#the white day event sure is giving me fun content to draw!

[littelestvic]

Stylization notes on Toya (as on March 2023)

[grelleswife]

Hi! I wanted to ask your opinion on why you enjoy Kuroshitsuji if it isn’t too much to answer. Recently I have been feeling like I’m being ‘punished’ for enjoying Kuro because I always see people talking bad about it and Yana on twitter. 😅 I am well aware Kuro has a lot of issues but I really enjoy the characters and such but the opinions of people about the series kind of has been hurting me as a fan and thus I have been losing interest🥲 I was hoping I can talk to someone who is a fan of Kuro that can help give me some mindset or something. I have been drawing for Kuro for years so I’m quite passionate towards the series and Yana herself and but this has been bugging me. If you can’t answer this it is totally okay and you can delete this ask❣️

Hi, anon! That’s not too much at all! My apologies for the late response; I wanted to make sure I could sit down to properly get my thoughts in order before answering.

My love for Kuro was originally (and is to this day) rooted in the source material. The manga and anime introduced me to some of my most beloved fictional characters, including Miss Grelle—as attested to by my url! 😉 The story instantly had me hooked with its campy hijinks, tragic undertones, and forays into the dark corners of the human psyche. Even with the current lag in pacing, I’m excited to see where the Phantomfam’s adventures take us next! And, of course, I would be remiss without mentioning the artwork. In a visual medium like manga, aesthetics can make or break your enjoyment of a series, and Kuro’s Victorian steampunk flair is perfectly suited to my tastes, especially with the steady improvement in quality as Yana’s honed her craft over the years.

However, particularly during this dry season of short chapters and plodding plot progression, it’s the community that grew up around Kuro that nourishes my love for it the most. Naysayers condescendingly sneer that the fandom is dead, but the incredible art, funny memes, awesome animations, excellent fics (some of which outshine published novels I’ve read), insightful meta and more that I see across my dash and in the tags suggest otherwise. And when we come together (such as during past fandom weeks or @anewp0tat0 ‘s recent event to celebrate the 200th chapter) that display of talent burns even brighter. As a writer, building up lore in headcanons and fic or reading my mutual’s creative interpretations of Yana’s world is just as fun—if not more so—than engaging with the actual manga. That enrichment alone is enough to keep me invested in the Kuroverse for the foreseeable future.

The series also holds considerable sentimental value for me because it served as the catalyst for my queer awakening and brought friends and loved ones into my life who I would never have met otherwise. Even if the day comes when I put Kuroshitsuji on the shelf in favor of other stories, that positive impact will remain.

However, that doesn’t mean that the series or fandom are perfect. Yana’s sleazy past and irresponsible pandering to the gross side of the fandom are an unpleasant reality with which we must contend, as are the fujoshis, transphobes, and other creeps—some of whom proved to be a genuine danger to minors—who continue to give us a bad name. But those people who blindly label Kuro as wholesale trash and accuse all fans of condoning the problematic content merely betray their simplistic, black-and-white way of thinking. We cannot and should not sweep the objectionable aspects of the series under the rug, but we can interact with Kuro critically—recognizing and calling out the areas in need of improvement while also cherishing the best parts of this cursed butler manga. As long as you’re consuming media responsibly, and in a way that doesn’t actively harm others, then you have no reason to feel guilty. You sure as heck don’t deserve to be punished!

Ignore the haters as best you can, and try to focus on what first ignited your passion for Kuro; don’t let those jerks steal your joy. 😤 Alternatively, if you need to take a break from that onslaught of negativity and just rest for a bit, that’s fine, too! There’s no shame in stepping away to recharge, and you shouldn’t push yourself to participate in fandom if doing so is detrimental to your well-being.

I’m sorry to hear that you’ve been having a tough time over on the bird app, but I hope my answer was helpful and that Kurohell can continue to be a happy, welcoming place for you! 🖤

[erodasfishtacos]

#HendallReunited

prompt: request was to write broad but to write something angsty

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: language, sexual content, angst

Harry always had issues with saying ‘no’ to people. He never quite grew out of his manners even when he should have.

He said ‘yes’ to way too many things- signing autographs for rude fans and paparazzi, and agreed to way too many things Jeff suggested.

Saying yes to everything didn’t make his life any easier is the thing. Especially when it came to his wife. She was usually left with the aftermath of him being too nice.

The media painted Y/N in a negative light occasionally and so did the fans because she would stand up for Harry and not let him say ‘yes’ to every single request.

She would tell disrespectful fans he’s not signing autographs because of the way they were screaming and interrupting his work.

Harry wished he could do it himself - admired that his wife didn’t give a fuck what people thought about her. He cared entirely too much what the world would think.

The couple didn’t fight about much - no, not really. Normal couple stuff for the most part. But this was the exception, this is where Y/N found most of their turmoil.

Every few months it would rear it’s ugly head and they’d find themselves in the same position over and over again.

This time - it was really fucking bad.

The couple had been staying in their Los Angeles home for the last few months whilst the singer finalized his album and began promotion.

It was boring meeting among boring lunch outings to get all their ducks in a row. Jeff - his manager the main orchestrator.

He was a great manager and a good friend, but it was also business too which Harry didn’t always comprehend.

At the end of the day, Harry was making Jeff millions upon millions of dollars. But Harry didn’t think that way.

**

Harry was in a stuffy conference room at the The Late Late Show to work on the script and ideas for the show. Promo had been nonstop.

He was a bit tired as it was nearly just hitting eight in the morning and he had been up late with you - having some late night loving in the hot tub.

“As for guest - Kendall Jenner,” James Corden’s producer states. All the men agree but Harry is taken aback.

“Why...why would we have my ex-girlfriend as one of my guests?” Harry interrupts, confusion knitting his brows.

Kendall and him didn’t end on a bad note - not at all. They hooked up a few times after their ‘break-up’ but once he’d met Y/N she was understanding when he cut it off.

Y/N wasn’t necessarily jealous of the model, but didn’t love when they’d run into each other at events. She was still overtly flirty with Harry without much shame. 

Harry also didn’t have an desire to see her or host her as a guest on the show. She was nice but he wasn’t interested in being friends with her. They didn’t have much in common and he was head over heels for his wife.

“The media will eat it up, dude. Harry Styles and Kendall Jenner reunited on a show after four years?” Jeff smiles, the others nodding in amicable agreement.

This is one of this times where Harry needs to say “no,” that it’s disrespectful to his significant other to use an old flame for promo for his album.

He already knows ‘hendall’ will be trending within minutes and he can’t imagine how that would make his parter feel.

“I just...this doesn’t seem like a good idea?” Harry begins hesitantly, making it sound more like a question than a statement. 

“Why not?” Eric, one of the writers asks.

“Y’know, I’m married. I don’t think m’missus would appreciate if I did somethin’ like that just for promotion,” he states, scratching at his jaw uncomfortably.

“Look Styles, we’re not asking you to fuck the girl. It just a interview, c’mon,” The executive producer gruffs - wanting those guaranteed views.

Harry swallows - looking at his manager and then at everyone else at the table looking at him for an affirmative answer.

“Uh-sure,” Harry fumbles, feeling anxiety rise into his throat. Fuck, he’s such a god damn pushover.

He’s trying to find his voice to go back on his agreement but the meeting wrapping up and people are leaving with final handshakes.

**

Harry doesn’t know how to tell Y/N what is going on. He’d been keeping in stored in the back of his mind, not ready to have a blowout.

He never found the perfect time to bring it up and now it was too late. It was the morning of the show and he was due to be at the rehearsals this afternoon.

Harry had finally decided he was going to tell her this morning over coffee but forgot that she had a girl’s day planned with a few friends.

She was already out to breakfast with them when he woke up. His phone had one text from you.

Hi baby. I’m out with the girls. See you at the show tonight. I’ll meet you there around six! Love you!

He was fucked royally and he had no one to blame but himself. Maybe it’d be okay, maybe she’d roll her eyes and tell him he’s an idiot.

Realistically he knew that was just a sweet dream at this point.

—

Harry was fidgety and kept mucking up his lines during rehearsal as it got closer to the showtime and his missus arriving.

Kendall had arrived for hair and makeup without seeing her ex-boyfriend yet. He dreaded seeing the model.

Kendall and Y/N had met a few times at different events. It was always cordial. Kendall was always casual - their relationship was never more than a couple fun dates and sex.

They were kind to each other when they met but he couldn’t deny how much harder his partner kissed him on the mouth afterwards.

Before he know it, his wife is hugging him from behind as he talks to a producer about which cameras to look at.

Y/N noticed the way he tensed up at first and thought about how unusual that was for him. Normally, he’d lean back into her with his full weight causing them both to stumble and laugh.

He slowly, cautiously turns around and his face  relaxes a little bit but not completely. “Hi baby,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss.

“You look so handsome,” she replies, admiring his brown pinstriped suit and her pearl necklace that he’d snagged awhile back. She thought it looked better on him anyways.

“You look even better, s’fuckin’ pretty, love,” he gushes, coming back in for another kiss - a little too sensual for the setting.

She was donned in a cropped white shirt, showing of the smooth expanse of her tummy. An oversized blazer of Harry’s, ripped jeans, and heels. 

Harry thought fleetingly he couldn’t wait to fuck her after the show. Then remembered that mostly wouldn’t happen.

Reggie, the musical lead, slides up to you two. He smiles wide at you, saying, “Can’t believe you agreed to the guest this evening.”

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, Harry’s raise nearly to his forehead, but when she opens her mouth to ask him to explain they’re interrupted.

“Harry!” The leggy model trots over to the little group. Dressed in an interesting one-piece suit that has sewn in heels. She looked beautiful as ever, of course she was a model.

Both of them turn towards the oblivious girl, “Kendall,” Harry replies with a twinge of anxiety - eyes repeatedly looking at his significant other’s profile as multiple emotions flash.

“Hiya, you’re Y/N right?” Kendall smiles kindly, offering her manicured hand.

She accepts, “Yeah, uh-good to see you again.”

Harry knew she had connected the dots quickly in her head. The hurt, confusion, had hit her eyes before narrowing into full-blown rage at her partner.

“I promise I’ll go easy on him,” Kendall jokes before pinching at Harry’s cheek teasingly. The model was a natural flirt with everyone she got along with.

“Oh, sure,” she replies lamely, attempting to not let her feelings burst out in that moment with her husband . She knew it wasn’t Kendall’s fault.

“I’m going to go grab a bite to eat. I’m probably gonna puke when we do ‘spill or fill’. See you guys soon,” the model waves before trailing off with her assistant.

“Did you kn- of course you knew she was your guest,” Y/N seethes, turning to fully face the guilt-stricken-singer.

He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact, “I did.”

“How long have you known for?” She demands to know, keeping her voice at an angry whisper to not draw attention.

Harry wasn’t going to lie to his love, “About two weeks.”

Y/N replies with a laugh, “let me guess, you let Jeffrey talk you into this bullshit, again.”

His silence is all she needs to know it’s true.

“For Christ’s sake, of course,” She huffs bitterly, “what’s even worse is you didn’t fucking tell me. What the fuck?”

Harry bites his lip, not able to rasp out anything but a pathetic, “m’sorry, love.”

He wasn’t usually good at taking responsibility during a fight. He was stubborn at best but he couldn’t deny his way out of this.

“You will be, you-“

They were cut off by the staff, the audience was trailing in and Harry needed to get mic’d up now.

“This conversation isn’t over,” she points her finger at his chest before storming off to the side of the stage where she’d watch from.

Fucking shit.

**

Harry was a performer. It’s easy for him to push things to the back of his mind so he can entertain a enamored audience.

But tonight, he was struggling. Eyes flicking over to the teleprompter more than usual, his demeanor not as vivid and carefree.

Not when his wife was glaring daggers at him from stage right. Her hand constantly at her mouth, biting at her nails - a nervous tick of hers.

“Next up, the one, the only, the beautiful model and one of my good friends, Kendall Jenner!” Harry introduces when she walks out and waves at the crowd.

They hug and when they pull apart they step over to where they were playing the game. Either answer the question or eat a nasty food picked out by the other.

They weren’t allowed to see each other’s questions before the game started- both going on blind which put Harry more on edge.

“Okay, Kendall. Rank the members of One Direction on most to least attractive or you will be eating...” Harry spins the table, “Cow tongue.”

She flinched at the disgusting plate, smirking up at Harry before considering her course of action, “I think I can answer this one.”

He wasn’t looking forward to her answer. Neither was Y/N by the way she nearly shaking her foot off her leg.

“Okay, I got this. You - the most attractive, then uh- Zayn....Louis...Niall...Liam,” she laughs, “but all of you are hot!”

Harry fake laughs and acts like he’s impressed by her answer as the crowd roars and cheers. 

When Kendall picks up her notecard - she laughs in surprise at the question before looking at him with bright eyes.

“Okay, um, bull penis!” She giggles before starting the question, “I’m dying to know this answer. So...your first album HS1 was released four years ago, correct?”

He nods, apprehensive.

“Which songs were about me? Especially was only angel?” She laughs at Harry’s pale expression before without another thought he shovels the rancid food into his mouth.

Harry looks off to the side to see that his missus is no longer sitting there. Just Jeff - who gives him a thumbs up.

**

The first thing he did when the show ended and the lights dimmed was bolt off to Jeff - ignoring Kendall who was about to say something to him.

“Where’d Y/N go?”

He thought she might have went out to get a breathe of fresh air but for the next hour and a half he hasn’t seen her once.

“She said she wasn’t feeling very good. She told me to tell you she’d meet you at home,” Jeff shrugs unbothered.

“Damnit!” Harry curses loudly, ripping out of the microphone and the little pack in his back waistband.

“Harry,” Jeff scolds at his unprofessionalism that was abnormal for him.

“No! Don’t fucking ever ask me to do shit like this again. You fucking knew what questions were on those notecards and you said it wasn’t anything about our previous relationship.”

“Harry-“

“Don’t fucking talk to me. You’re a real shit manager sometimes, you know that? Do not contact me tonight or tomorrow for that matter, you douchebag,” Harry barks before storming off towards the dressing rooms.

All the employees were standing around in shock, staring at the popstar as he ignored everyone around him.

Harry was famously known for being a kind, amicable guy. So it took everyone by surprise to hear him speak like that. Even Jeff was shaken up a little.

—

The house was pitch-black as Harry pulled up. The house’s first floor was lined with large, bay windows and not a single light was on.

He could find one room illuminated which was your bedroom. A dim side lamp must have been flicked on. He imagined her purposely turning off all the lights on the trek up the staircase.

Harry didn’t want to admit how much he was trembling with awful nerves and anticipation as he slowly turns the knob of the shared bedroom.

Y/N wasn’t laying in bed as he expected but found the bathroom door shut tightly. He noticed a little yellow bag with tissue paper off to the side by a dresser.

He knocks on the oak door, not daring to enter without permission.

“What do you want?” Y/N answers, tone flat and emotionless. 

“Can I come in, baby? Please...” He wasn’t ashamed to beg for forgiveness at this point. Hearing the emptiness in her tone scared him shitless.

“I really could care less,” She replies coldly from her spot in the scalding water decorated with bubbles.

Harry had never felt more unsure in his life as he enters the bathroom.  Y/N had gotten proper pissed at him or vice versa before - right before a concert, an award ceremony but she’d never left without him.

Her head was laying against the foam headrest and her body was covered by the soap water. She looked tired and her eyes were puffy from crying.

Harry kneels next to the tub, “look at me, please pet.”

 Y/N takes a moment before turning her head and opening her eyes. They were distant, disappointed in the man in front of her.

“I should have told you about Kendall. I should have put up more of a fight to get someone else on instead,” Harry admits, his hands desperately wanting to reach out for her.

She shakes her head with a heart-wrenching sniffle, “it’s not just tonight, Harry. We’ve had this conversation continuously for three and a half fucking years. You try to please everyone, despite them giving no fucks about you.”

“Are you that much of a pushover? You let your ex-girlfriend flirt with you in front of millions. Do you know how embarrassing and unfair that it to me?” She wipes at her eyes to stop the tears spilling over.

Harry hadn’t thought of it like that - to be honest. But he agrees, it wasn’t fair and downright cruel to do that to her.

What? All because he couldn’t say ‘no’ because he didn’t want people to be mad at him? It was pathetic and ridiculous.

“I-I won’t let it happen again, lovie. I mean it, I truly do,” Harry whimpers reaching over to cup her cheek and wants to cry when she pushes him away.

“You’re a broken record. You’ve said that a million times before but don’t change,”  Y/N points out, eyes boring furiously into his wife’s.

“I’m goi-“

She cuts him off with a sharp edge in her tone, “Just leave me alone, get out.”

The man’s face crumbles and for a second, she wants to just end the fight and makeup but then nothing would change.

“Baby-“

“Get out!” She finally bellows, tears streaming down her face steadily.

He obliges, head hung in defeat as he closes the door behind him. He stands there’s blankly for a second before going to the walk-in closet.

He’s pulling out a fresh pair of cotton underwear and a large sleepshirt for his partner, laying them neatly on the bed.

Harry doesn’t know what to do with himself while he waits so he pulls out his phone to mindlessly scroll.

He throws it against the wall when he sees #hendallreunited is trending number one on Twitter at the moment.

The singer strips down to his briefs and sits with his back against the tufted headboard, staring blankly at the wall.

His eyes catch a neon pink pair of his swimshorts tossed carelessly on the decorative vase in the corner of the room from the night before .

“Fuck, baby - no need to rush,” Harry groans into Y/N ‘s mouth as she pushes him until he’s sat on the edge of their California king.

She reaches impatiently for the tie on his neon pink swimshorts and yanks them off his slim, peach-fuzz thighs before throwing them onto the vase without a care that it was worth over twenty-thousand pounds.

After edging her in the hot tub with his fingers and mouth, she wasn’t waiting any longer before clambering onto his lap, pulling her swim bottoms to the side, and sinking onto him.

He felt guilty when his cock twitched at the thought of it. But when reality set back in, the arousal with the memory evaporated.

It isn’t much longer until the door is pulled open and  Y/N’s padding into the room with a towel secured around her.

She looks at the clothes Harry set out for her and pointedly walks past them to pick out her own nightwear. 

That really shouldn’t make his eyes tear up as he watches her slide on a similar pair of panties and an oversized shirt. Spotting a purpling bruise on her upper in thigh from his mouth.

 Y/N silently walks past the bed and to the bedroom door, looking back before bleakly stating, “I’m going to sleep in the guest room.”

He frowns, wrinkles appearing on his forehead, “You can sleep in here, love. I’ll take the guest room.”

Harry doesn’t get a reply as she just shakes her head and closes the door loudly behind her. 

It’s just - he’s never seen her this upset. She was usually fantastic at communicating her feelings and hashing things out.

She wasn’t one for the silent treatment or ignoring the topic. It had his chest rising faster than usual with anxiety. The serious of it overwhelming him.

He states at the wall for a very long time without wiping the fat tears brimming over his trembling lips.

*

He couldn’t sleep - it was half past three and he hadn’t even laid down or clicked off the lamp.

Harry accepted sleep wasn’t coming so he begins to tidy the already clean room. He picks up the shorts and tossing them in the hamper.

He refolds some joggers he’d carelessly shoved in a drawer and when he went to move the little yellow bag - curiosity got the best of him.

There was no card and he wasn’t sure who it was for or if it had been a gift already give to Y/N that she had returned home with.

Harry really shouldn’t - but he does. Gently tugging out the paper and reaching in to feel fabric.

Pulling it out, it takes him a minute to identify what it is - two baby onesie. Who was having a baby?

He lays them in front of him, eyes widening in surprise as he reads what is printed across the black cotton.

The first one was the colors and font of his upcoming tour merch with the photo he used on his tour announcement with the heeled boot and white pants.

Love on Tour - Due Date: September 2025

With Special Guest Appearance from Baby Styles

The second one was simple and read across the chest:

I’m having your baby (and it is your business) with embroidered kiwis all of over it.

He frantically reached back into the bag to pull out a bundle of pregnancy tests tied with a silk bow.

They weren’t necessarily trying for a baby but they’re weren’t not trying either. Harry wanted a baby as soon as his missus was willing to give him one.

“No, no, don’t one,” she’d whined into his mouth when he’d reached over to grab a condom off the nightstand.

“Oh sweet thing, you want me bare? Fill you up?” He croons happily, coming back to grip at his thick base and tease at her entrance.

“Ye-yeah, H. Please,” (Y/N) whimpers, bucking her hips in the hope he’d slip inside her.

Harry hums, “Might give you a baby though, y’want me to knock you up?”

“Want it, wan-“

He cuts her off with a hard, blissful kiss as he thrusts all the way inside before pulling out to do it again. 

“Gonna give it to you, whatever you want, lovie,” he promises.

The two had never used protection afterwards. It had start about seven months ago and from his knowledge she’d still been getting her periods regularly.

Occasionally, he would palm at her flat tummy and pout, “Haven’t put a baby in you yet, ‘ave I?”

He was so ecstatic but disappointed in himself for ruining everything and pleasing everyone other than who he should be.

Harry needed to fix this. He didn’t want Y/N to lose the excitement of having their baby over a dumb choice of his.

The man’s out of the room and not knocking before entering their guest room. His now pregnant love is laying on-top of the covers.

One hand subconsciously on her belly - which she removes and places next to her when her wife walks in.

The television was on but the volume was low and Y/N wasn’t watching it in the first place anyways.

Harry sits on the edge of the bed, “I opened the yellow bag.”

She looks at him with wide eyes, a little taken aback. she was going to surprise him tonight and forgot to store it away for another time after the fight.

Harry has happy tears dribbling down his cheeks, “you’re having my baby?”

Y/N nods, running a slight hand through his curls. She still had a nasty knot of anger and uncertainty in the pit of her stomach.

It pains her, wanting to share this moment of excitement with Harry but she just couldn’t. The uncertainty of whether Harry would put everybody’s needs before his own baby.

“Come back to bed, want t’talk and celebrate. M’so bloody excited,” Harry murmurs, a large smile decorating his face as he smooths a palm over the expanse of her tummy.

His wife shakes her head and places a hand over his, feeling the cold metal of all of them. “I want to be left alone.”

The twinkle in Harry’s eye diminishes to devastation as he realizes that he’s fucked up so badly that she doesn’t even want to celebrate.

“Pet, can...we just forget about it tonight and be happy ‘bout the baby?” Harry asks selfishly, knowing it was unlikely she’d agree.

She didn’t, a firm expression on her face, “no, I have a lot to think about.”

“Like wha’?” He asks anxiously, unknowing of quite the reason she was so furious.

“Like how you say yes to everything and everyone. We talk and talk about how you need to say ‘no’ and do what’s best for you - for us. You agree to and never follow through”

She takes a shaky breath and continues, “it’s affected our relationship before when you’ve had to cancel our vacation away from all this for a charity concert you’d agree to perform at last minute, dinner reservations because you told your friend we’d be at their art showing they wanted you at.”

Harry knew she was right. He did those things. He wanted everyone to be happy with him - to a fault.

“Tonight was just icing on the cake, you allowed your manager to talk you into hosting your ex on that show. Out of all the people in the world - her. With flirty questions and jabs from her. You let that happen. You care about making everyone happy but in return you don’t care how it affects me. That’s pretty shitty.”

“I’m...I’m really fucking scared you’ll do that even when we have the baby. I need you to put them first and right now...I’m not sure if you’re going to. You can’t put the person you want to spend the rest of your life with first now, how do I know you’ll do it with the baby?”

Harry chokes out a sob as he presses his forehead against the bed, his broad shoulders shaking. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried this hard - years ago maybe. He felt like his wife didn’t have any faith in him and he was to blame.

He looks up at her with swollen eyes - at a loss for what to do or say. He loved her so much and was over the moon that they were going to have a baby.

“How do I fix this, darling? You’re right, I really fucked up. M’sorry,” Harry cries, grabbing at her hands and she allows it.

“Just saying you’re sorry won’t fix it,” Y/N replies flatly, letting Harry squeeze and kiss at the backs of her hands.

“Then what do I bloody do to fix this?” Harry raises his voice in frustration, staring in bewilderment at his wife. 

Y/N narrows her eyes at him, “Do not raise your voice at me, Harry. Actions speak louder than words.”

Harry swallows harshly, pressing one finally kiss to her hand. “Okay.”

“Okay?” She repeats.

“I love you, I’ll fix this,” he promises with conviction. He knew what he needed to do and do it tomorrow. So he and his wife could enjoy her new pregnancy.

“I need space tonight, I just...please”Y/N says quietly, rubbing at his shoulder.

It wasn’t the first time they’ve slept in separate rooms because they weren’t getting along but they normally found their way back to each other before sunrise.

Harry nods, lip still tremble with the residual anxiety of the conversation. She allows him to press a soft kiss to her mouth before leaving the room.

—-

Cafe Habana was busy - but no one was paying much attention to Harry and Jeff. It was the morning after and Harry had demanded a meeting over breakfast with his manager.

“Y/N pregnant,” Harry states bluntly after their drinks arrive.

“Oh? Congratulations, dude. That’s exciting!” Jeff leans over to pat him on the shoulder, a big smile.

“The baby is due in September. My next tour starts in next July. The baby will be about nine months. I want to be at home with them for the first year.”

Jeff doesn’t look pleased, “what are you getting at Harry?”

“Reschedule the July and August tour dates. Tack them on to the end of the tour,” Harry lays out flat. 

He hadn’t talk to his wife about this but he knew this was how he could prove that he could say ‘no’ and not be a pushover.

“No Harry. Look I get you’re excited about the baby - but that will be such a fucking hassle,” Jeff frowns, sipping his mimosa.

“I’m not asking, Jeff. I’m telling you that’s what needs to happen,” Harry replies firmly, tone strong and unwavering.

Jeff is definitely taken aback by his client’s conviction. 

“While we’re on the topic, do not ever put me in a situation like you did yesterday. It affected my wife and I. And I will choose her over this career any day.”

The manager nods in surprise, “Harry, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not asking for an apology but if you ever pull something like then I’ll be looking for a new management team. Are we clear?” 

Jeff once again nods, unsure of where this is coming from but at the thought of losing his biggest client would be disastrous so he’d do whatever to accommodate him.

“Consider it done,” he tells Harry before clearing his throat in a slight panic.

—

Y/N woke up to an empty house. She was restless, she asked Harry to prove to her that he could be what she needed. However, it was a bit unfair because she didn’t know how he could do it.

It’s just…she had a baby to think about. They both needed to be put first and if it took a gnarly fight for Harry to realize it...so be it.

“Baby? Love, where are you?” She hears Harry echo through the whole house. She was sat in the kitchen, on a stool by the island, idly sorting through mail.

“In here!”

Harry jogs in, panting like he sprinted from the garage up to the kitchen. He comes to stand in front of the love of his life.

“I might have not completely fixed everything but...I tried,” Harry tells her, cradling her face in his large palms. “ I just got back from lunch with Jeff. I told him about the baby.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “I rescheduled tour dates so I can be with you guys at home in London for the first year. Then...maybe you guys can join me after?”

“Harry…” she’s at a loss for words.

“And I told Jeff that if he ever puts me in a situation like that again, I’m firing him.”

Y/N stares at him, in awe and admiration of the man she chose to marry and keep forever. His face was so sincere and vulnerable.

Harry didn’t know whether it would be enough. If it wasn’t he’d keep trying but all he could do was hope. He waited with bated breath as she processed his words.

“Baby, you-for me?” She murmurs as she stands up and crowds into his space. He instantly wraps her up into a tight hug, missing her touch.

“Of course, pet. I’d do anything for you, I mean it. I’d quit this whole career if you wanted tha’,” he tells her truthfully - lips brushing her forehead.

“I love you, so so much,” Y/N murmurs, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“We’re havin’ a baby,'' Harry sighs dreamily into her mouth, tongue sliding against hers. A large hand came to palm at her belly.

“Yeah, m‘having your baby,” She giggles as he begins to trail the kisses down her jaw and neck - pressing her into the marble countertop.

“Should we name it Kiwi?” Harry rasps as he slides the tank top strap off her shoulder so his lips can meet the cap of her warm shoulder.

“We are not going to be that celebrity couple who names their baby something weird,” Y/N groans as he grounds his hips into hers with intent.

THE END

[nethercomfies]

Congratulations on 200 followers!! You deserve it and many more, you've become one of my top favourite blogs and you haven't even been doing this as long as some others! You've got serious talent :)

I'd like to request the prompt "is that a drawing of me?" Or at least I think that's it, I could be phrasing it slightly wrong ^^' With Albedo, Kaeya and Itto! I'm mostly sending this in for Albedo because I really love the thought of his s/o being skilled at art and shy about it in front of him hehe``

If you'd like to do this for different characters of course go ahead! Have a lovely happy day! Or night``!(✿^‿^)

HELLO IT HAS BEEN ONE BILLION YEARS AND I'M SO SORRY, I DIDN'T FORGET-

Ahhh anon you’re so sweet!! Thank you, really, that means a lot <33

I’m so sorry these event works are taking so long… I didn’t NOT wanna do something for Valentine’s Day tho ToT

But this served as a nice pallet cleanser in between tons of Valentine’s Day fics (cuz they do get repetitive after a while, even tho they’re really fun to write ;; )

Characters: Albedo, Kaeya, Itto

Prompt: "Is that a drawing of me?"

Content: Mainly fluff, use of pet names (sweetheart, darling), established relationship, gn!reader

My 200 followers event

Albedo:

You’re completely absorbed in the way your pencil scratches across the paper, just allowing your hand to draw whatever comes natural. It’s not too big of a surprise that you end up with a familiar face, calmly smiling with eyes slightly averted and somewhat messy hair covering some of it. Your eyes wander to the alchemy table not too far from you where Albedo seems to still be fully absorbed in whatever experiment he’s currently working on.

When he catches you staring, his serious expression turns into a small grin. “Do you need anything?” He asks, setting the vial he’d been holding aside.

You shake your head. “I’m alright, don’t worry. Just wanted to look at your pretty face.” You grin at the slight blush appearing on his cheeks that clearly isn’t just there because of the Dragonspine cold.

Albedo approaches you and you instinctively pull your sketchbook closer towards your chest. He raises an eyebrow as he sits down next to you. “What’s that?” He asks, eyeing the sketch you’re so desperately trying to hide. You feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but allow him to see either way -- Albedo is always so sweet to you, surely he wouldn’t make fun of your drawings, right?

“It’s just… A sketch I made,” you mumble as Albedo curiously eyes the paper. “It’s not as good as the art you make, but…” You cut yourself off before you start nervously rambling.

“Is that… A drawing of me?” Albedo asks after a while, his fingers carefully tracing the sketch. You just give a shy nod, nervously glancing over at him. He softly smiles back at you. “It’s beautiful.” Albedo leans over to kiss your cheek with a small chuckle.

“You really think so?” You’re a little baffled, thinking that someone as skilled as Albedo would compliment your art. And yet, he looks so sincere as he smiles at you.

“Well… Usually it’s always me drawing other people. It’s a nice change to see someone drawing me for once… Especially when it’s done by someone I care about like you.” You blush at his words and carefully tear the page out of your sketchbook to hand it to him.

“Then I’d like you to have it,” you offer with a smile.

His eyes widen in surprise. “Are you sure? That… I would love that, really.”

You giggle as you carefully tear the page out of your sketchbooks, handing it over to Albedo with a kiss on his cheek.

Kaeya:

You sit with your back against the cold brick wall of the Knights of Favonius headquarters, finally having found a spot that’s ideal for drawing -- No wind blowing away your paper and enough light to see what you’re doing, but not so much that the sunlight would blind you when it reflects off the white paper.

Not quite sure what you should draw, you decide to just start and see what your hands create when left to their own devices. You actually zone out a little as your pencil flies across the paper, listening to the birds chirping and the chatter of people passing by.

You don’t notice Kaeya approaching until he’s leaning over you with a smirk. His eyes briefly wander to the drawing in front of you, surprised to see an image of himself there. “Oh my… Is that a drawing of me?”

The question catches you off guard and you look up with a surprised yelp, only to find your boyfriend smiling back at you. For a moment you just stare at him, until the question actually registers in your mind. You look back down at your drawing, only to see that he's right -- You indeed ended up drawing him. “Huh, I guess you’re right,” you mutter, then gaze up at him once again, a faint blush on your cheeks. “I was just drawing whatever was on my mind… I didn’t even realize,” you admit, to which Kaeya chuckles.

“Seems like I’m always on your mind, darling, hm?” You know he’s just trying to tease you, but he’s not exactly wrong -- You find your thoughts drifting to Kaeya quite frequently. Your cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red as you just nod, causing Kaeya to laugh even more. “Well, I have to admit I’ve been thinking about you quite a lot as well… What do you say… Wanna take a break from drawing for a while and let me treat you to a nice meal?”

Itto:

You watch from the sidelines as Itto is loudly cheering on his onikabuto while Ayato sits across from him, arms crossed with an amused smirk as his beetle is about to win for the third time today. It’s cute how passionate your boyfriend is about the whole thing and you can’t help but sketch him while he’s busy cheering.

The drawing is coming along quite well when Itto finally gives up after his fifth loss, letting himself plop down next to you with a dramatic sigh. He leans his head against your shoulder, whining. “I lost again… Y/n, cheer me up please?”

You set your pencil aside and pat his head, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Ayato just got lucky. I bet next time you’re gonna kick his ass,” you assure your boyfriend, you let out a chuckle at your words.

“That’s right! No one can truly defeat the mighty beetle gladiator!” He beams at you before noticing the notebook in your lap, peeking over to see what you’ve been drawing. “Woah, is that me?” He leans even closer, admiring the drawing.

“Yeah, I thought you looked really cute back there,” you admit, a faint blush gracing your cheeks. “Do you like it?”

Itto gives you a bewildered look. “Do I like it? Well no… I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT! I mean, come on, this is perfect! Totally captures how cool I am!”

You giggle and lean your head against his shoulder. “I think it doesn’t quite do your awesomeness justice, but I’m glad you like it.” You carefully tear out the piece of paper and hand it to him. “Here… It may not be a victory trophy, but maybe it’ll make you feel a little better?”

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer with a wide grin. “Hell yeah! I don’t even care that I lost anymore… Who cares about some lost fight when I’ve got the most amazing and talented partner ever?”

[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

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Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

[writingforyourpleasure]

I have a thing for Car wash

Genre: NonIdol!AU, SummerJob!AU

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Summary: You do car wash as a summer job each year. But this year , 7 new employees are added to the mix.

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: none

A/N: Thoses Butter's concept photoshoot are gonna be the death of me ...

______

Summer’s Job never been dreamy or appealing you always preferred to stay home and play games or hangout with your friends.

You were doing the same summer job from your high school’s years throughout your UNI years, this year was the last year where you could work at the same gas station you usually spent your summer’s at. You were quite happy about this news because your work there wasn’t really enjoyable to say the least.

You were working as car washer.

The staff was limited to you and Gladys. Gladys was an Australian grandma’ with an heavy accent and a loud voice.

You used to complain about the underpaid job and understaff issue to her each year , but even if she tried her best to pay you more each year, the problem of understaff was remaining.

Plus you had the marvelous advantage , note the irony, to be a woman. So of course you had some guy every now and then asking you for some porn kink including cars and water to you.

And of course as soon as you dared to say to them that it was not respectful of them to ask for such favors , well their ego feeling insecure will make them insult you ‘til Gladys will come out and try to dissolve any trouble. And if they didn’t leave… well then Tallulah will come help you out. Were Gladys was a true perfect cottage core granny , Tallulah her spouse, was a weightlifting Olympics coach. So she was , massive and looked very frightening.

But since she was often occupied most of the time Gladys would have to do the trick , and if too much persistent she would call her little brother Jeff a policeman always coming in and out of the shop to check on things.

It was nice, for a summer or two, but seeing as it’s been years since you were first introduce to this summer’s job to say it became painfully annoying was an understatement.

And this year would be the same…

Or so you though.

Gladys finally took your complains about the car wash job being understaffed and recruited a few people to help out .

When she said a few, you though she was talking about 2 to 3 people.

But no, no non no no no. Gladys took in 7 people !

She promised you your check wouldn’t take any damage by the presence of those new employees , but you sincerely doubt that.

And of course you’ll have to show them around and proceed to show them how to wash a car because of course it’s not like anybody could know how to do it by themselves.

You were moody when that tons of information’s felled down on your head, but now finding yourself in front of the 7 new employees changed everything.

Apparently Gladys misspelled car wash job for model’s photoshoot coz’ those 7 boys were for sure way too beautiful to need a car wash job.

It had to be a prank, right?

So being more self aware in what you’ve been for years you showed carefully those men of to do the job. And no it wasn’t cute or sexy, far from it.

You were dressed in your yellow hoodie and black jogging with flip-flop.

For once you wished you had were those fucking shorts looking like panties more than anything, and a crop top or something similar, like all those freaks watching too much porn often asked you to.

But no , and those guys were dressed in matching outfits in jeans and whites tee.

Even if they were very dreamy swoon over , you had more pressing issues to think about.

Like why one of them started a water fight with another one, and putting a stop to it before one of them put soap into their eyes.

“Okay guys!!! Please stop …? I don’t want to have to report you to Gladys on your first day okay? So keep that behavior for when you’re on your own okay?”

“Sorry , we didn’t meant to …” Said one.

“Huh sorry to interrupt , but none of us seems to have catch your name earlier ?” Said the guy with blue hair.

You liked his hair, it was nice, like blue waves , more darker on the edges and lighter on the center of his scalp. He had such beautiful eyes too, so sharp an-

Oh god , wait did you really lost yourself by admiring him?!

“Huh miss???”

“Y-Yeah !!! Haha my name’s Y/N !” You extended your hand , losing your mind for talking in a higher voice to him , good job at not being suspect Y/N….

And you hated yourself even more for being awkward by presenting your hand to him. But he, on the other hand sensed your discomfort and made your move seem completely normal shaking your hand lightly and giving you a cute smile showing off his dimples.

“Namjoon,…. And those two are Jungkook and Taehyung, and I hate to be the one breaking it to you but we’re probably gonna have a hard time keeping them calm.”

“Oh… Okay” You just ended , looking to the two guys involved in the previous water fight, and looking back to Namjoon’s face. He was calm and put you at ease. Hargh you were staring , good job on not being a freak Y/N .

The one all covered in jean from head to toe approached you, and ever so silently spoke to you.

“Hate to be a bother Y/N, but can I have a bucket to wring out my sponge, please?”

“Huh Yeah of course huh-hu….”

“Yoongi’s the name…”

“Oh huh well yeah let me get that from Gladys to you okay I’ll be back in just a sec Yoongi.”

He nodded very calm much to your dismay as you were starting to feel anxious about advising Gladys for more employees, maybe you should have just shut it.

You entered the store who basked in a sunny light as the morning was starting to begin for most of other people’s in the city.

At the register was one of the new employees, he wore a plaid skirt and converse’s with a white thee and jean shirt. You couldn’t believe how gracious his lips draw themselves on his face. They looked pillowy and as dreamy as the six other’s man out there waiting for you.

“Huh hello ? You might remember me from earlier ? Y/N the foremost employee?”

“Of course I do you’re the sweet mango! “

“I’m sorry what ?”

“The sweet mango ! The color of your sweatshirt look alike a mango!”

“I-I Yeah it does…”

“Would you like another nickname maybe? I’m sorry if this one doesn’t fit your style haha. What about little mouse ?”

“Do I look like a little mouse ?”

“No ,you look like a fucking rat”

Said another voice coming from behind you.

“I beg you pardon?”

You turn over to the masculine voice behind you to find yourself facing a chest. Your eyes flew up to the face of the stranger, ready to take down any bratty client. And you were surprised to face a smiling shit eating brunette man glancing down at you . He was snickering and looking at you like he was mentally undressing you with his eyes.

“Yah ! Jin ! Don’t be rude to our new friend!”

You look down to the content in his arms, some sandwiches squeezed between bottles of water.

“Wait your on job duty ! Why aren’t you with the others ?” You started to take over yourself and focus on your task, keeping everything organized.

“Some of us forgot to bring our lunch to work this morning , so I volunteered to go for it , but you’ve been blocking the line too preoccupied to talk to mister big flirt over there.”

He gestured at the cashier.

“We weren’t flirt-“

“You totally were!” Gladys interrupted you coming out from the back of the shop with several boxes of energy bars .

“Gladys I would ne-“

“Don’t lie to me girl ! Okay Jimin go fill up the shelves with those and Jin , you’re lucky you have a nice face, it’s on the house for today so go back to work will you now?”

“Sure thing Gladys! Thank you so much !” He offered her a wink before smirking down at you , going back to his devices.

“AND SHE DOESN’T LOOK LIKE A RAT! BUT YOU SURE TALK LIKE A BRATT!!!” Shouted Gladys at Jin, while a girl was approaching him to take care of her car and asking for his number. He was a blushing mess and Tae had to intervene to talk an eligible sentence to, the poor lost girl, after that.

“Now, Y/N what do you need sweetheart? I mean other than Jimin’s number of course?” She had said it loud enough for Jimin to hear it and bringing a cute smile on his face content of his accomplishments.

“Gladys please stop. “ You warned her with a tired face. She maybe looked old but she was fearless for sure .

“I need extra buckets for the boys, please.”

She leaved the register for what felt only two seconds before bringing over 5 extra buckets for you , to share.

“Thank you , you’re a life savior!”

“I know , should have started a sect when it was trendy.”

You left laughing to her dumb joke , but not before quickly glancing to Jimin. After that event you formed three distinct groups between all of you to get their heads in the game.

But with Jimin busy with helping out Gladys around the store, one of them was standing by himself.

“Okay since your alone I’ll help out for today.”

“Really? Thank you so much I was worried I’ll found myself alone when everyone’s having fun in groups.”

You looked around to indeed found them more busy playing around then actively work in silence .

“Yeah well normally having so much fun isn’t part of the job but I don’t want to kill the mood.”

“I’m Hoseok by the way but you can call me Hobi ! “ He said with a heart shaped smile.

“Y/N. Haha did you had to see Jimin assigning you a nickname too?”

“No this one’s for my crushes .” He said glancing up at you with stars shining eyes behind the comfort of his sunglasses.

“Yah! Hobi Does it mean I’m one of your freaking crushes?!” Yelled a not-so-speechless Jin , across the parking lot.

“Why don’t you come found out ?!” Yelled back a way too enthusiast Hoseok.

The day went by pretty quietly apart from those 7 agents of chaos you were stuck with from now.

Lunch came around pretty quickly and you all went to the back of the shop to have your break there , enjoying the nice breeze of the fan, while chatting.

“So , how come you’re all working here this summer?” You asked between bites of your meal.

“My aunt knows Gladys and told me she was recruiting , and since I was in need of a job I took it.” Said Jimin looking at you oh so charmingly.

“I have a thing for car wash.” Said Jin like it was completely normal.

“Your such a weirdo something hyung I swear… I was in need of a summer job saw the flyers by the campus and thought why not ? Here I am.”

Replied Jungkook slowly slurping down his noodles.

“We wanted to prove some sexist asshole that , no it wasn’t , a job only reserved to women.” Said a disgusted Namjoon swallowing quickly his part of the sandwich.

“I want to be a social entrepreneur.”

Said Taehyung leaving you with wide eyes.

“How is that related to bein-“

“If I succeed to make this place a rentable place from just the car wash then I could do anything.”

“And how would you do that ?” asked Jin dismissing his lunch to look over at Taehuyng.

“What about a photoshoot?”

[mehbzz]

Joyride

PWP. FFXV feat Gladio, Ignis and F!reader F/M/M a/b/o threesome 18+ nsft. A little cock warming, blowjob, handjob, one daddy mention, a little rough handling. Gladio and Ignis smooching.

You're slouched in the back seat of the car, leaning drowsily against Ignis and with one leg half hooked over Gladio’s knee.

Ignis is surprisingly relaxed considering Noctis is the one driving. Though Prompto being asleep in the passenger seat and therefore not being his usual distracting self probably eases a lot of Ignis concern.

You’ve forgotten where you’re going, content to daydream between your two alphas. Some event outside the city Prompto wanted to take photos of you think, a leisurely day trip and a chance for Noctis to try out his new car. Not quite as impressive as the regalia but more roomy for the five of you than his Star of Lucis. The fact that his personal car was named had provided you with teasing material for weeks after you had found out, much to his annoyance. Still you had made all the appropriate impressed noises as Noctis had proudly shown off his new one, resisting the temptation to ask if it too had a name. You had been driving for about half an hour, it was hard to keep track of the time. Ignis’ slow deep breathing and Gladio’s fingers dancing idly along your knee were soothing you into a gentle doze. They slip a little higher and you let your legs open slightly automatically in response.

The first brush of his fingers over your bare pussy earns you a quite groan of approval. You hum lowly, tiredly. “Perv” He chuckles quietly, “I’m not the one who’s not wearing underwear.” “liar.” it’s muttered quietly under your breath but his responding amused huff lets you know he heard you.

No underwear was not a rule, but was something you had started doing on casual trips like these. It was just easier, and saved you the irritation of friction burns when Gladio got too frustrated and ended up ripping them off you. It sounded hot but tearing underwear off usually ended up in chafing in places that were definitely not fun.

His hand is warm, fingertips rough and calloused as he strokes softly round your clit with a gentle rhythm, almost lulling your body fully into sleep. His gentle soothing attention doesn’t last long, it never does, and you moan quietly as he pushes a finger gently inside you. “Do not fuck in my car.” Noctis voice is sharp and you and Gladio both startle at the reprimand. He pulls his finger out of you to trail his hand down the inside of your thigh and then back up the other side, pushing into you once more, ignoring Noctis completely, or more likely, to spite him. The muttered curse from Noctis makes you giggle, and he glares at you through the rear-view mirror.

Ignis turns and sighs softly pressing a brief kiss against your hair. You lean into the caress, relishing the affection but expecting him to agree with Noctis and tell you to behave, but he doesn’t, instead murmurs something softly to Gladio over your head.

The lazy almost absentminded way Gladio’s fingers have been thrusting into you had you breathing a little harder but the abrupt tug as he pulls you up and into his lap makes you cry out, your brain still half asleep and confused at the sudden manhandling. You jump at the feeling of his hard cock pressing against your ass, you hadn’t heard him undo his zipper. “You look so cute all sleepy and docile, I can’t resist.” He tugs your skirt up around your waist and spreads your legs over the side of his thighs. It looks incredibly lewd, his thick hard cock standing between your thighs and both of you moan in surprise when Ignis’ hand curls around it. Your brain is still slowly slugging behind the quick change of pace and you can only stare as you watch Ignis slowly stroke him between your spread legs. Ignis’ hand twists and glides over the sensitive tip, and Gladio groans, you distantly hear Noctis’ grumble but you’re too focused on the slick beads of pre cum that slide down over Ignis fingers to care. Ignis bends forward, and the arousal that burns through you as he takes the head of Gladio’s cock into his mouth makes you moan. It’s echoed loudly by Gladio’s own moans in your ear. It feels so lewd, so dirty; watching as Ignis sucks Gladio off between your legs. You’re not sure what to do with your hands and opt for threading you fingers through Ignis hair, he groans as you scrape your nails across his scalp and pulls away from Gladio’s cock with a wet pop. “Tease” Ignis smiles at Gladio’s gruff complaint and lets his hand curl back around his cock, pumping him slowly. Apart from Gladio’s death grip on your hip and one breast being almost painfully crushed in his other hand neither of them are touching you and the lack of stimulation and the burning needy ache between your legs makes you squirm. “Sit still.” Gladio’s voice is strained and the hand around your breast moves to grip your thigh. “I’ll be quick baby, just let me get off.” The way his thighs tremble beneath you makes you realise how close he is to orgasm already. His breathing is shallow and erratic, and hitches when you hear Ignis whisper something in his ear. It’s too quiet for you to make out but whatever it was it makes Gladio whimper. A sound you’ve never heard him make before that make your core throb in response and with a hoarse cry Gladio reaches his peak, his entire body tensing as he cums hard over Ignis’ hand, thick white ropes that you feel spurt across your abdomen and belly. You continue to watch as Ignis slows his strokes, fascinated with the amount of cum that dribbles down your stomach and drips between your legs and you fingers twitch with the desire to rub it into your pussy.

“I hate you all.” Noctis’ words are sullen and hold no real anger but you still feel a little guilty, mentally making a note to make it up to him later.

Ignis lets go of Gladio’s cock to swirl his fingers down through the mess left on your skin, easing between your wet folds to push two cum slickened fingers into you. You instinctively try to close your legs at the abrupt intrusion but he tuts at you and pushes your knees apart.

“Don’t hide from me love,” He reprimands as he scissors his fingers, “This is ours.” He growls in warning as you try to rock into his fingers. “Say it.” “It’s yours” “hmm what ours baby?” Gladio finally moves, still sounding breathless, his cock half hard resting on your thigh. He’s teasing you but you can tell he’s expecting an answer. “I – “ you stumble over your words, embarrassment flooding hot through you Gladio nips at your neck, “what’s ours?” You can’t bring yourself to say it; Gladio seems to take pity on your sudden speechlessness and kisses your ear with a low chuckle. “That pussy is ours. That tight sweet–“ he grunts as Ignis teases around the head of his cock again, “wet little pussy is ours.”

He turns his head and kisses your throat, trailing kisses up your neck until he reaches your mouth. He kisses you hungrily before drawing back. “Hips up for me baby.” He cups your thighs and helps you lift yourself until you’re perched just over his lap.

You feel him shiver at the over stimulation as Ignis strokes him before guiding him to your entrance. His cock is too big and thick not to hurt as he presses against your pussy. It’s a sharp sting, and you let out a pained cry at the burning feeling of him stretching you. “Shhh its ok baby you can take it, I know you can.” Gladio brings his thumb to your clit and rubs to help relax your clenched muscles. “Too much” you whine “I can’t.” “Just breathe,” he says, pushing you down harder until finally the head of his cock pops inside, making him groan “Good girl, taking daddy’s cock so well.”

Ignis lets you go slow but encourages you to keep going, pushing you down with gentle cooing praise in your ear. Your wetness and Gladio’s cum just enough to ease the glide of his cock inside you, but you weren’t prepped enough for it not to hurt. Finally you are fully seated on Gladio’s cock. He wraps his arms around your waist, nuzzling affectionately into the back of your neck. You felt so full with his cock it was almost unbearable. You feel his chest press against your back as he draws in a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm and the quiver of his thighs as he tries not to drive himself up into you.

“Noct said I can’t fuck you, but keep it warm for me, baby?” he whispers into your ear. “Stay nice and still for me.” His cock betrays his calm tone when it throbs and twitches inside you, pressing against your walls in just the way to draw a moan from you. He shudders as Ignis strokes down where you are joined, brushing his fingers over his balls and across his thighs. “Sensitive” Gladio bites out between clenched teeth and Ignis chuckles quietly before he moves his hand to press two fingers firmly against your clit and you immediately keen, trying to grind your hips forward against him, desperate for any kind of friction.

“No,” Gladio tuts, giving you a hard slap to the inside of your thigh. “No moving.” You whimper, the slap taking you by surprise. Tears prick at your eyes from the pain, but you remain still. Every fibre of your being is begging you to rock against Ignis’ fingers, to grind back against Gladio’s cock; you’re trembling with the pressure of staying still. You’re still not sure what to do with your hands, settling for latching on to Gladio’s wrists where he grips your hips.

Ignis moves in close and you turn towards him lips parted, expecting a kiss but he tilts his head at the last second, leaning behind you to kiss Gladio.

You feel a little petty at the denial of your kiss and deliberately clench your walls hard around Gladio’s cock. He breaks away from Ignis with a loud hiss. “Careful baby. You want to act like a brat you'll get punished.” He spanks the inside of your thigh again, “you can just sit there and take my cum, bad girls don’t get to cum too.”

“I’m sorry” the words rush from you in a wounded whisper. It’s maddening, apart from the firm stationary press of Ignis fingers against your clit neither of them are paying that much attention to you, entirely focused on each other. The sounds of Gladio’s pleasure as they kiss fuels the desire running through you and you can’t stop yourself from squirming impatiently, desperate for some stimulation from either of them. “Last warning omega.” Gladio growls, biting your shoulder in retaliation and Ignis finally starts to swirl his fingers around your clit. The car swerves slightly at your surprised cry of pleasure and Ignis turns his attention away from you.

“Focus on the road, Your Highness.”

You’d momentarily forgotten where you were. As you lock eyes with Noctis in the rear view mirror Ignis presses harder against you and you whine, watching the way Noctis’ pupils dilate.

“You make a mess you're buying me a new car.” Noctis grumbles as he winds his window down. He sounds almost genuinely annoyed but you can smell the arousal in his scent and you have no doubt if his anger was real neither Ignis nor Gladio would continue their game.

Ignis’ fingers still and the flush across his cheeks and the way he licks his lips makes you think, hope, for a second that he’s going to go down on you, use that wicked tongue of his while Gladio sits snugly inside you. But before you can beg for him to continue Gladio beats you to it.

“Don't stop,” he pants, grabbing Ignis hand and tugging it back between your legs. “Fuck Iggy you need to feel it, it’s like she's massaging my fucking cock” He grunts again and you hear the dull thud as his head hits the back of his seat, “Make her cum, want to feel her cum on my cock.”

Gladio loosens his hold slightly, allowing you to circle your hips a little.

“fuck I’m gonna cum again.” he sounds surprised and Ignis moans in response, his free hand curling into your hair and tugging your head out of the way so he can kiss Gladio again. The refusal of a kiss for the second time stings but your words of protest are muffled as Gladio’s hand slaps over your mouth. “Quiet baby. Be a good toy and take it,” he grunts and grinds his hips up into you “let me use you.”

He releases your mouth only to grasp hold of your hips again. It hurts, you’re going to have bruises, his fingers digging in so hard you can feel them already forming. You think he forgets how strong he is sometimes. They are both panting hard, Gladio grunting and moaning into Ignis mouth as they make out behind your shoulder. You feel almost jealous but Ignis fingers don’t let up their pace and you feel your orgasm approaching quickly. His thumb drawing swirls around your clit, his fingers stroking down around Gladio’s balls, pressed flush against your ass. Your vision blurs for a moment as you succumb to the pleasure, stars dotting across your vision. Your toes curl, and your cry out loudly, uncaring about Noctis driving and Prompto sleeping. The pain in your hipbones as Gladio holds you down mixes perfectly with Ignis talented fingers as your orgasm rip through you. Your back arches as you cum, straining against Gladio’s hold but he holds you tight against him. It’s borderline torture not being able to move as you want, your wet pussy spasming and fluttering over and over around his cock. “That's it baby milk it, make me cum” Ignis is still stroking you, forcing you through your aftershocks and you can do nothing to make him ease up, twitching and trembling in Gladio’s arms. There is a short grunt, a moment of stillness, and then a gush of warmth inside you as Gladio shakes, cumming deep inside you with a low drawn-out groan, the throb and twitch of his cock as he fills you pushing you over into the uncomfortable pangs of overstimulation.

He’s breathing hard as he tries to come down from his high, “fuck Iggy” Ignis hums in response, hands leaving you to kiss him again and you sit still, boneless and pliant in Gladio’s grip as they share a few lazy satisfied kisses over your shoulder. The minimal attention they are giving you makes you feel like you're a plaything the two of them are using to get off. For a second they rest against each other, both still breathing heavily, and you grimace as Gladio’s grip on your hips starts to ease. With the pleasure easing you can feel the pain more acutely, amid the soreness between your legs and the bruises on your hips you’re going to be suffering for the next few days you can already tell.

“You did well my love.” Ignis’ praise pulls you out of your reflection of your pain and he finally kisses you, soft pecks over your face. He kisses you tenderly on the mouth before trailing his lips across your jaw to your neck, letting his teeth worry into your sensitive skin, reigniting the hickeys already fading there. ”Too rough?” he frowns stroking gently along the red indents left on your hips and the mark on your thigh, and you shake your head. “Words love” “Not too rough.” He gives you a gentle smile, continuing his soothing caresses down your thigh. “Bath, bed and a massage when we return home?” “Yeah.” you breathe out brushing your lips gently over his. You stay like that for a few minutes, Ignis resting his forehead against yours until Gladio finally stirs. You wince at the movement and Ignis frowns again. “It hurts?” You feel Gladio tense beneath you at his question and you quickly shake your head to reassure them. Ignis’ hand slides between your legs, cupping you and Gladio both. “Did we push you too much?” His concern for your wellbeing makes your heart swell with affection. “You need to talk to me love.”

“Yes, I mean no, it wasn’t too much but yes I’m sore.” His frown deepens and you shake your head again “Sore in a good way. I liked it.” Ignis watches you, examining your expression closely before he relaxes. The peppering of kisses across your shoulder from Gladio making you relax back against his chest. “do you want to move? Ignis will clean you up.” the images that sends through your head are filthyand you feel your cheeks heat up. The smile Ignis gives you is sinful, and Gladio chuckles as you wriggle in his arms. “You want that omega? I think you like that idea.” “n-not yet,” you can’t meet Ignis gaze and settle for linking your fingers through his “just need to sit for a minute.” Gladio nuzzles into your neck at your words with a purr. “As long as you want baby.” There was something about resting and sitting on Gladio’s lap with his softening cock still inside you and Ignis leaning into your side that felt incredibly intimate. The warmth, the closeness, it was comforting.

Gladio leans forward carefully, trying not to jostle you and rests his chin on your shoulder, “You get to sit in Ignis lap on the way home” he says it a little louder, in an attempt to wind up Noctis you have no doubt. “Ignis is driving home.” Noctis’ disgruntled growl makes you smile but you’re too content to tease him.

[cherryblossomtease]

Chapter 3

18 + only

warnings and summary - Masterlist

You’ve only left Madripoor a couple of times. Mostly it’s the cost of traveling that stops you from going overseas. You don’t need anything cutting into your “retirement” fund.

Amazing how quickly monetary problems can disappear when you’re involved with a very generous Baron.

“Would you like anything to eat before we arrive?” Zemo asks you. He’s got this sleepy sort of content smile on his face as he looks over from his seat facing yours on the plane, his plane to be exact.

“No, I’m fine thanks” You reply. You can feel your expression mimicking his, and why not. Its peaceful up here, alone with him above the clouds.

“You look exquisite in this light.” His tone is sort of teasing as he beats you to the punch because you always make fun of his erudite speech, but you can see that he really means it.

“I don’t think anyone could look bad flying past a sunrise.” You say dreamily, looking out at the fluffy white clouds and the colorful sky, the warm tones hinting at the oncoming day.

He agrees with a little laugh and looks out the window but his mood darkens like it tends to do without much warning. It’s not anger, is that—guilt?

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long.” He says slowly, his attention on you again. The last time he saw you did not go as planned. He’d met the car at the curb before you could even get out at his place and climbed into the backseat with you, telling Oezenik to head back across the bridge. He gave a very cryptic explanation as to why he had to cancel the weekend, something about being in a tight spot that involved his prison escape and whoever helped him do it. You still don’t know that that means, but you can vividly remember how it felt to stand at the top of your street, dreading going back to your apartment on a Friday for the first time in weeks. But it wasn’t just the disappointment. You’d been afraid for him. “Watch your back” You’d whispered to Zemo with that final kiss before you watched him go.

He’d been gone for days.

So when the text came a day early this week you must have sat there in your kitchen staring down at it for a solid minute before picking up your phone.

Would you like to take a trip with me?

You had no idea what to say, had someone stolen his phone? He had never, not once text you anything other than a confirmation of pick up time and certainly not on a Thursday.

Zemo?

Yes

A trip where?

I have business in New York

Yes!

You might have been a little hasty in agreeing to fly across the ocean, but how could you say no!

The car came for you early Friday morning and you’d been spoiled by Oeznik with mimosa’s and pastries and taken a long nap once the private jet reached cruising altitude. Now, you were sitting across from the Baron wondering where this was going…not the plane. The relationship.

Today is the first time he’s ever felt the need to apologize for anything.The gesture is kind but unnecessary.

“I told you, I understand. I know you have… a lot going on.” You have to work your way around your words with him sometimes. You do what you must to keep up with what the Baron does outside of your fantasy world with him, but you’re still unsure of letting him know that. After all, It’s his life away from you that keeps the relationship perfectly balanced. Theres no time for feelings to grow when he comes and goes so often, at least you keep saying it over and over as you try to keep your emotions under control, but fuck. Look at him.

The sunrise looks as good on Zemo as it does you. Bands of pale pink break through the small windows bringing out the lighter strands of his brown hair —especially that thick lock that falls out of place so perfectly, like an arrow that directs your gaze towards his eyes which glow with flecks of gold. He’s so easy look at it’s nearly impossible not to. The fact that he’s just as attentive and genuine as he was in the beginning only helps, or doesn’t. You can’t decide, but you take a deep breath, letting it out slowly with a smile as you feel your heart ignore your head yet again.

“You’re going to spoil me rotten once we land, aren’t you?” You ask grinning and focused on the fun ahead.

Zemo laughs and shrugs. “I might have a few things in mind.”

“You’re too good to me,” You say speaking of so much more than this trip alone. He’s been taking care of you so much so that these days work at the club is only needed to pay for luxuries you never considered before, and yet you’re still free to do as you please, Monday through Thursday.

“Hardly good enough.” He says, his voice deep but quiet. "But I will continue to try."

You swallow feeling a little nervous. You really can’t fall for him. This has to stay fun you tell yourself. This man comes with baggage. Scratch that— a Louis Vuitton full set and it’s packed with nothing but trouble.

But wouldn’t you risk it all for another day with him… No! Stop that!

“Are you feeling well?” He asks, catching you off guard. You’ve got to get better at hiding your thoughts. They show on your face like a silent film star when you’re not careful.

“Oh, I’m fine!” You smile trying your best to look it. “When do we land?”

“Soon.”

“Where are we staying? I would assume you can’t just go waltzing into a hotel?" He gives you a funny look but you just shake your head at him. “Don’t think that my being here means I’m ignorant to the things you’ve done. I may not know it all, but I know enough to keep myself safe”

“Safe from who?” He asks with a curious head tilt.

“People like you, without the heart” You say with your brow raised as you make him chuckle softly.

“You’ve been doing your research.” He nods waving a finger at you.

“Google is a hell of a thing. Plus, you forget, my dad was well loved. I can ask questions that other people can’t in spaces most aren’t allowed to go.”

“Ah, that’s right. Your father the fixer.”

You smile feeling proud. It may not be honest work off the island, but on that shitty little rock, you are the daughter of a very important man. He’s gone now, but Madripoor remembers, and if they forget your mother has a knife to their neck to see that they don’t.

“Well, for what it's worth, i promise to always keep you safe. No need to worry about that.”

“I don’t doubt it. I just like to know the plan so if it goes south I’m not left hanging”

“And when have I ever --left you hanging?” He seems insulted.

“You were gone for two… never mind. I’m not mad about it I’m really not Zemo.” He gives you a suspicious look and you smile. “I promise!”

“Sure.” He shrugs with a very unconvinced nod.

You just sigh and stare at him until he looks away. “I need to use the bathroom” You say realizing it. Those early a.m mimosa’s knocked you out for the first leg of the flight, and now you’re full to the brim.

He nods towards the back of the plane and you’re up and in the little bathroom.

It’s a quick trip, maybe a little faster than Zemo was expecting because when you open the door, you overhear him on the phone.

“This is me holding you to your end of the bargain. I need the name now. You see if they find me, they find you. Unless of course you want to come through on those promises and give me the name.”

Name? Is that why he’s going to New York? You know it’s business, but just how involved will it get?

“There.” He draws the word out with a smile. “That wasn’t so hard. Please, next time let’s skip the suspense. ” He says and listens. “Yes I have a way in. What time?” Another pause. “Formal I take it?” He laughs softly. “You always were the funny one. Until next time.” He says and hangs up.

You’re standing in the isle looking at the back of his head wondering what this is all about.

“Spying is not your strong suit.” He says glancing back.

You give a huff and walk over, standing next to him.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes” He says but he’s distracted.

“Zemo?”

“Yes. Everything is fine.”

“What was that call about?”

He looks up, his brow raised as he thinks, He wasn’t going to tell you at first, you can see that but then he sighs through his nose and lowers his chin thinking. “I need to change our plans tonight, I’m sorry. The reason for the trip has changed. There is an event I need to attend.”

“What sort?”

“The sort that requires a tie.” He mumbles.

All you hear is a reason to dress up and promptly swing your way down onto his lap making him start. “Let me go with you.” You say making sure to look at him with your eyes as big and innocent as your can pretend to be.

“No. Absolutely not.”

You pout just a little. Not enough to be obnoxious, but he can’t resist this face. No one can. “I won’t get in the way.” You say sweetly.

“It’s too dangerous.” He says rubbing your leg. You've almost got him, just a quick whine as you put your arms around his shoulders. “Please.”

Zemo laughs and shakes his head. “Stop that.”

“Zemo… I think you’re forgetting. I may be yours, and I may follow your rules. But I’m a product of Madripoor. You never know when having a girl like me at your back might come in handy.”Zemo rests his chin in his hand, stroking his lips with his finger as he thinks it over. You don’t mind waiting. You like the way it feels sitting on his lap and asking pretty please, so you turn it up a little. “If, I do anything. Anything at all that breaks your rules… you know I’ll gladly accept my punishment” You tell him softly, stroking the shorter hair at the back of his head.

He leans away to look you in the eyes and sees the truth in them. You can talk to him as sweet as sugar but you're not afraid to face danger and he knows it. The way he lowers his hand and gives in with a sigh and a smile as he rubs your thigh makes it clear, Zemo likes this  just as much a you do.

“You’re going to need a new dress” He says and you grin kissing him, never breaking your smile.

[lovestrucked-again]

Delirium II | Mafia

Summary: After being kidnapped and claimed by the notorious mafia leader, he offers you a 7 day period where you’ll be given the option after of staying or leaving. Until then, you’re stuck, whether you like it or not.

Pairing: Mafia leader X female reader Word count: 2.9k

Genre & Warning: SMUT, fingering, Explicit content, kidnapping, mafia gang, possessive, toxic, yandere like personality, punishment, use of sex toys, multiple orgasms, rough, orgasm denial, begging, orgasm control, praise, teasing, 

Please don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable. A very obvious statement but this series is purely fictional, it is unacceptable in real life and should not be taken lightly.

Part 1 | Part 3

Day 2

When you wake up, the sticky feeling from between your thighs is gone. Your body is still bare but the sheet wrapped around you is enough to keep you warm. With the morning light shining through the windows, your finally able to look around the room. You sit up against the headboard, noticing the pain in your thighs as you drag them up. The room is simply decorated. The walls a dull shade of white with a neat desk in the corner. A few plants littering around the room, giving it colour.

The sound of the door opening brings your attention over to the person entering, your hands quickly bringing the sheets to cover your top half. Taeyong walks in, dressed in a white shirt and shorts, clearly having already showered.

“I made you breakfast. I know it’s just a bowl of cereal, but it’s the only thing I won’t burn.” He tells you, taking a seat beside you on the bed. His piercing eyes from the night before now soft and rounded.

“Thanks.” You mumble, bringing your arms out of the sheet to grab the bowl from him gratefully.

Taeyong smiles at you, the silence seeming strangely comfortable. You couldn't tell what this man was thinking. When you first met him, he looked at you like you were something delicate, the way he carefully approached you, pushed your hair behind your ears. Then last night happened, not that you didn’t enjoy the sex, but it was ….terrifying. You didn't realise his personality could change so drastically in just the little time you’d known him.

“Hey baby, I hope you don't mind wearing one of my shirts for now. I got one of the guys to bring your clothes from your place for you.”

“My clothes?” You question, confused.

“Yeah.”

“Why are you bringing them here?”

“Because your moving in with me.” He states, bringing one of your hands to his lap.

“Wh-what?!” You stutter out.

“It’ll be fun.”

“Wait no, I can’t.” You shake your head violently, “I won’t.”

“Baby I wasn't really giving you a choice on that.” He warns, his voice suddenly low.

“Look, I don't know if you’re okay or if you need some help but I’m not moving in with you, I don't even know you!” You tell him, your voice rising with your words, not finding his jokes amusing, “I don’t even know your name for fucks sake.”

“Baby don't swear; I don't like it.” He murmurs, his hand stroking circular motions on the back of your palm soothingly, “And my name’s Taeyong.”

“I won’t tell anyone about last night,” You whisper desperately, “just let me go.”

Taeyong lets the thought swim around in his head for a bit. Truth be told, he was going to have you no matter what, but perhaps you’d give him a little more liking if he lied.

“How about you move in with me for just a week, if you really hate me then you can leave.” He proposes.

“I’ll leave when I want,” you tell him, getting ready to pull off the bed sheets still covering your naked body, ready to leave exposed if you have to. Taeyong is quick to stop you, only needing to grip onto your wrist harshly to prevent you from moving.

“Baby, I gave you an offer, you can take it or decline it.” He cautions, “I didn't say you could bargain with me.”

His dark eyes are drilled into yours. And you can’t help but notice, the depth of the ink, sorrow, perhaps pain, that was hiding behind them. You couldn't see the whites of his eyes anymore, nor the vessels that flowed through them. He looked, frightening.

“I-I’ll take the offer.” You stutter out. His gaze makes you gulp, suddenly losing the attitude you originally had. You decide to just follow through with his words for now, you could always leave when he wasn’t around.

“Great well, let’s take you around the house for now.” He chimes, eyes instantly switching back as he happily grabs your untouched bowl, putting it on the bedside table. He walks over to his cupboard, pulling out a plain black t-shirt and brings it over to you, helping you slip it on.

“Lift your arms up baby.”

“I can do it myself,” You tell him, feeling embarrassed to let the sheets fall and your body expose itself to his eyes.

“Let me.” He pleads, his right hand taking yours and locking his fingers with yours. You let out a sigh, and you nod, wanting to hide under the sheets in a sheepish mess. Surprisingly he doesn't say anything as your breasts reveal themselves out of the sheets. His eyes are still trained on you, helping you slip the fabric over your head.

“Thanks,” You whisper, feeling flushed under his eyes. He laughs lightly, noticing the red in your face. He cups your cheeks and gently squeezes your face before pecking your lips.

“Wow don’t you just look adorable.” He exclaims, drawing out the last syllable. For some reason all his words and gestures only confuse you, strangely feeling like you were already use to his presence, his touch.

The fabric of his shirt reaches below your thigh, better than nothing. He peels back the bed sheet, giving you a hand to help you off the bed. You stumble a little, the sudden weight on your weaker legs unable to withstand the pain. Taeyong snakes an arm around your waist to support you just as you trip, already prepared to catch you.

The memories of the earlier event vanish as soon as you step outside his room. Who would’ve known the door would lead to such a large open, spacious area with a breath-taking view of your city. A huge flat-screen television dominated one wall, with a soft leather couch directly in line. However, it was the transparency of the windows that surprised you.

Your feet began walking to the glass, Taeyong following beside you. You must’ve been on the top floor of whatever building you were in. The faint outlines of people on the road, the entire view of the city in your sight.

“Wow.” You breathed out.

“Still don't want to live with me?” He whispers, moving to stand behind you so he’s able to envelop you around your waist. His head rests against your shoulder as you both stare out at the city, the sunlight shining on your skin.

“Who are you?” You mumble out-loud. You had no idea what was going on anymore. Who was this guy? How could he afford this place? What had happened in such a short time was over-whelming. The butterflies return to you as his hands lock around your stomach.

“Someone whose absolutely in love with you.” He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss on your neck.

You pull away quickly, the words swimming through your mind at a rapid pace. Taeyong takes a step back, letting you have some space to yourself as he walks over to his couch.

“What do you normally watch at home?” He asks, reaching for the remote and changing it to a netflix channel. You’re still lost in your thoughts when he calls again, “Baby?”

“I-I don't mind.”

“Okay, I’ll choose something then,” he replies, deciding between the first or second movie of Despicable Me.

You break your gaze from the city and turn around to look at him, “I didn't take you for a kid’s movie type.”

“It’s a cute movie.” He shrugs, patting the empty side of the couch beside him.

You sit down beside him, leaving a clear distinct line between the two of you to avoid being right next to him. You’re aware of the minimal clothing you’re wearing (only one of his shirts) so you keep your legs crossed on the couch, pulling the fabric down to cover as much as possible.

As the movie plays you can finally feel like you’re relaxing, immersed in the childish scenes playing out as both of you laugh. It feels comfortable.

You didn't have many friends, only receiving a few texts and calls from them once in a while to talk about their own love life. You were mainly focused on your education, barely taking any social time to explore. The one night you did, bought you here. You had gone for a blind date set up by your college friend and you agreed reluctantly. The guy was a jerk, leaving you alone in the middle of a dark street as he receives a call from his ex, clearly not over her.

That was just a few minutes before you had run into Jaehyun killing a man. And seconds later, you were bought here. To Taeyong.

Around 30minutes in your legs start cramping suddenly, most likely from sitting cross legged the whole time. Taeyong notices you shift in your seat, your hands massaging your lower calves.

“Put your legs up, you need to stretch them.” He tells you, patting his legs for you to swing them over.

You hesitate for a minute, but his expression’s sincere, “Thanks.”

You place your legs on his lap, finally stretching them out and Taeyong starts massaging your calf for you. “Is it this leg?" He asks, bringing your left leg closer to him.

“Yeah.” Taeyong wraps an arm around your legs, keeping you there as he adjusts himself, sitting comfortably. Your hands hold onto the hem of your current shirt, making sure it doesn't move.

As the movie’s almost finishing, your cramps have subsided. You realise Taeyong had continued to massage your leg, using less pressure throughout the movie. As you’re staring at his soft features, still mesmerised by the little minions on the TV, your brought back into reality.

“Taeyong?”

“Yes baby?” He replies, eyes still drawn to the movie.

“Why am I here?”

He reaches for the TV remote, pausing the movie, his focus now on you. “What do you mean?” He asks.

“Why didn’t you let me go?”

“Because I like you.”  

“You don't know me.” You sigh, exasperated at his response.

“I don't know you? Are you sure about that baby?” He asks, amused at your question.

“I’ve been here for what? Maybe less than a day? Of course you don't know me!” You tell him, stating the obvious.

“Baby I do know you though,” He says, smiling smugly, “I know how to make you scream, I know how to make you beg for a fucking, I know -.”

“Fuck off Taeyong.” You growl, his arrogant attitude annoying you again.  

“What did I say about swearing.” He tsks, pulling your body closer to him by tugging on your legs. Your shirt rides up as he drags you, nearly revealing your ass.

“Don't touch me.” You warn, snarling back at him, as you move back to your side of the couch, bringing your legs back to your body.

“That’s not very nice.”

“What’s with you and your crappy attitude Taeyong? One minute your soft and kind, the next you’re like some arrogant lit-.”

“Baby I suggest you reconsider that sentence.” He grins, relaxed and confident as he moves closer, his hands gripping onto your exposed thigh.

“Arrogant little bastard.” You finish.

Taeyong lets out a low chuckle, his eyes flipping a visible switch as he stands up and picks you up easily, throwing you over his shoulder. You let out a squeal in surprise, slapping him on the back as you shriek.

He kicks open his bedroom door, throwing you onto the bed as you land with a soft thud. Before your able to grasp the situation, he opens the drawer from the bedside table slipping the small gold key from around his neck off, he unlocks the case of a square box. The lid flips open and he brings something out of the case. Your neck is craned in the direction, watching his fast movements.

"What are you doing?" You ask, sitting up immediately when you see the item. Taeyong reveals a large, egg-shaped object with a faint string (unnoticeable to you) coming out of it. “Punishing you.”

“What is that?” You gasp, seeing the shape of it.

Your unable to see it properly as he turns around, pulling you by your ankles as you fall back against the mattress. He grabs your thighs tightly, pushing them apart. "You're dripping, baby. I can see your juices running out of you already.”

“What? No I’m not.” You argue, feeling insulted at his statement.

The shirt now no longer covering your thighs lets you feel the air of the ceiling fan spinning above you. Taeyong’s eyes staring right at your exposed pussy. You see him lean forward, bringing the object in his hand closer to your thighs.

You tense and brace yourself, expecting him to shove it in, but the hard shove doesn't come. Instead, he presses gently, rolling the probe back and forth in tiny motions. His other hand slips between your legs as his fingers stroke your pussy and you let out a loud moan.

Eventually, he slips it inside of you, pushing it completely in and leaving only a thin string hanging. The shock paralyses you for a second, as you feel yourself engulfing it whole. Then you shriek and burst into tears as he turns a wheel on a small remote. The vibrator comes to life, buzzing inside you.

“Oh my god Taeyong!” You scream, your hands travelling everywhere, bundling in the sheets and clawing at your own thighs. You squeeze your thighs shut involuntarily and it only causes the vibrations to intensify, bringing a soft moan from your mouth. Taeyong stands up from the bed, pulling up his reading chair next to the bed. He sits down, adjusting the chair for the best view, and watches you write against the bedsheets.

“Ta-take it out.” You groan. He leans back in the chair, smiling, watching you struggle. You thrust your hips in the air, trying to dislodge the buzzing toy; but from his point of view, it looks like you’re fucking an invisible partner. You writhe and twist, as he turns up the speed and power of the vibrator.

“Ju-just fuck me,” You stutter out in a moaning mess, desperate for him.

“What was that baby?” He asks, genuinely surprised at your sudden confession. He turns the dial down for you to repeat yourself, but not completely off.

“Ta-take it out and just fuck me.” “Not right now baby.” He smiles and laughs, leaning back again as he switches it back to high.

The vibrations inside you continue relentlessly as your body grows weak with exhaustion. You clench involuntarily around the hard, smooth object as the vibrations become tingles in your belly.

Taeyong watches. Little by little, the tingle becomes stronger. The thing inside you thrums, fanning the desire into a sense of raging, desperate need. You sigh and moan as your hips rock up and down.

"Good girl. Take it." Taeyong murmurs, moving beside you now to let his one finger part your folds. You let out a gasp as he finds your clit. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

“Y-yes.”

He moves his finger in circle motions against you as the constant buzz chips away inside of you. Soon your hips were rocking again, your head thrown back in a whining mess as he presses harder against your clit. You whimper wordlessly and grind your hips against his finger. "Please...please..." The need consumes you. Your body left on fire as all you can think of is nothing but the vibration inside. You clench and thrust your hips upward.

Taeyong grabs the cord, pulling the vibrator out of you with a single rough tug. The tingle abruptly stops and replaces you with emptiness, tinged with desperation. You felt wetness roll down your thigh, and you pushed your hips back, frantic, longing to feel something inside again but finding only empty air.

He replaces it with his fingers, pushing them roughly inside of you at a savage pace. You let out a loud sob. “You love this, don't you?” He chuckles, continuing his thrusts. "You still need more, don't you, little slut? You can't get enough." He picks up the egg-shaped vibrator again. "Let's see if this does the trick." Without preamble, he shoves it roughly inside your lips, watching it disappear. You gasp and shake as he turns it on to its maximum setting for the first time, letting it resume the hard, insistent vibrations.

Your orgasm comes, ripping through your body like molten fire, and as you clench and tighten, pain lashes through you, too.

When it’s s over, you crash back to earth in a shock. Taeyong turns off the vibrator, pulling it from you with a slurping sound. You make a weak mewling noise as it finally leaves your weakened body. He sits on the side of the bed and pulls you onto his lap; your body curling up around him in instinct as he strokes your hair.

“You did well baby. So well.” he murmurs. Finally, some small amount of strength flows back into you. You open your eyes and look up at him, able to speak at last. "What was that for?" He brushes a stray hair away from your eyes, and looks down at you. "Because you swore again." He smiles.

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

ZOOted | group chatzy

TIMING: Midday, August 29, 2021. LOCATION: The Main Street of Downtown. SUMMARY: What’s black and white and silent all over? The creatures at the zoo make their grand escape. TRIGGERS: Brief vomit (marked in chatzy), animal death.

Anara Kingston was just getting ready to open up her family bistro for the day, hands propped on her hips as she admired the storefront that multiple generations had made thrive on the corner of Main Street in Downtown White Crest. There was your usual display of signage, an eye-catching banner that advertised a meatball sandwich special, and a small paper in the lower left corner of the front window that proudly read ‘127 days since last accident’. The notice was actually one of the larger draws of the establishment in a town such as White Crest, where oddities and danger seemed to lurk around every dark corner. People wanted to feel safe while they ate, munching on overpriced meals while they tarried the day away. Anara leaned forward to polish the glass in front of the advertisement of their sanctity, only to stiffen when she heard a foreign braying of...was that a donkey? No. She’d been around enough of the farms that peppered White Crest to know it wasn’t the sound of such a creature. 

A clopping of hooves was quick to follow the strange barking, and to the shop owner’s amazement, none other than a genuine zebra had begun to parade down Main Street, children and adults laughing and pointing alike as the escaped creature began to graze on the flowerbeds of a plant shop. 

Nell stared for a solid minute at the zebra that had waltzed down Main Street as if he owned the place, already trying to figure out whether this was some bullshit she was willing to deal with today, or if she should simply call Kaden at Animal Control and make this his problem. Unfortunately her decision was made for her as a swarm of pixies, seemingly also escaped from the zoo, buzzed after the zebra to tug at anything they could get their grimy little hands around. With a deep sigh, Nell made her way over to the swarm that was doing their best to scalp a woman by yanking at her hair. This was now officially a problem she needed to solve.

Sai huffed as he ran down the sidewalk after a black horned Scapegoat that had gleefully decided to aid some oddly silent goats on their break towards glorious freedom. “No Ibulba! They live in the zoo!”

Keys rattled as Metzli strode towards their gallery, deciding to walk through Main Street. Yuca was leashed and in tow, picking up her pace in excitement. She always loved walking about the gallery. All the pets and enrichment she could ask for, making for a very happy cat. That was until, a swarm of sprites zoomed past the two and made the vampire stumble and trip, dropping their umbrella. Yuca mewled terribly, angry and shocked by the sudden interruption. 

Metzli barely had enough time to react as they saw the swarm circling back around. Eyes widened and they reached for a door, any door to  swiftly let Yuca inside, but it was no use. The sun made their skin sting and bones ache, but getting their cat to safety was the top priority. Leaping into an alleyway, only a few of the sprites managed to find them and picked and prodded at their skin. “What the fuck!” They yelled, hoping they could catch someone’s attention as they wrapped their arms around Yuca. 

It had been drizzling on and off all day, leaving the pavement tiles slightly slicker than Chloe liked as she navigated her trolley along the road. Her mind was fractured in several place - thinking about the strange flower order she’d processed for a funeral this morning that for some reason wanted tree roots in the bouquet as well as flowers, about the grocery shop she’d just finished, and the painting of Lydia’s face that stuck with her. She didn’t notice the rumbling of animals at first, until something pig-sized, black, and white cantered past her. Chloe screamed, jumping back as she waved her umbrella at the mime-like creature, her eyes wide. After a second, her hand clutching her chest, Chloe realised it wasn’t another evil type of mime, but just a… an anteater? No, what were they called… The ones with the longer noses that looked a little like pie-bald pigs…. The word would come to her in a moment, but it didn’t look too threatening. 

Unfortunately, most things in White Crest didn’t. 

Bly had spent the morning in a coffee shop with Nas and overall it had been a really freaking good time. Nas had to meet up with his girlfriend so he had left them alone in the shop until they had finished their coffee. Leaving with the shop, overpacked backpack slung over their shoulder, they stopped short. Was there like a fair and they had missed the advertisements? It didn’t really seem like a fair, but White Crest was weird like that. “So, uh, is this like an event? I didn’t buy a ticket so I’m not sure if I’m allowed to be here?” They looked over to a person nearby, hands splayed out in front of them. “I don’t have cash on me either, so I can’t even buy a ticket!”

White Crest’s one and only white Bengal tiger prowled around, looking at all of the strange and new sights that one never gets to see from behind a cage. However, she only had one thing on her mind. Where, oh where, was that zebra?

Alcher didn’t often go into town, but something had piqued her interest today. She could smell the animals crowding the streets, free from their cells at the local zoo. It was something she knew would be fun to watch, if not join in on. Unfortunately, being a wolf in this commotion might end up with her being chased by the humans who thought animals belonged in cages as well, so it was in her human guise that she showed up downtown, arms folded as she watched. Someone spoke up nearby, and Alcher shrugged. An event, not that would be funny. A smile curled her lips. “I can not say, but I can say I am enjoying this, are you?”

Nell didn’t necessarily want to kill the sprites. After all, as far as murderous pint-sized things went, they were decently harmless for the most part. And perhaps she could relate with being so angry at a world while being so little. Not that she’d ever admit that. So instead of burning them to bits with some form of iron, she looked around for any sort of box, container, something to hold the creature within. Seeing the person struggling with their umbrella nearby she yelled out to them. “You got a box or something? A bag? Anything?”

Morgan couldn’t remember how she’d convinced herself that taking Sundew along her usual weekend walk/leisurely shopping trip would be relaxing. On their way, the smug pixie delighted in reading every sign, front page, and logo they passed. When Morgan said Sundew didn’t have to, she knew how smart she was, she seriously didn’t have to, the pixie only cackled and circled higher to see more things, and then spoke of her ambition to market something to humans as ‘natural and organic’ and fill it with cat droppings. And this was before Morgan went from giving Bex a look of apology one next and starting a zebra eyeball-to-eyeball the next.

If Morgan had ever learned anything useful about zebras, it vanished in that moment. All she could process were its stripes, its beady, wicked little black eyes, and the tension freezing her cold muscles. 

“That's a dummy looking horsey,” Sundew giggled. “It’s hair is almost as funny looking as yours!”

Morgan ached to take the pixie and squeeze her quiet, but it dawned on her, just in time, that there were a lot of people she recognized just beyond her (at least one she never wanted to see) and stare-down with a zebra was going to be the least of her concerns. 

“Sai!” Morgan called. “You’re proficient in animal handling, right??”

Things in White Crest had been pretty mild, all things considered, which to experts like Leah meant that mischief was right around the corner.  She had been thinking it all morning, and the thoughts continued to plague her as she sat for a quick lunch in the park.  No sooner had the thought crossed her mind again than she heard a rumbling close by- literally around the corner.  She stood up suddenly, confusion lacing her features, and walked toward Main street where she saw the contents of the zoo quite literally spilling out into town.  A couple of lemurs hung from a tree nearby and suddenly, a dalmatian soared past her, running in the direction of a pet supply shop.  Did the zoo hold dalmations now, too?

“Uhhh, I mean, I am trying to enjoy it but, like, there’s a tiger here now.” Bly said etched the animal began to look around looking like it was trying to find prey. “I’m pretty sure it would probably try to eat me if it had a chance. I don’t want to be eaten today?” There was a lemur somewhere nearby, Bly could hear it and they were starting to think this wasn’t an event. “Do you think we should like call the government or something?”

Sai ran up to one of the zoo employees that’d been rather nonchalantly pursuing the escaping animals, recognizing their striped uniform and panda hat. “I’m sorry… sir did you ..” he panted hands on his knees. “See which …way…the …goats..went?” 

The Quiet Panda Fan regarded Sai expressionlessly for a time. Eyes with strange white pupils and black irises, contacts no doubt, seemed to bore into some deep place inside of the wizard. The Panda Fan turned and walked into an alley out of sight. 

“Oh thanks!” Sai followed after, thinking Ibulba and the goat exodus had run into a dead end. He walked into the alley only to watch the Panda fan be torn apart by some unseen force, sinews, sin, and fuzzy panda kitsch unraveling into a haze of hair-thin black and white strands. The pale and dark flesh-ribbons swirled around Sai like a school of curious Koi fish before slithering onto the walls of the alley. Black and white murals of zebras, penguins, pandas danced beneath a picture of a black sun with white rays all over the alley walls. Above it all were the words “BENEATH THE LOATHSOME NOISE OF LIFE, BLESSED SILENCE WAITS.”

Sai swallowed as he stared, but thankfully Morgan's voice called out from somewhere on the street. “Uh…uh, yes! Yes I can help,” the wizard shouted, running aware from the black and white murals now adorning the alley bricks.

Forming into a ball to protect Yuca and their face, Metzli heard Nell call out her question. They answered in a frustrated huff, “Does it look like a have a fucking box?!” Swatting away with an arm they growled and hit several of the few sprites picking at them, even managing to grab one and bite its head off without a second thought. 

Somewhere, in the distance, screaming could be heard. A waddle of penguins had just stolen a man’s coffee.

“I think it’s cute,” Bex had said when Morgan insisted Sundew didn’t need to read every sign possible as they strolled downtown. She was like a toddler, learning to read for the first time, and eager to show off and prove to people how smart they were. Bex gave Sundew a smile, and a quiet wink when Morgan stopped and Bex nearly ran into her. In the street, a zebra trotted by, and for a moment, Bex wasn’t sure she was seeing things right. She rubbed her eyes, looked between the animal and Morgan, snapping to and realizing it was, in fact, real, when she called out to Sai. What was he doing here? Why was there a zebra downtown? But as she looked around, she noticed more animals roaming the streets and took off in a trot after Morgan. “What’s going on-- what is that?” Wide curious eyes, not sure if she was supposed to panic or be of help somehow.

The anteater? Pig? shaped animal slowed to a trot in front of Chloe, then snuffled at a nearby plant pot full of purple gardenias, its long nose prodding and poking at the flowers. Skeptically, Chloe bristled the umbrella at it, not trusting that anything this innocuous looking could truly be innocuous. Someone yelled at her and she tore away her eyes from the creature for a second to look at the young woman. “Uh!” She yelled back, looking at her trolley full of groceries, before remembering that she’d packed some extra reusable cotton bags in case she bought more. Turning her gaze back to the animal that was now happily monching on the flowers, she pulled out the reusable bags. “Will these do? What is going on??”

Alcher regarded the tiger that was pointed out with a placid expression. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” The child was complaining, and they smelled so human, it made Alcher’s nose crinkle through the scents of animals free from their prisons. “You do not know that. Not all animals are vicious and want to eat everything.” A shrug, and she was strolling away from them and into the street. “What good can men in suits do? I say enjoy the show, kinder, perhaps it is a free one.” 

Nell growled in frustration as the first person proved useless, though she supposed they were busy protecting their cat. Fine. As always, she’d have to do it herself. But then another woman procured a plastic bag, and there was hope for the people of the world and their abilities to respond to a crisis once again. “It’s gonna have to do!” Nell said while reaching out for the bags, already thinking of a spell she could use to make them stronger, harder to be torn apart by little sprite hands. “Looks like a jail break,” Nell replied dryly, recognizing some of the animals from the zoo.

The tiger could smell her prey in the distance. It was near a group of the two legged creatures, those humans who locked her in behind those bars and watched her. Now, she watched them. Now, they would not separate her from her meal. She moved forward with the confidence of a prisoner released from her cage after too long. Like a prisoner, she wanted a good meal, and she wanted it fresh. One of the humans, a strange smelling one, one that did not seem human at all, regarded her, and so the tiger returned the look only for a moment. She was so hungry. She would eat.

The sprites became preoccupied by Nell’s trapping attempt, giving Metzli enough time to get up and run off with Yuca in their arms. That’s when they saw the rest of the animals roaming about the street. Zebras, tigers, and several others. Supernatural others. “Whoa…” They said, amazed and confused. “What is happ—” They were interrupted by running into someone, and that someone was Morgan. 

“My familiar is criminal,” declared Sai mournfully as he reached Morgan, Bex, and another clumsy person,  face flushed from a long sprint down several streets.

“I guess?” Bly had to admit it did make sense that animals didn’t always want to eat people. Still… They didn’t want to test it. “They might get hurt if we don’t help them though! A tiger or a zebra isn’t going to do well in Maine. It’s cold here.” Then the tiger was looking at them and Bly was pretty thankful they didn’t pee themself. They slowly inched behind the intense lady, “I don’t like this. Making eye contact with a tiger is a bad idea!”

Sundew had never dreamed of a more perfect day. The humans looked so silly with their faces like that and one of them made the funniest sound when a fluffy cloud of sprites swarmed and picked at her nisty-nasty hair. 

Sundew flew out of her hiding spot on Morgan’s shoulder and conjured a mallet just her size between her fingers. She bonked the human running toward them to help, then she flew toward the sprites, cackling, “Yes! Yes! Cage-free chaos!” Then she flew to the nearest human and bit their hand and left the image of a lion paw on their wrist instead. “Woopsie! Better get that checked out! I hope your premiums are good!”

Morgan looked from Sundew, to Sai, to Bex, to the zebra, and back again. There were people losing their coffee, people losing their sanity, Nell and Chloe maybe doing something clever with a plastic bag, and it was all too much. 

“What do you mean criminal?” She cried. “Did Ibulba do this?” Normally this would’ve been outrageous but nothing was outrageous today. The zebra bared his teeth and Morgan jumped back and ran into someone else. 

“Oh, hi. Nice day for a walk, huh? You really might wanna consider going anywhere else right now.” Then she saw Sundew fluttering back their way with a familiar, dangerous look on her face. “Or better yet, get down! This really isn’t safe for anyone!”

Chloe eyed the animal chewing on the plants, itching around it carefully. When she looked up at Nell again, she frowned, finally realising that the ungulate creature wasn’t the only thing running around. All of the animals were black and white, and despite the havoc they were creating, they were much quieter than a normal stampede. “Are you going to use a bag to try and stop-” Chloe gestured at the skunks, snakes and single cow, as well as the terrifying creature beside them. Its nose was too long and flexible. She didn’t trust it.

Bex glanced between Sai and Morgan. Sai seemed breathless and Morgan seemed panicked and Sundew was off making trouble with some small, butterfly-looking creatures that seemed to like her. As far as animal handling went, Bex had rolled low, she’d never been around animals in her life, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know anything about them. The zebra brayed at them and she scooted behind Morgan as well, when someone bumped into them. A familiar someone. 

“Metzli??” she breathed, raising a brow. Why were they here? It was still daytime! “Oh, watchout!” She called, tugging on their arm as Sundew whizzed toward them, ready to spread more antics. “Sundew, no, please!” she tried. The pixie rarely listened to Bex, even though she often let them braid her hair in the garden and laugh about silly pixie things.

Nell shook her head while she mumbled a quick spell under her breath, and the cotton bag stiffened into something much harder. “What?” she asked with vague annoyance on her features while she tried to figure out how to herd the sprites into the bag. “You want me to use the bag on the tapir?” That was the long-nosed thing standing next to Chloe, right? She remembered seeing them in the jungles of South America. “If you wanna keep it as a pet you’re gonna have to use something else. Maybe think of a name for it first. But no- this is for them!” she replied, gesturing towards the swarm of pixies.

“Maybe? I don’t know? She is aiding and abetting it at least, and her unluck is very powerful ,” Sai confessed glumly, as if somehow convinced his magic goat would be put on trial for zoo escapes.

It was too late, Metzli was knocked to the ground and Yuca yelled out in terror. She almost ran off, but they managed to grab her leash and pull her back in as they got to their feet. They were too frantic between the chaos and trying to get into some shade. “Oh. Hi Bex!” They said in a daze and ran under a nearby canopy for protection with Yuca in their arms once again. Her hackles were raised and she was growling. 

Leah watched from across the street as a panda bear chewed on pages from a book, and that was the last straw.  Chaos and carnage she could let go, but book destruction?  Unacceptable.  She stomped across the street toward the bear, taking a deep breath to settle herself as she went.

The tiger and her gorgeous coat stopped to regard Alcher for a moment, and what a sight she was. Alcher simply stood and admired her back, giving a nod. She didn’t need help stalking her prey, but the proud zebra had strutted further down the street and seemed to be oblivious to the chaos it had caused, if maybe proud. Alcher could relate. She would want to kill it, too. Perhaps it would taste sweet, like the smell of fae hanging in the air. Fae blood was a treasure for someone like Alcher, though she did not indulge often-- fae held grudges, fae remembered, fae had magic she didn’t want to mess with. Alcher turned to beckon to the child, whose worry was palpable. “I think they’ll do just fine. Keep up, if you don’t want to be the next meal.”

The lemurs began jumping on people, using their little hands to flip people off. They’d learned things during school field trips.

Sundew would later tell her troop that she’d made fifty humans think they were turning into animals even if it was only more like ten. 

“Can’t catch me!” She giggled, whizzing by Bex. She pulled on the girl’s hair as hard as she could, humans were so silly when they weeble-wobbled, and did several circles in the air to show how much she was enjoying herself. She circled around to where the sprites were clustering and touched her toes to the tops of their heads as she crowed, “Fly my pretties, fly!” Just to get them good and riled up. 

The zebra in front of Morgan pulled its ears back and huffed silently, then, swift as chaos, it reared and lunged at Morgan, knocking her down as it pranced toward freedom. Morgan wheezed, wincing as her chest bent back into the right shape, and looked ahead into the thick cluster of goats and animals. “What I’m hearing, Sai, is that this is only gonna get worse until we find your goat. And so we gotta—“ she gestured vaguely at the mess brewing in front of them. “Find her?”

A tall jogger sighed and scooped up a grizzly bear cub that’d been making excited friendly noises at the bibio-voric panda bear and had begun to imitate to see if human literature was indeed delicious. “No Zeke,” Roy sighed, chiding his youngest sibling. “We can’t play with cousin right now.”

Bly’s mouth was dry, this lady just nodded at the tiger. The tiger who was hunting was nodded at by a Lady who didn’t seem to care. Their fingers drummed a rhythm against their sternum, drowning out the pounding underneath it. “You think it might be hungry after a different meal?” Their voice was reaching a scared squeaking pitch. “Should I call my mom?”

“No! I thought you wanted to use the bag on the tapir! It looks shifty!” Chloe yelled back, eyeing it suspiciously again. “I don’t want it as a pet!” All bickering about the tapir faded away as she saw the sprites twisting around in the air. Chloe froze, shrinking in on herself as she clutched her iron necklace her breath racing. “I- I can’t- I can’t I can’t-” She handed Nell an iron necklace with a long iron chain on it, fingers trembling as she pressed her back against the wall. Please don’t notice me, please don’t notice me, she thought as loud as she could.

Bex recoiled. “See if I ever share my gummies with you again!” she growled at the pixie as she incited a rebellion among the butterfly beings. Her eyes roamed again until she found Metzli under a canopy, cradling their cat. “Maybe you should get out of here? Your cat seems angry and scared and I think it’s just gonna get um--” she glanced back at Morgan, the zebra, wincing at the hit, refraining from calling out to her-- “worse.” She waved her hands a moment. “At least stay here! I’ll be back.” She backed away, then, and made her way over to Sai. “Which way did she go? Can you, like, track her?” She tried to think of a way for herself to be useful, but barring becoming a distraction, she couldn’t think of much. “Maybe we should split up?”

The tiger was close enough, now, her prey nearly in her mouth it was so close. She looked to the human that did not smell like a human, to the cub human next to her. They were not important. One did not smell like prey, and the other was too small to worry with. The tiger had her prey. She looked back at it and let out a silent snarl. Sound had not come out of her, not anymore. Not since she had been locked behind those bars, since the colors in her fur dripped from her like rain water. She lunged, teeth and claws sinking into the hind end of her prey. It, too, could not properly cry out. The tiger finally had her meal.

“She probably wants to take the petting zoo goats to the farm,” Sai said, watching with wide eyes as Morgan went from definitely dead to bodily wholeness in the span of seconds. “Which…would mean I’d be harboring stolen property aw shit noooooo!”

Bea heard the yells before she saw anything out of the ordinary. All she had wanted was to buy a bottle of wine and have a bubble bath tonight. Sighing, the witch cracked open a bottle, screw top, Thank God, and took a sip. She saw her sister doing something and determined it was likely best to go help her. “Hey, Nellie,” She said casually as she offered the bottle to her sister. “Who let the animals out of the zoo?”

The tiger took its prey and Alcher grinned. The young human was panicking and she rolled her eyes. “What good would that do? If you want to survive, you must think smarter.” She didn’t know why she was even bothering with this human child, but she didn’t know how to walk away anymore. She’d grown...soft. Shuddering, Alcher turned away. She could smell them on the air, her cousins. They were traveling together and were getting closer. She had been waiting for this. It was time to make a new home for them. “Come,” she ushered to the child, “I want to show you something.” 

Nell shot the other woman an incredulous look, sparing the black and white tapir once more glance before calling back to her in exasperation. “It’s a vegetarian!” The witch couldn’t remember the fancy name for ‘plant-eater’ right now. She wasn’t sure what to make of the blond’s alarm, but it only took Nell a moment to recognize the iron that had been deposited into her hand. She still didn’t want to kill the things...but maybe she could use this to herd them. It covered more ground than her knife, anyway. Swinging the chain above her head in a wide circle, Nell moved towards the sprites with her bag in the other hand. “Get!” she yelled out of instinct, as if she were wrangling some particularly rowdy cattle. “Into the bag and I won’t singe your wings off!” Bea? What the hell? Where had Bea come from? “I don’t know who let them out. Would you care to help get them back in?”

Miriam had decided to go for a walk, her skin mostly covered as she wore a large sun hat and glasses, looking for a meal before she headed back home. She was drawn to an intense amount of misery and pain, despair coming from a particular area of town. She was curious, this much concentrated agony unusual. “That little fucker waddled away with my cappuccino!” was all Miriam heard as she stumbled upon, well, a herd. All sorts of wildlife ran amok, and she blinked against the sight of it. She should turn around. She was going to turn around. This was just a little much for even her.

Mom always said not to lose your head. She also always said that letting strangers show you things would often end up poorly. Bly had already lost their head, might as well let a stranger show them something. Plus, she wasn’t scared and it was a good idea to be with someone who wasn’t losing their shit. “Uh, yeah sure? Is it another tiger cus I’m not sure if I can deal with that. Especially after witnessing that…” They trailed off looking at the tiger feasting, it made their stomach turn.

Of course Yuca was upset, her predators were roaming about and Metzli could do close to nothing to help as long as the sun was around. People were running and screaming as they glared quietly. They opted to simply threaten, baring their teeth in a predatory show of dominance under the safety of the shadows, petting Yuca and cooing at her every so often. They needed just a little more time before they were able to bolt back home. 

The wine was ignored and Bea let out a little huff through her nose. She wouldn’t offer next time then. Screwing the top back on, she placed the bottle back into her tote bag gingerly. It was a pretty nice wine. “Direct me, Nell. I don’t exactly have experience in this.” If Nell wasn’t here, deep in the fray like she always was, Bea might have considered leaving, but her sister was and so Bea couldn’t leave. “What are you going to do with the bag after you get them?”

The  sprites were only too happy to listen to Sundew. With a cascade of hissing and fluttering they rose, spread and circled the room. When the iron started flying into their cluster, their humming grew louder. Yes, it was going to be a cutting kind of day after all. 

Morgan nodded along to Sai’s words. “Mkay. No one is harboring stolen animals. Petting zoo. We got this. We totally got this.” She stood slowly and staggered forward. But maybe, uh—” Morgan didn’t want to broadcast that she couldn’t remember what Ibulba looked like under these circumstances, but just then, every fluffy goat in the distance looked the same. “A description so we can all be equally aware and prepared would help!” She nodded encouragingly, then stuck her hand into her bag and took out a snack to eat on her way to the goats. 

Alcher walked through the animals as they gave her a wide berth, especially those one might consider prey. Even in this form, they could sense what she was and she moved like a fish through water, smooth and gliding, the child in tow. Good, they’d decided to follow. She made her way down the alley and towards the edge of the streets, where it met fields of grass and eventually grew into trees. She looked back at the child. “Not a tiger, no,” she pointed at the pack of only black and white wolves, stalking the edge of the forest. They, too, had found prey, and Alcher was eager to watch. “Watch how nature truly works. This is what the world makes of those who are weak.” Of those who are prey, like little human children. 

“Everything here is weirdly quiet and mime shaped so the tapir probably eats hearts on the DL!” Chloe yelled back. When she noticed the sprites, her body trembled, remembering the time she’d seen them swarm and slaughter a nearby bird. The other thing she’d learned was that wherever there were sprites, there were pixies lording over them like a bite sized monarch. She shied further back into the street, terrified to get any closer, when suddenly the sprites grew more and more energetic, spreading out and urging into a frenzy. One zipped inches from Chloe’s face as she choked on the kind of scream banned by fae promise, unable to  do so much as swat them away. “Maybe- maybe- maybe something sweet!” Fae were renowned for their sweet tooths, she knew.

Sai shoved a hand in his pocket and grabbed a handful of Parmesan cheese from the baggie in there. He covertly held the Parmesan flat on his hand while moving closer to Morgan to screen the cheese from view. The Tyromancer murmured a few phrases under his breath and the cheese grains shaped themselves into a moving perfect replica of the black horned Scapegoat. “That's her”

Bro, Mom was one hundred percent right. This was a bad idea. A messed up teaching moment. The dizziness wasn’t fading as Bly looked over the scene that this woman had lead them too. “I really, really prefer when I see nature working through a documentary.” Why had they had coffee today? That always made their anxiety spike and their anxiety was already spoke. “I mean this is metal as fuck, like maybe you should write for horror movies, but I’m not a prey animal? I’m not going to be in situations like this very often and a pack of wolves isn’t going to eat me. I’m not weak. Or like I’m not usually weak?”

Bex watched in awe as Sai shaped the cheese, a bit gleeful at the creation of it. She wondered if one day she could do something like that. Maybe not with cheese. Definitely not with cheese. She glanced up and squinted down the street towards where Morgan was headed, the heard of goats far enough away to look like a stripe of cotton on the horizon. “Okay,” she nodded and started off across the street, looking both ways and letting a heard of quick moving raccoons scuttle down the road towards the alleys before turning to head up the sidewalk. She spotted Nell and Bea and another woman dealing with the sprites and decided it was probably better to not disturb them, pulling her own magic to the edge of her fingertips in case she’d need it. “Ibulba!” she called out as she got closer, “I’ve got um-- apples for you!” Goats liked apples, right?

Nell patience was worn thin. She already had so little of it to begin with, especially these days in the wake of everything that had happened over the past few months. Without warning she whipped the iron chain hard and fast enough to slice clean through a swath of the sprites, killing them instantly as their burned halves fell to the ground. “Get in the bag while you still can.” Again it had come to violence. Was this what she was supposed to be doing? Killing sprites and helping people? But the sprites weren’t being helped. The reason she couldn’t be worthy in the way Dave had said— was it because she’d never been able to solve things without adding more violence? Trying to shake her head of the thoughts she spoke again to Bea. “I’m gonna put them in the bag and glue them to the fucking ground. Then I’ll deal with them after.” Bea wanted direction. The biggest threat was the tiger, though she seemed happy now that she’d gotten her meal. “Just herd the animals back towards the zoo. Starting with this guy-” Nell nodded in the tapir’s direction. “A shadow leash or something.” The blond’s continued fear drew Nell’s attention, and she didn’t hesitate to dissect the sprite into two, the necklace swinging inches from the woman’s face. 

Alcher frowned and turned to look back at the child, golden eyes reflecting sunlight in a way human ones could not. “Oh, but you are, child,” was all she said, before she moved forward swiftly and finally ripped free of her human flesh. She wanted to join the pack, the ache of needing one too hard to resist. 

There was finally a chance, a chance to run in the midst of the chaos. Everyone was doing their best to do a multitude of things. Stop the chaos, run from the chaos, and even ensuing more chaos. Normally, Metzli would be excited by their own dangerous plans, but they would never dare risk Yuca’s life like that. And so they ran as fast as they could, inconspicuously. Running past Bex, they pulled her to the side as an ostrich that was running next to them nearly trampled her. “Watch your back!” They yelled as they continued to run, and get the fuck away from the fun. It was fun they were willing to miss out on. “This doesn’t mean I like you though!” Their voice trailed off into the distance as they finally escaped with Yuca. Passing by Bly and taking the chance for a little chaos. “Watch out. There’s a leopard behind you…!” Even yelling “Made you look!” As they continued. 

Ibulba was watching approvingly as the quiet petting zoo goats tore through an upscale clothing store. Stalls and hangers toppled inside the store, the destruction escalating in unlikely domino effects as some unseen force seemed to play havoc with probability. Ibulba and several other goats were munching on a delicious Marie-Chantal Miller wedding dress they’d pulled out from the shattered viewing window. But her ears perked up at her name. 

Ibulba turned to face the familiar she-human who was holding an apple to her. Ibubla turned back to look, and saw the sacking of the silky human-covering place was well in hand. She trotted over to Bex, seeming at home in the surrounding anarchy, and took a prospective bite of the apple.

Bex stumbled when Metzli whizzed by her, yanking her out of the path of a storming ostrich. Scrunching her nose, she shouted back, “Yes you do!” before she reached her destination and found the clothing store in utter disarray. Well...most of the dresses were tacky, anyway. She wondered if expensive clothing tasted better than bargain bin. But Ibulba was happily trotting over to her and she held out the apple she’d had in her bag and reached out to pat her head. “Hey there,” she said casually, smiling at her. “Sai’s kinda worried about you, ya know. Can you go back to him? I think he really needs your help.” From what Bex had seen of her, and knew of her, she was fiercely protective of her spellcaster. It was the bond between familiar and caster Nell had told Bex about, and she couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. “Besides, looks like your friends’ve got everything under control here.” 

Shadow leash. Bea could handle that, and she could start gathering a decent amount of animals with her as she went with them. “Alright. I’ll be back when I can okay.” It was good to see Nell take charge. There was energy in her voice, a commanding tone that had been missing. “You’re doing a good job,” She said offhandedly as she subtly made a shadow leash for the tapir. The animal moved uncomfortably as it realized what she had done but she was already walking along, forcing him to follow.

VOMIT TW BEGIN

This was it, this lady was a serial killer and Bly was about to be a victim. Then her skin… changed and there was a wolf in her place and finally that bile that had been working it’s way up erupted, Bly choking on it as they let out a surprised wail. As they spit it up into the grass, someone screamed about a leopard and it took all Bly’s strength to sprint away as fast as they could. They were pretty sure they had screamed, but they were running to fast to know what left them as they reentered the chaos. 

VOMIT TW END

Morgan had just enough calm to take note of the image without choking on her fried brains. “Beautiful,” she deadpanned, and shambled with Bex toward that goat.

Sundew flew somersaults into the air, faster and faster, speeding toward the ground. A big black and white furry creature sneezed and swatted at her and sent her veering off course, into Morgan’s head. 

Morgan caught the pixie in the palm of her hand. She had a few irritated words lined up and ready to go when a hundred little cuts pinged on her head and back. The sprites, scattering from the threat of iron, had landed on her, and had decided to take out their aggression on her body. Morgan lurched away from Bex and Ibulba and fell on her knees.

“What was that for?” Sundew asked. She had fully expected to meet the eternal pixie night after that swipe, but the dummy boob had caught her on purpose and for absolutely no trade at all. 

Morgan was a little occupied with being bitten by angry sprites. She gave Sundew a dirty glare, so clear even the pixie knew what had to be done. She gave a whistle and ordered the sprites to go home. “There, are you happy now, Dummy Boob?” She asked. 

Morgan looked around, dazed and bleary eyed. “You know…maybe yeah,” she said dryly. “Come on. I’ve got a real live bad luck goat for you to meet. And a big ol farm she needs to go home to.”

From an alley, a friend was watching. It was not seen. It was not heard. But it was watching. Perhaps it, too, would one day find a companion to romp through the streets and eat with.

While the sprites rammed into Morgan, Nell saw red. With another uttering of her magic, and a tug on the bond that linked her and the witch’s familiar, Taki was blipping into existence at her side, as easily summoned as breathing air after nearly a decade of doing it. “Roast them,” she told Taki, waiting for the fiery inferno of his breath to make barbecue out of the bothersome pint-sized fae. “Morgan, duck!” A swath of flames erupted from the Ovinikk’s mouth before Nell could realize the sprites were retreating on the orders of Sundew— and the stragglers of the pack screeched as they were set ablaze. 

Ibulba closed her amber eyes and concentrated for a moment. She could feel her partner’s mounting anxiety from here. When Ibubla was still a kid,  she’d been presented with a young he-human. He suffered from convulsions and visions, but Ibulba has souldbounded with him nevertheless, discerning that his gentleness and diligence would provide balance to her chaos. Ibulba reached through the bond and found her human partner. 

Ibulba opened her eyes, munching pensively on the apple while nodding for Bex to follow. Several petting zoo goats looked up questioningly, but Ibulba knew she’d done what she could. They must find their own freedom and delicious silky snacks now. She had a hyperventilating partner to attend to. 

Ibulba wove her way unerringly through the stampedes, seeming to navigate through some superior sense of probability. She occasionally checked to see if Bex was following. Eventually she sprinted straight into her caster’s embrace, allowing him to bury his face and mumble inane worried things into her wooly fur.

Relieved, Bex followed Ibulba back to Sai, who grabbed her and hugged her so gratefully, it was as if they’d been parted for years. Or, perhaps, that their distance had pained him. She heard Nell’s familiar voice, too, and looked up from Sai and Ibulba, watching as Taki opened his mouth and let out a roar of flames. Something heavy fell in Bex’s stomach as she heard the anguished cries of the small butterfly critters. Winced and looked away, deciding that keeping her focus on Sai and Ibulba was the best idea. “C’mon, we should maybe get her back to the farm,” she ushered, looking back over her shoulder at Nell and wondering if she noticed her, too. She looked angry. Bex wished she could reach out with her own magic and help calm her down, but that wasn’t within her grasp yet. She patted Ibulba’s head again and smiled at Sai as best she could. “Maybe invest in a leash, too,” she teased.

There was little left of the tiger’s prey as her stomach became overly full. Still, it was so good, so fresh. She would not waste it. And, as the humans’ sounds grew louder, she would not be caught again. No more cages. No more bars. Only fresh, warm prey. She grabbed what was left by its leg and began dragging it off, away from the noise. She would finish it later, after some peace and quiet and freedom.

“T-t-the tiger,” one of the zoo keepers, scrawny and trembling and a voice that was beginning to fail every few words, managed to say. They were a new hire. They’d find their words eventually. Or perhaps lose them. They pointed in the direction of where the tiger had gone, but it was too late to go after her with all the other chaos on the loose. They would have to follow the blood smears and hope it led them to her. After all, how hard would it be to locate a white tiger?

It was all gloved hands on deck as the rest of the zoo keepers, along with some of White Crest’s finest joined together with tranquilizers and began systematically and, for the most part, silently dispatching animals to get them sent back to the zoo. It would be hard work, but it would be done.

While the tiger wandered off, Anara Kingston took inventory of the wreckage that had been done to the front of her bistro, the lemurs that were still flipping the bird to anyone who so much as glanced in their direction, and the actual birds that were fluttering around with teeth that looked a little too human. Hold on. Birds didn’t have teeth, did they? It didn’t matter anymore. With a resigned sigh she turned back towards the sign she’d been so proud to display, sullenly erasing the number on it, changing it to read ‘0 days since last accident.’

[rubix-writings]

Punisher Pt. 3

Third part of Punisher. I apologize it’s taking me so long to post these, but want to make sure they’re good for you all. Thank you for the support so far!! This is a Chicago PD/Fire imagine with an original character. I don’t own any of the plot points or characters from the show. Also, it doesn’t follow any particular season or sequence in the shows.

Series Summary: Josephine (Jo) never expected to find support and pure love when she left Los Angeles. She ran away to Chicago and was content with living an insignificant, hidden life. But everything changes when she walks into Molly’s to get a job.

Josephine (OC) x Jay Halstead

The italicized lines are internal thoughts of the character.

Warnings: language, mentions of drinking, long (!)

Things are going really well at Molly’s. It’s like falling into step during a choreographed dance. It feels odd to say that I’m comfortable and confident when it’s only my second shift. I’m working with Stella tonight, who to say the least had a lot of fun the night before. When she first walked into the bar she looked as if Casper made a stop in Chicago. At the start of opening she kept her jacket on and slammed down cups of black coffee. Her body seemed to stay in a permanent state hunched over the bar top while she only communicated through slow movements with her fingers. I couldn’t watch her pain any longer, so I used my break to grab a cheeseburger and fries so greasy the oil soaked the paper bag. 

“You need to put something solid into your body,” I announce as I plop the white, greased bag on the bar top in front of Stella’s practically limp body. She slowly lifts her head with a deep groan and analyzes the bag.

“I’m a firefighter Jo, my body is a temple. I can’t eat this,” I can’t stop the laugh that escapes my lips.

“Are tequila shots a part of your ‘temple’s’ regimen?” she sniffs the bag and sighs.

“You see, the tequila actually kills all the bacteria in the stomach,” Stella examines the golden fry before taking a bite. 

“Be sure to tell your theory to the doctors that come in later, I’m sure they’d love to hear that.”

“I will,” she says with a mouthful of cheeseburger. 

Just like magic, Stella is back to her bouncy self. It amazes me how much like Hermann she is, she practically floats around Molly’s. She talks to everyone and makes sure they’re having a good time. Stella sets the tone of the entire bar, bringing life to every inch of the place. It’s nice to watch her interact with others, a part of me is envious of how natural it comes to her. A part of me is, also, envious of her relationship with Kelly. His eyes when he looks at her are filled with unconditional love and the way Stella looks at him when he’s not looking confirms that she feels the same. I’ve never had that… or will have it. The bar top serves its purpose as a closed door to the patrons on the other side, I open it as much as I want and they see what I want them to see. I’m in control.

It’s a busy Friday night, the bar filled quickly. The firemen I met last night stroll in with the same vigor as the night before, obviously hurting a lot less than Stella was a few hours ago. Stella plays it off as if she didn’t have a raging hangover, but Kelly quickly throws her under the bus. Cruz yells as he claims he’s known the truth all along, but Mouch steps in to deny it, leading to Cruz listing out facts about how he knew. I place a few beer bottles in front of the guys, trying not to get involved.

“I’m sorry about them,” Matt says.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. They’re funny,” I smile.

“You don’t have to hear it all day long,” Matt grumbles as he takes a long sip from his beer.

“This is true. I get them in concentrated doses,” I excuse myself to collect empties at the tables scattered around the room. With my hands full I turn to head back to the bar top, but crash into a hard body. I stumble back from the blow and the mystery man swiftly grabs my arms to keep me from falling. Once I get my footing back, he releases my arms.

“Sorry about that. Are you okay?” His voice is like velvet that draws my eyes up to look at his face. Wow. My mind fell into a haze barely registering his question. 

“Um, yeah. Thanks,” he smirks at how long it took me to answer his question. Really smooth Jo. “I should get back to work, sorry about running into you,” I walk backwards a few steps, he immediately steps forward keeping the same amount of space between us as before.

“Let me at least help you with those, I’m heading to the bar anyway,” before I could object, his large hand cradles the numerous beer bottles that were once in my hand. Before my brain can spiral about his large hands, I spin and head back to the bar. I silently weave through the customer’s of Molly’s, I needed to get back to my safe zone to hopefully make his charm less effective. He gently places the bottles on the bar top for me to discard, I smile and thank him. Before I can ask for his order, the firemen and Stella welcome him to the bar.

“Hey Jay, haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” Stella mentions. 

“Yeah I know. Um have you seen my brother anywhere?” Stella shakes her head no. Brother? I try to seem like I’m not listening while cleaning up behind the bar and get any excuse not to look at him again. One embarrassing moment for tonight is enough. Out of nowhere, Will pops up and slaps Jay on the back. They go in for a quick hug before Will says hi to everyone. 

“Hey don’t kill me, but I invited Nat. I know it’s supposed to just be us, but she had a really rough day,” Will whispers, Jay shakes his head to let him know he’s totally fine with it. “Great, thanks man.”

I put two glasses of red wine on the bar top for two women that definitely want to take a firefighter home tonight. After how many women these men turned down the night before I highly doubt they’ll have any luck, but I’m kinda rooting for them.

“Hey Jo,” Will smiles.

“Hi Will,” I say in monotone to mess with him.

“Have you met my brother Jay?” Will slaps Jay’s chest which startles Jay a little, making me smile. Geez, these guys must have gorgeous parents. Will is handsome of course, but Jay... 

“We kinda ran into each other actually.” I smirk.

“Oh that’s great, he’s a really good guy. He’s a cop, detective, sorry,” Will corrects himself, Jay is glaring at him.

“I’m not making you a manhattan,” he slaps his hand against the bar top.

“Worth a shot. Can I get a glass of chardonnay and a beer, oh and whatever Jay’s having,” I nod and grab Will his drinks. He slides me his credit card to open a tab then walks off to see Natalie at the table.

“I’m definitely missing something, why does my brother want a manhattan?” Jay finally asks. 

“Oh Jay it was great!” Stella jumps in to tell a very colorful version of the events that happened between Will and I. As she finishes up she is swept to the end of the bar to take an order. 

“She was drunk last night” I mumble under my breath. Jay smirks, knowing Stella’s retelling was probably fabricated. “What can I get you?” I try to change the subject.

“A beer please,” I nod. “You’re new here Jo?” He phrases it as a question, but it's definitely more of a statement. 

“Yeah, started yesterday,” I hand him his beer. 

“Thanks. Are you from Chicago?”

“No, LA actually, lived there my whole life,” I lean my forearms on the bar top in front of him.

“Wow, big change.” “Yeah, I don’t know if I thought it all the way through to be honest,” he smiles.

“Well let me tell you if you haven’t figured it out already, snow and winter are incredibly overrated.” “Ah yes, that’s exactly what I needed to hear. I can go back to LA now.” “Glad to be of service,” he shrugs. Jay stayed on the same stoll at the bar for the rest of the night. It was strange how easy it was to talk with him, he offered stories about his job and funny stories about him and Will growing up. It’s so beautiful to have those stories, that he’s gone through life with someone that deeply and come out the other side. I tell him that I don’t have siblings and mostly spent time with my mom when I was young. Jay was quick to offer up Will to fill the void.

“I’ll keep you updated on that,” I laugh.

“Are you and your mom still close?”

“Um no, she… she died about ten years ago,” even though her death happened so long ago it still felt so weird saying it out loud. 

“I’m sorry Jo. I lost my mom to cancer a few years back.”

“So you get it,” he nods and offers a somber smile. 

It wasn’t till Will and Natalie announced their departure, that Jay made any moves to leave Molly’s. The bar was slowly emptying out as last call was already declared. 

“I should head out, it was really nice talking with you Jo,” Jay stands.

“It was really nice talking with you too Jay,” I say sincerely. He smiles wide before making a beeline for the front door. I can’t help but stare until he’s fully out of sight, my cheeks start to hurt from fighting the smile on my face. I tuck my loose hair behind my ear and start grabbing the empty glasses from the bar top. 

“Have fun?” Stella questions, I jump slightly not realizing she was standing there.

“Another good night for tips, yeah,” she looks at Kelly who’s the last of the firefighters at the bar. 

“Sure, doesn’t hurt that Officer Handsome was here all night either.” “I… I’m going to wash the glasses,” I pick up the large plastic crate with dirty drinking glasses and head to the back where Hermann showed me where the sink was. Stella didn’t mention Jay again, but it didn’t matter. The damage was done, Jay’s blue eyes and the way he got so passionate during a story were ingrained in my mind for the rest of the night. 

***

Hermann asked if I could open Molly’s for him the next day as he was running late with paperwork at the firehouse. I had a short shift that night anyway and could use the extra money no matter how little. Hermann told me to meet him at the firehouse to give me the keys since they haven’t been able to cut me my own yet. The firehouse isn’t far from Molly’s, a couple blocks on foot. I prepared myself with my warmest coat for the trek since the wind chill makes Chicago brutally cold. I focus on the sound of my shoes against the wet pavement to take my mind off of how cold I really am. 

The firehouse is a ball of color on this cold, dark Chicago day. The plain brick buildings surrounding it emphasize the reds and yellows. It somehow feels untouched by the rest of the city, a true sign of purity. As soon as I walk through the doors of the firehouse I’m met with the sweet smell of food cooking. It’s as if my feet have a mind of their own and take my body towards the magnificent smell’s source. The kitchen was buzzing with people cooking, talking, and playing card games. 

“Jo!” Stella yells, “what are you doing here?” she walks over to me, leaving her conversation with Matt and Kelly, who both wave at me.

“I’m here to get the keys from Hermann, do you know where he is?” 

“Yeah, he’s in the garage let me take you to him,” I try to argue that it could wait, but Stella insists. “Hermman!” she yells once we get into the garage. 

“What?!” he snaps back. She giggles as we both walk towards the outburst. As we turn around the big fire engine, I see why Stella was so insistent about not waiting. “Oh hey, Jo,” he says calmer.

Jay is standing tall with a notepad in front of Hermann. Stella silently excuses herself from the conversation and makes her way back inside. Hermann pays no attention to his surroundings as he’s searching for the three keys I need to open Molly’s. 

“Hey,” Jay smiles.

“Hi.”

“Here you go, I labeled them for you so you know what lock they go into. Once you get inside, lock the front door, just in case,” I nod and take the keys from him. The silver keys have thin pieces of masking tape on them with dark blue sharpie stating what they open. 

“Thanks, I’ll see you there,” I back away from the men to head back to the bar. Hermann nods and waves.

“Hermann we’re done here right?” Jay asks.

“Yeah, let me know if you find anything,” Hermann states somewhat hopeless. Jay puts away the notepad in his back pocket of his jeans and jogs to catch up to me. The sound of Jay’s thick boots hitting the cement fills the sound of the garage. When he finally catches up to me, he moves ahead to open the door to outside for me. 

“So you’re stalking me now?” He jokes.

“Um how did you get to that? Hermann asked me to come here,” Jay quickly fell into step with me, not that it was difficult as he’s much taller than me.

“I was here first,” he says plainly.

“Oh well, with that bulletproof logic…” he laughs.

“You headed to Molly’s?” we stop walking once we get to the sidewalk.

“Yeah, I’m opening today,” Jay slips the keys to his car from his jacket pocket. 

“Let me drive you.” “Oh no, you don’t have to do that. It’s only a couple of blocks and you’re working,” I spew out trying to find an excuse that’ll stick.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m parked right here,” he brushes off quickly. I roll my eyes at his back and get into the car. Jay puts the car into gear and sets off towards Molly’s. 

“So, is Hermann okay?” I ask since I couldn’t get his hopeless tone out of my head.

“His house was broken into, they didn’t get a lot, just some jewelry and a few Alexa’s. His wife came home which freaked them out and they bolted before they did any real damage.” “Jesus. Poor Hermann. Do you think you’ll find his stuff?” “Probably not, that sort of stuff is so small that they may keep it for themselves instead of pawning it, but we’ll try,” the car is silent for a little while till Jay pulls in front of Molly’s.

“Thanks for the ride.” “Course,” I get out of the car and make my way onto the sidewalk. “Hey Jo,” Jay says out of his rolled down window. 

“Hey Jay,” I say while playing with the keys Hermann gave me.

“Are you working late tonight?”

“Not too late, I have a short shift.”

“How about I meet you here later and we get a drink?” Jay says casually. I bite my lip and look down the street in hopes to take my mind off of what he just asked.

“Maybe,” I say as I make eye contact with him again. “See yah Jay.”

“See yah Jo.”

I’m losing control.

[theharellan]

Solas Fan Banter

Here’s a compilation of the fan banter I’ve written over the years between Solas and other canon Dragon Age characters, posted for Dragon Age Day 2020. There are references to a canon divergent Solas/nb!Lavellan companion romance. I’ve regretfully not written any Iron Bull banter that I’m proud enough of to feature here, but if anyone has any suggestions for topics I’d be glad to hear them.

Featured characters: Solas, Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Blackwall, Vivienne, Dorian, Cole, Morrigan, Cullen, Leliana, Valta, Renn, and Arcane Advisor Merrill!

Solas & Cassandra

(after receiving the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Cassandra: And he was not even a mage. Shameful. Solas: Would have it been justified if he was? Cassandra: The Templars have sanction to punish apostates. It would not have been beyond their authority. Solas: I would not call that justified, merely legal. Cassandra: The Templars should be better. Solas: The Chantry armed them and gave them an enemy. That might fuel an army, but will only serve to poison their minds against innocent people, apostates or no.

Solas & Varric

(after killing the Templars during the quest Agrarian Apostate)

Varric: I thought at least away from Kirkwall I could get away from crazy Templars. Solas: You believe they were mad? The men I saw were no different from those who confronted us in Val Royeaux.

(after delivering the ring)

Solas: She seems to be holding up well, considering. Varric: Yeah, but I know a front when I see one. Solas: You believe she was suffering more than she let on? Varric: Oh, I know it, Chuckles. That ring might comfort her when the country gets too quiet, but it won’t dry her tears or– shit, do much else, really. Solas: Some wounds only time heal. Varric: And they always seem to leave ugly scars.

(after beginning Here Lies the Abyss)

Solas: You found Hawke after all. Varric: Oh, you know. All those heroics jogged my memory. Solas: Naturally. Varric: What, you going to lay into me, too? Solas: No, no. I understand why you hesitated. (if Hawke is a mage) Solas: To involve her in a Chantry organisation would not have been wise, at least before it had a chance to prove itself. (otherwise) Solas: Given her involvement in this war, I can only imagine there are those on both sides who would blame her for their present predicament. Varric: You mind telling all that to Cassandra? Solas: I would prefer not to.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke is left behind)

Solas: I have read your book, you know. The Tale of the Champion. Varric: I don’t know if now’s the best time. Solas: I understand. I only wanted to say that in reading it, I felt your affection for Hawke in every word. I am... sorry, for what happened. Varric: Thanks, Chuckles. Solas: Of course.

(after Here Lies the Abyss, if Hawke survives)

Solas: You said your farewells to Hawke? Varric: Sure did. Sent letters home, debated sending letters to Weisshaupt. The Wardens will need to know the storm coming their way. Solas: You believe Hawke will pose a problem? Varric: Well, maybe not on purpose.

(in the Hissing Wastes, while exploring dwarven ruins)

Varric: I’m surprised you’re not hounding me about how all this makes me feel, Chuckles. Solas: I had thought we established your disinterest. Varric: Yeah, well. I’m thinking about it, anyway. Solas: If you insist. How does this make you feel, Varric? Varric: There’s a tiny part of me that’s really satisfied, you know? Seeing a Paragon of all people living on the Surface, then the rest of me just doesn’t give a shit. Solas: Tradition is a difficult thing to shake, to be conflicted is expected. Do you think our discovery here ought to be shared with Orzammar? Varric: I don’t know about Orzammar, but I can think of a few Surface dwarves who’d be interested in this.

Solas & Sera

Solas: I could not help but notice what you were drawing at breakfast. Sera: What? I wasn’t drawing anything.

(if Sera is romanced)

Solas: You captured our Inquisitor’s likeness well. Sera: Better than you could.

(otherwise)

Solas: There was no mistaking Dagna’s likeness. What were you carrying? Sera: A bowblade. It’s not a thing yet, but if anyone can make one, Widdle can.

Solas: Have you ever given thought to collaborating together on a piece? Sera: Collaber-what? Piece of what? Solas: A painting, or a drawing if you prefer, what medium you decide upon makes little difference to me. Sera: You really think the two of us could work together on anything? Solas: I was under the impression we had been. Sera: That’s different. The Inquisition’s not an ‘us’ thing, or it is, but not us us.

Sera: Say if I wanted to make something with you, what’d we even make? Solas: You ask the question as if there are limitations. Sera: A dragon, then! No, wait, a butt! (beat) Sera: Nothing? Not even a nose wrinkle? Solas: I am not unopposed to the idea. Sera: Ugh, how can you even make butts boring?

Sera: (handing him a drawing) Here, made you something. Solas: What is this? Are those—shoes? Sera: That’s right. One for each toe. You’re welcome.

(After Solas initiates a relationship with Ian)

Sera: So, you and Freckles, huh? Interesting. Solas: Your interest is not my concern. Sera: I always figured you’d wind with someone who’d make the bumping bits matter. Y’know, drop ‘em and rebuild the empire. Solas: It is not the physical product of our love that matters so much as how he makes me feel when I’m with him. Sera: Eugh.

(If Ian is in the party)

Ian: (laughingly) Vhenan, I would choose your words more carefully next time. Solas: Oh. (slightly embarrassed) I did not mean it like that. Sera: Ha! I’ve made him blush. Solas: This is why I didn’t wish to discuss it.

Solas & Blackwall

(While near Ferb’s old fishing pier in the Exalted Plains)

Blackwall: Wonder if the fishing’s good. If we had an hour or two… Solas: Do you consider yourself an angler, Blackwall? Blackwall: I wouldn’t go that far, but I do enjoy the sport of it. Solas: I’ve never considered it a sport. Blackwall: Probably because you’ve never gone fishing just for the fun of it. Next time we make camp, I’ll show you.

Inquisitor: So, how’d your fishing expedition go? Blackwall: You should’ve seen the size of the gar I wrangled. Solas: It was not half as impressive as he believes. Blackwall: He only says that because all’s he caught were minnows. Solas: (scoffs) Inquisitor: So... where is it? Blackwall: We threw it back, of course. Wasn’t like we were going to eat it. Solas: A convenient excuse.

(Along the Storm Coast)

Blackwall: Ever heard of the pale ship that appears on the mists? The Windy Marcher – I think that’s what they called it. Solas: I cannot say I have. Blackwall: An old story, no idea where it started. Must’ve heard it a dozen times in the Free Marches, always a different ending. Solas: As is often the case with legends, the content and moral changes with the teller. Blackwall: One man claimed he’d seen it himself, said the ship was captained by beautiful spirits who’d called him to the sea. Solas: A case of wishful thinking, I assume. Blackwall: He was a bit of a lonely bastard.

(After Revelations)

Solas: You and Cole seem more friendly, of late. Thom: He took some getting used to, but his heart’s in the right place. There’s enough darkness in the world without pushing away the good. Solas: I imagine it was chilling, knowing he could break your cover on a whim. Thom: That did keep me up some nights, yes. Sometimes I wonder why he didn’t say anything. Solas: Perhaps he saw in you what the Inquisitor sees. Thom: Well, I’m grateful. On both counts.

Solas & Vivienne

(After the events of Bring Me the Heart of Snow White)

Solas: I heard the news of Duke De Ghislain’s death. As I understand it, the two of you were close. My condolences for your loss. (if the Inquisitor gave Vivienne a regular wyvern’s heart) Vivienne: (coldly) There was a chance at saving him, but he is beyond saving, now. At least, by mortal hands. Solas: Then I am all the sorrier. (otherwise) Vivienne: He was at peace, and we had the chance to meet at least one last chance before he passed. Solas: Be thankful for that closure, it will bring you comfort in the days to come. Vivienne: It already has.

Solas: How do you feel about the moniker ‘Madame de Fer?’ Vivienne: Oh, I think it’s darling. Why do you ask? Solas: Iron is cold, unyielding without the proper tools, some may use it as an insult rather than a mark of respect. Vivienne: Of that I’ve no doubt, but let them. I embraced it wholeheartedly, and from then on no one could ever truly use it against me. Solas: True enough, such a tactic has worked for others before.

Vivienne: You will be wearing shoes to the ball, won’t you? Solas: My comfort is not worth jeopardizing the Inquisition’s image, so yes. Vivienne: Many elven servants in Orlais go barefoot, it would hardly be a scandal. Still, it would be beneficial. We must all present as a unit when the time comes, not a single hair out of place. Solas: That will hardly pose a problem for the two of us. Vivienne: (makes a sound almost like a laugh) Right you are.

Solas: There are rumours that your name be put forward as the next Divine. Vivienne: I wonder who might have started those. Solas: After all that has happened these past few months, you believe it possible they will accept a mage into their fold? (if the Inquisitor completed In Hushed Whispers / is a mage) Vivienne: Whyever not? Magic is what solved the problem, after all. Solas: Magic has solved countless problems over the centuries, and yet it is still reviled. Vivienne: I am not any ordinary mage. If any mage can achieve status of Divine, I am she. Solas: On that, we agree. (if the Inquisitor completed Champions of the Just and is a non-mage) Vivienne: With the Inquisitor’s support there is nothing I cannot accomplish, my dear.

Vivienne: The Inquisitor gave you that hood not half a day ago and it already has a hole in it. Solas: Two, in fact. Vivienne: Are you afraid we’ll forget you’re an elf if we go five minutes without seeing your ears? Solas: My estimation of your abilities is not that low, Enchanter, and I would be careful were I you. Two holes cut in a hood is not nearly as desperate as donning a pair of horns every morning.

(After Ian is made Tranquil during his personal quest)

Vivienne: I hope you know what you are doing, my dear. The Rite of Tranquility is not something easily undone. Solas: As I understand it, the Seekers did it quite regularly. Vivienne: And through a far gentler process. What they did to Ian was barbaric, but undoing it is not necessarily a kindness. One might even call it selfish. Solas: I never made any claim to selflessness. Vivienne: Go through with it, and he will relive what happened to him every morning and night for the rest of his life. Solas: (with restrained anger) Do not pretend as though you suddenly care for his well-being now, you showed little regard for him before. Vivienne: It is a warning, nothing more. Solas: Your warning is heeded, but it changes nothing. I am under no illusion this will be simple, but to give up on him now— I would be no better than the Circle that once wanted this same fate for him.

Solas & Dorian

Dorian: That book you have on your desk, Solas… Solas: There are many. Which are you referring to? Dorian: There’s one that looked to be in Ancient Tevene. Do you speak it, or are you just keeping it around to look clever? Solas: I would not go so far as to say I speak it, but I understand it well enough. Dorian: How did you go about learning it? Solas: Memories of Tevinter’s empire litter the land, there is hardly a place in Thedas where the world does not remember it, and with memories come language. Dorian: So you learned through the Fade? Solas: I did, though my pronunciation leaves something to be desired. An unfortunate consequence of learning any language alone. Dorian: I might be able to help, but only if you give me the satisfaction of hearing you muddle through it out loud beforehand. Also, I’ll be next in line when you’ve finished reading that book of yours. Solas: (snorts) Very well.

Solas & Cole

Cole: So they’re nobody, but somebody. Empty shells, filled with someone else’s memory. Solas: For the most part, it seems. Cole: If they’re heartless, why are they so angry? Solas: Perhaps it was not so much the absence of feeling, but the lack of recognition of said feelings. Cole: Belief makes them real, even if they’ll always be different.

Cole: It remembered. Delight in discovery, always pushing further into the unknown— someone like that does not simply disappear, and yet... it cannot remember his name. Solas: Names are not so as important as the spirit of the person they belong to. Cole: It remembered the person. Sadder, but stronger. If I ever return to the Fade, I would like to meet it. Solas: Nothing would delight it more. Cole: Oh, I know. I think we’d be friends.

(After the banter where Solas helps prevent a panic attack)

Cole: You breathe in— one, two, three, four— then out— one, two, three, four— feel the grass beneath your feet, magic between your fingers, remember what is and what was. How long did it take you to learn? Solas: More time than is ideal. Cole: I’m sorry. Solas: There is some comfort in knowing I’ve learned enough to help others with such struggles. Cole: I’ll count with you, if you need. Solas: Thank you, Cole.

Solas: I’m curious how your efforts are coming along since we last spoke. Cole: Josephine misses how saffron tastes, but she hasn’t asked the chef to purchase any. I wrote it on a list when no one was watching. Cullen doesn’t like my letters. He says they don’t make sense. Solas: I cannot imagine he devoted much time to understanding them. Cole: No. Listening is... difficult, when you’ve been taught not to.

Cole: Eyes fall shut, but they do not drift away. Their feet are tethered, tied to the ground. Solas: Even dwarves who lived and died on the Surface never dreamed. Cole: But they are still remembered. The song drowns out their thoughts, but it does not smother them. If I listen, I can hear. Solas: I have seen fewer glimpses of dwarven history than I would like, but there are always memories preserved by particular attentive spirits. 

(When passing through the kitchen, or lingering nearby. Solas stands over the stove and Cole sits on a nearby counter, hitting his leg against the wood.)

Solas: Would you like to try it, Cole? Cole: Would it not be a waste? I don’t need to eat. Solas: To overindulge, perhaps. A taste will do you nor the world any harm, a good meal is about more than survival. Cole: Then I’d like to try it, please.

Cole: You don’t have to eat, Solas. Solas: Strictly speaking, no. Cole: Sometimes you do anyway. Solas: When the urge takes me, or if refusing would be seen as ill-mannered.

Solas: If I could ask for your opinion, Cole. Cole: It remembers the garden. The sun bakes it red, colour working through it like a blush upon a maiden’s cheeks. Solas: Excellent. And this? Cole: It was lost in weeds for weeks, neglected and forgotten. It tastes like oversteeped tea. Solas: I see. Then we will find another.

Cole: And it remembers the ocean? Solas: It knows the mountain streams and rocky coasts as well as any well-seasoned traveller, though the paths it takes are laid with smoother stones. Cole: Rough edges wicked away by river waters. Soft enough to stand on without any shoes. Solas: Though one must still take care not to fall. (optional) Inquisitor: Speaking from personal experience, Solas? Solas: I suppose one might say that. Cole: Feet forget the ground, flying out from beneath him, but the rest of him doesn’t follow. Solas: (tinged with embarrassment) As I said. Inquisitor: (chuckles) (otherwise) Cole: But you always get up again.

Solas & Cullen

Cullen: I’m curious how you’ve avoided Templars all these years. Solas: I would prefer not to say. Cullen: I’m no longer a Templar, you know. Solas: Then why do you still wear their heraldry? Or am I mistaken? Cullen: I… Solas: Templar or no, your support for its cause endures. I would not endanger fellow apostates by revealing our methods.

Solas: Master Tethras tells me you served in Kirkwall. Cullen: Varric has no shortage of stories, that one just so happens to be true. Why do you bring it up? Solas: My travels have taken me there, on occasion. Cullen: I admit, I’m curious what your impression was. Solas: All the world is steeped in tragedy, but in Kirkwall the Fade overflows with it. Spells flow from the fingertips with such ease you may forget the Veil altogether. Cullen: That doesn’t surprise me, the amount of abominations I saw during my years there… Solas: They were but a symptom. Kirkwall’s sickness ran deeper than what any one spirit could cure.

Solas & Leliana

Solas: I have heard the Inquisition call you many titles. Sister, Nightingale, Spymaster. Leliana: I have worn many masks, some I’ve liked more than others. Why do you mention it? Solas: Which do I refer to you by? Leliana: (laughs) Whichever you prefer. You may use Leliana, if you wish. Solas: Then I shall see which suits you best.

Solas & Josephine

Josephine: It took several tries, but we managed to remove the wine stain from your sweater. I apologise again for Lady Vérène’s indiscretion. Solas: The fault is hardly yours. It is a pity she is not more open to an apostate’s perspective, but the loss is hers. Extend my sincere gratitude to whoever expunged the mark. I have only a few shirts to my name. Josephine: You know, Solas, now that the Inquisition finds itself in more favourable circumstances, we can afford to purchase you a new wardrobe. Solas: With respect, Ambassador, I value comfort over style. I’m uncertain the Summer Bazaar will be able to accommodate me. Josephine: It would be a most... unusual request, but I believe I know the tailor for the job.

Josephine: Have you found the library to your liking? Solas: I have. I cannot imagine any other circumstance where someone like me could have such unmitigated access to the written word. Most human libraries are not so liberal with their guests. Josephine: I confess, I have never been without books. Ever since I was a child they were always within reach. Solas: Then you must have recommendations. Josephine: One or two come to mind. If I can secure faithful translations, you will have them.

Solas & Morrigan

Solas: You seem well-versed in courtly manners for a woman raised in the wilderness. Morrigan: What are you implying? Solas: That you have a talent for winding nobles around your finger, or that the infamous ‘game’ is not so deadly as they like to believe. Vivienne: Or that more talented souls paved the wave for her. Solas: Another possibility. Morrigan: ‘Tis true that Orlesians overestimate the challenge of this ‘Game’ of theirs. Empress Celene had her desires, and ‘twas a simple matter to keep her satisfied. Vivienne: Which is why you’re with us. Morrigan: With you at my side, I could not help but notice. Vivienne: Believe me, dear. Court enchanter is a trifle compared to where my sights have set.

Solas: I found your son atop the rotunda’s scaffolding today. Morrigan: He has long been fond of climbing, and Skyhold’s trees are too new to bear his weight. Solas: It was no harm. My only regret is I did not have an answer to every question he asked. He is a curious boy. Morrigan: (laughs) That he is.

(During What Pride Had Wrought, upon finding the mosaic of June)

Morrigan: Ah, clever June. The most elusive of the elven gods, insofar as legends are concerned. Solas: Their silence is deafening. Morrigan: I take it you have insight? Solas: Merely that he does not deserve what little credit he is given. Time has forgotten the name of whosoever built the first aravel.

Solas: Rumour spread that Kieran went missing. I trust your presence here means you have found him? Morrigan: I… yes. Solas: He is unharmed? Morrigan: Yes. Solas: Then I am glad. And… you? Morrigan: I have much to think upon, but my son is safe. Everything else can come after.

Solas & Renn

Solas: Tell me, Lieutenant, why did you remain with the Legion? Renn: Having trouble seeing why it’s your business. Why d’you ask? Solas: Escaping would be a simple matter of finding the right battle to slip away from. Freedom would only be a few day’s journey from where we stand. Renn: I couldn’t abandon my men... or my city. Solas: You show great loyalty to Orzammar, considering you will never see it again. Renn: Yeah, well. You never forget your home. Solas: No. I suppose you don’t.

Solas & Valta

Solas: “But the truth is the truth— no matter how political it may be.” Valta: Do you disagree? Solas: Just the opposite. The truth does not change with our ability to stomach it. I am glad a historian such as yourself agrees. Valta: A shame the rest of the Shaperate doesn’t agree with us. Solas: True, but if they had you would not be here, on the brink of uncovering secrets buried centuries ago. In their attempt to keep you out of the way, they unknowingly set you upon the path to even greater knowledge. Valta: Orzammar will know the truth. If I don’t make it, then the Inquisitor— Solas: You are not yet dead, Shaper Valta. Do not count yourself apart from the living so soon.

Solas & Merrill

Merrill: You snort when you laugh. Solas: I’m well-aware. If you are about to ask me to stop, I’m afraid I’ve tried before. Merrill: Oh, it’s not a bad thing. It might be the most charming thing about you. Solas: Damned by faint praise. Merrill: It is a very charming laugh.

Solas: Why did you leave your clan? I read Varric’s Tale of the Champion, but I suspect most of it was a lie. (if present) Varric: Hey! I’m right here. Solas: You did well to lie. To name her as a Dalish mage would be to paint a target upon her back. (otherwise) Merill: I left… I— it wasn’t exactly my choice. There was a mirror, tainted by the Blight. I thought we should fix it, even if it meant turning to blood magic. My Keeper disagreed. Solas: You cleansed the Blight from an eluvian? That is remarkable. Merrill: I used to wonder if it was worth it. I sacrificed so much to get it working, years of my life, my— I’m just glad we’re getting use out of it, now.

Merrill: You’re wrong about my people, Solas. The Dalish aren’t as lost as you think. Solas: They cast you to the streets of Kirkwall, exiled you for the crime of pursuing the duty they tasked you with. Merrill: Some of them said such awful things, they looked at me like I was already a demon, but… that doesn’t mean there isn’t good, too. Sometimes I wonder, had my Keeper not been so against me, if things might have been different. Merrill: I don’t know what they said to you, but I know what their scorn feels like. It hurts, but… there’s so much to admire. Solas: You still feel for them. Merrill: They’re my people, they always will be. No matter how much they might hate me, I’ll always love them. Solas: Put like that, I suppose I understand the sentiment. Merrill: It’s a lonely feeling, isn’t it? Solas: It never ebbs, no. Merrill: Then just— remember them, when you think unkind thoughts about the Dalish. The people you miss, the people you don’t, and what you’d sacrifice for them both.

(in the Exalted Plains, outside the boundaries of Hawen’s camp)

Merrill: (giggles) Datishan was asking about you before we left. Solas: Datishan… Hawen’s little hunter? Merrill: Who else? She wanted to know when you’d be back. Solas: What did you tell her? Merrill: I told her you needed time, that good stories don’t grow on trees. You will go back, won’t you? Solas: It seems I shall have to, or else suffer the wrath of her arrows. Merrill: You joke, but she almost poked out my eye last night. Solas: (chuckles)

[tothemeadow]

Serendipity [Chapter 2]

Chapter 1

When the kingdom of Ainamoryp falls, a motley crew of unlikely allies must come together to save the country.

warnings: swearing, mentions of death

words: 3.5k

(a/n): All characters range from 19-20. Reader insert, reverse harem.

-

Chanswell Forest, Ainamoryp, May 3rd, 492, 18:30

Off in the distance, the sun begins its descent, bathing the sky in splashes of oranges and pinks. It’s somewhat hard to pinpoint through the thick canopy of the forest, but the last sunrays of the day still poke through the trees. The ivory steed Shouto rides upon walks at a comfortable speed; poor thing had spent most of the day galloping past farmlands and numerous villages, all in hopes of taking the prince to safety.

There’s a watchpoint south of here, hidden away in the woods. Get there, seek for help. The soldiers there will lead you to safety.

That’s what the one palace guard had told Shouto right before he took off. Chances are the guard is long dead by now, much like the rest of Endeavor and the royal court of Dinton Keep. A bitter taste lingers on his tongue, paired with a dull ache pounding at his temples. Bastards, the whole lot of them! If only he stayed, he could’ve saved more lives. It’s his duty to protect the people of his land, to ward off any potential dangers, no matter how big or small. Better yet, he has no idea why the northern land of Nialliv invaded in the first place. As far as he knew, the political relations between the two nations were perfectly fine. While they weren’t the best of friends, they weren’t enemies, either.

“Dammit all to hell,” Shouto seethes under his breath. Whatever the cause of the invasion may be, he had to figure it out – and fast.

As the sun continues to set, the forest darkens evermore. Like his father, Shouto was born with excelled magical abilities, unlike most of the mortals in the land. It was a miracle that both his mother and father passed on their traits, granting him the power of fire and ice. They serve him well, make him quite the formidable opponent when it comes to battle. He creates a flame in his left hand, casting a bright glow around him and the horse as they continue their trek through the forest. Judging by the way things are going, he might have to come to a stop and find some sort of shelter for the night. He hadn’t suspected that the watchtower be so far away from Dinton Keep.

Perhaps it’s the work of the gods or a simple miracle when he spots torches in the distance. Drawing closer still, the dimly lit watchtower comes into view, standing tall and proud. Large, weathered stones make up the walls, iron torches bolted into their sides. It’s an impressive tower, to say the least. A lone guard stands out front, swinging back a lambskin flask and chugging down its contents. He sputters as Shouto’s horse comes forth, its greeting whiny loud through the forest’s silence.

“Aye, bloody hell-“ the guard cuts himself short once his eyes land on Shouto’s face. They grow to a comical size, nearly bulging from the sockets as his jaw falls lax. “Your highness!” he croaks. “You… You…”

“Who’s in charge here?” Shouto demands, voice sharp. “I need to speak with them immediately.”

The guard nods dumbly, scrambling over to the horse and taking a hold of its reins as Shouto hops off its back. “Chances are the main chambers,” he blabbers. Now that he’s up close, Shouto can easily smell the alcohol on his breath. “Somebody inside oughta show you the way.”

With a curt nod, Shouto sidesteps the drunken guard and stalks his way inside. Iron candelabras hang from the ceiling, thick white candles steadily burning away and illuminating the hallways. A duo of guards walking in his direction come to a sudden halt upon seeing him. Like the one outside, a look of surprise dawns upon their faces, yet they still fall to a singular knee, head bowed in clear respect.

“Your highness,” the one on the right says, “what a surprise. How may we be of service to you?”

“I need to speak to whoever’s in charge,” Shouto says simply. “I presume they’re in the main chamber?”

The same guard clears his throat. “Sorry to trouble you, your highness, but Sir Rengoku took off earlier this morning – said there was something of extreme importance that he must tend to.”

Muttering under his breath, Shouto presses a hand to the lower half of his face, heaving a great sigh as he drags it downward. “Is there anyone I can speak with?”

“Prince Shouto! What brings you here, your highness?” a new voice calls out.

Turning around, Shouto is met with another man; unlike the other guards, this man’s armor is built different, the iron plates bent into sharper, more intricate shapes. A set of wings are built into the shoulder pieces and the sides of the helmet, giving the suit a mystical appearance. A plume of bright red hangs from the crown of the helmet, swishing around much like one’s ponytail does. No, this isn’t a regular guard – this is a knight of Endeavor.

The knight tugs off his helmet, revealing a friendly face inlaid with dark red eyes and a burst of burgundy hair. A pair of earrings hanging from his lobes swing as he nods his head in greeting. “Allow me to introduce myself, your highness. I am Sir Tanjiro Kamado, a proud knight of Endeavor.”

Odd – why would a knight of such high status be positioned so far way from the capital?

Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, Shouto perceives Tanjiro with a hard look. “We need to have a talk – immediately.”

_______

Dinton Keep's dungeons, Ainamoryp, May 4th, 492, 05:23

At the first few rays of dawn, you begin to stir awake. For a moment, you wonder why you don’t feel the rock of your ship, but then the previous day’s events suddenly hit you. Ah, that’s right, you think, Endeavor got fucked over and I was put into a cell.

Off to the side, there’s slight murmuring. You recall the freckled boy you met yesterday – the healer, Izuku. What, has he resulted to conversing with himself like some sort of madman? Shifting onto your side, you crack your eyes open; immediately, you spot Izuku standing by the window, elbows propped on the sill. Although the light is still somewhat dim, you can spot the dark circles under his eyes, the sharp curve of his frown. Now that you think about it, he didn’t get any sleep last night, did he? You can’t say you blame him, either; he was present when Nialliv attacked and took over the city. Gods know the horrors he witnessed, the terrifying sounds of people screaming and helplessly being slaughtered.

“Did you find out anything?” Izuku whispers.

“No,” an unembodied voice says. It takes you aback – by the mere sound of its rasp, it’s obvious that Izuku isn’t speaking to himself. “Endeavor’s crawling with Nialliv guards, the royal grounds are bloody as hell, but that’s about it. I haven’t really seen any patrols in the surrounding farmlands, but that’s bound to change here directly. We oughta get going now before we miss our damn chance.”

“Izuku?” you drawl, voice heavily riddled with sleep. “What’s going on?”

Turning to you, Izuku flashes you a soft smile. “Good morning, Captain. We didn’t wake you up, did we?”

Shaking your head, you sit up and rub the tiredness away from your eyes. “I usually get up at dawn anyway,” you tell him.

“Oi, who the fuck is that?” that same, unfamiliar voice speaks. “Who are you talking to?”

Izuku throws an irritated look out the window. “Really, Kacchan? Do you really have to say it like that?”

“Answer the damn question, Deku.”

Izuku sighs. “It’s a pir-“ he stops, then, quickly glancing back to you. Clearly, he remembers the little outburst from yesterday and your reaction. Clearly his throat, he tries again. “A friend. She’s the captain of The Pearl Lady.”

“Kacchan” whistles, long and slow. “Gods, Deku, befriending pirates now, eh? Nice to see you finally have a backbone.”

Annoyance twinges your insides. Whoever this Kacchan is, he seems like an asshole. Scrambling onto your feet, you brush the stray pieces of hay off your clothes and stalk over to the window, taking your place next to Izuku. You forgot how tall he was, your head just barely coming up to his chest. Looking through the iron bars of the window, you’re finally met with this mysterious “Kacchan”; the first thing that catches your attention is the mop of wicked blonde hair, then the piercing red eyes training on your face. His expression is stern, nearly tiptoeing to the point of becoming angry, but he’s handsome, undeniably so. A large pair of clawed earrings stick out from either lobe, and numerous strands of beads hand from his thick neck. Whoever this guy is, you’ve never seen anyone dressed like this before.

Kacchan unashamedly scans his eyes over you, an eyebrow quirking up his forehead. “Captain, huh? Sure as hell don’t look like one to me.”

You scoff. “Excuse you, Kacchan. You look like you rolled out of a barn and mount donkeys for fun.”

His eyes narrow into slits. “What did you just say to me? Fucking brat, I’ll kill you!”

“Hey!” Izuku whisper-yells. “Keep it down! We can’t alert anyone!”

“Fine,” Kacchan spits. “I’ll deal with this bitch properly once you’re out.”

Your mouth opens, ready to rip him a new one, but then Izuku promptly yanks you away from the wall, slamming his large hands over your ears as the wall suddenly explodes. It’s not a large explosion, not in the slightest, but it’s enough to create a hole for you and Izuku to crawl out of. However, you’re guaranteed that somebody had to hear it.

Once the dust cleared away, your heart nearly stops beating within your chest. Kacchan didn’t come alone – no, he sits upon a dragon, a brilliant beast a fiery red, its glorious scales practically glowing in the early morning light. You blame your tiredness for not noticing it earlier.

“Well?” Kacchan says, looking unamused. “Are you going to stand there all day and gawk like an idiot or are you gonna get on?”

Immediately, Izuku crawls through the whole; turning around, he holds out a hand for you to take, a determined gleam in his eyes. “Well, Captain? Are you?”

For a moment, you hesitate. Here are these two men – two complete strangers – busting you out of prison, and for what? Normally, you’d tell them both to fuck off, but there’s something about the look in Izuku’s eyes that makes you think differently.

“I think it came from down there!” a distant voice shouts. Shit, it’s one of the guards!

Without another thought, you take Izuku’s hand and crawl through the wall. A gust of wind strikes your face once you’re outside. Glancing down, you notice how your cell was sitting at the edge of a cliff; the sea slaps at the jagged rocks, almost taunting you to take a fall. Your head feels oddly light, vision beginning to swim the longer you stare at the water. Squeezing your eyes tight, you feel Izuku pull you into his chest, the smoothness of the dragon’s scales as you land on its back.

“Alright, let’s blow this joint!” Kacchan exclaims, cackling wildly as the dragon takes off into the sky.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you shout.

The wind blasts your ears as you pick up speed, your clothes and hair flapping wildly. Kacchan only continues to laugh while you throw curse after curse at him, telling him to slow the fuck down before all of you get killed. Izuku’s chest rumbles as he chuckles, his thick arms tightening around your waist to keep you still.

Gods, you’re really flying on a dragon. They were meant to be creatures of legend, be told through tales of old and new. They’re the work of dreams and imagination, not reality. But no, here you are, zipping through the sky with nothing holding you back.

And by the grace of the gods, you want to be let down.

________

The outskirts of Levalon, Ainamoryp, May 4th, 492, 09:03

“I take it that you don’t get to travel very often?” Tanjiro speaks, tone light. Together, he and Shouto ride side by side on their horses; unlike Shouto’s beautiful ivory mare, his is a simple russet brown in color. It’s nothing to brag about, honestly, but his horse is strong.

Shouto hums in response. “Unfortunately, I’m afraid. My father often kept me busy with royal duties and studies. I hadn’t much of a chance to visit the surrounding villages.”

“Well, then hopefully you’re in for a treat!” Tanjiro chirps. “Levalon is nothing like Endeavor, but it’s a sizeable town! I’m positive you’ll like it.”

“You know,” Shouto says, glancing at Tanjiro from the corner of his eye, “you’re pretty optimistic for a knight. It reminds me of a great friend of mine.”

“I’m glad.”

Up ahead, the stone wall surrounding the town of Levalon comes into view. The bray of a donkey echoes as it passes through the archway carved into the wall, the wagon attached to its harness rumbling away over the pebbled path. It’s such a strange sight to see, this level of normality. There’s a group of kids playing tag in the grass, their carefree giggles carrying through the wind. As Shouto and Tanjiro draw even closer, the chattering coming straight from the market streets is already loud and frantic.

“It pains me to know that this town won’t be like this for much longer,” Shouto comments. Tanjiro remains silent; he knows Shouto is right, but it’s a hurtful thing to even think about.

As the two trek into town, they’re met with hustle and bustle of everyday life; people come and go from the market streets, either rough spin sacks over their shoulders or a wicker basket in their arms, children running down the street, a shaggy mutt following close behind, a hidden figure in a cloak snatching an unsuspecting person’s coin purse-

“Wait a second!” Tanjiro calls, hopping off his horse and hitting the ground with a metallic clank. The hooded person spares a single glance Tanjiro’s way before they take off at a breakneck speed in the opposite direction. Again, Tanjiro yells as he gives chase after him. Sighing, Shouto looks to Tanjiro’s horse; it stands where he left it, shaking its mane and looking around. Ah, so it’s devoted to its master – how lovely. Shouto respects the notion no matter the creature.

The horse whinnies as Tanjiro returns, face flushed and eyes wide. “Dammit, that thief is fast. No matter – I know where to find him.” Cocking his head, Shouto peers at the other inquisitively. Tanjiro merely grins, a finger reaching up and tapping the end of his nose. “Would you believe me if I told you that I have a good sense of smell?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it in the slightest,” Shouto replies.

Tanjiro’s smile grows, his eyes crinkling. “Thank you kindly, your highness-“ Immediately, his smile drops as his nose twitches; oddly, it reminds Shouto of a hound when it’s attuned to a kill, to the fresh scent of spilt blood. Tanjiro cranes his neck to the sky, his mouth falling lax. Following his line of sight, Shouto looks up, his own jaw dropping as well.

Amazingly enough, a dragon flies far overhead, its bright red belly twinkling in the morning light. Shouto’s heard tales of dragons ever since he was a young boy still feeding from the wet nurse, of how they conquered great lands, of how saved the lives of their worshippers. While it’s a common tale that dragons allegedly went extinct, it’s perfectly clear that they haven’t.

“By the gods,” Tanjiro mutters, voice full of wonder, “a real live dragon. Do you think it’s heading towards Dovahkiin?”

“There’s only one person I know who’s of Dovah descent,” Shouto grunts. “Why he’s here, I don’t know.”

“It wasn’t part of the attack on Endeavor, was it?”

“No. The fires weren’t caused by such a beast – they were created by monsters.”

Tanjiro hums. “Well… Wouldn’t you want to ask your friend for help? If you’re planning on taking back Dinton Keep-“

“I refuse to ask him for help,” Shouto interrupts, a scowl pulling at the corners of his mouth. “In fact, I’d rather not see him at all.”

________

In the skies, Ainamoryp, May 4th, 492, 09:10

Kacchan sneezes.

“Ugh,” he drawls, shaking his head. “Some idiot’s probably talking about me.”

“There’s not much to talk about,” you say offhandedly. Izuku snorts in amusement, but it quickly turns into a cough to cover it up.

Kacchan jabs a finger in your direction. “If it was up to me, I would’ve thrown you off a long time ago, sweetheart. Don’t press your fucking luck.”

After flying in the air for a few hours, you’ve grown used to the feeling of the dragon’s muscles flexing underneath you, the strong gusts of wind continuously hitting you in the face; however, you refuse to look at the trees and fields dotting the land below. You’ve also grown used to Izuku’s and Kacchan’s presence, although the latter is a bit too sour for your liking.

“Whatever you say, Kacchan,” you bluff. You actually wish that he won’t, but you also refuse to admit that as well.

“For fuck’s sake,” Kacchan hisses, “it’s Katsuki. Only that dumb Deku calls me Kacchan.”

Furrowing your brows, you look over your shoulder at Izuku. “Katsuki? Why didn’t you tell me that?”

Laughing awkwardly, Izuku scratches his cheek, an embarrassed flush blooming on his freckled face. “Well, like he said – I’m the really the only one who calls him that, and it’s been that way for years…”

Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yeah. So.” Training his vivid eyes on you, he flashes you a sneer. “You’re a pirate, right? How the fuck did that even happen?”

“That’s Captain to you, boom boy. Ever hear of The Pearl Lady? Yeah, that’s mine. And, if you don’t watch your tone, then I’ll happily show you a close up of what a cannon looks like when it’s going off.”

Katsuki laughs, then, a wicked smile curving his lips. “You’re a feisty one, I’ll give you that. I like ‘em feisty.”

You scoff. “Damn hog,” you grunt. As much as you’d like to curse him out, he’s similar to Izuku when it comes to size. Katuski is tall – even more so than Izuku, you reckon – and he’s huge, a singular bicep almost the size of your head. He could easily toss you off the side of the dragon if he truly wanted to.

“We should take a rest stop,” Izuku offers. “Plus, we need to figure out a way to get in touch with Shouto-“

An animalistic growl rumbles in Katsuki’s throat at the name; he snarls at Izuku, even lashes his teeth.

“Gods,” you start, eyes going wide, “what the actual fuckis wrong with you?”

“I won’t do anything with that icy piece of shit,” Katsuki snarls. “How do ya even know he’s alive, huh?”

“There wasn’t a body,” Izuku presses, expression going dark. “Besides, I’d think they would’ve bragged more if they killed both the king and prince in one foul swoop.”

The prince? Like the prince of Ainamoryp? Gods, if he truly is missing-

“That’s our only chance, isn’t it,” you say, voice flat. “If Ainamoryp is to stay alive, the prince is needed to take the throne.”

“Yeah,” Izuku tells you, “that’s exactly it.”

You inhale sharply.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Katsuki spits. “I’m not even from this damned country. It’s not business whether it burns to hell or not.” With a shrug, he crosses his thick arms over his chest.

Anger roars in the pit of your belly, climbs up your insides and encases your heart. How dare he say such a thing, especially to yourface? You’ve crossed the seas, visited the lands, but this is your home. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, but you had to do something. Shooting forward, you grab onto the straps of Katsuki’s cape, snarling as you lean in close.

“Born here or not, you don’t get to say anything, you bastard. Lives were taken for no damn reason, and I wasn’t even able to walk around my own hometown without being thrown into a cell. If you hate Ainamoryp so much, kindly drop me the fuck off and get bent.”

Katsuki’s eyes are large as you push away from him, settling back in your spot before Izuku. Surprisingly, neither say a word; instead, Katsuki turns around, shuffles up the dragon’s neck, and takes the reins in hand. With a simple yank, the dragon is making a sharp turn, heading back towards the town you previously flew over.

“If you want to find that stupid prince,” Katsuki shoots over his shoulder, “Levalon’s the best chance you got.”

======

Time for the first choice in this "pick your own adventure" piece! Will you stay behind with Katsuki or go into Levalon with Izuku? Voting closes on June 6, 2021.

[andinewton]

Nailed It - Yoosung Kim/MC - A Mystic Messenger oneshot

Hey all!  I think this is my first Yoosung piece!  It’s all thank to @yusuuna​ over on @mysmessengerdiscord​!  We were chatting and this (as well as two other) ideas came into being!  But first, here’s some fluffy Yoosung!  (Also, I haven’t edited it, so ignore any typos!  Okay, thx bye!)

Nailed It

Fandom:  Mystic Messenger

Pairings:  Yoosung Kim/MC

Warnings:  Mention of Yoosung’s injury 

Summary:  Yoosung and MC have a sleepover.

Your relationship with Yoosung was progressing at a nice, easy pace, both of you appreciating that you weren’t in a rush.  You were both recovering from events leading up to the party and while the other members of the RFA may make fun of you both for your slow progression, you were happy with it.

Tonight was going to be your first sleepover though.  You both made the decision that this wouldn’t be a night for pressure, it would be a night for relaxing, movies, and cuddling.  You had been looking forward to it all week.  You had even gone out and bought some cute new pyjamas, comfortable yet cute, a t-shirt and calf length pants in a cute heart print.  They were packed in your overnight bag with all your other essentials and ready to go.

Yoosung had spent all day tidying and cleaning his room in readiness for this evening.  He had clean sheets on the bed, cushions and pillows all over the floor in front of the TV, an abundance of snacks filled his desk, drinks filled his refrigerator, and having showered and changed into grey lounge pants and a white t-shirt.  His hair was still damp and pushed back with an Alice band and he gave the room one final glance over to make sure he was finished.  The knock on the door made him realise it was too late now, that anything he had forgotten would have to stay that way, his heart leaping as he raced over to open up.

You looked at your boyfriend as the door opened, a soft smile on his face as he greeted you.  Tonight was going to be great.

‘MC, I got you something.’  Yoosung said somewhat sheepishly once you were both situated in the cushions with a movie running you had both seen a dozen times, and drinks and snacks on hand.  ‘And I hope you don’t find it weird.’

‘Something weird?’  You raised your eyebrows.  ‘Colour me intrigued.  What is it?’

‘You aren’t far wrong with that.’  He smiled sweetly before pulling a small gift wrapped box out from under the bed.  ‘Just, here.’  He passed it to you, his cheeks flushed.

Looking down at the pretty box complete with ribbon and bow, you couldn’t help but smile.  This was the first time he had got you a gift and your stomach did a little flip flop at how cute he was being.  ‘Thank you so much, I’m sure whatever it is is wonderful.’  You lifted the lid and looked inside, finding a pretty little nail set full of pastel polishes.  ‘Yoosung, these are gorgeous!’  You looked up at him, finding him giving you a hopeful look.  ‘I love them, thank you!’  You leant forward and kissed his cheek, trying to ignore the heat that burned there.

‘You really like them?’  He watched as you took them from the box with a large grin on your face.

‘I do!’  You had no idea what could have prompted this but you were very grateful.

‘Because I thought, uh…’ he rubbed the back of his neck and you couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness, ‘maybe I could…’

‘You could…?’  You encouraged him.

‘Paint your nails for you?’  He said rapidly.

His response took you by surprise, but it was a pleasant one.  ‘You want to do that?’

‘I thought it would be a good boyfriend move.’  He murmured with a shrug.

‘It’s the perfect boyfriend move.’

The smile he rewarded you with was warm and genuine.  Encouraged by your response he took the packaging from you and opened it.  ‘If you’re sure, do you want to choose a colour?’

‘How about a different colour on each one?  You can choose which goes where.’

He gazed at you in wonder.  ‘You trust me to do that?’

‘Of course I trust you, you’re my superman Yoosung.’

You hadn’t thought his cheeks could get any redder but they soon did, a smile fixing on his lips as he situated himself in a better position, lining the bottles up in the order he thought best.

You watched Yooung as he concentrated, his tongue brushing his top lip as his hand held yours, the other carefully drawing the brush over your nails in smooth strokes.  It was so relaxing that you sighed in contentment.  How had you got so lucky to have such an attentive boyfriend?

You felt so content that your mind wandered, gazing at Yoosung lovingly as he completed the second coat.  They were beautiful, you didn’t think you had seen such neat nails outside of a salon, and you looked up at him gratefully…when you realised he was blinking a lot, his bad eye watering heavily.

‘Oh, Yoosung, are you okay?’  You leant into him and cupped his cheek with your hand, tilting his head to get a better view.

‘I’m fine, MC, don’t worry.’  He smiled as bravely as he had on the day of the party, as though there was nothing truly wrong, but you weren’t going to be taken in.

‘If it was difficult for you you should have said.’

‘Nothing with you is difficult.’

Your felt your cheeks heat at his words and you leant forward automatically, pressing your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss.  ‘Okay, it’s my turn to pamper you.’  You shifted position before patting your lap.  ‘Lay your head here.’

Yoosung’s eyes went wide.  ‘You want me to…there?’

‘Lay down.’  You insisted, pulling on his sleeve to make your point.

He did so, hesitantly, but in just moments his head was rested cosily on your thighs.  You rested your back against the bed behind you and stroked his hair, brushing it off his forehead gently as you gave him a loving look.

‘Close your eyes, rest them for a while.’

‘If you’re sure you don’t mind.’  His violet eyes darted between yours, concerned that he was being a bad host.

‘I wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.  Besides, I’m comfortable.’

‘Me too.’  He smiled before closing his eyes.

Your fingers continued to play with his hair, stroking his temples and forehead, until you felt his shoulders begin to relax, his breathing slow and even.  It made you smile that he felt at peace enough to fall asleep on you, and in no time at all you were dozing too, his head a comforting weight on your legs, your movie fully forgotten.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Dragon Egg (Part 1)

This is my (sort of late) entry for the @secrettunnelatla event.

Summary:  Azula’s metal music career put in jeopardy when a careless afterparty leaves her unexpectedly pregnant with Chan’s baby. Meanwhile, Zuko struggles to overcome his addiction as he works to get his own band off the ground.

Content Warnings: Language, Teen Pregnancy, Drug Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, and Child Abuse.

It smells heavily of leather, disinfectant, and hand soap. Azula supposes that, that is a good thing. She tries not to twitch too much, but the discomfort is rather intense. More than intense, really. It is a mild, yet white hot pain. She tries to ignore the buzz of the needle and its attempts to remind her of its bite. 

“First time?” Seicho asks. 

Azula nods. 

“You’re telling me that you can get a pair of snake bites, a brow piercing, and stretch your earlobes, but this is too much?”

Azula resists another flinch. “Piercings are quicker. The needle goes in…” she winces, “and then it comes out and it’s over.”

Seicho withdraws the tattoo gun for a shrug, “there’s no art to piercings.”

“Tell that to Mai.” 

“She’s your bandmate, right?”

Azula shakes her head. “My brother’s girlfriend. She’s in his band.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I have my own band. We have a better sound and better lyrics.” She grips the edge edge of her chair. This time speaking ill of Zuko’s band isn’t a distraction enough. She isn’t sure why this is so hard for her. Chan and Ruon had gotten their ink without a hitch, and Ruon is a crybaby on a good day. 

“Do you need a break?” The artist asks, withdrawing her tattoo gun. The hideous red, plastic cup that she wears as a necklace charm, bobs with the motion. Azula grits her teeth and shakes her head. If Ruon could get it done in one go then she can manage as well. By the end of it she will have a blue and gold scaled dragon curling around her arm and outlined with blue flame and lightning. And if she can manage it, twin dragonflies will shimmer on both of her shoulder blades. 

The buzzing resumes and the pricking returns. Sometimes it doesn’t hurt so much as it does sting. And sometimes the stinging subsides for something more like a painful pressure. “Try to relax, it hurts more if you’re tense.” Seicho says. 

“This isn’t exactly relaxing.” Azula frowns. The woman has finally finished the outline of the dragon. “And this chair isn’t comfortable either.” She may as well add that she is thirsty and hungry for good measure. 

Seicho laughs, “I’ve had criers and fainters and a few boasting badasses, but I’ve never had a complainer.” 

Azula frowns. 

“If you want you can move to the bed.” She gestures to what looks like a dentist’s chair. “It has more padding and it’ll give your back a rest.”

“Alright.” While she is up she steals a drink from her water bottle. She tries to make herself as comfortable as possible on the bed. She hears the buzz of another tattoo gun on the other side of the parlor before Seicho’s comes to join it. Azula braces herself for more stinging. 

“So what kind of music do you play?”

“Disco pop.” She answers flatly. Sehicho has to draw back and wait for her laughter to pass. “We play metalcore. But Chan and Ruon want to experiment with…” it takes all of her soul not to shudder, “surfer rock.” Granted she can respect it as a genre, it isn’t terrible and it would suit the two of them well. But she can’t see herself providing vocals for surf rock and she doesn’t quite fit the aesthetic. At least she has Zirin to back her up on that, and so the band is perfectly divided like that. 

“That could be interesting.” Seicho comments. 

“Does anything about me indicate that surf rock is a good fit for my talents?”

.oOo.

Seicho looks her client up and down. Azula is an attractive girl, that’s for sure, it is more than a pleasure sitting in her chair--the girl has a reputation for being very particular and picky. 

She  studies her for a moment longer; small and slender  with the slightest muscle definition. Her eyes glitter with thick black eyeliner, shot with a line of neon blue. It’s elegantly dramatic against a soft helping of black eyeshadow. Her piercings glint silver in the light when she turns to watch Seicho work. She notices a septum ring as well. Her hair is styled with a neat undercut, someone has artfully worked fiery patterns into the shaved part. 

“That’s fair.” Seicho comments at last. She isn’t sure that she should make any other comments on the girl’s appearance, lest she makes a blabbering fool of herself. She supposes that she has a weak spot for piercings and sideshaves. “I don’t think that I caught your band’s name.” 

“Blue Talon.” She gestures to the outline of her dragon. She had specifically instructed Seicho to put emphasis on it’s inky talon. 

“I’ll have to listen to some of your music.”

Azula nods. “Give yourself a taste of culture.” 

She fixes her gaze on the screen of her phone. Seicho catches the name ‘Chan’ at the top of the screen and the words, ‘still up for tonight?’ Seicho brings  her focus back to the tattoo and resumes her work. 

It is an underappreciated art, she thinks. A misunderstood one. She doesn’t think that people understand just how brave one needs to be to decorate a person’s body.  Doesn’t think that they see the value in what she does. 

Her art has a weight to it, one that her canvases will carry with them forever. Her art comes with a story and her parchment is flesh. Some tales are as simple as a reminder of one impulse decision (perhaps good, perhaps bad) at the end of a wild night, the story of reckless youth and a fun time. While other stories are so deeply personal that even she doesn’t know the meaning behind the picture she has brought to life on the flesh. 

The elegance of dragging needles over skin in careful curves and sturdy lines is an art in itself. It takes a steady and loving hand to guide the needle in exactly the right ways. Calligraphy is renowned and loved, it is classy. Seicho doesn’t think that her job is much different than than. 

They say that it is a rough and reckless job. They can’t seem to grasp what tedious work it is. The special sort of carefulness that goes into laying ink onto skin. She supposes that they have taken and ran with stories of shady, cheap shops with unsterilized needles and infected basement tattoos done by best friends.  

She draws back for a moment to dab some excess ink from Azula’s skin.  “How are you feeling?” She checks in. Her client gives her a simple thumbs up. With it, Seicho continues. The tattoo begins to come to life now, with an enticing shade of deep blue. She takes care to keep it from marring the golden outline of the scales. 

As she carefully fills the scales with blue, she finds herself pondering how lovely it would be to have her artwork on the art of someone who has made it big. She hopes that Blue Talon will go far.

Occupied by her phone, Azula seems to be content for the time being. It would seem that the girl isn’t particularly interested in anymore conversation and she doesn’t try to force her into one. They don’t speak again until the final dragonfly has been inked on to the girl’s shoulder. Seicho flicks the tattoo gun off and sets it aside. “I can take a few pictures of the dragonflies for you so you can see them.” 

Azula nods, paying only half attention as she inspects the dragon that now curls around her bicep. “It’s good work.” She says at last. 

“Thank you.” Seicho smiles. She holds up her phone and the girl glances over it. “Hey!” She shouts as she snatches the phone from her hand. She watches Azula pull up her contacts list and add herself to it. 

“We will be in touch.” She presses the phone back into Seicho’s palm. 

She never would have thought that it would be so easy to get a rockstar’s phone number. Albeit, this particular rockstar seems to lack either impulse control or social graces. She is inclined to go with the latter.

“Feel free to give me a call if you think that the ink might be infected. Just follow the instructions,” she gestures to the aftercare package, “and that shouldn’t be an issue.” 

“Don’t wait by the phone.” Azula inspects her nails. “I have impeccable hygiene.” 

Seicho damn near laughs. She has only exchanged a few words with the girl and she has already left quite an impression. Aesthetic aside and phone incident, she is strangely well-mannered, prim and proper. She isn’t exactly the sort Seicho is used to having in her chair. 

She gives  her hair a flick, revealing a golden ring bearing the Kasai family emblem. Were it not for that, Seicho would have never guessed that she was the daughter of Fire Lord Ozai. Thee Fire Lord Ozai, vocalist and guitarist of Fire’s Reign. 

She doesn’t get the chance to request an autograph or a chance to meet her idol. She hears the shop bell rattle as the rock legend’s daughter shuts the door behind her and makes her way back to her car.  

Seicho hopes that her hard work will serve the girl well. 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 7: Forget Everything You Know]

Hi y’all! I just wanted to take a moment to thank you all so much for reading and for showing me and my fics some love. You better believe that I see EVERY. SINGLE. reblog, comment, tag, and message, and they mean the absolute world to me! I know that a lot of content creators are frustrated and taking breaks right now, but rest assured you will not be able to get rid of me if even a SINGLE person looks forward to something I write. I’ll finish this fic (eventually), and I’ll finish the next one too (it already has a name!), and I won’t disappear or leave the Queen/BoRhap fandom at any point in the foreseeable future. Lots of love to you all, stay safe, and I hope you enjoy! 💜 💜 💜

Chapter summary: Y/N brings home some friends; Brian attempts an intervention; John draws a line; Roger gets an answer.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

“Smile, everyone!” Your dad peeks through the viewfinder of the Canon F-1 and beams. “One...two...three...say Queen!”

“Queen!” you all shout gleefully. The flash illuminates the dining room, and you blink away momentary blindness. The table materializes back into vision: lobsters, clams, haddock chowder, sourdough bread, fried oysters, pierogis with Vermont cheddar cheese, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes...and, of course, Boston cream pie for dessert.

“Ah, perfection,” your dad sighs contently. “Please continue, Mr. Mercury.”

“Mr. Mercury!” Brian whines, incredulous. “Like he’s got a bloody PhD or something!”

Freddie cracks a lobster claw. He hasn’t taken his sunglasses or wrist-full of clanging bangles off all afternoon. Your parents are profoundly confused by him, but welcoming nonetheless. “I’m a professor of lusciousness. Pay attention and you could learn something.”

Brian rolls his eyes and dunks a hunk of sourdough bread into his chowder.

“So,” Freddie tells your mother between bites of lobster dripping with drawn butter. “Our darling damsel in distress was in the clutches of that horrid, dodgy wanker when none other than our very own Roger Meddows Taylor—”

“You weren’t even there!” Brian protests. “I wasn’t even there! This is, what, a third-hand account?!”

“Eat your soup, peasant. Thank you. Anyway, our beloved Roger comes raging out of nowhere, red-faced, nostrils flaring, a terrifying sight to behold, grabs this guy by his hair and slams his despicable face directly into a marble column. Broken nose, cracked orbital socket, blood everywhere! It was magnificent. I’ve never been more proud.”

“Good for you!” your mother cheers, patting the back of Roger’s hand encouragingly. He smiles at her, warmly, radiantly, like the wildfire he’s always reminded you of. And you marvel at how every human on this earth is made of the same fundamental components—blood and muscles and vessels and nerves, hearts and enigmatic brain matter and ribs, vulnerable parts, armored parts, all webbed together like nature’s own organic circuit board—and yet the marks they leave on you can feel so different: burns, scars, bruises, shadows, imprints that are deep enough to brush bone and never fade.

“Mom, the guy could have died!”

“Did he?” she asks innocently.

“Nope,” Roger says.

“Well then, Mr. Taylor here is a hero in my book.”

“Mr. Taylor!” Brian groans.

“I was petrified he would turn out to be the son of an executive or producer or something and the band would be ruined,” you say. “Fortunately he was just someone’s annoying frat brother from college who already had a reputation for being a sleazebag. So, we were in luck.”

“You were in luck that Mr. Taylor was there,” your mother points out, gazing at him dreamily. This delightful English boy is going to be my son-in-law and give me gorgeous, doe-eyed grandchildren, that look says.

“Yes, a literal superhero,” John says ruefully, sipping a Manhattan. Your dad has a passionate love for mixing cocktails, especially for guests who also happen to be rock stars.

“Mom. Don’t make his ego any bigger, please. I’m begging you.”

Roger snarls around a mouthful of Boston cream pie, sending your mom into a fit of giggles.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, dear.” She smooths your hair. “And that you have people to keep you safe all the way over there across the ocean, and that you’re happy.”

“Yes, your work environment is much improved, isn’t it?” Brian says. “That supervisor you had at the hospital was an absolute bear!”

Your dad strokes his short grey beard. “Well...” he admits. “That may have been my fault.”

Brian’s brow crinkles. “Really?”

Your mom turns to you. “You didn’t tell them?!”

“Oh, is there a scandalous backstory?” Freddie inquires, elated. “Do tell, darling!”  

“Once upon a time, in a kingdom far far away—just kidding, it was here in Boston—my archnemesis Patricia and my dad dated.”

Roger drops his fork, appalled. “No!”

Freddie’s nose wrinkles in revulsion. “Why?!”

Your dad rocks back in his chair and laughs loudly, heartily. “She wasn’t always so cantankerous, if you can believe it. She was a sweet girl, wonderful even. But then I met my future wife, and...” He smirks guiltily. “What can I say? The heart wants what it wants!”

You nod along. “And I got the illustrious honor of being an outlet for the frustration stemming from Patricia’s lifelong unrequited love.”

“You saucy minx!” Freddie playfully lashes your mom’s shoulder with a cloth napkin. “Homewrecker!”

She chuckles, not the least bit offended. “People get together under all sorts of strange circumstances, and you know what? You can’t wreck a home if the home wasn’t already half-wrecked before you got there, that’s what I think.”

Roger raises his Patriot’s Punch. “I’ll drink to that.”

Brian clutches his New England Express, bewildered. “Are we...toasting to infidelity?”

“Oh, does that horrify you?” Rog asks sarcastically. Brian grimaces, but dutifully raises his glass.

“We’re toasting to love,” your dad clarifies. “However it comes, as long as it’s true.”

John holds his Manhattan aloft. “To love.”

Freddie clinks his Flying Elvis against the other beverages, including your parents’ wine glasses and your Cranberry Crush. “Cheers!” Then Fred glances at the clock and swiftly polishes off his slice of Boston cream pie.

“Can’t you all stay a little longer?” your mom pleads, collecting plates and gazing longingly at Roger. “This has been so much fun...”

“They have soundcheck at seven, Mom. We have to leave for the stadium soon.”

“Well, before you jet off to your next adventure, can I treat anyone to a long distance call?” your dad asks.

Brian perks up. “Really?!” You know there’s a ring in the future for Chrissie; not an expensive or extravagant ring (not that Chris would want that anyway), but a ring nonetheless. You know because Brian has taken you shopping to help him choose one.

“Of course! You can use the phone in my office. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all. I’m sure there are some lovely ladies back in jolly old England who would be over the moon to hear from you.”

“That would be very much appreciated!” Brian says. “And thank you so much, this has been such a treat, you have no idea how long it’s been since we had a proper homemade meal.”

“I had to rehabilitate the reputation of us Yankees, didn’t I? Now come on, Mr. May, I’ll show you to the office...”

“Mr. May...I like the sound of that!”

“Ten minutes, Bri!” Freddie calls, following them down the hallway. “Then it’s my turn...!”

You begin gathering up the empty glasses, but Roger promptly snatches them away. “No way, Boston babe. You go relax. I’ll help your mom.”

“I think she’s in love with you.”

He grins. “Do you have a secret stepdaddy fetish I could exploit?”

“Oh my god. Roger.”

He snickers and sweeps off into the kitchen. It’s only then that you realize John has disappeared. You check the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, the study, and finally the front porch; John is standing outside in the cold, smoking and watching the setting sun. The sky is threaded with cerulean, rust orange, lavender, indigo. You pull on your coat and go out to join him.

“We’ll make it to Florence one of these days,” you promise John, resting your arms on the wooden, white-painted porch railing. Your mother hung baskets of fresh flowers for the band’s visit, which swing lazily in the breeze. “Crank out a few more hits and we’ll get the record company to add it to the tour itinerary.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Are you going to call Veronica?”

He shrugs, frowns, exhales a lungful of smoke into frigid New England air. “I don’t know if I should.”

“You don’t think she’d like that?” you ask, confounded.

“I think she might like it too much.”

“Ohhhhh.” You read his soft greyish eyes, which are faraway and somber, sad even. “I’m sorry, John. You know she’s wild about you.”

“I know it.” He takes a drag off his cigarette. “She’s the first person who ever was, actually. The first person who ever noticed me. Came up to me out of the blue at a disco and asked me to dance, me! So I said yes, like you do when you’re the guy nobody notices. And then I said yes again, and again, and again, until one day I realized...oh, this girl thinks we’re getting married. When the hell did that happen?”

“I noticed you,” you contest.  

John chuckles and nods. “You did,” he agrees. “Right away. Tried to win me over when I was too nervous to finish a sentence around you. But that was long after I’d met Veronica.”

“Well, you can’t break up with her tonight. On Valentine’s Day?! That would be traumatic.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll have a few days in London between the American and Asian legs of the tour. You can think it over and decide what to do then. I’m happy to arrange the getaway taxi if that’s something that interests you.”

“Yeah.” Again, he peers out into the Western horizon, into rising stars.

“John?”

Now he looks to you. He’s a little too thoughtful, too low. There’s something you’re not seeing.

“...Is there somebody else?”

He doesn’t speak; he just stares at you with those velvety azure-grey eyes, drums his fingers against the railing, lets the ash from his cigarette crumble into the snow-dusted Blue Pacific Junipers.

Roger barrels through the front door and out onto the porch. “There you are, Deaks! I thought we were going to have to find a new bassist. Enlist Nurse Nightingale’s mum or something.”

John smirks and crushes the rest of his cigarette in your father’s ashtray. “I suspect you’d do just fine without me.”

“Oh no. No way. Not happening.”

“That’s kind of you,” John says, unconvinced.

“Here, I’ll prove it.” Rog holds out his calloused hand. “If you ever leave, I leave too. Come on, Deaks, shake on it. It’s official. It’s a pact. There’s no Queen without John Deacon.”

Reluctantly, trying not to show how pleased he is, John shakes. “Alright.”

Roger grins triumphantly. “Signed, sealed, delivered. You’re ours for life, baby.”

“Deaky, do you want the phone?!” Freddie yells from inside the house.

John sighs and exchanges a knowing glance with you. “I guess I should say hi.”

“Okay, but quickly!” Rog presses. “We gotta go!”

“So bossy...” John ducks inside; and Roger, though he’s not wearing anything over his pale pink button-up shirt—sufficiently sophisticated to impress your parents—comes to the porch railing to join you.

“You’re not staying out here, are you?” You eye his thin shirt worriedly, the goosebumps rising over his collarbones, his bare forearms where he rolled up his sleeves to help your mom wash the dishes.

He tosses you a mischievous wink. “I’ve got no one to call.”

Roger looks up at the hanging baskets of flowers, plucks out a cerise carnation, and offers it to you. You mean to say something witty, something sardonic, something that will make him laugh; but all your words vanish into cold February air. You take the carnation, smiling helplessly.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Roger whispers.

You just let me know if you ever change your mind, okay?

Okay.

He turns to go back inside the house.

I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him. I won’t fall in love with him.

Then Roger pauses in the doorway. “You coming, Boston babe? I can’t have you catching pneumonia or something. I won’t know how to fix you.”

Oh, you realize, with horror and yet relief, all those grueling lies stripped away. It’s too late.

~~~~~~~~~~

You knock on the frame of the dressing room door. “Hi Bri!”

He glances over from where he sits in front of the mirror, rimming his eyes with inky liner. Soundcheck went swimmingly, and now Queen has thirty minutes until they need to be onstage. You can hear the disembodied reverberation of voices from the waiting crowd through the walls. “Hello, love. Come in.”

“Freddie said you needed to see me. Did you rip a sleeve or something? I brought my kit—”

“No, it’s not that.” He pats the chair beside him. The boys practically always get ready together before a show, but you suspect profoundly introverted Brian is experiencing one of his post-socialization crashes after dinner with your parents. Something about him is tired, very tired, almost drained to empty. “Join me.”

“Sure,” you say cautiously. You shove your medical kit onto the countertop and then reach to feel his forehead. “Are you feeling alright...?”

“I’m fine, love. I just have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.”

Brian sighs deeply, sets down the eyeliner, swivels his chair towards you. “I need you to promise me that you’re not going to start seeing Roger.”

You titter, deflecting, brushing Brian’s hair away from his troubled, angular face. “Well, as the official Queen touring nurse, I see him quite a lot.”

Brian catches your wrist. “I’m being serious.”

Now your brow knits into tight agitated lines. “I’m curious as to why you think that’s something you have a say in.”

“Bloody hell, I’m not trying to offend you—”

“Job well done.”

“Dear, please, listen to me—”

“Eight months,” you hiss through your teeth as you tear away from him. “For eight months I’ve listened and avoided and resisted and ignored and it’s not going away.”

“Oh, fuck,” Brian breathes in despair. “You love him.”

There are tears biting in the periphery of your vision; you don’t want them to be there, but they are. Your voice is hoarse and trembling. “Bri, please don’t.”

Brian shakes his head and motions with his hands frenetically, desperately, trying to make you understand. “Look, sometimes...sometimes the people we love, the people who own us, the people who fucking set us on fire...they’re not the people we end up with. And that’s not always a bad thing. It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.”

You gape at him, furious, stunned. “That’s just fantastic, Brian. You’re a true romantic. Jesus christ, does Chrissie know about this? Is that why you’re with her, because she’s, what...safe?!”

“No, that’s not fair, Chrissie’s great, she’s steady and supportive and she’ll make a wonderful mother one day, and my parents adore her—”

“Those aren’t reasons to marry someone, Brian!”

“They are!” He leaps to his feet. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! You have to think about these things, you have to be rational, you have to protect yourself—”

“Why the fuck do you care?” you flare bitterly.

“Because you saved my life.”

“Stop it, I didn’t.”

“You did, I truly believe that. And I want you to stay with the band. And I want you to be happy. But, dear, please, I’m begging you...this is not the way to do it.”

“I’m not going to go out to some pub and drag home a random guy who’s suitably passionless and predictable enough to be Brian-May-approved.”

“That’s not what I’m asking you to do—”

“Because you’re such an expert on relationships!” you shout, exasperated. “Planning to propose to Chris while you’re still secretly pining over some fling from New Orleans, fucking groupies and then having the nerve to mope around guilt-ridden the next morning as if anyone but you was responsible for that decision, and do I say anything about it?! Do I ever say a single fucking word about it to you, or Fred, or Roger, or your future wife, or anybody?! No, because it’s not my life!”

The dressing room door flies open and John storms inside. “What’s going on?!”

You cross your arms and stare at the floor. Brian’s wide green eyes flick to John, to you, back to John. If it was Freddie, Brian would tell him in a second, would try to enlist him in the effort, and it would probably work; but John is a different story. John won’t side with Brian over you, everybody knows that. And John has a talent for sharpening words into blades. “Um. Nothing.”  

“I could hear you in the hallway,” John says flatly. “Obviously it wasn’t nothing.”

Brian points to you. “Have you tried to talk her out of this? Maybe you should, maybe she’d listen.”

“It’s not my choice to make, just like it isn’t yours. Worry about your own body count. It seems to be growing exponentially these days.”

Brian scoffs. “Because you’d be so thrilled if she ended up with him, right?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” you demand.

Brian and John glare at each other from across the room. John raises his eyebrows, daring Bri to answer. Brian gnaws his lower lip, but doesn’t elaborate. The air is heavy, tense, electrified.  

“Don’t upset her again,” John says darkly.

Brian shows the white palms of his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

John waves for you to follow him. “Come on.” And he slams the door behind you as you both escape into the hallway.

“I’m sorry.” You chase away stray tears with the back of your hands. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to get anyone worked up right before the show...”

“Don’t worry about it. I treasure any excuse to harass Brian.”

You study him, seeking answers, seeking more than you know how to put into words. “Do you think I’m being stupid? If you do, you can tell me.”

“No,” John responds carefully. “I think you’re being hopeful. And I’d like to believe that stupidity and hopefulness are two very different things.”

You smile. “I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s very inaccurate.” He fluffs his hair with his fingertips. “Do you want to touch it before we go on stage?”

You feign demureness. “Hmm...”

“Oh come on. You know you want to. It’s extra voluminous right now, Roger shared some of his magical mousse or whatever. Something way too expensive. You should thoroughly berate him for it.”

You laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.” You comb your hands through his brunette hair, and John’s right; it’s extraordinarily full and soft, and smells like honeysuckles. “You always know how to get me smiling, don’t you?”

“You do insist that I have game. Though I remain skeptical.”

“Good luck tonight. Not that you need it.”

John’s rough thumb lifts your chin, then whisks away a tear you missed. “You’ll be watching, right?”

“I always am.” And that’s the truth; you haven’t missed a Queen show since you met them.

He beams, those gentle grey eyes incandescent. “Then we’ll have an ocean of luck.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Exactly twenty-four hours later, Queen is in New York City.

The thunderous bassline of the opening act shudders through the concrete walls. You’re staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror under harsh florescent lights, your palms gripping the cold rim of a white sink, your eyes shimmering with black and gold shadow, your lip gloss slick and crimson. There’s not a single thing left to do. You’re running out of time.

You breathe in, breathe out, snatch your purse off the floor, breeze out into the hallway.

You can hear the boys’ laughter even before you open the dressing room door. Inside, Brian is tuning his Red Special with his mantis-like legs propped up on the countertop, John is attempting to teach Freddie how to make popcorn in a microwave without setting anything on fire, Roger is scrutinizing his hair in the mirror and frowning as he rearranges it with a comb.  

“Hello, darling!” Freddie warbles. “Can I interest you in some delicious and expertly-prepared popcorn?” He opens the microwave, and smoke pours out. “Oh, you bitch!”

“I’ll pass, Freddie.” You glide to where Roger is sitting, knot your fingers through his blond hair, and tug his head back so you can kiss him. He tastes like mint gum and the ghost of smoke and reckless intemperance; he tastes like everything you’ve ever wanted. There are gasps, and surely dropped jaws as well; but you don’t have eyes for them. “Okay,” you tell Roger.

He stares up at you with huge, starry eyes, a dazed grin slowly lighting up his face. “You changed your mind.”

“Come find me after the show.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You move to wipe your blood-red gloss from his lips, but Roger stops you, knits his hand through yours, stands to meet you.

“Leave it,” he murmurs. “I want them to know.”  

“Want them to know...?”

His lips touch yours again, smiling and scorching and ravenous. “That I’m yours.”