by creating lyrical connections and collaborating with artists who trade verses with her. Just as literal voices clarify who is speaking, it seems reasonable that instrumental voices could too.

One final thing. The melody and chords of a song bounce around a scale, which establishes the key of the song. In this case, the melody and harmonies are all made of notes in the C major scale; the song is ‘in’ C major. Different combinations of notes in the scale make different chords, like F major, D minor, A minor, and of course the C major chord, home base. Each chord can be represented by the single scale note upon which it’s built (e.g. F, D, A, C). This note is called the ‘root.’ It’s usually (though not always, as we saw) what the bass plays.

Scales are ordered. Musicians like to label chords with numbers based on where the root note falls in the scale order. The chord made from the very first note of the key—in this case, the C major chord, the thing to which Taylor always returns—is literally called “the 1.”

——

Things that I think are neat but that probably only exist because the songs aren’t boring as hell:

The bass walk down in the chorus of “the 1” is the same as the bass movement in the “peace” second verse/quasi-bridge

The “amen” cadence makes an appearance for the lyrics “the devil’s in the details but you’ve got a friend in me”

The coincidence that this essay is about?? Idk man maybe I was just supposed to be content with a lifetime of itchiness

[black-quadrant]

at long last, i give you chapter 2 of my demon AU! not as thrilling as chapter 1, unless you like a bunch of exposition! we’ll get to the juicy stuff soon enough. thanks for the interest and motivation to build out this AU!

He could have sworn he hadn’t consumed a drop of alcohol last night. Even a skeptic like him could assume spirits and real spirits would mix as well as oil and water, but ultimately he was staying sober for his friends in case they got themselves into some kind of actual real living trouble beyond their impulsivity to raise the dead, or... whatever.

So why did he feel completely hung the fuck over? Every muscle in his body ached, even ones he didn’t know he had, or hadn’t used since he was forced to play team sports in school (those were the days... not).

Nevertheless, he peeled himself out of bed, bracing himself for the morni-- er, afternoon. After... noon? With a soul-deep groan, Neku dragged himself into the shower, using that time to scavenge his memories of last night, picking up every mental fragment until he'd reached the end of the evening, where he crashed into bed. And the next conscious anything was a disturbingly vivid dream about being assaulted in said bed by what vaguely looked to be an arguably pretty boy packing a full set of gnashing teeth and ultraviolet whorls for eyes. The kind of nightmare vision appeal that made you hard for danger, the kind of unnerving midnight visitor that people wished would steal in and violate them in the comfort of their own room. And what followed... that made Neku stop everything, and crank the shower dial to blast himself with ice water.

He did not have time to indulge sordid fantasies. That was a hell of a dream though; he couldn’t recall the last time he’d dreamt so vividly. He’d have to... circle back around to that one later.

Right now he needed to rejoin society, and hopefully the flood of city stimuli will dilute and filter out this undercurrent of indistinct eeriness.

A cup of coffee was a good start. That, and an apology, both for bailing on his friends, and for, well, his friends. Taking to the streets, armed with his headphones (he never left home without them), he cranked up the volume until he could no longer hear Shibuya and meandered the all too familiar path to Wildkat Cafe.

He’s taking a gamble here at the shop being open, as it’s known for its proprietor’s inconsistent (putting it lightly) hours, but he’s in luck; it’s open, and Mr. H, upon spotting him, waved him in.

“’Ey, Phones!” He didn’t need hear him to read his lips and know he’s greeting him by his exasperating nickname. He used to think Mr. H simply forgot his name, but after countless attempts to try to replace it with his actual name, and even going without his headphones for a week to train him out of it, he’d resigned himself to his unchanging fate. But such was the nature of nicknames, right? You don’t always want them.

“Hey, Mr. H.” Draping said `phones’ around his neck, Neku strolled in, making his way to the counter where the barista was stationed, currently cleaning down the counter. “I, uh... wanted to say sorry for last night. I--”

Neku paused abruptly as a shadow fell over Hanekoma’s expression, smothering the air of congeniality he had about him. It’s the first time Neku’s ever seen him look so aggravated. It’s not until Hanekoma spoke that he realized he was staring past him.

“Does he know you’re stalking him, J?”

“You’re always ruining my fun, Mr. H.”

Neku spun toward the source of the undeniably snide tone, finding himself gawking at the face that starred in his tawdry dream last night.

“Hello, Neku.” He smiled with normal human teeth. A small comfort.

“... what the fuck?! Where did you come from? There was no one here a second ago.” Neku cast Hanekoma a wide-eyed glance full of disbelief. “...was there?”

Hanekoma barked out a laugh and shook his head.

“Who the fuck is this? Why do you know my name?” Something deeply, disturbingly intuitive Neku refused to acknowledge told him he knew the answer.

“I’m hurt. We met just last night.” It’s then that Neku noticed the petite violet horns seated atop that fluffy head. They couldn’t be bigger than two inches. It’s not like it’s out of place for the season, but it’s a bit too campy for Neku’s taste. Just as he was about to mock them, something brushed his arm.

A legitimate demon tail, complete with spade tip.

“Seriously? You’re wearing that out in public?” He swatted it away, eliciting a squeak of alarm from the little weirdo.

“Gentle. It’s not a costume prop.”

Neku backed himself up to the counter, again looking to the barista for help.

“You know damn well you’re not supposed to be in the RG.” He regarded said little weirdo with such familiarity that he was chastising him. RG? Too much is happening at once. Neku slammed a hand on the counter. "Hello?? I did not meet you, not last night or ever.”

The blonde simply smirked.

“Joshua... that ring a bell?”

The name, combined with his tone, struck him like lightning, and all at once the image flashed back into his mind. Horrorterror teeth, clawed hands, unmistakeable purple eyes--

“...holy shit.”

“There’s nothin’ holy ‘bout him--”

“Mr. H, would you like me to spill your secrets?”

“Which one?” The barista countered with a grin, and Neku literally and figuratively stepped out of their crossfire and snatched Joshua by a horn, cringing at discovering that it’s fixed to his skull. Joshua hissed, but didn’t move.

“Tell me now.”

“Don’t you remember? Your friends didn’t close the door. But don’t worry, I closed it behind me.” Neku released his grip and took a step back, finally understanding. It wasn’t a fever dream. Wasn’t even a normal dream. It had happened, it--

“You were in my bedroom--” Neku’s face went beet red. Joshua giggled knowingly.

“No, we didn’t do that. That was me feeding you some... prospects. Or perhaps it was a premonition?”

“You’re fucking gross.”

“Anyway,” Hanekoma interjected, “Joshua here is, I guess what you would call a demon.” Joshua huffed at being outed.

“This,” Neku gestured vaguely at the `boy’ “is not what I saw last night. Last night I would believe what I saw was indeed a demon. This is just a campy ruse.”

“Well, technically, you’re spot on.” Joshua affirmed, his sinuously long, slender tail swaying behind him, not unlike a cat’s. “Clearly you’re not a demon enthusiast or you’d know that we can take human shape, so that we can walk among you...” Joshua slunk over to the counter, tapping an empty mug in a silent entreaty for coffee. “Just like angels...right, Mr. H?” Hanekoma ignored him for the espresso machine.

“... okay... okay, okay, this has crossed over from fucking weird to goddamn cursed. I have so many questions I don’t even want the answers to, but I’ll summarize all of them: what do you want?”

Joshua, leaning casually against the counter, turned to Neku with a delighted grin.

“You. I like you. You’re a one in a million find in this city.” Behind the counter, brewing Joshua’s cup, Hanekoma scoffed. “You’re sensitive on an energetic level. I’d like us to spend some quality time... and I have been so bored. I was drawn to you because I can see you are bored, too.”

Neku opened his mouth to protest, but he instantly thought better of it. He’s not sure how Joshua could smell the utter ennui on him, but he’d chalk it up to Demonic Shit because he was getting a massive headache from information overload.

“As fun as hanging out with you and being tormented at night sounds, I’ll pass. I’ve got a life to live that I’m not going to piss away entertaining a demon masquerading as a human. The horns and tail are doing nothing for you human passing, by the way.”

“You want to send me back then, Neku? Do you even know how?” This motherfucker. Neku grit his teeth, biting back the urge to slap the pretty off his face.

“Besides, you won’t even see me during the day. I’ll make myself absent to the eyes.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I can hop between... dimensions. We’ll say dimensions. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“So you can stalk me some more?”

“Alright, boys, simmer down. `I’ll make your cup a’joes for the road, an’ you can go out an’ get acquainted.”

“You’re not off the hook.” Neku said sharply. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet about this the whole time. Obviously you two are acquainted. What is your relationship to this little cryptid?”

“I’ll tell ya all ‘bout it later, Phones. You have my word.” He pushed the cups forward. “On the house.” Hanekoma never offered free coffee. This did not bode well for Neku, who could tell he’d have to put up with a pet demon until he learned how to slam dunk him back to his own dimension.

“...fine. Are you gonna put away the costume props?”

“No one but you will see my very real extensions of myself. There’s my compromise.”

Neku rolled his eyes.

“You have to get the hell out of here if I go see my friends. I am not explaining you. That’s my compromise.”

“Brr... so cold.” Joshua cozied up to Neku’s side, clearly intent on testing his boundaries (and his wrath). “Take me out to lunch, and I will tell you anything you want to know.”

“I can’t believe this...”

Those purple eyes, for a split second, flare with the glow of last night.

“Oh, Neku... you will. You will.”