#valentines day is just an excuse to draw the red queen

[putridspace]

Red Queen for valentines day 👑❤️

[simeon-simp]

Perfect Mate

Diavolo × GN!MC

Warnings: none

A/n: Please excuse any mistakes. English isn't my first language and this is my first time writing in a while. Also, no beta so...yeah

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"What in the Devildom am I doing?"

Throwing his D.D.D across the room, Diavolo groaned. Shame and embarrassment quickly caught up to him as a small blush formed on his face.

Barbatos had told him multiple times to go to bed or else he wouldn’t be able to stay awake long enough for the meeting.

But did he listen?

No.

He didn’t listen, opting to stalk MC’s Devilgram instead. He had seen all their posts and stories, even going as far as to look at brother's pages to see who had been with MC for the day.

Diavolo sighed as he realized; Barbatos was right. He was obsessed with MC. He couldn’t be blamed though as it was in his nature to try and claim the perfect mate when he found them. He would have claimed MC by now if it weren’t for a small problem.

MC was human.

Now that didn’t seem like such a big deal, but it was. The courting process and traditions for Demons were different from what they were for humans. Human noses weren’t as sharp as a demon’s nose was, therefore, humans didn’t know that every living creature had their very own scent. But Demons did.

No matter how much he thought about it, there wasn’t a single person that smelled as good as MC did. It was the first thing Diavolo noticed when they arrived to the Devildom, he’s sure the brothers noticed it too. It helped him relax when he was anxious and calm down when he got too worked up. He never seemed to get enough of it, always craving more of their scent.

The problem was, with how much he craved it, he could easily notice the smallest change when he was around them. Meaning: he instantly knew who had been with MC for the day. It annoyed him to no end when they would hang out with him, and he was able to smell Mammon’s or someone else's lingering scent on them.  

Just the thought about it made him let out an involuntary growl. He couldn’t stand it, the way he would be looking forward to spending time with his MC just for them to walk in smelling like someone else. It truly made him angry. But no matter how mad it made him, he could never be mad at his MC. It’s not like they knew.

Diavolo laid back on his bed. MC had been the only thing on his mind lately, always managing to distract him no matter what he was doing. It always happened, and always would until he got his hands on MC or they were taken by someone else.  

Someone else...the thought of MC with anyone but him made him upset as there was a chance of it happening. That didn’t seem to be the case though. MC had been accepting his gifts, something seen to demons as their desired mate accepting their courting.

Diavolo would observe them, study them, just to know what they liked. He would take in their fashion sense and buy them whatever he could find that would fit it. If he happened to see them sketching or drawing during class, he would instantly buy them whatever they wanted just to so they could draw better. Diavolo would always make Barbatos make MC’s favorite dessert just so he could give it to them during their small lunch dates (MC doesn’t know it’s a date).

Diavolo basically bought whatever MC liked unless they seemed to get overwhelmed by the number of gifts given to them. If that turned out to be the case, Diavolo would instantly turn it down to simpler things. He would give them his umbrella if it was raining or give them his jacket if they were cold. Giving them his jacket was Diavolo’s favorite thing though. He was filled with pride every time he saw them wearing it or when he saw the way the brothers seemed to get annoyed by it.

There was no doubt that if things continued the way they were going, he would be able to ask them out soon. He already had a plan for how he would ask, he just needed a date. Though with Valentine’s Day only 3 months away, it seemed like the perfect day to ask.

With that final thought in mind, Diavolo closed his eyes, sleep finally overtaking him.

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Valentine’s day arrived and Diavolo didn’t even bother to hide his excitement. He couldn’t stay still, and his voice was louder than usual. He would constantly check his D.D.D and ask Barbatos if it was time yet.

"My lord, please calm down. MC is probably busy with the brothers as the party doesn’t start for another 5 hours.”  

Diavolo hummed in consideration before pulling out his D.D.D once more. “No, they’re not. They just posted something on Devilgram...should I text or call them? I need to make sure that they-”  

Barbatos sighed for the first time in years and let Diavolo continue, ignoring the pain Diavolo’s words brought to him.

"Oh, they answered! I’ll be back!”

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

Humming a song MC had shown him from the human world, Diavolo took one last glance at himself in his bathroom mirror before running out. MC would show up soon and he wanted to be there to greet them.

He only waited for 15 minutes before he turned around and was faced with a tired looking MC. He checked them over to make sure they were fine and wondered if he should just call the whole thing off and let them rest. MC seemed to read his mind though as they instantly smiled, “I’m fine Dia, it’s just that Lucifer made Mammon and I walk all the way here as punishment for a prank we pulled earlier.”

Diavolo blushed at the nickname, looking away as he led them to a chair. “MC, you should sit down. You're probably tired from walking...Lucifer goes a little too far sometimes. Maybe I should have a talk with him...”

MC let out a nervous chuckle and waved him off, “I said I’m fine Dia. I deserved it, I should of known better than to prank the avatar of pride...”

Diavolo smiled, he loved that about MC. They would always look out for others, putting them before themselves. Though no matter how much they begged, he would still have to talk with Lucifer as he had put the future King/Queen in danger.  

Seeming to have remembered something, Diavolo ran off to Barbatos with a short “I’ll be right back! Please, stay where you are!” He seemed to ask for something as Barbatos left and then came back with a plate. Diavolo beamed at him and ran off to MC again, smile not faltering.

"MC, I... Today I tried to make your favorite dessert...Barbatos didn’t let me help much, but I tried my best! I hope you like it!” Diavolo handed them the plate, excited for them to try it. MC just stared at him before looking down at the plate on their lap, a warm smile spreading across their face. “Dia... thank you, I appreciate it. It makes me feel special, knowing that you...attempted, to make this for me.”

MC took a bite and if Diavolo had a tail, it would have been wagging around uncontrollably. He looked like an excited little puppy that had just been praised by its owner, a blush quickly spreading across his face when he realized the way he had just acted. What would people say if they saw him acting like this?

Nothing. They would say nothing as they had just seen it, but it was Lord Diavolo, so they couldn’t really comment on it. Even if they could, it wouldn’t be right for them to say anything as the side of Diavolo they had just seen was for MC, not them.

This carried on for the rest of the night, Diavolo gifting MC items and them thanking and praising him, earning a similar reaction to the one prior. Eventually, the clock hit 12 and Diavolo decided it was time.

"MC.”  

MC spun around, “Yes Di-” they paused. Diavolo made eye contact with them, an adorable blush adorning his face. “MC, may I have this dance?” He held out his left hand for them, waiting for them to take it.

Time seemed to stop for both MC and Diavolo. MC stopped to admire the beautiful image before them as Diavolo seemed to do the same. The world around them disappeared, the background noise dulling to a mere whisper. MC snapped out of it though, taking Diavolo’s hand and breaking the spell.

"Of course, I would love to.”

Diavolo smiled and lead them to the center of the dance floor. All eyes were on them, but they had gotten used to it after the stares they got the last 3 hours. Neither Diavolo nor MC could blame them though, it was the first time anyone had seen The Lord Diavolo acting all excited and cute. It almost made him seem...friendly.

It wasn’t the first time Diavolo and MC danced together. They had done a few times before, as a joke or because they were bored. But this didn’t feel like it did before, this was different. Diavolo’s gaze was serious and loving, not playful and teasing. His hands were constantly on them, not giving them space like he did before.  

MC didn’t mind though, leaning into his touch instead. They always did. They had come to terms with their feelings for the prince a long time ago. MC knew exactly what Diavolo had been doing the last few months, the brothers had taught them about mates and courting just a few weeks after they arrived in the devildom. MC knew what he was doing, yet they let it happen.  

Naturally, MC didn’t tell the brothers. They probably wouldn’t have been them allowed near Diavolo for a long time if they did find out. MC knew some of the brothers had their suspicions, but they assumed MC didn’t feel the same way Diavolo did, something they would probably regret later. That wasn’t MC’s problem though.

The song ended, and MC couldn’t help but feel disappointed. But the disappointment didn’t last long.  

Barbatos appeared from the crowd, a small red box in his hands. He handed it to Diavolo and walked away, giving Diavolo a small encouraging smile. Diavolo gave him a subtle smile in return before turning to MC and clearing his throat. He waited until they had most of the room’s attention before starting.

"MC, you know better than anyone here that I’ve been lonely my entire life. The only ones I could talk to being Barbatos and Lucifer, but that had its limits too. I’ve never had someone who I could talk to as easily as I can with you. You act normal with me, not giving me any special treatment. You’re always so kind, comforting me when I need it. You let me be myself without having to worry about what anyone else thinks. You let me vent and hug you. You just make me so happy...in fact, I didn’t even know it was possible to be this happy. You’re just so precious to me that I can barely take it. So that’s why I’m asking you here...will you be mine?”

MC didn’t know what to say. They knew he would ask soon, they just didn’t expect it to be right there, where everyone could see. But MC had thought about this many times before. So, without a doubt in mind, MC smiled and nodded. They didn’t trust themselves with words, so they decided to use actions instead.

Diavolo was caught off guard when he was pulled in for a kiss by MC. The shock didn’t last long though as he eagerly kissed back.

The room exploded with cheers and clapping. Many congratulating them and wishing them the best. Nobody looked away though as they knew what was next.

Diavolo pulled back first and opened the box in his hands. Inside rested a gold necklace with red diamonds on it. He put the box aside and turned to MC.  

MC wasn’t surprised as gifting their mate jewelry was something demons did often. It was seen as a sign of ownership and possession. MC had seen the design before on a textbook. A necklace with red diamonds was a trend among the royal family. Diavolo’s mother had one, as so did others before that.

MC nodded and Diavolo wasted no time to put it around their neck. He smiled and pulled them in for a kiss once again, not caring who was or wasn’t watching. He finally had what he had wanted for so long... he couldn’t stop smiling.

"I love you, MC. You don’t know how long I’ve dreamed of this...now that you’re mine, I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon.”

_______

I hope you enjoyed this! The brothers+datables reactions will be out soon. Remember, they were at the party too. They saw it all go down.

[movedyourchair505]

Napule Nights - La Festa Degli  Innamorati 2014

Time for the King and Queen of Napoli and their first Valentine’s Day. You guessed it, Elana helped x

- chapter navigation -

x

As the light became too bright, the sound of the alarm too sharp, the warmth of the bed too fleeting and the craving for a cigarette too prominent, Alexander turned over onto his back, his eyes squeezed shut after being open for merely a second, the light stinging and he groaned with discomfort, stretching out his arm, wide awake instantly when he realised once the alarm was off, the apartment was completely silent, and he was alone.

He shot up into a sitting position, raking his fingers through his hair, searching instantly for his phone, as he scrolled for her number listening out, but he knew he would have been able to tell had she still been in the apartment, her scent would've lingered, the sound of the shower would be audible, music even, the shuffle of clothes, but there was no sound but him tapping on the screen.

The phone was pressed to his ear quickly and he stood up, eyeing his clothes on the floor as well as noticing that hers were gone. The dial tone made his fingers clench tighter around his phone each time, his heart skipping a beat when he heard her voice on the other end of the line.

“Yes, Alexander?”

The cheerful tone in her voice, the light-hearted smirk he could hear as she spoke, it eased the tension within him for merely a millisecond, the muscles in his jaw tightening instantly again. “Jade, where the fook are yeh?” he snapped. “Yeh fookin' kno' 'ow worryin' wakin' up wifout yeh 'ere is.”

“I'm just at Kane's,” she stated, unimpressed, looking down at her legs dangling off the counter and taking a sip from her coffee. “Lana made me some cappuccino. They had some fun, but don't worry, I didn't join in.”

Alex tensed, his jaw trembling. “Wha' are yeh playin' at, Jade?”

She exhaled loudly. “I'm not playing at anything,” she shrugged nonchalantly. “You said last night that you 'weren't big on la festa degli innamorati'.”

“Jade-...”

“So I figured I'd get taken care of here,” she continued. “I've got Zabaglione from Gli Oro, I've got coffee. Maybe I can borrow a toy from Lana.”

Miles gasped as he watched Jade hang up the phone without awaiting Alexander's response, a smirk playing around his lips as he shook his head in disbelief. “Bella...”

Jade raised an eyebrow with both Lana's and Miles' gazes on her. “What?” she shrugged. “He can do business all day, spend it however he wants, I won't get in his way.”

“Bella, 'e's gunna feel disrespected...”

“Yeah, he always does,” she said. “And he should. Saying he's not big on Valentine's Day and then expecting me to be there when he wakes up, maybe suck him off, make him coffee...”

Miles laughed. “Ya dun't need teh rile 'im up on purpose, eh?” he cackled, taking a sip from his own coffee.

Jade shrugged again. “I'm not gonna spend this day with him and act like it's just another day, like I'm okay with him not appreciating me.”

Less than half an hour later, there was a persistent ring at the door, though before Miles could even open, the member of security Alexander had placed at his apartment opened the door and Alex strode inside confidently, now dressed in a well-fitted suit in a merlot red velvet, the top few buttons of the black shirt underneath undone and revealing his chain and his sun-kissed chest. His hair was slicked back, a few strands falling over his forehead loosely and his fingers were clutched around two black velvet boxes, Helders stood behind him holding a bouquet of white roses in the other hand.

Jade straightened up where she sat on the counter, placing down her cup and looking at him with an eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Jade, c'mere.”

Despite her desire to frustrate him, despite having expect a different reaction entirely, certainly not him showing up so quickly, she couldn't suppress the instant curiosity his presence evoked within her, she was aching to open the gifts he'd evidently brought for her, she wanted to run her fingers through his hair, feel him relax if she ran her hand down the velvet material of his suit and having left early in the morning before he was awake, she craved his touch desperately, longed for his hands on her, the feeling of his lips hard and possessive against hers and she slid off the kitchen counter, her sparkly red heels clicking on the floor as she made her way over to him.

There was a fire in his eyes, an intensity she could hardly hold with her own gaze and as soon as she was close enough, his hand came down on her hip, then made its way to her lower back, pressed flat against the small of her back to pull her flush against him, his scent overwhelming her instantly.

“Jade,” he drawled, his upper lip stretching as he spoke, attempting to focus on the calm confidence his gesture carried rather than the nerve she'd allowed herself. “Did yeh realleh fookin' fink I wouldn't 'ave anehfin' for yeh todeh?” he asked, his voice deep, strained.

The depth in his chocolate brown gaze, the unshakable authority weakened her knees as well as it instilled a sense of realisation within her that she should have known better, how ridiculous it had been despite everything to think he would not use today of all days as another excuse to absolutely spoil her.

“Got a'ead of yehrself, eh?” he hummed. “I were joost teasin' yeh last night.” He knew he should not have felt so strongly about her winding him up when he'd done nothing but the same, both their impulses driven too far by the shared passion that drew him to her.

“What's this?” she asked, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of knowing he was right.

He smirked, handing her the small box first and she eagerly popped it open, her eyes widening at the pair of diamond earrings, reflective and shiny in the light and paired with an arrangement of emerald that sparkled just the same and perfectly matched the stone between her collarbones, and Alex knew that swallowing his pride and allowing her what she'd wanted was worth it merely for the look in her eyes, the glimmer of excitement, the pure joy as she took off the silver earrings she'd been wearing to replace them with the shiny new pieces, tilting her slender neck so he could see.

“Beau'iful, as predicted,” he drawled, licking his lips, then letting go of her to open the larger box in his hands, revealing a delicate headband, sparkling and covered completely in diamonds, an abundance of emeralds and jades raised in the middle to form the prongs of a crown.

Her eyes widened and she stepped closer to him, her lips parted in awe. “Alexander...”

He smirked at her unfiltered reaction, the pure excitement that spread across her features. “So yeh can feel like proper royalteh.”

Without another word from her, he took the generously jewelled item out, handing the empty box back to Helders before setting down the shiny tiara on her head, the heavy feeling of it only making her smile grow wider. “You're unbelievable.”

With his hands now free, he placed one on her hip again, the other cupping the side of her face and drawing her in, his lips crashing against hers and kissing her eagerly, the plush feeling of her lips, the heat of them, the desperate whimper that left her lips making his grip on her tighten.

She moaned needily when he drew back too soon, but her eyes fell shut instantly again as he angled back her neck and his kisses trailed down her jaw, his lips sucking, kissing lightly on her neck, skimming over her throat, her heart pounding as her body curved into his.

“Tha's not all I've got for yeh...” he rasped, his voice like velvet, his lips close to her ear. “Gunna take yeh down teh the car 'n weh're gunna 'ave a glass of Deau, eh?”

She breathed shakily, her fingers clutching on to his shoulder as his teeth sunk into her soft skin for merely a second, his breath ghosting over her neck.

“I got yeh tha' scent yeh was eyein' the other day, wif the gold” he added. “There's two Bordelle sets waitin' for yeh in the car as well...”

“Alexander...” she whispered.

He chuckled, reveling in the way she surrendered to him so willingly. “Got ya one of them toys wif the sonic waves...”

He felt her breath hitch in her throat as he spoke, pressing a kiss to her collarbone before angling her head to his level, waiting for her eyes to flutter open. “Yeh can use it wif me permission,” he stated. “Jade, look at meh.”

The depth of his voice, the promises had her melting for him, her heart pounding as she opened her eyes and met his. “I'm sorry,” she said, knew that given the extravagance of him, it was due.

He chuckled, shaking his head, his lip twitching. “Weh're goin' teh Paris,” he stated with a small smile, watching the excitement, the disbelief flicker across her face yet again with immense content. “There's a new dress, new 'eels 'n a bag yeh've wanted waitin' for yeh in the car too. 'n I'm gunna take out teh buy sum more nice fings when weh're on Avenue Montaigne.”

“W-Where are we staying?” she asked quietly to cover for the absolute wonder she knew was already evident in her expression, her hand smoothing down his shoulder.

He chuckled. “'s a loveleh spa 'otel, I booked it weeks ago. 'n the restaurant 'as the finest desserts in all of France. 'n the best lobster. I kno' the chef.”

She hung on to his every word, pressing herself closer to him, ready to say or do anything he could possibly ask of her.

He reached out to brush her hair back, trapping her chin between his fingers, his gaze still locked on hers as he spoke. “'n when weh get teh the room I'm gunna fook yeh so good, yeh won't question meh again.”

She could have dropped to her knees for him right then there, opening her mouth to speak, but found herself drawn out of the spell he had her under when she heard a slow clap staring behind her, turning to look over her shoulder to Kane grinning and clapping.

“Bravo,” he cackled. “Get out of 'ere then.”

Jade licked her lips, looking back to Alexander. “All of that for me?” She pursed her lips, tilting her head slightly and reaching to run her fingers through his hair. “Maestro?”

He was almost unable to suppress the immense satisfaction her words instilled within him, the smug smile playing around his lips threatening to get out of control. “'course, principessa,” he drawled. “The best ain't good enouf for me Jade.”

[myrish-lace-love]

Summary: Before Sansa leaves for King’s Landing, Jon unexpectedly gives her comfort, and something more, in a time of trouble. Ned Stark puts a stop to it.

For @jonxsansafanfiction Day 7: Flowers (Jon x Sansa: 15 Days of Valentines). Multiple POV.

Shoutout to @janebrkin for the lovely idea of Jon comforting Sansa during thunderstorms when she was little - I was inspired by your story and people should go read it! :)

Jon

Jon knew it was wrong, truly wrong, because his father was angry. Lady Catelyn had been known to come down hard on him for some perceived slight, but his father was fair, and rarely raised his voice. Lord Stark’s face was stormy now, his grey eyes like chipped flint.

“Never again, Jon, do you understand? You cannot–” Jon had seen his father at a loss for words before, but never with his mouth working quite this way. “Sansa is meant for–”

“A prince, I know, father.” Joffrey had pranced into Winterfell like the spoiled brat he was, and something about the way Sansa looked at him made Jon’s blood boil.

His father swallowed, then nodded. “Yes. A prince.”

Jon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His father had ordered him into the Lord’s Chambers and pointed for him to sit, after bellowing at Jon and Sansa in the godswood. Sansa had fled. “Why were you cruel to her, father? I gave her the crown. It was my fault. Sansa didn’t do anything wrong.” Jon wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong either, but he knew Sansa was blameless.

His father ran a hand over his face. “I’ll talk to her, Jon. It’s not your fault, either, you just – you must promise me, now, never to be alone with Sansa again.”

Jon didn’t fully understand why he had to stay away from his half-sister, but he swore the oath then and there. He didn’t even risk saying goodbye to her when he left for the Wall. Sometimes, when he took the watch at night, he’d look out over the shelf of ice and remember the crown he’d placed in Sansa’s red hair. He’d whisper a prayer into the cold air that Joffrey had become the prince Sansa deserved.

***

It was only flowers. Sansa liked flowers, liked to plait them in her hair and tuck them into Lady’s collar. So when Jon learned what had happened to upset her, he picked most of the blue roses in the glass gardens. He snapped off the thorns and wove a kind of crown –lopsided, hardly the perfect construction Sansa would have made. Jon might not get along with Sansa easily, but he cared for her, just like he cared for all his family. Maybe not quite the same way, since Sansa had come of age and he’d been less able to meet her eyes. Something tightened in his chest now when he saw her toss her hair over her shoulder, and he wasn’t inclined to examine the feeling too closely.

Sansa was ecstatic when the royal visit was announced. Jon would need to practice staying out of the way, but Sansa was to be put forward as a candidate for betrothal to the Baratheon prince. Sansa had always been a thoughtful, courteous girl, and she’d made a gift for Joffrey. Jon had seen her bent over her work in her lap, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she concentrated. She’d presented Joffrey with a handkerchief, emblazoned with a golden lion, that even Jon could tell was finely worked. Joffrey had bowed to her, and Sansa glowed with happiness.

At least, she did until she picked up the handkerchief by the corner that afternoon, where Joffrey had dropped it in the mud. Joffrey and his guards had just passed by the training yard, where Robb and Jon were sparring. The sound of their ugly laughter made Jon angry. He came at Robb quicker than he should have, and got in a few blows before getting thwacked in the shoulder by Robb’s wooden sword. He was rubbing his arm as he saw Sansa and Jeyne walking together. 

Robb kept striding towards the gate. Jon saw Sansa was slumping, with her head down, and he slowed his pace. Being a bastard had few privileges, but this was one of them. Jon noticed things others didn’t, and since his station lent him a kind of invisibility, he was able to hear and see details others missed. He’d surprised his lord father more than once with his knowledge of the goings-on around the castle.

“I’ll never be able to get it clean, but I suppose it makes no difference. He didn’t care for it anyway.” Sansa was twisting the dirty handkerchief in her hands. “Oh Sansa, I’m so sorry, I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said.” Jeyne sounded as if she didn’t believe her own lie. Sansa had shaken her head. “It doesn’t matter, Jeyne. I’ll stitch him finer things. I’ll be more beautiful, I’ll make him love me.” The tremor in Sansa’s voice scared Jon the most, made him afraid for her, afraid of what she might give away to this boy. So he decided to give her something of her own.

He’d found her in the godswood the next day, and listened to her, and held out the makeshift gift. “The crown of love and beauty, for you, you’re already beautiful, Sansa. He’s your prince, he’ll love you and treat you kindly. He has to. Any prince would.” You’re worth loving, he wanted to say, but he thought that might be a step too far, even though it was true. Jon placed it on her head. She’d smiled, and asked him to play an old game. Father had crashed through the branches a few minutes later, yanking him by his injured arm, while Sansa ran. 

Sansa 

The stitching, Sansa thought numbly, I’ll never get the mud out. She’d begged gold thread from her mother, too, to make sure the lion’s head gleamed. Her favor had floated half-in, half-out of the puddle. Joffrey’s sneering remark echoed in her ears. All she could think was that her needlework must have been coarse, and uneven, though she’d checked and checked. She had to do better, though she wasn’t sure how. So when she heard someone step through the trees into the godswood, she was momentarily angry. Couldn’t she be left alone, to cry, to be unladylike for once in her life? She wiped her eyes, and held tight to the low tree branch. A light rain had started to fall, and the bark was slightly slippery.

Jon emerged from the leaves. He was prone to sulking, and there was an anger and melancholy that never left him. But before her mother made it clear she was to have nothing to do with Jon, when she was very little, and scared of storms outside her window, Sansa would sometimes go to him at night and ask to sleep in his bed. Robb would let her too, of course. He would chuckle, and muss her hair, and tell her there was nothing to worry about before falling back asleep. Sansa would still shake, though, each time the thunder boomed. Robb was big and strong, her oldest brother. He wasn’t frightened by the storm. But Sansa was small, so small it was hard for her to climb into Robb’s bed. She couldn’t stop the fear that coursed through her each time the thunder sounded as if it would swallow her up. Jon would tell her it was all right to be scared. He would hold her, and talk to her, until the rain ceased. She could still recall how warm he’d been, how he’d sing to her in a high, sweet voice if she asked. Her lady mother forbade her from joining her half-brother in bed when she turned six, and Sansa learned that the word “bastard” separated Jon and Robb. Although Sansa dutifully turned her head away now when Jon walked by, she remembered that he’d been gentle with her, when they were children.

Still, she was ashamed of her tears, and wasn’t sure she wanted to share them. “Did you come to mock me too, Jon?” She heard the thread of anger in her voice, but held her chin high. Jon stopped in front of her, strangely quiet. It took her a moment to realize he was holding a mass of blue flowers in his hand.

“No, Sansa. I – I came to see if you were all right.”

If he had been wheedling, or commanding, she would have sent him packing. Instead he let the silence draw out between them, and Sansa began to relax. Then, slowly, she began to talk, in fits and starts. “I wasn’t – the gift, Jon, I made Joffrey a favor, I spent weeks on it, getting every stitch right, though there’s no reason for you to know that–“

“I saw you,” Jon said. “You’d work on it day and night. You brought it outside a few times, while we trained.”

“The sunlight, it’s best for certain techniques, I – you noticed?” She thought Jon Snow would be the last person to pay attention to an embroidery hoop.

“You seemed…tense, while you did it. And you stuck your tongue out.” The corner of his mouth quirked.

“I do that when I’m concentrating. Though I’d rather others couldn’t tell.”  She gathered her skirts in an effort to look dignified, even when sitting in a tree. “Yes. Well. I’d hoped – I’d hoped the prince would like it. I’m only a lady, Jon, not a princess, I have to show him I’m not stupid, I’m worth marrying, worth bringing to King’s Landing, there are so many others he could choose. I heard him, did you know that? I heard what he said, when he dropped it. ‘Trust a dog not to know a lion’s likeness.’” She twisted her damp hair around her finger. Jon listened to her, really listened as she talked, it felt liked so few people did that anymore. “I did my best, Jon, I asked Maester Luwin to show me pictures in the library, I stitched the lion as fine as I could.”

He held the flowers out to her mutely. “Thank you Jon.” Sansa was polite, but puzzled. “What is it?”

“It’s a crown,” Jon said. “Love and beauty.” She and Robb and Jon had played this game a thousand times when they were younger, the Queen of Love and Beauty. Robb, her bright-eyed brother with the easy laugh, had always won, and named her his queen. Jon was the one before her now, serious and solemn. She bowed her head. When he placed the crown on her hair, his touch was light. He told her she was beautiful, and any prince would love her.

She drew strength from his gesture, enough to bring back some of her good humor. “Should you swear fealty then?” Robb would have teased her, and chucked her under the chin. She half-expected Jon to stammer out an excuse, and leave the way he came. Instead Jon simply went down on one knee, and took her hand. They were too old for this game, and perhaps that was the reason for the flush on her cheeks. His curls were wet, and stuck to his forehead. He brushed the back of her hand with his lips. “My queen.” Jon looked up at her with dark eyes as if she already was a queen, as if there was no room for doubt.

She held onto that look, even after father’s lecture, even after arriving in King’s Landing. She thought back on it when Joffrey’s men struck her, when Littlefinger undressed her with his eyes.

After she bled, when she was to be wed to the man she knew to be a monster, she picked at the blue roses she’d embroidered on her gown. I’m already beautiful. Any prince would love me. Sansa started to cry. Jon had spoken those words that day as if they were as true and as plain as the rain that soaked her hair. 

Ned

Promise me, Ned. Ned knew he was terrifyingly close to failing Lyanna, when he saw Jon Targaryen kneeling before his daughter in the godswood, as a crown of winter roses graced her hair. Sansa’s gaze was rapt, and Jon looked at her like she was the sun and stars together. No, he thought, Jon, stop, you can’t, a love like this once broke the world apart. So he shattered the scene, sending Sansa running, dragging Jon back to Winterfell’s halls. He’d forbid his daughter and his nephew from spending time with each other. He’d send Jon to the Wall, and escort Sansa safely to King’s Landing, before he’d let a love so strong and dangerous bloom again.

[misscrazyfangirl321]

CC Valentine

I’m pretty sure I’m the last one to post for this, and I’m so sorry it took so long. @thoughtsandlife23, I’m your Valentine!!! You requested: “ maybe a mention of mick x Amaya. Also please keep Laurel Alive”, and I hope this makes you happy. I meant for Mixen to have a larger role, but the story sort of ran away from me. I also meant for this to have two chapters, at least.

This story sort of took on a life of its own.

Anyway, this is an AU, where the Gambit never sank, and Leonard never became a criminal.

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

Title: Lenny’s Burgers

Rating: G

Summary: Captain Canary AU. Sara’s searching for direction after her life is turned upside down. Will the little diner in Central City be exactly what she needs?

Disclaimer: I own nothing, 

***

“Your sister will never know,” Ollie had promised, smooth and reassuring.

It was a nice ideal.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

Now, everyone knows, thanks to the horde of reporters that had been waiting for them when the Gambit docked.

Sara isn’t quite sure how they knew where to look, but it doesn’t really matter, because the damage is done.

Laurel hates her.

Her father hasn’t looked her in the eye since she got back.

Not even a single friend of hers will pick up the phone.

She can’t even step outside without a cacophony of “Why did you do it?” and “How do you feel, knowing you ruined Oliver Queen’s relationship with your sister?”

Most days, she doesn’t even try to leave the house, just locks herself in her room, watching movies and eating ice cream.

She’s apologized to Laurel a thousand times, but to no avail. Not like she doesn’t understand why, but the thought of living the rest of her life without Laurel-Her stomach churns, rebelling at the very idea.

By the end of three weeks, the walls seem to suffocate her, floral wallpaper staring back at her mockingly.

Briefly, she wonders if Oliver is just as miserable.

Probably not, she decides.

Most likely, he already has another girl on his arm, and the sister for backup.

Yep, she definitely isn’t bitter.

She shouldn’t be, anyway; It was her choice as much as his. Still, she can’t help but hate him a little. In fairness, she hates herself just as much, so she figures it works out.

A knock on her door draws her from her thoughts, and she pauses “10 Things I Hate About You,” wiping away the tears that seem to constantly burn her eyes these days.

“Yes?”

A small, childish part of her hopes to see Laurel, poking her head through the doorway, ready to forgive her and gossip about boys again.

Of course, life doesn’t work that way, and it’s Sara’s mother that steps inside.

“Sara, darling… We need to talk.”

Memories burn at her mind, of her dad saying the exact same words, disappointment coating his face. That was the only time he’d spoken more than three words to her since the whole ordeal: To tell her how disappointed he was in her for “Getting involved with that Queen boy. Honey, you broke your sister’s heart. Mine, too.”

She can’t take another speech like that, and she knows it. Still, she forces out a response.

“About what?”

Biting her lip, her mother steps forward, settling onto the bed beside her.

“I have a new job.” Of all the things she could have expected, this definitely wasn’t even in the top ten.

“What?”

“As a teacher at Central City University.”

Sara frowns, struggling to find her bearings in this conversation.

“We’re moving?”

A deep breath.

A twitch of the eye.

Hands clasping tightly together.

She knows her mother’s tells, and something is very wrong.

“Mom?”

“Sweetheart… I’m moving. Your father, and Laurel… They’re staying here.”

She can’t breathe. It hasn’t escaped her notice that things have been tense between her parents lately, especially since her father found out about her stop by the house, when her mother had found out everything. Still…. It isn’t supposed to happen this way.

She can’t have ruined everything that badly.

No!

“You and Daddy are…” Her voice sounds terribly young and helpless, even to her own ears, and she hates it, but it definitely reflects how she feels.

“Working things out,” her mother interrupts firmly, reaching out and squeezing Sara’s arm. There’s something oddly comforting about the small gesture, as if the touch alone could chase away the nightmare she’s created. “We just… We need some space, and time, to do that.”

What about me? Sara wonders, but the words stick in her throat.

No matter.

The answer comes quickly enough anyway.

“We’ve talked it over, and we’ve decided that you’re free to do whatever you want. If you like, you can stay here with Quinten and Laurel. But if you choose, you can come live with me in Central City.”

Stay in the crushingly silent house that will only grow worse without her mother there to talk to her, or get away from it all?

She barely hesitates.

“When do we leave?”

***

It would be a lie to say she spends the first month doing much of anything but sleeping. In ways, it isn’t so different from what she was doing in Starling, but she doesn’t have to worry about running into Laurel on her way to the shower, or her father over breakfast.

Sometimes, she lets herself linger at the table, even eating meals with her mother when she gets the chance.

There’s something peaceful about Central, nothing she can put her finger on, but it’s slowly healing the ache in her heart.

One day, she steps outside, and when nothing happens, she goes for a walk. Just around the block, that day, basking in the fresh air and sunshine she’s hidden from since… Well. Since.

The walks become a daily thing, venturing farther and farther from the little apartment her mother rented, while the woman in question is at work.

She’s getting better, and she knows it.

Until she isn’t.

***

It starts out like any other day, exploring the city she now calls home.

She’s in a new neighborhood, one a little run-down, but still bustling with life. (So unlike the Glades, she can’t help but think. Children play on the streets without fear, and one shoots her a wild grin, waving cheerfully before returning to a game of tag.)

Everything is so peaceful, she almost doesn’t notice the women staring.

There are three of them, standing in the doorway of what looks like a convenience store, pointing at her and whispering among themselves.

Panic bubbles up in her chest. She knows those looks; they recognize her, or they’re starting to, and soon, she’ll have to face a barrage of questions she doesn’t even want to think about.

She glances around, searching desperately for some sort of haven, and her eyes settle on a building to her right. The sign, claiming it as “Lenny’s Burgers,” is worn and faded, the paint is peeling, and the neon “Open” sign flickers weakly, looking no more than a few seconds from burning out entirely.

Not letting herself overthink it, she yanks the door open, disappearing into the shop.

The seats are all empty, and there’s no one at the counter. Briefly, she wonders if the place is even actually open, or if no one thought to lock it when they shut down.

In the 50s, most likely, she muses, amusement flickering through her without consent. The checker-tiled floor, the red-cushioned stools, and the wooden counter all look like something out of an old movie. The jukebox in the corner, crooning out an unfamiliar song, doesn’t help the ancient vibe.

She settles into a booth, probably red once, but now faded to almost white, and glances out the window.

No one.

Apparently, the women weren’t interested enough to follow.

Her eyes drift shut as she exhales, taking a few steadying breaths.

“Hey, can I get you anything?” An unfamiliar voice asks, a tinge of concern in the tone.

Opening her eyes, she turns to the new figure: A waitress, if her outfit is anything to go by. She has long, dark hair, curious eyes, and a bright smile.

Ollie would love her, she thinks dryly.

“Get me..? Oh, right. I… I haven’t actually looked at the menu,” she confesses, and the other woman-Lisa, according to the plastic nametag-nods in understanding.

“That’s fine! Can I get you something to drink?”

Sara hesitates, considering. If she’s hiding out in the shop, the least she could do is actually get something.

“I’ll take a water,” she finally answers, and Lisa grins.

“Coming right up! And listen, I don’t know if you’re hungry, but I would definitely recommend a hamburger. I know it’s kind of cliché, but they’re Mick’s pride and joy in life. Our cook,” she adds, at Sara’s apparent confusion.

Stomach rumbling, Sara nods gratefully. She hadn’t actually realized she was hungry until now, but suddenly, she feels like she could finish off an entire Queen party’s worth of food.

“Yes, please.”

With one more grin, Lisa disappears back behind the counter, and Sara drops her face to her hands with a groan.

The women’s faces are burned in her mind, mocking her and taunting her without pity.

It’s like ripping off a scab too soon, the way all of the pain, the guilt, and the regret is bursting back to the surface.

All she can think of now is Laurel, tears in her eyes, asking her why. Why would you do this to me, Sara? Why? I thought we were family.

“Excuse me, I hope I’m not interrupting,” an unfamiliar voice drawls, from somewhere near her head. A man, for sure, and she really isn’t up for this.

“I’m not interested,” she growls, without bothering to lift her head.

There’s a definite pause, before the man speaks again, amusement coloring his tone.

“Well, that’s good. I try not to get involved with customers, after all. Never really ends well.”

It takes her a moment to process the words, but when she does, she can feel the flush creeping up her cheeks.

“Sorry,” she mutters, lifting her head.

Settled into the booth across from her is a man with short, dark hair, bright blue eyes, and a playful smirk. His hands rest lightly on a mug he must have brought to the table.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.

He’s older than her, she realizes, noting the faint hints of grey in his hair. Still, she can’t deny that he’s cute, and any other day, she might have enjoyed the conversation. Today… She honestly just wants him to leave.

She clears her throat, tilting her head to the side, silently willing him to explain. His smirk fades to a soft but genuine smile, and he pushes the mug towards her.

“Lisa told me about you. Said you looked like you were having a rough day.” Defensiveness rises up in her, but before she can tell him to mind his own business, something sad flickers in his eyes, and he continues, “Lisa and I have had a few of those ourselves. And we’ve learned something important.”

If she has to listen to one more “helpful life lesson”…

“There’s absolutely nothing that can’t be solved with hot cocoa.” The sadness is gone, replaced with an almost teasing expression, and she can’t help but smile in return.

“Nothing?” She challenges, glancing down at the swirling liquid. The dark brown was muted with something white and fluffy, and she snorts in surprise.

“Are those… Mini-marshmallows?”

He nods, face turning grave.

“Cocoa isn’t cocoa without the mini-marshmallows.” He looks so ridiculously serious, a giggle bubbles up and escapes before she can stop it. He feigns a glare, but she notices the sparkle in his eyes that almost resembles pride.

“So, cocoa can fix anything?” She checks, and he nods. “Okay then.”

She lifts the mug to her lips, (it’s still warm, heat spreading through her fingertips, chasing away the chill of the autumn day,) taking a tentative sip.

Oh.

It’s sweet, even more than she expects, and a perfect blend of cocoa, marshmallow, and something unidentifiable the makes her eyes drift shut.

“See? All better,” the man announces, and she blinks, focusing on him once more.

He looks childishly smug, and in spite of herself, she grins at him.

“Definitely,” she quips, before a thought occurs to her. “How did you even have time to make that?”

Shrugging, he replies. “A good chef never revels his secrets.”

“I thought that was a magician,” she shoots back, struggling to keep from laughing.

“Same thing.”

She rolls her eyes, taking another sip of the (sweet, wonderful, heavenly) cocoa.

“I’m Leonard, by the way,” he says after a moment. “Or as my wonderful sister insists on calling me, Lenny.”

Lenny.

Lenny’s Burgers.

He doesn’t just work here, she realizes. He’s the owner.

“I’m…” She hesitates. He hasn’t shown a hint of recognition, and even now, he seems to be waiting for her to speak. He doesn’t know who she is, and somehow, she doesn’t want him to tie her to “Sara Lance, Oliver Queen’s other woman.” Still, the truth slips out without her consent.

“I’m Sara.” If he recognizes her, he doesn’t show it, just nods, tilting his head in greeting.

“Sara, pleasure to meet you. Afraid I have to be getting back to work.”

“Yeah,” Lisa teases, stepping around Leonard with a glass of water in one hand and a tray of food in the other. Sara congratulates herself for not jumping, as the woman continues, “You probably should. Otherwise, the boss might fire you. He’s kind of a jerk.”

“To be fair,” he shoots back, “his top waitress is kind of a trainwreck.” They share a fond smile, and Sara’s heart tugs with memories of Laurel.

Pulling each other’s hair, stealing each other’s clothes, and coming up with the meanest names they possibly could, just to burst into laughter and hugs.

“Lisa, get her whatever she wants. Today, it’s on the house.” She pulls herself from her thoughts, frowning.

“No, I couldn’t-“ He brushes her off.

“I mean it, Sara. Like I said, Lisa and I had a few rough days of our own. If it hadn’t been for a few generous people, we’d be in a very different place right now.  It’s our turn to pass that on.”

With a final nod, he disappears into the back, and Lisa grins.

“Can I get you anything else?”

***

She comes back, of course.

There’s something about the worn down shop that seems like home, and when she’s there, she isn’t lonely. Leonard, Lisa, and eventually Mick always take a little time to chat with her when she comes in, and slowly, they let her into their little family.

They do charge her for her meals after that first day, but anytime Sara walks in with her head hung low and her eyes watering, Leonard appears with a mug of hot cocoa he refuses to let her pay for.

Weeks turn into a month, and her visits start to become a daily thing.

She knows they consider her one of their own.

Still, the job offer comes as a surprise.

***

“We’re looking for an extra set of hands,” Leonard announces one day, before Lisa even takes her order. “You interested?”

She glances around the diner uncertainly. It’s just after noon, their busiest hour, and there are exactly three people there besides her: An older man, sipping coffee and reading a paper, a younger woman, sitting next to him with her own coffee, looking at her phone, and a tall, slim man a few booths over that looks unnervingly familiar. Finally, Sara places him: Ray Palmer, owner of Palmer Tech. He’s a billionaire, like Oliver, but not much of a playboy. Recently widowed, if she remembers right.

Three people.

Four, counting her.

She wonders, not for the first time, how they even keep their doors open.

Leonard follows her gaze, and chuckles.

“Granted, we wouldn’t be able to pay you much, but… Lisa could use the help.” The younger sibling rolls her eyes, stepping between him and Sara.

“And the company.” Lisa adds, squeezing Sara’s shoulder.

Sara hesitates a moment, but can’t find it in her to refuse.

***

“It’s been awhile, Professor! Where’s Lily?”

It’s-though she can’t believe it-two months later.

Working with them is, without a doubt, the best job she’s ever had. Low stress, high energy, and a close connection with employees and customers alike.

“A bit ill, I’m afraid,” Professor Stein answers, drawing her from her thoughts.

“Oh, no!” As a bartender, she learned how to feign sympathy, but her concern here is sincere. Lily is bright, cheerful, and friendly, even as she discusses things miles above Sara’s head.

“Only a twenty-four hour virus, or so she insists. Refuses to go to a doctor about it, of course.” Her father, Martin Stein, is one of Sara’s mother’s colleagues. He reminds Sara a bit of the Absent-Minded Professor, and something tells her he’d like the comparison. “She has a bit of a stubborn streak. Gets it from her mother, I’m sure.”

She hides a smile. She has seen him arguing before, after all.

“Of course. Well, I hope she gets to feeling better! What can I get you? Your usual?”

“If you please, Miss Lance,” he nods.

Grinning, she disappears back into the kitchen.

“Mick, the Professor is here,” she announces.

“Daughter?”

“Sick.”

“Comin’ right up.” His voice is heavy with disgust. Stein always orders his burger on wheat bread, and Mick doesn’t really think that counts as a burger.

The cook is a unique sort, she has to admit.

Mick reminds her, in ways, of a teddy bear. Just… An occasionally grumpy teddy bear.

“Don’t worry, Mick, I’m sure Amaya will come by later, and order a real burger,” Leonard’s familiar drawl cuts in.

“She better,” Mick grumbles, setting to work.

“Or what, Micky?” Lisa teases, appearing from the backroom with a mug of coffee and a grin.

Sara steps back as the two settle into their bickering, shooting Leonard an amused glance he returns.

“I think they need a time-out,” she quips, and he scoffs.

“Wouldn’t do them a bit of good, I’m afraid.”

A warmth spreads through her, and she leans next to him, against the wall.

She’s happy, she thinks, a touch curiously. She likes that.

***

No matter how hard you stare at it, you can’t will a phone to ring, Sara muses.

She’s been sitting in the office, tucked away in the back, for nearly half an hour, trying to work up the courage to call Laurel.

No luck.

Where does she even start?

I’m sorry I ruined your life. Want to have dinner sometime and catch up?

She scoffs, her fingers dancing over the keyboard.

This is ridiculous, and her shift starts in-she glances at the wall clock-ten minutes.

“Everything okay?” Sometimes, she wonders at how he sneaks up on her so easily.

She used to pretend she was a ninja, hiding behind the couch, jumping out to scare her parents. The memory draws a smile from her. She’s an awful ninja now.

“Not really. I mean, yeah, everything’s fine,” she hurriedly adds, when his brows furrow in concern, “I just… I miss my sister.”

He relaxes a bit, taking a step toward her.

“Laurel, right?” He asks softly, and she pauses, combing through her memories.

“Yeah, how did you-“ The reality hits her, even as the words slip out, and she swallows the end of the sentence. His expression is low and serious as he grabs a metal chair, scooting it closer to her.

“I may not be much for watching the news, Sara, but I’d never forget a face like yours.” His words are teasing, but the meaning hits her square in the chest. All along, he’s known. Shame fills her, and she drops her gaze to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you.” She murmurs, tracing absent patterns on the ground with the point of her shoe.

“Pretty sure ‘Painful Backstory’ wasn’t on the job application.”

“I know, but-“

“I’m adopted,” he interrupts, and she pauses, thrown.

“Okay?”

He chuckles, but it isn’t a happy sound, and she lifts her head to study him. He’s avoiding her eyes now, watching her foot move across the floor.

“My father-my birth father-was a criminal. But that wasn’t the worst of it. No, see, he wanted me to be like him. Lisa, too, once she was born. He tried to train us, and when we didn’t learn fast enough… He punished us.” Still refusing to meet her eyes, he pushes up one of his sleeves, revealing a patchwork of scars from his shoulder to his elbow.

Words stick in her throat, as she starts to reach out to him, then lets her hand fall back to her side. The phone lay, forgotten, on her lap, as she listens.

“He was arrested, of course. Idiot couldn’t wait a week to sell the score.” He scoffs, continuing, “The cop who arrested him was fresh out of the Academy, just married, and on the fast track to becoming detective.”

He shakes his head, and clears his throat, as if trying to wash all of the confessions from the air.

“If Officer West hadn’t adopted Lisa and I, we could have ended up just like my father. So, I get that there are some things you don’t really feel like talking about.”

His words hang in the air, and Sara struggles to breathe. Briefly, her mind flashes back to that first day, meeting him.

“Did he teach you how to make hot cocoa? The cop, I mean?” He blinks, before a small but genuine grin flashes across his face.

“No, I learned that one on my own. Have you talked to her at all since you moved out here?”

It takes her a moment for her to realize who he’s referring to, even as he gestures to the phone.

“Not really, no. Before I left, she said some… Things. She was angry, you know, and I… I don’t even know where to start.”

She picks up the forgotten device, rolling it over it her hands.

“Start with ‘hello,’” He says, and she’d think it was sarcasm, but his voice is dead-serious.

Could it be that simple? She opens the phone, pulling up Laurel’s contact. Her finger hovers over the green button, and Leonard slowly starts to slip out of the room.

“Will you-“ She hesitates, wondering if it’s too much to ask. “Can you stay? With me? I just… I don’t want to do this alone.”

“You don’t have to.” He’s by her side in an instant, a hand coming to rest on her shoulder.

She shoots him a grateful look, and presses “call.”

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

She swallows hard, and he squeezes her shoulder reassuringly.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Of course Laurel isn’t answering. Her eyes burn with tears, and she furiously tries to wipe them away with the hand not holding the phone.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hey, this is Laurel. Please leave a message after the-Sara, stop it!”

Sara swallows a startled laugh, blinking in disbelief. They’d recorded that… A week before Sara went on the Gambit. She can’t even remember what she’d been doing, why Laurel was screeching at her, but she’s sure it was something harmless, like stealing her clothes, or her eyeliner.

Not her boyfriend.

“Hey, Laurel, I-“ her voice catches, and she fights the urge to curse. Tears are trickling down her cheeks, and it feels like a lump has settled in her throat, blocking the words inside.

Leonard’s hand grounds her, warm and steady, his thumb brushing back and forth on her shoulder.

“I just wanted you to know that-I miss you. And I’m sorry. And-I love you. Please, call me.” She presses ‘end call’, dropping her phone back to her lap, and burying her face in her hands.

“Hey,” Leonard murmurs, stepping around her, catching her hands with his own. “You did great.”

She raises her head, eyes locking with his. He’s so earnest, free of any of his usual sarcasm, and she can’t help but smile in return.

“You really think so?”

He nods, squeezing her hands.

“I know so.”

They fall silent, and for the first time, she notices how close they are. He’s right in front of her, hands still clasping hers, and she can feel his breath on her face.

His eyes widen suddenly, and he lets go, clearing his throat.

“If you argue with me, I might have to fire you,” he adds, eyes sparkling.

The moment passes, and she smiles, wiping her eyes. He hesitates, before telling her, “Lisa can work a little longer. Whenever you’re ready.”

She nods, and he disappears through the doorway.

Her hand goes to her shoulder almost absently, tracing the spot he’d held minutes before.

***

“What are your thoughts on lasagna?”

Sara blinks, fingers stilling on the ties of her apron.

It’s the end of the day, almost a week since their moment in the office, and he’s mostly been avoiding her since then.

Still, she considers his question, turning to face him.

“Depends on who’s making it.”

His hands are resting in his pockets, looking utterly relaxed, but she knows him better now. His shoulders are tense, and there’s something in the set of his jaw that worries her.

“My father. Well,” he corrects himself, “adoptive, but thee only one who counts.” Apparently, her confusion shows on her face, because he continues. “He’s making dinner for the whole family, and… He was hoping you’d join us. Lisa will be there, of course, and Mick always comes…”

He’s nervous, she realizes, a grin spreading across her lips. Adorably so, if the uncharacteristic rambling is anything to go by.

It should feel like too much, being invited to her boss’s family dinner, (especially with the memory of his lips inches from hers still fresh in her mind,) but somehow, her answer comes easily.

“I’ll be there. Just tell me when and where.”

His whole face lights up as he grins back at her, before schooling his expression into something a bit calmer.

“Of course.” He grabs a notepad from his desk, scribbling down the details, and hands the note to her.

“See you then,” he announces, and she realizes he’s about to leave. She doesn’t even consider her next words before they fly from her lips.

“Can you give me a hand with this?” She gestures to the apron, and he blinks, tilting his head to the side uncertainly. “Lisa tied it for me, and I can’t seem to get it free.”

He chuckles a bit at that, relaxing. “Of course.” He gestures for her to turn, and she does, steadying herself when she senses him stepping forward.

She can’t feel his touch, of course-can’t feel much of anything besides the light pressure on her stomach, as he pulls the apron closer to himself-but she’s all too aware of his warmth.

Finally, he steps back, and the apron falls in her hands.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, and he nods.

“See you tonight,” he answers, just as softly.

“See you tonight.”

***

She likes his family, she decides.

It’s larger than she expects, but each and every one of them greet her like they’ve known her forever.

His adoptive sister, Iris, actually flings her arms around her as soon as she sees her.

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so glad you could make it.” She appoints herself Sara’s hostess, grabbing her by the arm and introducing her to her brother, Wally, her father, Joe, and “Leonard’s brother, Barry.” Sara’s a bit confused by that, but lets it slide, in favor of debating which seat she should take.

She ends up seated by Leonard, of course, but somehow, it isn’t the least bit uncomfortable.

At least, through most of the meal. As they start to munch on dessert, (chocolate cake that positively melts on Sara’s tongue,) Iris clears her throat.

“Seriously, Sara, I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah,” Wally jokes. “The way Len talks about you, I was starting to think he was making you up.”

The chatter of the room falls silent, and Sara’s uncomfortably aware of the fact that all eyes are now on her and Leonard, but all she can focus on are the words.

The way Len talks about you…

“Wally,” Iris hisses, and Wally has the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry! I didn’t realize she didn’t know-“

“Wally!”

“Know what?” It takes her a moment to recognize her own voice, shaky and thin.

It’s ridiculous, really, especially after everything lately, but somehow, she’s still blindsided.

He talks to his family about me.

Not just in passing, but enough for them to meet me with hugs, like they already know me.

And ‘the way he talks’ about me?

Wally hesitates, clearly regretting the hole he’s dug himself-and Leonard-into, but after a moment, sighs.

“Know that he’s absolutely crazy about you.”

Leonard’s fork hits his plate with a clank, and Sara spares him a glance, even though she thinks she may pass out any second.

Crazy about me?

She can’t remember the last time anyone was crazy about her. With Oliver, she knows, she was just a tool. A way to sabotage his relationship with Laurel without actually dumping her.

Honestly, she can’t even imagine what his family is suggesting, but his jaw is tense, and he’s studying his plate, avoiding her eyes.

“I think-I think I need to go home.” Her voice sounds hollow to her own ears, and it scratches at her mind that Leonard brought her here.

“I’ll drive you,” Lisa offers, and she nods gratefully.

She needs…. Lots of things.

Time.

Space.

For all of this to make sense.

She isn’t the girl people go crazy about.

She’s the one they settle for.

She’s the one who stole her sister’s boyfriend and broke up her family.

She’s the one his eyes follow all the way out his door.

***

Somehow, work stays almost normal. Neither Lisa nor Mick bring up the disastrous dinner, though she can feel their eyes on her, wanting to say something. (Mostly Lisa’s. Mick’s not big on feelings talks, and Sara absently marvels at the fact that he has the most stable relationship of all of them; he and his girlfriend, Amaya, have been together for over a year, and Lisa’s mentioned that he’s started looking at rings.)

Leonard doesn’t approach her, but he isn’t exactly avoiding her, either.

He’s lingering to the sides, waiting for her to deal with this on her own terms.

She knows he won’t push, but she almost wishes he would, because she doesn’t know what it’ll take for her to process this, but she knows if he kissed her, she wouldn’t stop him.

Still, he stays back, and she continues to wait for an unknown answer.

***

It comes in a most unexpected form: Laurel Lance, settled into one of the faded booths, when Sara starts her shift.

Her breath catches in her throat, tears already threatening to fall.

Laurel never returned her call, or sent as much as a text, and for a moment, Sara considers running back and begging Lisa to take this one.

However, Lisa has a date, and Sara’s tired of running away.

She takes a deep breath, and makes her way to her sister.

Laurel’s face is buried in the menu, and she’s oblivious to Sara’s presence, so Sara clears her throat.

“Welcome to Lenny’s Burgers! May I take your order?” Her voice doesn’t even crack, she notes, pride welling in her.

Laurel lifts her head, and for several seconds, Sara would swear her heart doesn’t beat. Then, she nearly jumps to her feet, and Sara is engulfed in a warm, solid hug.

“Sara,” Laurel… Sobs. There’s no other word for it. Sara gives into her own tears, burying her face in Laurel’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I never should have gone with him. I never should have-“

“Shhh, shhh, shh, hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“No!” She insists. “It’s not! I-“

“I know. I know.”

The two cling to each other, Laurel stroking Sara’s hair, like she would when they were children, and Sara had a nightmare.

This feels sort of like that, like she just woke up from a bad dream, and reality seems too good to be real.

“Don’t you hate me?” She breathes, and Laurel stills, pulling back slightly. (Sara has to fight a bit of panic at the action.)

“Of course not! You’re my sister, and I love you.”

And oh.

Oh.

Now she knows what she’s been waiting for.

“Of course, I’m still mad,” Laurel adds, unaware of her sister’s revelation, “but I forgive you. I don’t want to lose you, Sara. Especially not over Oliver Queen. He isn’t worth that.”

“He isn’t,” Sara agrees, a grin spreading across her lips without her consent. She surges forward, catching Laurel in another crushing hug her sister returns.

Finally, she pulls back, gesturing for Laurel to sit.

“So, tell me, what have you been up to? How’s dad? Why are you in Central City? How did you find this pace?”

Laurel laughs, slipping back into the booth, shaking her head.

“Slow down! Okay, first off, dad’s great. He wasn’t doing well in Starling-“ a tug of guilt settles squarely in Sara’s stomach, but Laurel plows on- “So he’s getting a job on the force here in Central. That’s what we’re doing here. He’s going to be working with a… Detective West, I think?”

A laugh bubbles up from Sara’s lips, a bit hysterical, but she doesn’t care.

Of course.

Of course, out of all of the people her dad could have been assigned to work with, it would be Leonard’s father.

 “Wait, so, he’s moving to Central? What about you?”

Laurel grins, grabbing her arms from across the table.

“We’re moving here, Sara. We’re moving in with you and move. If you’re both okay with that,” she adds, a touch uncertainly. “Dad’s talking to Mom right now, and she said I could probably find you here, and-“

Sara doesn’t squeal, but it’s a close thing, as she stands, tugging Laurel to her feet.

“There’s some people I want you to meet,” she insists, nearly dragging her back to the kitchen.

Laurel follows, confusion etched across her face.

Everyone’s in the kitchen. Lisa and Leonard are talking in low tones, as Mick puts something in the fryer. All eyes turn to her, curiosity flickering at the figure behind her.

She knows she should explain, knows she should introduce them and make some pleasantries, but Leonard is staring at her like-like he always does, she realizes, but she’s ready now, and she can’t-she doesn’t want to wait.

Eyes firmly fixed on his, she takes one step forward, then another. He’s leaning back against the wall, but now he rises to his full height, head tilting to the side cautiously.

“What are you doing?” he asks softly, a bit uncertainly. Instead of answering, she grabs his collar, pulling him down to her. Her lips press against his, and for a moment, he goes absolutely still.

Then, she tilts her head to the side, and his arms come around her, one hand sinking into her hair, as the other settles at her waist. His lips are moving almost frantically against hers, as if he expects her to vanish any moment.

“Apparently, I’ve missed a lot,” Laurel quips, and Sara’s face flushes, pulling back slightly. Leonard grins down at her, hope shining in his eyes, and she’s sure she looks the same way.

“Leonard, Lisa, Mick, this is my sister, Laurel. Laurel… This is the rest of my family.”

***

Hopefully you enjoyed!

[terryquinnblog]

In Time of Plague: Part II

A Voice from the Epicenter

Please don’t lie to me, you whom I’ve known for so long. Not in days as fraught as these. Please don’t say you haven’t been wakening lately – for me it’s been around 3:30 am – in the middle of an otherwise passable night of sleep to consider the particulars of own your possible death by Coronavirus. If, as I do, you live in New York State, the most heavily afflicted of our 50 ... and in New York City, the hottest part of that state ... and in Brooklyn, the county experiencing the highest incidence of Covid-19, and yet are untroubled, then you’re living the unexamined life.

When your Mayor announces that 50 percent of your fellow residents are expected to become infected, how can you not have the feeling that you’re walking around like a bright-white-blood red target, whether you’re self-quarantining, social distancing, sheltering in place or not? And when your President keeps warning of the wave of suicides to come, should we sacrifice a bustling economy for a natural number of pandemic deaths – and again, you’re living in the town where freshly impoverished tycoons are most likely to fling themselves from penthouse terraces and the upper floors of gilded office buildings – doesn’t it behoove you to put your moral files in order and pay heed to what are called ‘last things’?

I’m just a boy from Queens. But like St. Augustine and other certified luminaries, I feel prompted here to go the apologia pro sua route and confess certain failings, before the deluge peaks. My issues: TV, chocolates and cellphones. Call them trifling if you will, but these are the matters that have, for some time now, set me at odds with all too many family members, friends and acquaintances.

To those of you who urged me in vain to buy a goddamn television set and watch The Sopranos, Max Headroom, Friends, The Simpsons, Seinfeld, Gary Sandling, The Wire, Curb Your Enthusiasm and so many other classics of this Second Golden Age of the medium, not to mention the small-screen wonders on offer today, I’m sorry. And to all of you who, at restaurant dinner after restaurant dinner, asked me (often with an understandable note of petulance), why I wouldn’t take at least a nibble of the chocolate cake, chocolate pudding, chocolate souflé, chocolate petit four you were generous enough to want to share, I’m so sorry. And above all, to the scores of you who have berated me in vain for walking through life cellphone-free, and impressed on me the observation that my not packing one risks not just inconvenience (missed meetings) but physical danger (ambulance calls in emergencies), I’m so very sorry. I know I’ve let down people close to me. And worse, I know that, even if I make it through the madness going on, I don’t expect I’ll have the fortitude to make amends.

There’s a reason, however, if not an excuse – I’m an addictive personality. It’s as simple as that. The last TV shows I watched, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman and The Honeymooners (original and reruns), became obsessions. I would regularly stay tuned so far into the early morning hours that three of my jobs back in that era – as a Legislative Assistant to two Congressmen and then as a White House Aide – nearly became compromised. I chose to go cold turkey and have never turned back.

As for chocolate, I crammed myself with it from ages 6 through 11, until an onslaught of acne, weight gain and cavities made me swear off the stuff forever. I won’t even let myself sniff chocolate now, for fear of descending upon the cake, cookie, candy bar, soufflé, fondue or Valentine’s Day gift box and devouring whatever I find there.

And God Almighty, do I know myself well enough to eschew all the Sprint and Verizon stores in my neighborhood. I’ve seen my wife Jane’s SmartPhone and sensed at once its frightful power. Were I ever to own one it would be my Fentanyl, and I’d never write another word, sing another song, draw another portrait, cook another dish. Within a week I’d be a lost man.

There, I feel shriven. Accuse me of being troglodytic, willfully contrarian, annoyingly pseudo-virtuous for denying myself these three ubiquitous pleasures – I’m used to it. But I know the addictions I can handle and I know the ones I can’t. I know too that if I should succumb in this time of Plague, I’ll go down clear-headed, clear-complected and blissfully unconnected.

[atypical60]

I know. I’m late to the party.  But the sad truth is, I’ve been sick since Sunday evening with the worst stomach bug of all time. Ugh.  I only got to watch some of the Grammy’s because I was in the bathroom most of the night.

The only thing getting cuddled in Chateau Bonaparte was my stomach and the ceramic throne in the bathroom!

Honestly, it felt so good to kneel on the tiled floor and hug the cold ceramic of my toilet bowl when I wasn’t sitting on it. That outta give you an idea of how I spent the past couple of days!

Anyway, I just got back from the doctor. Bonaparte literally forced me to go. I think it was because he was tired of hearing me moan “Ohhhhhh. My stomach. I hope this isn’t serious!”

I mean that literally and figuratively!

Honest to God. The thought of eating is making me more ill thank I am, but the good doctor gave me a prescription to ward off the nausea so that I could keep something in my gut.  And the only food item I want right now is Campbell’s Chicken Noodle Soup.  It’s been my “sick” comfort food since I was a child.

I’m eating this as I write..

I’m getting off track here.

This is about Grammy. And not my Grammy.

My real-life Grammy. In her wedding dress. Beyonce could have worn my grandmother’s wedding headpiece and would have looked much better!

It’s about the Grammy Awards, which, in my opinion, could very well be the reason I was so sick!

Ugh. I believe that watching E!’s “On the Red Carpet” made me ill from the get go.  Kriss Jenner and that dumb butch hairdo of hers!  And that dress–it is absolutely awful! Why does Ryan Seacrest insist on having this doyenne of bad taste hosting a red carpet event?  Brad Goreski–I’m appalled that you would wear such a hideous jacket.  And Kristin Cavallari–one false move and your girls are going to escape big time!  

OK—so the music industry has a bit more creativity than, say the film or TV industries.  And I guess that’s why people who attend feel as though they have to dress a bit more eccentric or differently.

I get that. I really do.  But there is a fine line between dressing differently or more creatively and coming off as looking downright silly.  It’s about fit. It’s about what looks good or even great on you.

So, let’s just take a look at some of the fashions I happened to see when I wasn’t in the bathroom!

I had just exited the bathroom and Bonaparte was cleaning my glasses when Beyonce was doing her number.  I swear from far away I thought I was watching a Novena to the Blessed Mother.  I knelt down before the TV and started chanting “Oh Mary conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee”.  Then Bonaparte gave me my glasses and I realized Queen Bee just wanted to look like the old-school Christmas tree toppers we had when we were kids! Who wore it best?  Why the cute little pug on the right! And speaking of JLo…

…she needs to come up with a new signature pose. I’m sick and tired of that dopey “come hither” look her face makes in every single pose. And you may want to change it up from the Angelina Jolie pose.   I swear JLo will be a wrinkly 80 year old with lips that sag down to her chest and she’ll still pose with that dopey face!

Shoes notwithstanding, Heidi Klum gets my vote for best dressed. Had two inches been added to the hem, and had she worn silver pointy-toed stilettos with toe cleavage, this would be my favorite red carpet look of all time!  I love the simple cut of the dress and I LOVE the length of the sleeves.Her earrings and makeup!  She rocked it!

Laverne Cox almost got it right!  The dress is a weird length. It should have been shorter. Just at the knees. She has great legs! And the cut-out sides give the dress a very rocker type vibe while still maintaining fashionable taste!  Her eye makeup is great too!  I love Laverne!

I was born in 1955.  In the early to mid-1960’s we practically lived on these Funny Face drinks. That’s probably one of the reasons I lost most of my hair. Anyway, all I could think of when I saw Taraji P. Henson in that getup was Goofy Grape!  Henson is cute as a button and she could have gone with something a little edgy without looking ridiculous. The dress doesn’t even fit! The fabric looks sloppy. When will these celebrities ever learn?

Rihanna. RiRi.  You are one of the most beautiful women in the world. You can wear just about anything. So then, can you explain just why you put on something that wore YOU?  I’ll admit, the black and orange put me in a very sentimental mood for those wax whistles that we used to get at Halloweeen time!  That skirt looks like the umbrella you sang about!

I actually loved the simple and streamlined cut of the suit that Chance the Rapper wore. But–did your mother ever tell you it was not proper to wear a hat indoors? Well, I’m telling you now. Get rid of the hat when you are inside a building!!!

I have no idea who this young woman is. But she has my vote as one of the Grammy Best Dressed!  Her gown is fresh and youthful and the color is gorgeous on her. In fact, if she was cross-eyed, she would remind me of a young ME! I can’t get enough of this dress! The dropped waist is so flattering! And she’s a bit modest on top without looking fundie!  Most of the celebrities at the Grammy’s could take a lesson from her!  Absolutely perfect!

Why did Beyonce and Jay Z take their daughter to the Grammy Awards!  I KNOW! I KNOW!  They didn’t want Solange to be their plus-one at the after parties so by bringing Blue Ivy, they had a great excuse for Solange to babysit! Poor Blue Ivy!   Mommy and Daddy should have dressed you in a blue suit..that pink looks like Pepto Bismol! Props to Mr. Carter for the way he looks so lovingly at his daughter!  It’s so sweet!

…speaking of Solange…she looked like….

The Golden Ticket from Willie Wonka!

Carrie Underwood needs a new stylist.  NOW!  It was bad enough she looked like chewed up bubble gum at the Golden Globes, but now she has a dress that not only looks like a newly used tampon, it is an old lady bar mitzvah dress. I don’t even think Joan Rivers would have worn it…

This is red done right! Faith Hill nailed another “Best Dressed”. It is a beautiful shade of red. The lines are simple and even with the little cut out, it was discreet. And the shoes! Oh God–I can’t even!  I WANT those shoes!  Well done Ms. Hill!

She may be “zuh gret-ess singuhr” but Ms. Dion is far from the greatest dresser. She’s only 48. She’s young. She looks older than me–and I’m old! She needs to wear her hair down and layered to soften her angular structure. The dress. It’s too low-cut for a flat-chested woman. What is WITH these low cut dresses anyway? And while I’m at it–what’s with the ankle strap shoes. Faith Hill is the only one to rock those ankle straps..Celine Dion looks more like a…

…glittery St. Patrick’s Day hat!  Save that shade o’ green for March 17th!

I love Adele.  And this pea-soup green frock did nothing to enhance her beautiful curves.  That waistband makes her titties look supersized and saggy. She needs a princess cut.  Slightly fitted.  She needs boning in the chest area to hold those ta-ta’s up.  The dress is too long–it looks sloppy.  Adele was meant for black dresses.  She needs a simple dress because that voice of her’s is what draws attention!  I”m glad she swept the Grammys!

 Chrissy Teigen.  No. This isn’t working. SHE is someone who needs to show a bit more skin! But not the way this dress shows it.  She looks like an extra from a vampire movie! I’m kind of surprised because she usually gets it right. Her makeup looks horrible too. What happened Chrissy?  You better look more like your fashionable self at the Oscars!

I’m guessing Cee Lo was channeling his inner Pussy Galore from Goldfinger. And this one in the middle. Wearing 45’s slogan? WTF?  THAT was what really made me sick.  Who is this Girl Crush on the far right?  That dress!  How the hell did she sit down or go to the bathroom?  Well, I can honestly say she has more balls than Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan!

What’s with the unbottoned shirt? What’s with the ill-fitting pj bottoms?  What’s with the awful sleeves?  I think this one was trying to channel her inner…

…..Sick Pense look!  Same color of blue. Same lousy fit!

I need to say something about this Tom Ford dress that Katy Perry wore. I KNOW this dress did not get a lot of love.  However, if you want to be edgy and different without looking clownish, THIS is the way to do it.  Naturally, I have a bit of commentary on this dress. *Sigh* sometimes I wish gay designers would be more in touch with their feminine sides. Why?  I’ll show you…

Katy Perry has the best set of Ta-ta’s on earth. In fact, if I ever hit it big in the lottery, I’m taking a photo of her in a low-cut dress to a plastic surgeon. I’m going to tell him that I want HER ta-tas!  They are spectacular and they are real!  Anyway, back to the dress. I would give her a ballet scooped neckline so that her cleavage would be a focal point.  Then I would cut the sleeves to a long short sleeve. Tom–are you listening?  Thank you! Might I also add, Katy Perry ALWAYS has THE best made-up face!  Her makeup is never less than perfect!

This is NOT good cleavage.  At all.  Lady Gaga looks like she wore the wrong sized bra and reached up to a top shelf to grab something. Girls–hasn’t that happened to you?  You know. You reach for something and your bra rides up in the front? Even for Lady Gaga who can basically get away with anything outrageous, the bottom tit look is just ugly!

Katy Perry sure knows how to show bosom!  They are the envy of us all!  Even though this suit DID remind me of piano keys!

That’s about it.  I ended up falling asleep because I was so violently ill.  I couldn’t even make it out of bed yesterday to write this so I know I’m getting much better!

Did you watch the Grammy Awards? Did you have a favorite look? Did you have a look that you thought was just awful.  Tell me!!

And…. HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!!

One of my favorite songs about love. John Mayer with Katy Perry “Who You Love”.  (I hope they get back together!!!)

Atypical60 Takes a Look at Grammy Fashions! I know. I’m late to the party.  But the sad truth is, I’ve been sick since Sunday evening with…

[honestsycrets]

Jin-Woo

❛ pairing | ivar x reader, anxious oc: jin woo x doom and despair

❛ word count | 1403

❛ genre | one shot, mostly funnies

❛ summary | ivar’s secretary jin woo is concerned ivar isn’t getting his fuck buddy anything special, so, he takes on the task

❛  warnings | ivar in shit, jin woo in shit, everyone in shit

“Should I get something for (Y/N) today?”

Everyone had been asking him that. Not a big deal for others, maybe, but you weren’t his wife. You weren’t even his girlfriend! Just a piece of ass-- no, a fuck buddy. Was that the right term? Ivar straightens out his silky tie, debating just exactly what his fuck buddy said. He glances back to his secretary as he walks in.

“Why would I, Jin-Woo?” Ivar glaces up from the tablet he was working on. Jin shuffles in his place, looking down to the calendar of Ivar’s schedule. It was bound to be a busy day for him with a schedule filled up until six at the very least.

“It’s Valentine’s day, chairman.” Jin says.

“So?”

“She might be expecting something?” He asks. “It is Valentines day.”

“She is not my wife.” Ivar rolls his eyes as he walks away from his desk out toward the double doors. They spread apart with a whirl. “Just get her some roses.”

“But-- but she’s allergic to roses.” Jin-Woo follows him. Ivar motions to his well tailored grey suit fixing a notch in Ivar’s black tie. It sits just underneath his grey vest and atop of a white button up, tailored nicely to his body.

“Then chocolate.”

“But-- shouldn’t it be more intimate?” He asks.

“I buy her purses and dresses all the time.” Ivar says. Despite the fact that it was Jin-Woo who did most of the shopping on Ivar’s part.

“If you want to get her something, knock yourself out. Get your wife something pretty while you’re at it.” Ivar steps into the elevator, shoving Jin-Woo back out of it. “I have more important things to do than to worry about her.”

“Aish.” He hisses. “What do I get?”

This was more stressful than getting his own wife something. Which, shit! He hadn’t done that either. He grabs his bag and whizzes out the door. The first place that he had on his mind was a higher end shop.

He was only in for minutes when he caught sight of you bobbing around the corner. Stupidly he dropped under one of the tables, hand in his short black hair swept over his eye. His tie hung between his black slacks, almost touching the pale white tiles of the floor. A pair of black high heels stops in front of the table behind them-- and he knows those cute black pedicured toes to be yours.

“Jin-Woo?”

“Damn it...” He curses under his breath, slipping out from under the table and standing at his full height. He clears his throat and adjusts his tie, jamming his hand into his pocket.

“Miss (L/N).” He says nervously, running his wet tongue over cracked lips. He searches for the right excuse as her hands come to intertwine over her chest. The man beside her slides his hand into his pocket but otherwise says nothing.

“What are you going here?” She asks.

“Um, I.” He stutters. “I came to get my wife something.”

“Did you?” She says. “They aren’t out of your pay grade?”

Owch. He winces at that one, trying his best to just smile. He knows that normally that would have been true but-- he had a great boss. As a hard worker himself, he was afforded things that other people wouldn’t have gotten. He knows you could hardly care about what Ivar allowed him to get. Jin-Woo was a small little fish in comparison to the big one, Ivar. He lets a heavy breath loose choosing to take the path of honesty.

“I came to find you something.” He admits.

“Oh, are you?” She runs her hands through her hair. “What are you getting me this year?”

“This year?” He stutters. “You know?”

“Of courses I know. I know what he likes-- and more than half the time it’s not the puffy cute things you buy.”

More than half the time it would be cute little baby dolls, panties and bras that were puffy and light. Sure, certainly that could be Ivar’s taste, but more mature. Jin-Woo loved gentle princessy pink things for his wife.

“Sorry.” He bends his head.

Ivar was going to kill him. Forget his job-- when he found out about this, he was in trouble. After a brief few seconds, you ran your cherry red nails up and down his black suit jacket. He swallows after a good few minutes and looks to the nearby table where a pink baby doll with red hearts sits.

“Uh…” He stutters. “This one?”

“It’s pretty girly, isn’t it?” You say, placing it back on his arm. “But I do suppose that’s your taste for your wife.”

“You’re not angry?” Jin-Woo says furthermore.

“Oh of course I am. Just not with you.” You tap his nose with your finger and then move to another area. “Now this one is more my taste!”

Oh god, he’s going to be fired.

“I knew it would fall through!” Ivar laughs in his chair, swiveling it around to look at the night lights surrounding the bright lights that lit up several different buildings. “Yes-- yes, I’ll make it on the nearest flight.”

His phone vibrates along the call. He pulls his phone away from his ear enough to look at the notification.

Jin-Woo I’m sorry!

It doesn’t occur to him until he looks up to the reflection of the window. Behind him the doors gave a soft whizz. Between them, he definitely recognizes that it isn’t his dopey little secretary who walked in.

“...I’m going to have to call you back, Josue.” He turns off the phone and whizzes around in his chair. His eyebrow perks up as your heels click closer and closer. The coat you wear is pulled tight, knotted into a little bow. Not a sight of a dress is underneath-- and curiously Ivar looks toward your soft legs.

“Hm.” He tosses his phone on his desk. “What are you doing, (Y/N)?”

You beeline straight toward him, fiddling with the knot on your waist. Ivar turns his head deliberately slowly, watching the coat fall from your body. The cherry satin, strappy two piece with scalloped lace tickles him just the right way. You reach out to fist his tie around your closed fist, holding him so tightly that you can feel the knot along his throat. You straddle his hips, drawing him in against your lips.

“You know I like you, don’t you, Ivar?”

He leans forward, stealing a small kiss from your lips. It was evident that he must have too.

“Mhm, that is why I bought you that, (Y/N).” He runs his fingers over the delicate red scalloped lace, falling to your ass. He grabs a handful, dropping his head back because fuck if he’s not going to have a good night.

“Oh you like it?” You ask.

“Of course I do. Your ass in that…”

“Thank you.” You smile. “Jin Woo got it for me.”

What. He leans back, a small drop in his lips when it all comes together. His tongue courses along the side of his lip, struggling to come up with an answer. Usually he was more composed, always with an excuse.

“I might have been too busy today.” He answers. You lift your hand up into his hair to grip his short strands of hair. It was, after all, a special day. You don’t know what you were expecting… but it hadn’t been that.

“I shouldn’t have expected more.” You lean in, laying a kiss upon his lips. “It does look nice on me, doesn’t it?”

“You aren’t angry?”

“It’s not like you’re my boyfriend, right? You’ve done nothing to deserve it.”

The words are dry. He leans back in his chair and fights with the right words to agree that-- yeah, he isn’t a boyfriend. He shouldn’t feel obligated to do shit! At the same time even as a fuckbuddy… those words sound like he’s not deserving of being more to you. Ivar turns down his blue eyes, nostrils flaring.

“Let’s go to your house.” You wink and dismount his lap and offer him your hand. You caught the cute little pout in his lip. If you didn’t know betterr, you would have thought that your words set him alight. “We have to ‘christen’ the lingerie.”

The last message to Jin Woo that night was trouble.

Ivar Ragnarsson I’m going to kill you.

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