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petitemingi · 4 years

Text

─ ੈ༊ your customer is: yunho

vanilla bean latte

The smell of the double chocolate chip cookies you'd just pulled out of the oven wafted through the kitchen of Sunrise Cafe.

The customers in the seated areas, spoke softly to one another: some laughing, most sipping away at their evening macchiatos and lattes

All seemed peaceful...

until seonghwa came storming into the kitchen

"___" his voice sounded stern and looking at him, he seemed annoyed, and almost offended

"what is it, hwa? frappe machine broken again?"

"no. remember that construction up the road?"

ah, now would be a great time to explain this.

over the past few weeks, construction had started but a few buildings away

there had been plenty of rumours speculating what it could be; a restaurant, a charity shop, maybe a take away joint

but judging from Seonghwa's expression, it wasn't any of those

"it's another god damn cafe! I can't believe someone would authorise that! is our sign not big enough??"

"oh my god, we could lose customers! When's it opening??"

you'd throw off your apron, leaving it in a heap on the floor of the kitchen, rushing towards the entrance door

and there it was, just down the road, a newly build building, no smaller than Sunrise Cafe, stood gleaming in the summer sunset.

"you've got to be kidding me"

soon caught up by Seonghwa, the two of you stand glaring at the building - it was much more modern than your cafe

the windows seemed larger, there was even a second floor!

"we're gonna be bankrupt by Christmas"

"nah, not Christma, hwa..."

the two of you look at each other

"Halloween"

a sign was hung pristine over the front of the cafe, it read "Crescent Cafe" in a swirly font with colourful lights outlining the words

Seonghwa slouched his shoulders - the thought of it even taking his customers drained the energy from him

"well," you begin "who says this cafe won't be absolute crap? maybe they'll drive away more customers than they gain?"

"y'know if we lose customers, the cost for our cafe comes outta your wages?"

"we need to investigate... when did you say it opens?"

"monday"

"oh"

the both of you trail back to Sunrise, your shoulders slouched, head bowed and spirits low

being the only cafe in the area had made really good business; you'd had so many fun and unique customers, and everyone loved the atmosphere your cafe had

during the day, the cafe was at it busiest, so income was at it's highest, and produce was sold out quickest

having a rival cafe would take a lot of that away

pastries would go to waste, not to mention all the coffee that'd be left over

after Seonghwa had told the rest of the staff about the new cafe, everyone seemed to look a li'l depressed

you all worked hard to build up such a nice li'l cafe, and a great team - what if the new cafe tried to hire them??

what if the customers gave up on Sunrise Cafe?

what if everyone's thoughts on Sunrise were changed? buisness could plummet!

that's when the little bell over the door jingled quietly

the muttering exchanged between staff came to a stop as you walked towards the till

"hi there, welcome to sunrise cafe, what can I get you?"

looking up at the customer came as a shock to you, he was so tall!

his hair was a golden brown, covering the top of his eyes slightly

he wore a trench coat of a lighter colour with the colar popped slightly to keep himself warm, and his eyes seemed to match

"um... actually... I'm from the cafe over there, uh, Crescent Cafe... i-"

"then do us all a favour and get out-" Seonghwa hung his apron on his peg, folding his arms and walking into the staff room behind the counter

he still wasn't too happy about that cafe - it'd shaken him quite a bit

"s-sorry about him, he's just a little, how should I put this? upset? about y'know"

"me opening a cafe right next to yours? ah jeez, I'm sorry"

the Crescent Cafe owener folded his arms, an apologetic smile creeping onto his face

"if it's okay though, do you have any sugar I might be able to borrow for Monday? I don't know where to get a bag"

"oh, sure, I guess just don't tell Seonghwa - he'll throw a fit"

"I'm guessing that's the guy who just left?"

the owner laughed, shaking his head "but while I'm here, would it be okay if I got a vanilla bean latte? I... haven't actually tried one before"

"oh? well lemme tell you you're missing out" you'd reach behind you, grabbing a large mug, walking over to the latte machine.

it wouldn't take too long to make, just a few minutes

but in that time, the customer would've already sat down at a table, admiring the decorations of the cafe around him, probably mentally noting things down to use in his own cafe

placing the mug in front of him, the customer invited you to sit with him

"I actually have a few questions, y'know, about running a cafe of my own... i just figured that Seonghwa guy wouldn't wanna talk to me about it"

"sure, that's okay, I can answer a few questions for you... so long as they aren't about hiring me or the rest of my team"

he laughed, picking up the mug and taking a sip, a warm hum sounding out as he did so

"my name's Yunho, by the way" he seemed quite shy introducing himself, looking to his left towards the counter and taking another sip of his latte

you'd nod, smiling to yourself at his timidness

"well, if we're doing that, my name's _____"

yunho looked surprised when you announced your name, probably because he hadn't expected you to reply - after all, everyone else behind the counter seemed pretty sour towards him.

the two of you spoke for a few minutes about the misunderstanding of yunho's new cafe being right next to yours, different coffee recipes and menus

before long, 10pm came, and the atmosphere from earlier died down.

Yunho had made a list on his phone, compiled of useful tips and some pretty cool coffee recipies- all things he couldn't wait to try himself.

but with the time, Yunho found himself needing to leave.

"hey, ____" he'd start "w-would it be a problem if I asked you to help me out on Monday? j-just for an hour or two in the morning!"

you'd look behind you at Seonghwa, who had (and for quite a while now) been glaring at Yunho over the till.

facing Yunho again though, came the real challenge

"are you gonna pay me?"

"y-yeah, I can pay you"

he shrugged his shoulders slightly

"it's just that I haven't been able to hire anyone yet..."

you frowned at him, a scowl forming from the unsure smile you'd shown but seconds before

"you haven't hired staff yet? and you're opening doors in two days?"

"o-oh yeah I wasn't really-"

"what kind of crap is that?"

"____" Seonghwa's voice called from behind you, almost cold eyes meeting your own. he seemed to have emerged from the staff room "come here"

with that scowl now morphing into a frown, you'd make your way over to him, arms crossed and head looking at the floor in disgust

"hwa, he doesn't-"

"help him"

"w-what?"

"help him" Seonghwa shrugged his shoulders, a slight smile creeping onto his face

you'd turn back to Yunho, watching him sip his coffee as he tried to avoid any direct eye contact.

"f i n e" you'd say "but I'm getting paid extra next week"

"or you could get on with it and you can leave an hour early on Tuesday?"

Monday came, and your shift began at 10am, by which time a small line of curious people had formed.

walking inside you were greeted by Yunho, taken a back by the modern decoration of the cafe

the walls were brick, no wallpaper or paint hiding them away

and there was a huge mirror hung on the wall besides the counter

the aprons here were blue, not a warm maroon like the one you wore over at Sunrise, but the menu boards were pretty much the same

an array of drinks were displayed there; iced lattes, cappuccinos, hot chocolates, mochas

but the one that stood out was written in bright blue chalk

'today's special: Sunrise Vanilla Bean Latte'

that made you smile a little

"so, what do you want me to do?"

Yunho put his hand to his chin in thought, tapping lightly before mumbling something

"huh?"

"oh uh I... just do what you do over at Sunrise--"

for the rest of your 4 hour shift at Crescent Cafe that day, you helped plenty!

iced lattes and cappuccinos were the first to sell out, and the sitting areas were filled within 15 minutes

Crescent Cafe had become quite popular, as it would seem

Yunho could see the look of sadness creep onto your face

Sunrise had never been like this

you'd never sold out, or been filled up as dramatically as this

Seonghwa was right, sunrise would most likely go bankrupt by Christmas.

who'd want to go to your cafe when one like this existed

"hey, ____" Yunho called out to you from the other side of the counter "come here"

but seeing you refuse and continuing to serve customers at the till, he walked over himself, standing beside you

"___, I think I should talk to your Seonghwa about something"

"about what?"

"just... something"

so Yunho took off his apron, folded it neatly and placed it on a shelf under the counter and walked down the street to Sunrise Cafe

going inside, everything seemed unusually empty

whereas before, it would've been bustling with customers

Yunho was met with that familiarly cold stare, greeted with an equally icy tone

"you're back" Seonghwa stood at the counter, arms folded across his chest, eyebrows formed to scowl

"y-yeah, listen" Yunho began, his courage now a memory "i wanted to talk to you about the cafe"

"the cafe?" Seonghwa repeated "what about my cafe?"

"not your cafe, my cafe" Yunho mumbled just loud enough for Seonghwa to hear

"go on then"

the two of them sat at an empty table by the counter, with Yunho crossing his legs nervously

"so?"

"i want to make an agreement" Yunho said "I want to make an agreement about opening times"

"why?"

"so that you get your customers and I get mine" Yunho continued "what do you say to me opening over the weekend aaaaand Mondays?"

a patial silence flooded the room, only the occasional clink of mugs from behind the counter could be heard

Seonghwa looked to his right in thought, would this really be any help to either of their cafes? what'd happen in say a few years time, when neither of their cafes drew in customers? would it still be okay then?

a sigh escaped his lips

"Yunho," he'd begin "if it werent for your cafe, I'd have let you work here with us, ___ could use the help but..."

he folded his arms again, head shaking slightly

"but you seem to be kinda happy with your own cafe. you shouldn't let something like another cafe down the road get in the way of your own achievements. you don't have to make an agreement, just do what you want"

a small smile lifted the corners of Seonghwa's lips as he stood up, placing a hand on yunho's shoulder

"i'll let you decide, Yunho"

closing time over at Crescent Cafe couldn't have come sooner - your arms hurt, your feet felt numb and you had pins and needles in your left leg

yunho leaned against the wall just behind the counter, quietly observing you as you waved goodbye to the last few customers to leave before letting out a light chuckle at your pained state

"tired, ___?"

"i swear to god i'd better be getting double what i get at Sunrise, that was brutal! you seriously need more staff"

yunho smiled softly. you took off your apron and hung it on a peg on the wall by yunho, before letting out a large sigh and pushing your hair back out of your face

"i spoke to seonghwa"

your ears pricked up at the mention of seonghwa - you hadn't really seen him since saturday

"yeah?"

"and i've come to the decision that i'll open monday, thursday and on weekends - i think it's only fair considering how your cafe was here before mine and it's apparently the best cafe in the area sooo"

yunho's hand hovered over the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping his lips at what he had to say

you were more than happy to hear that - no shade on Crescent Cafe of course - but the feeling of guilt still lingered

"well..." you began "i guess i'll head back to start what's left if my shift over there... lemme know if you need anything"

and within minutes you'd grabbed your coat and had headed inside Sunrise cafe to continue your shift, noticeably happier there.

"___! just dropping in cuz i ran outta sugar again... have any i could borrow?"

"god, order your own sugar! this is the third time this month - it's under the counter"

business at both cafes continued to blossom

Crescent Cafe's hours suited the staff, and it worked flexibly around the booming popularity of Sunrise Cafe - closing at 10pm every night it was open.

"thanks, ___! see you later ~"

seonghwa and yunho seemed to be getting on better too

maybe it was just another one of those peculiar experiences passing by at Sunrise Cafe ~

#ateez #ateez soft hours #kpop #ateez atiny #kpop soft hours #atiny #kq entertainment #kq fellaz #ateez imagines #kpop aesthetic #ateez yunho #yunho soft hours #yunho scenarios #yunho imagines #ateez cafe!

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tothemeadow · 3 years

Text

Commissioned by @hinokami-s

Kamado Tanjiro x OC

- The tension between Tanjiro and Hayami has always been too thick. However, at a rather eventful party, Tanjiro finds himself to have more luck than he thought. -

warnings: spicy, mentions of underage drinking

words: 4.9k

“Oi, oi, oi! Wake up Tanjiro!”

Smack!

“Ah!” Tanjiro yelps, shooting straight up in his chair. Glancing around frantically, he blinks owlishly at his surroundings, at the countless shelves of beaten-down books. An array of textbooks is sitting on the table before him, lone notebooks by their sides. Tanjiro groans as he peels the sheet of homework sticking to his face. Dammit, looks like he fell asleep while doing homework.

“Jeez, and I thought I was having problems with my math classes,” his “savior,” Sumiyuri Hayami, teases. She gives a twinkle of a laugh, her pretty eyes gleaming with mirth. “What gives, Tanjiro?” she continues, her voice turning serious but the smile never leaving her face. “You’re usually not one to fall asleep in school like this.”

“Tell me about it,” Tanjiro groans, rubbing the tiredness away from his eyes with his fists. “What time is it?”

With a hum, Hayami rolls up the sleeve of her sweater and checks the watch on her wrist. “Just after four o’clock. What, you think I wouldn’t you hiding away, taking a power nap?”

An ashamed warmth blooms in Tanjiro’s chest – he knows Hayami is only teasing, but he can’t shake away the familiar feeling of guilt. It’s such a heavy weight in his gut, tight like a knot and unwilling to come undone. He remembers her words from earlier, along with the messages in their text conversation.

Tanjiro, let’s hang out after school!!! Can we go shopping? I promise to buy anything you want!

It’s not that he didn’t forget to do meet up with Hayami or anything. No, he simply wanted to get a head start on his assignments, nestled away by the back window in the library. Things like this just happen.

“Don’t think too hard,” Hayami says, jabbing Tanjiro’s forehead with a manicured finger. “I can practically see the gears turning in your head. Keep that up and smoke’s going to start coming out of your ears.”

“I’m not Inosuke,” Tanjiro grumbles. Nevertheless, he shoves his school supplies into his backpack and draws himself to a stand, throwing his arms above his heads and stretching out his back. “I’m really sorry about falling asleep – honest!” he babbles as he slings his backpack on.

Hayami flashes Tanjiro a soft smile. She’s always looked pretty while smiling, petal lips encasing a neat row of pearly teeth. It’s at times like this where Tanjiro’s reminded that Hayami is regarded as one of the academy’s Three Beauties. He hesitates for just a moment, nearly struck into some fan-crazed silence as he ogles that gorgeous smile.

Reaching out a pale hand, Hayami clasps onto Tanjiro’s before turning around and guiding him towards the library exit. While it’s not the first time the two friends have held hands, it always amazes Tanjiro how graceful Hayami’s hands are, how lithe and delicate. Compared to the thick callouses on his from working in the family bakery for so long, he enjoys the stark difference in how soft her hands feel.

“W-wait!” Tanjiro exclaims. What is with him today, seriously? He’s hardly one to ever babble on like this! “Don’t you have archery practice today?”

“You worry too much!” Hayami throws over her shoulder. She doesn’t let Tanjiro go, opting to pick up speed until the two are running past the school’s gates, taking off into the surrounding neighborhood and to who knows where.

A multitude of colors swirls around Tanjiro’s head as he rushes past houses and maple and gingko trees alike. Hayami’s long ponytail swishes behind her with each pounding step, her messenger bag bouncing along with the movements. Now, Tanjiro’s long grown used to the pure energy that seems to seep from Hayami’s very pores, but he can’t but smile in return whenever she flashes him bubbly grins. If only they could stop so he could stand there and admire her smile for as long as he wants. He knows it’s a foolish wish, something incredibly silly, but he commits it to memory nevertheless.

Before long, the residential neighborhood melts into a street lined with markets and stores; cars slowly make their way down the street, most likely heading home from a long day of work. It’s only then that Hayami slows down, leaving herself and Tanjiro panting for a much-needed breath. Still, the two smile stupidly at each other, too overcome with the sheer blinding joy of being in each other’s company.

Again, it’s silly.

“I want to go clothes shopping,” Hayami suggests, smoothing down the front of her sweater. “I’m feeling… saucy.”

Tanjiro blinks at her, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Saucy…?”

“You know, Tanjiro, sometimes you’ve just got to feelyourself.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Hayami waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. But,” she puts an index finger up, “I will be picking out a brand new outfit for you! Come on, Tanjiro, don’t you think you need to be spoiled?”

Before he can even give a proper response, Hayami starts dragging him down the street. Tanjiro flushes at her choice of words. What did she mean by spoiled? It’s not going to be something bad, is it? No, Tanjiro shouldn’t think like that. He isn’t some pervert like Zenitsu (as much as he loves the guy, Zenitsu is pretty greasy), but there’s just something about the way those words rolled off so easily from Hayami’s tongue that it makes Tanjiro hope for something more.

Still, he lets her do as she pleases, mindlessly letting himself be pulled along by storefronts and throngs of other passersby. For a split second, he wonders just how he and Hayami look in the eyes of the strangers. Do they look like… a couple? Tanjiro swallows heavily at the thought.

Yeah, he wishes.

Hayami makes a sudden turn, then, heading towards a chic little boutique. The outside is completely white and framed by all white trimming, but splotches of green and pinky hues disrupt the monotonous tones. Tanjiro admires the hanging pots outside, the pretty buds and vines hanging low over the wicker. Tanjiro’s throat goes dry once he sees the inside of the store; the wooden floor practically gleams under the bright lights, delicate vines and fairy lights dangle from the walls, and racks upon racks of clothing freckle the shop’s floor. He can feel the expensiveness of the atmosphere seep into his skin. Whatever kinds of clothes they sell here, it probably costs more than what Tanjiro’s family makes in a month.

“Uh,” he starts, nervously scratching at his cheek, “Hayami… When you said you wanted to buy me an outfit, you didn’t mean stuff like this, right?”

Lightly smacking his hand away, Hayami pinches Tanjiro’s cheek instead. “I said I was going to spoil you, didn’t I? Let me do it this once.”

“But-“

“Please?” Hayami coos, pressing her full lips into a pout and flashing Tanjiro a pair of puppy eyes. He can’t deny that the expression makes his stomach do flips.

Tanjiro sighs. “Okay…”

With an excited clap of her hands and a delightful giggle, Hayami takes off into the store, weaving between the racks and searching for anything that catches her eye. Meanwhile, Tanjiro picks a rack close to him and mindlessly thumbs the delicate fabrics, wincing whenever he spots a price tag. And, just like he thought, they are all way out of his allowance range.

“Tanjiro, come over here!” Hayami calls out a couple minutes later. Tanjiro crosses to where she stands, taking extra care as to not bump into anything and potentially ruin its value. A silky shirt is perched between her slender fingers, olive tone in color. It’s nice, that much is for sure. Turning on her heel, Hayami holds the shirt up before Tanjiro, mentally determining whether or not it’d be a suitable fit. “Try this on,” she proclaims, shoving the shirt into Tanjiro’s arms.

The silk practically feels like nothing in Tanjiro’s hold. “This looks pretty fancy,” Tanjiro says, unease threading his words. “Are you sure I could pull this off?”

“Of course you can!” Hayami chirps, pushing Tanjiro in the direction of the curtained changing rooms. “Trust me, Tanjiro. I knowwhat’s going to look great on you. Ooo, I’ll have to find bottoms to match!” Hurriedly, she takes off, heading over to a shelf of jeans.

With another sigh, Tanjiro walks to the changing rooms; pulling the curtain shut behind him, he makes quick work of undoing his tie and shirt. Carefully, ever so carefully, he pulls the silky shirt on and buttons it closed. Although he shouldn’t be surprised, but Hayami was right. She did know what would look great on him. The olive color compliments his honeyed skin perfectly, and the shape it provides showcases the muscle he’s gained throughout his teen years. He just doesn’t look good, he looks stunning.

“Psst, Tanjiro! Did you put it on?” Hayami’s voice rings from the other side of the curtain.

Humming, Tanjiro turns away from the mirror, pulling the curtain open and revealing himself to Hayami. Hayami claps happily, a wide grin breaking her face. “I knew it would look great! Here, try these on with it,” she says, thrusting a pair of dark jeans towards him. “Go on, put them on! You can thank me later for when you see how awesome you’re going to look.”

Doing as told, Tanjiro sheepishly pulls the curtain to a close and sets the jeans to the side. His blood pounds in his ears at the thought of Hayami being right there while he’s changing, more so since he’s literally taking off his pants. Pushing the thought to the side (after yet another mental scolding to not act like Zenitsu), Tanjiro quickly puts the jeans on and opens the curtain once more.

“Oh my god,” Hayami breathes, clutching her hands to her chest. “Look at you!”

Tanjiro clears his throat and hopes the blush on his face isn’t too noticeable. “Is it that good?”

Hayami nods her head, but then she steps closer. Tanjiro’s breath catches in his throat as Hayami tucks the shirt into his pants, her fingers skimming beneath the waist of the jeans. Tanjiro’s face explodeswith a violent blush, his body turning entirely rigid. “Uh, Hayami…?” he squeaks.

Has she no shame? No embarrassment? But no, once look at her face tells Tanjiro that she is completely serious.

He nearly sighs in relief when her lithe hands leave his pants, but then they’re shooting upwards, up towards the top buttons of the silk shirt. She pops the first few buttons loose, exposing a sliver of honeyed skin. Hayami steps back, then, placing her hands on her hips and humming in approval at her handiwork.

“There,” she says, flashing Tanjiro a smile, “that’s better.”

Actually, Tanjiro shouldn’t be surprised – Hayami is big into fashion overall – but the mere fact that she was that close and that she touched him has his stomach doing somersaults and heart begging to leap from his chest. Still, he forces himself to turn around, to look back at the reflection staring at him. And – much to his pleasant surprise – Tanjiro likes what he sees. The slight changes really pull the outfit together, bring attention to the shape of his shoulders and the taper of his waist. He looks… handsome.

“Told you,” Hayami singsongs, a smug expression adorning her features.

Despite the heavy feeling of embarrassment still settled on his chest, Tanjiro smiles lightly, eyes glancing over the expensive outfit. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes or the expression he wears, but Hayami lays a reassuring hand on Tanjiro’s shoulder and gives it a tight squeeze.

“Remember: spoiling. Come on, Tanjiro, get changed and then we can go out to eat.”

“Wait, I thought you wanted to buy an outfit for yourself…?”

Hayami holds a finger to her lips, a sneaky glint in her eyes. “I never said such a thing.” She winks. “Now, come on, tiger – get your clothes back on so we can ditch this joint. I’m starving.”

It’s only a short time later that the two find themselves in a coffee shop, tucked away against a cream-colored wall. A neat, crisp paper tote sits on the chair next to Tanjiro while Hayami sits on the one directly across from him. Hayami mindlessly sips at her tea, casually scrolling through her phone. Tanjiro, on the other hand, busies himself with one of the numerous magazines scattered around the shop. It’s one of the beauty kind – meant for fashion, skincare, makeup, the regular works. He’s somewhat familiar with it due to the fact that Nezuko reads the exact same thing at home.

His eyes scan over an add meant for a type of facial moisturizer. It seems simple enough, clean and straight to the point, but when his eyes flicker over to the next page, they nearly bulge from his very skull.

There’s a picture of Hayami.

And no, not just any picture, but a closeup of her beautiful face, relaxed and poised in a way that only a model could pull off. Tanjiro’s well aware of the situation at Hayami’s home, how her mother is a cold, power hungry woman that craves nothing more than all of the wealth in the world. Needless to say, it isn’t much of a surprise that she capitalizes on her daughter’s extraordinary looks, forcing her to do photoshoots at whatever cost. The mere thought of it leaves Tanjiro sick to the stomach, knowing that a parent could treat their child in such a vile way for personal gain. Still, Tanjiro never brings it up despite how much it pisses him off.

Hayami’s ad is for another type of facial cream, hence the closeup. The lilac of her eyes glitter although it’s printed on glossy paper, her fair skin smooth and perfect. It’s almost ridiculous how incredibleshe looks, hair loose and framing her features in a way that is too tempting for Tanjiro’s poor heart. Seriously, how whipped can he be? Hayami is literallysitting straight across from him, yet here he is, ogling some photo of her.

He’s such a fool.

Bzzt. Bzzt. Bzzt.

Tanjiro’s attention switches from the magazine to his friend when she sighs. “It’s Mother,” she says briskly, an unpleased glint coming to her eyes. Drawing a breath, she accepts the call and places the speaker next to her ear. “Hello?”

Sipping from his drink, Tanjiro keeps himself quiet as he watches Hayami with a curious gaze. It’s more of a rare occasion than not whenever Hayami’s mother calls her; however, when it does happen, it’s mostly because she wants Hayami to do something.

The conversation between Hayami and her mother turns into a senseless buzz as Tanjiro focuses back on the magazine in his hands. It’s not that he doesn’t care, not in the slightest, but overhearing family arguments that aren’t his own make him… well, uncomfortable. He’s not alone in that stance, not by a long shot.

But then Hayami’s suddenly gripping onto his wrist, forcing his attention back on her; she’s grinning, beautiful face basically splitting itself in half at the sheer force of it. With a simple goodbye, she hangs up and sets her phone on the table. “Yes!” she exclaims, other hand grasping onto Tanjiro’s free wrist. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hayami so happyafter ending a phone call with her mother.

“What is it?”

“Long story short, but my parents are going on a business trip for two whole weeks! Can you believe it? I finally get the house all to myself!”

A smile of his own grows on Tanjiro’s face. This istruly an occasion worth celebrating; while the relationship between her and her mother is rocky, Hayami’s father is somewhat kinder. However, since he’s the one that married into the family, his own image – much like his wife’s – is more important than his own child, so he usually takes after the mother’s side and neglects Hayami. It’s an all-around bad situation on all fronts, so it’s no wonder Hayami gets so excited when something like this happens. And, if Tanjiro’s being entirely truthful, he doesn’t blame her one bit.

“You know that this calls for, right?” Hayami continues. “Bear with me here, but I may have been planning a party for some time now. With my parents gone, I can finally do it! Think about it, Tanjiro! There’ll be food and drinks, music, games – the whole shebang! Wouldn’t it be great to kick back and relax for once?”

“I guess…?”

“Oh, come on! You have to come, Tanjiro! It’ll be more fun with you there! Please? I’ll invite all of our friends!”

Tanjiro sighs. He’s not one for parties – or for large crowds – in general. But with the hopeful glint in Hayami’s eyes and the cute pout of her lips, it’s nearly impossible to say no. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

“Yay!” Hayami cheers. Standing up from her chair, she leans across the table and throws her arms around Tanjiro’s shoulders. And if that wasn’t enough, she places a brisk kiss to his cheek, a joyful giggle following suit.

Oh, this poor boy’s aching heart.

Hayami goes off in an excitable tangent about all the things she has to prepare for the upcoming weekend; Tanjiro tries to listen, he really does, but he can’t ignore the pleasant sting in his cheek or the furious beating in his chest.

Good grief.

That following Saturday night, Tanjiro finds himself outside the gated residence of the Sumiyuri Estate. While it isn’t the first time Tanjiro’s been to Hayami’s house, the mere size of it always sends a chill down his spine. His own home could easily fit inside numerous times. A steady blast of a muted bass fills his ears, the golden cast of light streaming from the windows lighting up the front yard and the street.

Tanjiro lets himself in, trekking towards the front door; the music steadily grows louder the closer he gets, and his palms start to grow sweaty. Tanjiro’s always considered himself a people person, somehow managing to get along with anyone, but the idea of a party is a bit nerve-wracking.

The front door opens, then, revealing Hayami’s grinning face. Tanjiro offers a wave in greeting, but his hand quickly falls back by his side as he notices the outfit she’s wearing. It’s relatively simple – a burgundy two-piece dress, but the top has a window cut in the front, revealing Hayami’s way-too-giving cleavage. His mouth seals shut as he tears his gaze away, a rush of blood flooding into his face.

“Tanjiro, you finally made it!"

Rubbing the back of his neck, Tanjiro chokes on his response, muttering a nice to see you. He curses his own height; when they were a bit younger, Hayami used to tower over Tanjiro, but after his growth spurt, the tables have changed. Now, if he simply wanted to glimpse at her, he’d have to look down. The only problem is… well… breasts.

“You’re wearing the outfit I picked out!” Hayami gushes, clapping her hands together. “Wait until everyone sees you!”

Before he has the chance to respond, Hayami promptly grabs Tanjiro by the hand and drags him inside the manor. The music is much louder now that he’s inside; he recognizes it as some bass-heavy K-pop song (again, thanks to Nezuko). The two weave around the other party goers, food and red plastic cups in hand. Hayami brings him to where their group of friends sit, all clustered around a wide screen TV and in the midst of a round of Mario Kart. Although he’s glad to see them, Tanjiro’s genuinely surprised that he didn’t hear Inosuke and Zenitsu’s screaming over the music when he first arrived.

“Hey, hey, heyyyy,” Hayami’s cousin, Kagami, drawls. She practically slithers to where Tanjiro and Hayami stand, a mischievous smirk playing on her face. Her gaze snaps down to where the two’s hands are connected, her smirk further curling into a Cheshire grin. “Oh, I see. So, you two finally doing something?” she asks, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

Hayami immediately drops Tanjiro’s hand, much to his disappointment. She hurries a no and sends Kagami a stern look.

Kagami shrugs. “I’m just saying. Anyway, you look mightyhandsome, Tanjiro. I never pegged you as the type to show off some skin,” she says, motioning to the sliver of skin poking out from his shirt. “Oh, and won’t you look at his waistline, Hayami? The boy is snatched!”

“You are insufferable,” Hayami hisses at her cousin, but the blush on her face is way too obvious.

“Come on, let’s have some fun!” Kagami exclaims, grabbing onto both Hayami and Tanjiro and yanking them towards the TV.

And, despite not being a party person, Tanjiro finds himself actually having some fun. Granted, it’s just him playing video games with his best friends, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He was perfectly content with playing Mario Kart for the entirety of the party, but then it was Kagami’s self-proclaimed brilliant idea to switch to Just Dance. Not like that idea isn’t fine and dandy, it’s just that he was forced to take center stage with Hayami and perform a duet dance with her.

And that’s fine.

Perfectly fine.

…Fuck.

Tanjiro blames it on the strong smell of teenage hormones and perspiration. Perhaps this is his true coming of age moment? It’s not an everyday occasion where he gets to dance with someone so pretty, someone who isn’this sister. Game or not, it’s a big deal to him.

As the hours melt away further into the night, people slowly start to trickle out of Hayami’s house, wishing the others a good night before disappearing into the pitch-black night. Only a handful of people remain – mostly friends of Hayami that Tanjiro’s on good terms with, along with Inosuke and Zenitsu. Inosuke’s fast asleep on the couch, head thrown back and snoring loudly. Tanjiro doesn’t blame him for being tired, but he’s also surprised to see the rambunctious guy clocked out like that.

There’s an idle chatter amongst the small group as they pass around the last of the drinks and food left from the party and start the timely task of cleaning the place. Tanjiro is only half listening to what the others are saying, his thoughts straying to what happened earlier that night. His face warms at the memory of dancing close with Hayami, how her sweet perfume filled his lungs in the loveliest way possible. Really, he is such a fool.

“Come on, Hayami!” Kagami whines off to the side. “It’ll be fun! Everyone can let loose, if you know what I’m saying.”

“I’m all down for it!” Zenitsu chirps.

“Down for what?” Tanjiro asks.

“Seven minutes in heaven,” Zenitsu tells him with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

Tanjiro blinks at him. “…I’m sorry?”

Zenitsu’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head. “Wait, don’t tell me- You don’t know what seven minutes in heaven is?! Oh, Tanjiro, you innocent babe! My eyes can’t handle the righteousness!”

“Zenitsu, calm down,” Hayami says, abruptly appearing by Tanjiro’s side. “You’re being too loud.”

“But Hayami! Tanjiro doesn’t know what seven minutes is!” Zenitsu exclaims.

Hayami rolls her eyes. “And there’s nothing wrong with that.” She turns to Tanjiro. “The whole point of the game is to have two people unknowingly get selected to go into a closest together and have fun. Think of it as a…. make out session, but with an unexpected twist.”

The color in Tanjiro’s face drains. “So they like…” Trailing off, he raises his hands before him and makes them mimic two people kissing. At Hayami’s nod, Tanjiro’s face turns a bright red.

Kagami pops up right next to them (where she came from, Tanjiro has no idea), a large plastic bowl in hand. “Alright, you two! Time to put a possession into the bowl!”

Tanjiro blinks owlishly at her. “A possession…?”

“It’s how you get selected,” Hayami explains. Reaching up, she tugs an earring from her ear and places it into the bowl. “Here, I’ll help you.” She gives Tanjiro the same treatment, taking an earring out from his lobe and also putting it in the bowl. Tanjiro slaps a hand to his ear, a ticklish feeling swirling around inside his chest.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping for Hayami’s item. It’s the only thought that sticks in his head while Kagami cackles to herself, going around the group and making everyone pull out an item. His heart skips a beat each time; he tries to focus on something else, he really does, but knowing that literally anyone could pull out his or Hayami’s item is too much to bear.

Especially Ginjuro, Tanjiro thinks bitterly to himself. Ginjuro and Hayami have been friends since middle school, Tanjiro knows that much, but the former has a bit of a tendency of trying to flirt and woo Hayami. They’re friends, nothing more, but the sheer idea of Ginjuro trying to worm his way into Hayami’s heart makes Tanjiro’s blood boil.

“Yo, Tanjiro!” Kagami barks. As Tanjiro breaks himself free from his thoughts, he’s met with Kagami’s hand urgently snapping its fingers in his face. “Your earring got picked,” she says simply, although the smirk on her face is nothing short of wicked.

A wave of panic washes over Tanjiro. He got picked? By who?

Before he has the chance to say anything, Kagami grabs him by the wrist and tugs him away from the rest of the group, heading towards a closet in the main hallway of Hayami’s home. “Have fun you two,” Kagami purrs. “Don’t get too wild, hehe!” Tanjiro yips as she pushes him into the closet and shuts the door behind him, plunging him into complete darkness.

Tanjiro sighs. This girl, he swears…

The sound of someone clearing their throat causes Tanjiro to jump. “Tanjiro…?” Hayami’s voice calls through the darkness – it sounds smaller than usual.

Holy shit, Tanjiro thinks. Hayami picked me?

“Hayami,” Tanjiro stammers. “I… I wasn’t expecting this…”

Hayami lets out a tiny giggle. “Neither was I.” She sounds closer than before.

Swallowing thickly, Tanjiro can easily feel her presence now, smell the tempting scent of her perfume. She’s literally right there, right in front of him, and he’s tensing up like no tomorrow. “I, uh…”

“We just have to play the game, Tanjiro,” Hayami interrupts. She takes a deep breath. “No big deal, right?”

He bites his lip. “I guess… But don’t feel like you have to!” he exclaims. “I don’t want you to get uncomfortable or anything! We can just chill out in here, right? Just until time’s up? We could just sit on the floor and – mmph!”

Tanjiro’s words are cut off by Hayami’s lips. His mind goes blank as she kisses him, her hands holding on tightly to his arms. He sucks in a ragged breath as she pulls away. “You need to shut up sometimes,” she breathes. “I want this, Tanjiro.”

“Hayami,” Tanjiro begins, but then she’s kissing him again. It’s a bit awkward at first, mostly because Tanjiro’s become stiff, but then Hayami soothingly rubs his arms and shoulders, her plush lips easing him into the kiss.

“Tanjiro,” Hayami murmurs, her fingers clenching onto the front of Tanjiro’s shirt, “kiss me.”

Maybe it’s the way her voice sounds angelically breathy, but Tanjiro’s will absolutely snaps in that very moment, all sensible thoughts being tossed out the window. He kisses her, truly kisses her, with as much might as he can summon, with all the pent-up love and desire that his heart has been holding onto for so long.

This is really happening.

“Fuck,” Hayami breathes. Her tongue slips its way into Tanjiro’s mouth, caresses his own tongue, flicks against his teeth. There’s a dull thud as she promptly pushes Tanjiro against the wall, body following suit and worming its way in between his legs.

Tanjiro’s a near panting mess, his entire being on fire. He can’t help but moan at Hayami’s taste, at her scent, at the way her breasts push up against his chest. It turns into a pleasured mewl as her fingers card through his hair, digging into the strands and giving them a yank.

He holds onto her, desperately so, hands on her waist and fingers brushing against the exposed skin her dress shows. He wants to hold moreof her, kiss her with everything he’s got, show her how much she meansto him. But oh, there her mouth goes, slipping from his lips and to his bared throat; her fingers fall from his hair and to his pants instead, wrapping around the belt loops and tugging his hips into hers. He grunts at the mere sensation, at how splendidly warm she feels through the clothing. Then she’s gripping onto his ass while she lavishes his neck, her lip gloss smearing all over the skin.

It’s too much, too intense, too extreme, but Tanjiro lovesit. He can’t help but buck his hips into Hayami, the prominent bulge in his pants grazing against her stomach. He chokes on a moan when one of her hands grips onto him, her teeth sinking into his neck.

“Tanjiro,” Hayami purrs, her voice deliciously creamy, “we should go to my bedroom.”

Tanjiro nods, albeit a bit too hastily. “Y-yeah…”

Stepping away, Hayami promptly yanks the door to the closet open. The house is eerily silent, the idle chatter of friends and low music suddenly gone. That sneaky Kagami, she probably did this, Hayami realizes.

The gulp Tanjiro gives is audible. “Is there… something wrong…?”

Hayami looks at him over her shoulder. “Come on, tiger. There’s a ride I want to catch.”

#kny #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #kny x oc #kimetsu no yaiba x oc #demon slayer x oc #tanjiro kamado #kamado tanjiro #tanjiro kamado x oc #kamado tanjiro x oc #commission #hinokami-s

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skeeter-110 · 4 years

Text

A Twist in the Tale (That’s as Old as Time)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. As punishment for his actions, the young prince is transformed into a monstrous beast by a mysterious enchantress. Only condition is if he can learn to love someone and earn their love in return, the curse will be lifted. The prince - now turned Beast - felt doomed for eternity; until he met a little boy with a heart of gold.

AKA: a Beauty and the Beast Irondad AU

Chapter One: Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was spoiled, selfish, and unkind. But then, one winter's night, an old beggar woman came to the castle and offered him a single rose in return for shelter from the bitter cold.

Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince sneered at the gift and turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within.

And when he dismissed her again, the old woman's ugliness melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress. The prince tried to apologize, but it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart, and as punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there.

Ashamed of his monstrous form, the Beast concealed himself inside his castle with a magic mirror as his only window to the outside world.

The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose, which would bloom until his 21st year. If he could learn to love another - and earn their love in return - by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken.

If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time.

As the years passed, he fell into despair and lost all hope, for who could ever learn to love a beast?

* * *

Peter skipped on out of his home and straight into the village, smiling and greeting everyone he passed as the village town quickly became more and more alive.

"Good morning, Peter." The village baker greets as he brings his tray of rolls over to his bakery.

"Morning, Monsieur." Peter addresses, walking over with the baker.

"Where are you off to?" The baker asks.

"The bookshop. I just finished the most wonderful story about a beanstalk and an ogre and-" Peter excitedly begins to explain, only to be cut off.

"That's nice." The baker responds absentmindedly, clearly not hearing a word Peter was saying, before yelling. "Marie, the baguettes! Hurry up!"

Peter just shrugged before putting his book back in the basket he was carrying and continuing on his way; hopping on the back of someone's carriage to get to the bookshop faster.

Peter quickly ran into the shop, the bell above the door ringing and announcing his presence to the bookseller.

"Ah, Peter." The seller acknowledges.

"Good morning. I've come to return the book I've borrowed." Peter says, handing the seller the book he was carrying around.

"Finished already?" The seller questions, sounding a bit impressed.

"I couldn't put it down. Have you got anything new?" Peter asks as he climbs the ladder and begins scanning all of the books.

"Not since yesterday." The seller laughs.

"That's all right. I'll borrow... this one." Peter says, going and grabbing a familiar book off of the shelf and handing it to the seller.

"That one? But you've read it twice." The seller amusedly says.

"Well, it's my favorite. Far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise." Peter excitedly says, swinging off of the ladder.

"If you like it all that much, it's yours." The seller offers, making Peter gasp.

"But, sir..." Peter goes to protest.

"I insist." The seller presses creating a huge smile on Peter's face.

"Well, thank you. Thank you very much." Peter expresses his gratitude, instantly opening up the book and reading as he began to walk home; completely oblivious to the man following him. That was until the man jumped right in front of him.

"Hello, Peter." The man greets.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Osborn." Peter responds, not even bothering to take his eyes off the book. Norman, not liking not having the attention on him at the moment, quickly swiped the book out of the boy's hands.

"Monsieur Osborn, may I have my book, please?" Peter asks, making Norman scoff before flipping through the book.

"How can you read this? There are no pictures." Norman scoffs.

"Well, some people use their imaginations." Peter retorts, Norman rolling his eyes at the prospect and throwing the book over his shoulder.

"Peter, it's about time you got your head out of those books and paid attention to more important things. Like working for me." Norman says.

Ever since Norman found out that the only reason the Parkers were able to earn money was by Peter making and selling different inventions, he's been all but begging Peter to work for him. And clearly, he refuses to take no as an answer.

"The whole town's talking about it. It's not right for a little boy to be reading fantasies all the time." Norman disapproves as Peter reached down and grabbed the book up off of the ground.

"Monsieur Osborn, you are positively primeval." Peter says, looking at Norman in confusion when the man looked proud of the dig.

"Why, thank you, Peter. Now, what do you say you and me take a walk over to my workshop and take a look at some of my work." Norman says, trying to pull Peter in the direction of his workshop.

"Maybe some other time." Peter says, pulling his arm out of Norman's grip when it seemed like the man wasn't going to be letting go anytime soon. "Please, Monsieur Osborn, I can't. I have to get home to help my Aunt. Goodbye." Peter bids farewell.

"That crazy old loon. She needs all the help she can get." Victor Von Doom, Norman's right-hand-man, says making both him and Norman laugh.

"Don't talk about my Aunt that way." Peter yells at them, making Norman sober up.

"Yeah! Don't talk about his Aunt that way." Norman whirls on Victor.

"My Aunt is not crazy. She's just old." Peter defends, his argument falling short when something in his kitchen exploded, making Peter run towards his house, completely ignoring the laughter that was in the background.

Peter quickly ran inside the house, coughing due to all of the smoke floating around in the air.

"Aunt May?" Peter calls out, still coughing and waving away all of the smoke.

"How on earth did that happen?" Aunt May grumbles, trying to free her leg from the wood and wires that it was trapped in.

"Are you alright, Aunt May?" Peter asks.

"I-I don't know what happened. I think I accidentally turned this contraption on." May says, pointing at Peter's recent invention that was sitting there in the middle of the house.

"I'm sorry. I'm about ready to give up on this hunk of junk." Peter huff, clearly disappointed with how slowly the new invention was coming together.

"You always say that." May tuts fondly.

"I mean it this time! I'll never get this boneheaded contraption to work!" Peter angrily says, making May cross her arms.

"Peter, watch your language." May chides, erasing Peter's look of anger and turning it into him looking fully reprimanded.

"Sorry, Aunt May." Peter mumbles out an apology.

"And you will get this to work." May encourages, taking Peter's face into her hands. "And it will win first prize at the fair tomorrow. And we won't have a thing to worry about this winter." May says, gently brushing Peter's cheeks with her thumbs.

"You really believe that?" Peter asks.

"I always have." May confirms, making Peter grin real big.

"Well, what are we waiting for? I'll have this thing fixed in no time." Peter exclaims, climb underneath the contraption. "Can you hand me that... the dog-legged clincher there." Peter asks May, the woman being quick to do so.

"So, did you have a good time out in town today?" May asks once Peter had his tool.

"I got a new book." Peter tells his aunt before tightening a few things. "Aunt May, do you think I'm odd?" Peter decides to ask.

"My nephew? Odd? Where would you get an idea like that?" May scoffs.

"Oh, I don't know. It's just that I'm not sure I fit in here. There's no one I really can talk to." Peter sighs.

"What about Norman? He seems like a nice fella, and he likes inventing things like you. He could be like your mentor." May says.

"Yeah, he seems nice, but he's actually rude and conceited and... oh, Aunt May, I would never want to work for someone who treats people so terribly." Peter tells his Aunt.

"Well, don't you worry, 'cause this invention you're working on is gonna be the start of a new life for us." May reassures as Peter rolls out from underneath the machine.

"I think that's done it. Now, let's give it a try." Peter says, pulling the lever and causing the machine to whistle and whir.

Both May and Peter stepped back a bit, covering their faces just in case the machine blew up. Thankfully, instead of blowing up, the machine began to do its intended purpose, swinging an ax down and chopping the log that was in front of it.

"It works!" May exclaims.

"It does?" Peter asks in shock, watching as the machine continued to chop wood. "It does!"

"You did it. You really did it." May proudly says, pulling Peter into a tight hug. "Hitch up Philippe, boy. I'm off to the fair!" May says, Peter quickly running out of the house and hitching their horse, Phillippe, to the carriage.

May quickly pack up as many supplies she needed for the travel before getting her coat and throwing it on while Peter took the invention and placed it in the ack of the carriage.

"I love you, Peter." May says as she comes outside, planting a kiss on Peter's forehead.

"I love you too, Aunt May." Peter repeats the sentiment.

"Take care while I'm gone." May says as she hops up onto Phillippe.

"Always." Peter responds, watching as his Aunt began to ride off down the road.

Tag List: @spideyspeaches @joyful-soul-collector @lost-lunar-wolf @hatakehikari @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm

#peter parker #tony stark #irondad #fanfiction #beauty and the beast #kid peter parker #platonic love

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dindjarindiaries · 4 years

Text

Collide - Chapter 9

summary: With Javier blaming himself for the loss of La Quica along with more weeks of finding nothing, bella decides to help him ease his mind by recreating the moment she can never forget.

warnings: mentions of blood and death, anxiety, sexual themes

rating: R

word count: 5.716k

masterlist

chapter 9

You bite back a sigh as you glance over at Javier. He’s leaning one elbow on his desk as his hand supports his head, a cigarette balancing between his fingers. You’ve been trying to get him out of that habit, but you’ve cut him some slack after the hell he’s been putting himself through these past few weeks. The bags under his eyes are obvious to you, a sure sign of the sleep you know he’s been losing, and his dark gaze stares blankly through the paperwork he shuffles through on his desk. You’re certain that even just one more day of this paperwork shit is going to kill him. And Steve. And you.

After you lost La Quica that day in the field, Javier’s put the blame on himself. You’ve tried again and again to remind him of all the factors leading up to it—your extreme lack of backup, the unexpected ally he acquired, and the unfamiliarity of the area being just a few of them—but none have convinced him to get rid of that feeling of guilt. You’ve even tried to shift the blame onto yourself, reminding him that you were lagging behind and had you run faster, you might’ve been able to catch him. But Javier won’t have that, either. He scolds you badly if you even dare to take any of the blame for it. He does the same for Trujillo.

The time you get to spend together after work helps, but you know it’s just not enough. Javier’s deeply invested in his work down here, and that’s one thing you’ve truly gotten to learn about the time you’ve spent away from him. You’re convinced he would sell his soul if it got him to Escobar. He’s told you that he would if he could—and sometimes he feels like he already has. It’s amazing to see how much he cares about everything, and you’ve always known how passionate of a person he is, but it also makes it extremely difficult to get him to relax. Even in your loving moments, when he whisks you away for a sporadic dance in the kitchen or kisses you until your lips are swollen, you can tell he’s holding something back. It’s driving you crazy.

But you know just how to fix it.

In these first few weeks of rebuilding your relationship, you’ve been getting more and more comfortable with recreating the moment that’s been stuck in your mind for so long. You and Javier have even come close to reaching that point a few times, but he always cuts it off, knowing you haven’t announced that you’re ready for it yet. Now, you’re sure that you are. You’ve almost told him in those close moments that it’s okay, but because of the way he’s been so tense, you haven’t gone through with it. When it happens again, you want him to be present—completely present—so that you can feel all the love you’ll have to share. You don’t want him to remember it by the way he held part of himself back.

You’ve created a plan. You know exactly how to ease him into it and successfully get him to relax and release whatever burden he’s still carrying. It’s the same thing he always used to do in the past to forget some shit, but instead of being with a random stranger, he can be with you. Hopefully, that’ll only make it more successful. You plan on launching it tonight, unable to take another day of seeing Javier in such a state—especially as you continue to watch the shell of himself sitting at his desk.

As Javier takes the last drag of his cigarette, his gaze finally meets yours, and he raises an eyebrow as he deposits it in the ashtray. You gesture with your eyes towards the direction of the supply closet—which has become your secret rendezvous point—and Javier gives a nod of understanding. With your empty mug of coffee in hand, you stand up from your chair, pretending that you’re on the way to go refill it as you head towards the closet. Thankfully, it’s in a secluded hallway that branches off from the main one, so when there are no eyes watching, you’re safe to duck inside and close the door. You set the mug on a shelf, pacing the floor a bit as you wait for Javier to join you. In your typical routine, it takes a few minutes, since you don’t want to be suspicious about him following after you.

Soon, the door’s reopening and closing behind Javier, and you can only see him lock it quickly before his lips are on yours. His hands instinctively reach for your face while yours tug at the collar of his shirt, your body pressing against his in its familiar way. When his tongue presses against yours, you let out a half-moan and half-grunt of disgust at the way his breath tastes strongly of smoke. Once you’ve both run out of air, you separate, and you let out a chuckle as Javier looks at you with puzzlement.

“You taste like straight up tobacco, Peña,” you tell him, coughing for dramatic effect.

Javier snorts and shakes his head, but a strong sense of guilt lingers in his dark gaze. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes sincerely. “I know you want me to stop—and I really should, I know—but I just… it’s been really… you know—.”

“Hey, take a deep breath,” you cut him off, running your hands over his upper arms to soothe him. Javier visibly starts to relax, and you watch as his chest rises and falls deeply. “I’m not gonna say it’s okay, but it’s understandable. You’ve had a tough few weeks.” Javier nods to agree, closing his eyes as he does so. You twist your lips, hating to see him so defeated. “Which is why I’ve planned something for tonight, after work.”

Javier reopens his eyes, and they fill with interest—even though his shoulders sag tiredly. “Do we have to go out?” he nearly whines. “I’m so tired. I’d rather just kiss you until I fall asleep.”

You giggle and run your hands over his cheeks. “I promise, it’ll be much better than that. It’s gonna be fun—and it’s just gonna be us. Dwell on that last little bit of energy you have left.”

Javier gives you a nod, unable to hide the small smile that grows on his lips. “Alright. I trust you, bella.”

“Good.” You pull his head down until it meets yours, giving him a quick kiss and leaning your forehead against his. “I’m gonna make this the best night of your life.”

Javier lifts an eyebrow. “Oh, really? In that case, I can already feel my last bit of energy coming out.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you leave your last kiss on the tip of his nose. “But only if you chew on some gum or something. I’m not kissing you again until all that smoke taste is gone.”

“Say no more.” You chuckle as you reach for your mug and start to head for the door, but at the last second, Javier reaches out to grab your arm. “Wait!” He pulls you back to him, leaving a soft kiss on your head. “Te amo, hermosa.”

You smile up at him. “Te amo mucho, cariño.” You then close the distance to the door, opening it and heading into the kitchen area where the coffee’s actually brewed. You pour your mug up and then return to your desk, going back to your work as if you’d never left it. Steve’s too dazed to notice anything suspicious, even as Javier returns and gets right back to his torturous papers. You bite back a smile when you see him open a drawer of his desk and pop a piece of gum into his mouth.

After one more hour of enduring the pain of endless paperwork, you’re finally free for the day, and you feel excitement pulse through you at the prospect of what’s to come. You leave before Javier does, further avoiding any suspicions of you both getting together later, and take up the head start you have to make yourself look as good as possible. You’re not one to put a lot of effort into your appearance—especially with the exhaustion of the past few weeks weighing on your shoulders—but the idea of getting Javier to relax and to finally reach a place with him you’ve been yearning to go pushes you over the edge.

When you think you’ve finished, you evaluate yourself in the mirror. You’ve selected a white long-sleeve wrap that ties just beneath your chest, showing off a clear part of your assets. Your jean skirt comes up higher on the waist and, thus, ends rather abruptly on the upper part of your thighs. You’ve pulled your hair back so it won’t get in the way, and you’ve applied a natural amount of makeup—enough to impress further without looking over-the-top. With a confident smile and a careful step in your heels that you don’t typically wear, you reach for your purse and start to make your way out of your apartment.

You pause at the front door, looking through the peephole to make sure the coast is clear. Once you’ve decided that all is well, you let yourself out and lock the apartment door behind you, hurrying over to Javier’s door as quickly and noiselessly as possible. Your knuckles knock against the door gently, and a few moments later it starts to open.

“There you are, bella—I’ve been waiting to find out what we’re…” Javier begins speaking, but he trails off when he has the chance to observe you. You’re sure he doesn’t realize that he’s stopped talking in favor of observing, but nevertheless the action brings the heat to your cheeks along with an overwhelming wave of confidence. His dark gaze moves down your body and then back up again, where he meets your gaze to reveal his pleasant surprise and ardent admiration. “… wow.”

You chuckle lightly, gesturing to the inside of his apartment. “Thanks, but can you let me in before someone sees?”

You don’t have to say another word before Javier reaches for your arm, getting you inside quickly and letting you kick the door closed as he pulls you to him. His lips are on yours before you can process it and you can already feel the tension building within him as his hands pull you as close to him as possible. You keep your hands idly against his chest, but his start to brush lower and lower until they’re ghosting over your ass—but you stop him, reaching for each of his wrists without separating his lips from yours. Javier, however, ends up doing it in his shock, his dark eyes searching yours worriedly for a moment. He’s always afraid he’s gone too far; he constantly asks you if what he’s doing is alright, because he’s faithful to his word of taking things slow. That knowledge only helps your smile to grow more.

“Not yet,” you say, assuring him that his actions are welcome in a different setting. “Not until we get to the bar.”

Javier winces, although you can see the excitement he holds in his gaze at the idea of getting to go out with you. “You make it harder and harder for me to not keep you here and kiss you all night,” he confesses. You laugh softly, taking his hands in yours as you take a small step away from him. “But the bar, you say?”

“Mhm,” you confirm, still smiling. “You need to relax. And I know that doing nothing isn’t your idea of relaxing, so… we’ll go dance.”

“Seeing you dressed like this also isn’t my idea of relaxing,” Javier breathes. “It’s riling me up.” He chuckles a bit as he sees you free one of your hands and use it to swat his shoulder. “Hey, don’t blame me!”

“Save it for the bar,” you emphasize, pointing towards his bedroom. “Go get ready so you don’t have to wait any longer.”

“Am I really the one who’s so anxious to go?” Javier jokes, and you shake your head as you start to shove him in the direction of his room. He lets out a laugh and finally gives in, walking into his room and changing out of his work clothes. Thankfully, he doesn’t take too long, and soon Javier’s reemerging with a sly smile on his lips. His wardrobe choice tells you why he’s looking so smug—his white short-sleeve button-up’s definitely undone a few buttons more than necessary, and his jeans fit tight to his slender legs.

You let out a whistle just to boost his ego, crossing your arms as you raise an eyebrow at him. “Stealing my look now, huh?”

“Hey, it’s all about the coordination, mi amor,” Javier reminds you, pulling you into his side as he gives your head a kiss. “That’s what’s most attractive about couples.”

You look up at him, smiling as you meet his gaze. Sometimes, you still find it hard to believe that you’re truly here with him again, living the life you’ve dreamed about for twenty years and even more. When he makes a comment such as that, you’re forced to remember that it’s real—and it never fails to bring you an overwhelming feeling of butterflies. “I like being a couple.”

Javier releases a chuckle, letting you go but taking your hand as he starts to lead you out of the apartment. “Me too, bella. If only I could brag about it to my teenage self.”

You bite back a laugh as he checks the peephole, only taking you into the hallway when everything’s safe and sound. Javier locks his door behind him and leads you out to his car, opening the door for you just like he did that night at the prom. Your heart softens as you wonder how many other parallels you’ll experience tonight—though you’re sure the dancing’s going to be much different this time around.

“So, I’m assuming that we’re going to the usual place?” Javier’s words snap you out of your brief love-stoned daze, fully grounding you by resting his right hand on your thigh as he starts to drive away.

“Oh! Yes.” You giggle, placing your hand over Javier’s. “Sorry, that was an important detail.”

“Bella, I know you well enough to figure things out like this on my own. Don’t sweat it.” Javier glances over at you to give you a smile. “Sometimes, I think we either both forget that we have thirteen years of previous history or forget that we spent twenty years apart in between then and now.”

You scoff at that. “I feel the same way. I guess it’s all just… a real shock. It’s hard to let it soak in.”

Javier hums in agreement, and then you both sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes. Eventually, he gives your thigh a soft squeeze, and you look back over at him to see the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You know what this is starting to remind me of?”

“Hm?”

Javier looks over at you quickly, his dark gaze full of fondness. “Prom.”

Your eyes widen at him. “That’s exactly what I was thinking earlier.”

“Too bad I’m not in a tux. I looked good in that.”

“You look good in anything, cariño.”

Javier snickers, shaking his head as he gives your thigh another squeeze. “Don’t be such a tease while I’m driving, bella. I’ll pull over if you’re not careful.”

“Hey—what did I tell you before? Save it for the bar.” You chuckle and lean over to place a kiss on the corner of his lips that you can reach, seeing his brow furrow in frustration as he obviously wishes it could be a full one. “It’ll be worth it. But you have to try to relax.”

“I will.” Javier gives you a nod as he says the words.

Soon, the bar finally comes into view, and you swear you hear Javier thanking the divine as he finds a place to park. He takes your hand again only after he rushes over to your side to open the door, and you mutter something about him trying to be verraco as his hand gives yours a tight squeeze in response. You end up laughing as you step inside the bar, seeing it just as crowded as usual.

“Is there some kind of master plan you have here, or what?” Javier looks over at you, his dark gaze glittering more than it has in much too long.

“One drink,” you tell him, a single brow raised, “and then we dance.”

Javier raises an eyebrow back at you. “Just one? You brought us all the way to a bar for just one drink?”

“It’s about the dancing, idiota. I didn’t waste this outfit so I could get drunk and forget everything—again.”

Javier scans your body again upon referencing your outfit, and his hand snakes around the exposed skin of your waist as he pulls you against him. “I won’t let it go to waste, hermosa. Don’t you worry.”

You smirk up at him, gladly accepting your closeness as you both approach the bar. You order what you want and pay right away, continuing to stand nearby as you converse, laugh, and enjoy your drinks. You’re glad to see the visible weight on Javier’s shoulders fall away more and more with each moment spent talking. You know it’s possible to get him to that place of peace—you’d been able to do it so many times in the past, before Colombia and so much darkness—so you keep sticking to what you know how to do best.

Eventually, the conversation switches to what you hoped to address. “I don’t think I can take one more day of paperwork, Javi,” you say, and you can see Javier’s eyes beginning to darken as his shoulders visibly grow tense once again. Your heart breaks for him as you try to steer him away from the heavy thoughts and feelings that you know he’s experiencing. “But it could be worse.”

“It’d be much different if I’d gotten La Quica,” Javier mutters, that familiar sense of self-hatred dripping into his tone. You bite your lip, thinking through your words before daring to say them. Before you can piece them together, Javier sighs, his gaze falling to the empty glass in his hand. “I fucked up, bella.”

“I know you feel responsible for that, cariño.” You take a deep breath, placing your empty glass and his onto the bar. Your hands then fall on his shoulders, encouraging him to look at you as you continue. “I also know that no matter how many times I tell you that it’s not your fault, you’re not going to listen to me. So… let me offer something else.”

Your hands slide down his arms to take a hold of his, and you begin to lead him into the crowd of people who are already senseless and dancing the night away. You find a space where you won’t feel uncomfortable nor too isolated, still facing him as you wrap your arms loosely around his neck. Your hips already begin to sway to the music, and you’re not shy about letting them brush against Javier’s own as you keep speaking.

“Just think about it.” Your voice is hushed, but still audible over the loud music and chatter. Your eyes never leave his, which are starting to darken more in the way you’d like them to. “When all of this is over, when it’s just you and me one day, is that what you’re going to remember?” As you pause, your fingers start to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, and you feel his hands grip your waist even tighter as he roots you in place against him. “You won’t remember losing a chase. I’d hope that you’d remember moments like these more.”

You slowly move your hips right against his own. Javier releases a hiss at the sensation, one of his hands dropping low to grip your ass as he keeps you tight against him. You release a sound that’s mixed between a whimper and a moan, trying to stifle it to keep yourself grounded in what you’re trying to do for him versus what he’s doing for you. There’ll be plenty of time for that later on. For now, your aim is still to get him to relax.

“Just let… yourself… go.” With the pause between each word, you move against him, drawing yourself even closer to him until you’re chest-against-chest. “Focus on me.” You let one of your hands snake down to the large sliver of exposed chest Javier’s shirt offers you, and you brush it over the heated skin there as you continue looking deep in his eyes. “Focus on us.”

In a sudden and quick movement, Javier turns you around, placing your back against his front as he uses his hands to guide your hips against his. The feeling is enough to send you to an ethereal place, but you still try to remain focused on him as you both continue moving together. Dancing is a regularity for you both, something very familiar and common—but this is a whole different level of it. This is nearly accomplishing on the dancefloor what you’re aiming to do in bed. Yet, it’s also tender, as Javier’s grip never gets too tight and pulls you closer in the act of equal need and desire.

Perspiration begins to form on your forehead from the mixture of the humidity of the Medellín night, the crowded room, and the exercise of your movement. You could care less. You can see Javier’s own sweat glistening on his chest out of your peripherals. The heat of the moment grows the more it extends, and you’re more than okay with losing yourself inside of it. The constant feeling of him against you is driving you crazy, all while you still remain in that tender grasp of his.

It’s when Javier’s lips start brushing against your ear that you truly feel yourself falling away into the place of pleasure you’d been trying to save just for him. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for a moment like this, bella,” Javier confesses, his voice low and hushed as he mumbles it into your ear. “Years and years of yearning for you, longing to love you first—and touch you second.” As he speaks, he takes one of his hands and brushes it up your front, until the palm of his hand sets itself on the center of your chest—just above the knot of your shirt. You stifle another moan.

“I’m all yours, Javi,” you breathe to him, turning your head to see your lips almost meeting his. Unable to hold back any longer, you use one hand to pull his mouth to yours. Immediately, you begin to devour each other—not willing to spare a single inch between you—as Javier spins you back around and pulls you tight against him. You lift one of your knees against his hip to close the distance even further, one of your hands remaining on his chest for support as the other runs through his thick hair. One of Javier’s hands holds your back as the other grips your ass, making you groan with delight into his mouth. The moment is more heated than any one you’ve experienced yet—and you know that it won’t be much longer until you’re resigning yourself to the experience you’ve been waiting for.

Once you’ve both taken each other’s breath away completely, you separate, panting as you stay close and look deep into each other’s eyes. It’s there—the same thing you’d seen all those years ago in the bed of Javier’s truck. You know you’re ready for it, but you can see the familiar way Javier resigns himself to stopping while you’re ahead. You move to reconnect your mouth and Javier stops you, putting his hand against your cheek to keep you in place. “If we go any further, bella, it’s gonna get dangerous.”

“Then I say we go and finish what we’ve started.” You say the words with severity, suggestion, and seduction, sinking your teeth into your lower lip as you wait for his response.

Javier’s dark eyes widen a bit, and he searches your carefully. “You mean…”

“You know what I mean.”

Javier’s thumb brushes over your cheek as he continues looking deep in your eyes. “Are you sure, querida? I don’t want to—.”

“You’re not, Javi.” You give your head a small shake at that. “This is what I want to do—and that’s why I brought us here. I wanted you to be able to loosen up here so that we can go and we can do this and you won’t have to hold yourself back.”

Javier’s eyes brighten a bit, and he finally gives in with a nod. “Alright.” He then separates himself from you, reaching for your hand as he begins to lead you out of the bar. You feel the anticipation prickling all over your skin, and the heat of the Colombian night doesn’t cool the fire you already feel within. As Javier begins to drive away, once again gripping your thigh with his free hand, you see him give you a quick look. “I just have to make a quick stop.”

You raise an eyebrow. “For what—?” You pause, suddenly realizing what he must be referencing. “… Oh, right.”

“Well, no, I have those,” Javier laughs, giving your thigh a squeeze. You try not to buck at the feeling as you chuckle with him. “I just—I want to make this as special as it should’ve been for your first time. Like a do-over.”

“A do-me-over?” you joke, and you giggle as Javier shakes his head.

“I’m serious, bella. I want you to feel the way you should’ve all those years ago.”

Your heart practically sings at Javier’s caring words, and you bite back a smile as you nod. “Alright, that’s fine. Just don’t be too long.”

Javier snickers. “Someone’s impatient.”

You pinch the skin of his hand that’s on your thigh, causing his touch to recoil for just a quick moment. “It’s been a few decades, cariño. I think I’m justified to this feeling.”

Javier continues to chuckle, suddenly pulling over and putting the car in park. “Give me one second, bella.” Javier gives your cheek a quick kiss before he steps out of the car and disappears into the darkness of the night. You let out a soft sigh, trying to think of what he could possibly be getting as you mind your surroundings. You’re not trying to let something happen to you just moments before reconnecting with Javier in such a way as this. That’s something he’d never forgive himself for.

It’s not much longer before he returns—with nearly a full bouquet of roses in hand. Your eyes widen in shock. “Javi—seriously?” You laugh, yet your chest is warm, and your stomach’s full of butterflies.

“Oh, c’mon, let me be a cheesy romantic for just one night.” Javier sets the bouquet into the backseat and starts to take off again, resigning his hand to its previous position. You remain in a comfortable silence for the rest of your short drive to the apartment building, absentmindedly running your thumb over the skin of Javier’s hand. When you arrive, Javier stops you from getting out, grabbing the bouquet and gesturing for you to give your key to him. “I have to set up.”

You shake your head, smiling as you reach into your purse and give him your key. He takes it and, with a quick wink, heads out of the car. “Be careful!” you whisper-shout to him. “Don’t get caught!”

“I won’t!” Javier assures you, heading inside of the building. You release a sigh, unable to keep the smile off your lips as you bask in all the effort and care Javier’s putting into this. You know that all those years ago, if you’d been honest with him, he would’ve done the same exact thing then. You’ll never be able to fully express your appreciation for the way he cares for you so tenderly. It makes all the years of waiting just that much more worth it. You’ve worked through nearly all your past problems and it’s been one of the most rewarding experiences you’ve gone through.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you see Javier waving you inside what feels like moments later, and you look around before you emerge and run over to meet him. His hand meets your lower back as he guides you quietly over to your apartment door, where he opens it for you and lets you step inside first. You shake your head as you see the trail of rose petals he’s left going into your bedroom, and you can’t help letting out a small laugh as you look up at him. “You really went this cheesy, huh, cariño?”

“Only for you, mi amor,” Javier remarks, letting you toss your purse to the side as he brings your lips to his. He speaks through his kisses as he goes on. “But there is… one rule. You have… to kiss me… down the entire… trail.”

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” you breathe before keeping your lips firm against his. Javier lets you wrap your legs around his waist as he guides you along the trail he’s made, leading you closer and closer to your sliver of heaven for the night. He only stops when you reach your bedroom, letting you view the work he’s done. Your heart softens when you see the delicate way he’s spread some petals onto the bed, as if he’s aimed to make it a softer place for you to rest upon. Your smile is impossible to hide as you look into his dark and affectionate gaze. “Have I told you how much I love you, Javier?”

Javier returns your smile, brushing his nose against yours. “You have.” He leaves a kiss there. “I love you, too—and now I’ll prove it to you.” He brings you both over to the bed and gently eases your back down onto it, his lips reconnecting with yours as his hands begin to explore the same places they had all those years again. The skin that’s burned and ached for his touch for so many years can barely handle the sensation, and you’re already releasing your sighs of pleasure into his mouth as you begin to work on the buttons of his shirt. It comes off easily, letting your hands meet the smooth skin of his bare torso. Javier’s easily able to tug at the knot of your top, which you hadn’t bothered to wear a bra with, and soon that piece of clothing flies to the floor. Before you know it, there’s absolutely no type of barrier between you, and you’re feeling all of him against all of you as you drown in the addicting feeling of him.

Before he goes any further, Javier lets his face hover over yours, his brow knitted together as he looks in your eyes seriously. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Javier’s voice is soft, full of nothing but warmth, affection, and desire. You cup one of his cheeks with your hand, nodding before you pull his lips back to yours.

Reliving the moment that’s haunted you in the best and worst ways for so many years becomes better than you’d even remembered it. You can tell that you’re both better at what you do, now, and it elevates the experience as you suddenly become aware of how dangerously intoxicating this connection is. Javier’s hands continue to explore your body like it’s a piece of art, his mouth only separating from yours to give you praises and mutter his obscenities. It transforms from something slow and passionate to something fast and full of shared desire and desperation, as if you’re finally and fully feeling the true pain of the past twenty years’ separation. There’s nothing either one of you can say other than each other’s names, the moans and groans slipping past your lips along with it. In this moment, you don’t care who hears—all you know is each other, and as you reach that point you can’t return from, you swear you’ve never felt so complete in your entire life.

Moments later, with heaving chests, you watch as Javier collapses beside you and takes you into his arms, lavishing your head and face with kisses as your limbs tangle together. “Te amo,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion and truth as he rests his forehead against yours. “You’re incredible in every way, bella. Thank you for giving me a second chance.”

“I love you more than you’ll ever know, cariño.” You give him a quick kiss. “I’m yours now, and I always have been.” You then nestle your face into his neck, breathing him in as you feel him pull you even closer. Javier runs his hand through your hair, and your eyes flutter closed at the feeling.

“Don’t think of falling asleep yet, bella.” Javier chuckles before going on. “We have to make these roses worth their while.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back up to meet Javier’s gaze. “I’m down,” you agree, reconnecting your lips with his as you drown completely in the love you have to share—forgetting all about the world that rages just outside your window, ready to threaten whatever you try to hide from it.

translations:

Te amo, hermosa = I love you, beautiful

Te amo mucho, cariño = I love you so much, sweetheart

verraco = hot shit

collide tag list: @beskars @none-of-your-bullshit @gooddaykate @flower-petal-blooming @stilllivindue2spite @mrsparknuts @fionnthebandersnacc @pisss-offf-ghostt @gaydreamland @longitud-de-onda @literallytrashhhhhh @kkgraham @arrowswithwifi @rage-isaquietthing @awesomefandomsunited @bestintheparsec @murdermewithbooks @blushingwueen @rachelloveseveryone @madadlorian @ah-callie @mrsdaamneron @lokiaddicted @arcadianempress @benakenalove @wickedfrsgrl @pascalisperfect @absurdthirst @weirdowithnobeardo @lcandothisallday @sailorflowermoon @engineeredfiction @souls-rain @cailoleaf @unintentionalwriter @earthtokace @starwarsiscooliguess @xxlovingfandomsxx @theindiealto @mikahid @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @youhavereachedtheendofpie @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @skdubbs @lukesrighthand @dinsdjarinwp @btillys @lostinwonderland314 @spxcedxdddy @charmantbarnes @ezraslittleblondestreak

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @burningsoulbloodyheart @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn

#them! they!#i love they #also reminder that spanish is only included to identify our reader without y/n!#javier pena #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña fic #javier pena fic #narcos #narcos fic #collide fic #dindjarindiaries

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saelwen · 4 years

Text

Pure Blood

Maedhros x Oc

Chapter One

Summary: We all born with white blood which symbolizes our pure soul. As we grow up, our blood can change to red and become darker if we begun doing cruel things. The darker the blood, the cruel you are. Mine’s occur to be pure white but will continue to be after i meet my soulmate?

Warning: None

Words: 2k

A/n: This idea come from a wonderful anon. I want to thank him/her for let me use this idea! Also the moodboard is by me!

Masterlist

When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me tales about ancient folk. The fairest and graceful of all Eru's children, the elves. She told me about the war and all the death that three simple jewels created. The betrayal and destruction between kin. And the love between different races.

I was always fascinated by these tales, always asking her for more. She would sit me on her lap and braid my ink-black hair while she told me the stories. Father didn't like much that mother told me those types of stories, saying that they would fill my little pretty head with wrong ideas and that would bring me a life full of sin.

We lived on a small cottage deep in the woods. The nearest town is a six hours ride away from my house which was good since I don't like obnoxious noises of the town.

Father work on our little farm, taking care of the animals and the garden. I sometimes help him with milking the cows and harvesting vegetables and fruits which he would sell on the town market.

Mother is a seamstress. She makes the most beautiful gowns that i ever seen. You could see the noble maidens wearing her gowns on the most fancy feast in all Middle-Earth. She have a shop in the town but recently she is working more on her atelier at home. I asked her why but she only shrugged her shoulders and answered "Why not".

My parents were soulmates which in nowadays were really rare. People don't belive in love and soulmates anymore, making the world dull and lifeless. But i witness they love and passion for each other. Hell, I'm the fruit of they undying love.

I use to daydream about the day me and my soulmate will meet. Fantasying about how they will look or they personality. I'm a sucker for romances so i spend most of my late nights reading novels in my comfy chair by the window.

"Rose! Come here, please!" the warm voice of mother grabbed my attention from the book in my small hands.

"I'm coming, Mother!" i yelled back while putting the book back in the shelf. I look in the mirror beside the bedroom door, adjusting my light green gown and try to tame my curly black hair into a low ponytail. I had the palest skin that anyone have ever seen. Father calls me his little snow flake since my skin remind him of the cold snow. My eyes were the color the meadow grass in summer time.

I walk out of my bedroom and go downstairs to the kitchen where i find mother cooking dinner by the small fireplace. Her black hair was pulled into a braid with silver hairs coming out from the darker ones. She looks over her shoulder and smiles gently.

"There you are, lady! Do you mind cutting some bread for dinner, sweety?" she asked as she return her attention back to the pot in the fire. I nod and grab the bread knife and a loaf of fresh bread. I start cutting the bread as mother begins humming a old song. I join her with my humming and start swaing my hips slowly, soon follow by mother, who start spinning gracefully through the kitchen.

Our laughter rings through the small kitchen as we joke around, singing tavern songs and dancing together. As we dance together, I didn't notice the front door open and father walk in.

He coughs and look at us with his hairy brow lifted, trying to hide a smile on his lips but failing miserably,

"Well what do we have here?" his rough voice sounded through the house, making mother's green eyes bright like two little starts.

"My love!" she said as he embrace her gently, kissing her lips softly. "I've missed you."

He next pulls me into a bear hug, kissing my forehead gently. "I've missed you both!" he said with a big smile.

"How was the market today, Father?" i asked as i return back to the bread, cutting it slowly.

He sighs and sit at the table, rubbing his rough hands against his face. "Not good, little snow flake." he said through his hands. Mother looks to him with worry eyes as she returns back to the pot. "There's new farmers in the market selling better vegetables and fruits than mine....People are favoring them...."

I nod slowly and look to him, seeing the dark circles under his brown eyes. He have been working so hard on the farm and the market that he almost don't have time to rest or have some alone time with mother so i thought on a brilliant idea.

"Tomorrow i can go to the market and you can stay here with mom, Dad." he frowns at my words and shook his head.

"No, little snow flake. I don't want you go alone to that town full of sins." he growls tirely, resting his back against the chair's back. I roll my eyes and smile gently.

"You don't have to worry about me, Dad. I'm a big girl now! I can defend myself." i said with a grin, knowing full well that he knows I'm talking the truth since he taught me some fighting moves when i was a child.

He sighs and nod, smirking up to mom as she giggles. "Very well then... Tomorrow you shall go to the market BUT if you notice any funny business, you come right home. Okay?" i nod excited and gave a kiss on his cheek.

"Yes, Dad!" i said as i finished cutting the bread. I pose the knife on the counter but as i do that, i slice my finger on the sharp blade. A hiss fell from my lips as i quickly look down to my finger, seeing pure white blood oozing out from the wound.

"Are you okay, Rose?" mom said while she grab a wet cloth. She grabs my hand and look carefully to the wound, a relief sigh escaping from her lips. "Still pure as the day you were born, huh? I'm glad." she murmured as she clean my wound.

We all born with white blood which symbolizes our pure soul. As we grow up, our blood can change to red and become darker if we begun doing cruel things. The darker the blood, the cruel you are.

Mine's is still pure white which can be pretty rare since I'm 22. By now, it could be a little darker just for a little lie or for stealing something but since I've never done any of those things, I'm pure as the day i was born.

"There! All done!" Mom said with a warm smile. She grabbed the pot from the fireplace and put it on the table while dad took out our bowls and spoons. I put the bread on a basket and put it on the table.

We sat and start eating dinner, listening to dad's stories from the market and laughing at his jokes.

~~~~~~

"Balmoral Town" his voice was rough and hard, making the small folk of the night look at tall elf in surprise. "Let's hope i don't get trouble in here." Maedhros murmured as he walk through the small town.

He enters on the busy tavern, removing his hood from his head, letting his silky red hair fall down his back. He walks to the bar's counter and call the servant.

"What can i get you, elf?" the old man with red face and stains of soup and beer on his white shirt, asked. His hair was dirty blond and looked like hay. There was a big nasty scar on his cheek that come from the corner of his mouth to his ear.

"Do you have a empty room?" Maedhros asked while he looked to his surroundings, notice most of the people in there was drunk.

The old man turn back, grabbing a rusty key and then turn to him, throwing the key to the counter. "Upstairs on the left." he said roughly.

Maedhros thank the old man and go upstairs, following the man's instructions. He enter the small room, having to bend down a little so he don't with his head on the ceiling, and sits with a tire sigh on the bed.

He took his boots off and throw them to the corner of them room, along with his pack and sword. Then, he lies down and groans in pleasure as he feels the soft mattress hugging his back.

His eyes begun feeling heavy and so his body. Taking a deep breath, he let his body and mind relax, letting sleep take over him.

"Tomorrow is a new day." he mumbled as his eyes fluttered shut.

Hey Guys!!! Here the first chapter of Pure Blood!!! I hope you enjoy its as much i did writing it! Feel free to comment and tell me what you think!

XOXO

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vidalinav · 4 years

Text

Cassian’s Love is Warm (3/4)

Summary: Nesta’s recovery in the Illyria and her developing relationship with Cassian... Or the chapter where Nesta communicates a little better and dives more into her magic.

Links: Nesta’s Love is Quiet Series Masterlist

This took so long and I don’t even really know if it was worth it but here you go. This is dedicated to those 15 followers who always ask when these chapters will be done and like all my posts about updating this fic. Y’all keep me young...and honest.

Thanks for reading! Long asf author’s note at the end.

Something in the air smells like spring.

Nesta can imagine Elain here, in this field where wildflowers bloom and cold wind tickles her hair. She can see it all so clearly as if the sun has melted more than the snow—has left more than mud.

Cassian stands behind her, waiting for her to take it all in. She can see the purple tents of the market, the bustling of people. All of them running around with the things to do and accomplish. The presence of life in such a remote piece of the world.

They walk towards that noise, the sweet song beckoning them forward.

It hits her all at once, then. The smell of cinnamon and cardamom, the array of autumnal spices lined in neat rows. Nesta inspects the red and yellow peppers hanging above the counters. Her eyes trailing over pots of hot broth and the bubbling swirls of chocolate and cream, trying to imagine the sweet taste of strawberries coated in crystalized red.

Cassian points to food she’s missed along the way and there’s something intimate about the way he leans towards her, his hair gently grazing her cheek. He points to his favorite dishes, the color vibrant against the worn brown of the stalls. Nesta wonders if he’s noticed she’s only half paying attention, caught more by his enthusiasm than the seven different kinds of fried food.

His face grows red when he’s excited, she notes. Like spring has a made a home in him, and he too comes alive. He talks with his hands, gestures wildly, at ease in this unfamiliar place. Nesta lets him guide her along, all too aware of the shy smiles he keeps trying to hide between glances.

When Cassian suddenly stops at a stall, Nesta has to catch herself from running into him. She always forgets he is larger than her—larger than life really, but Nesta never notices how tall he is compared to her. A mountain in her way, she thinks, if he had not also been the bridge.

Cassian points to an ornament hanging from one of the railings. A chandelier of blown glass that sways gently. “How about one of these?”

Nesta tries to imagine the house with its bare walls and tattered décor and place the chandelier in the midst of its chaos. She hopes that the picture will appear like paint on a canvas with its cerulean hues against grey. A hint of sky between parted curtains. Forget-me-not shades in forget-it-all concepts. But the image that appears in her mind is her sister’s skin smudged in the same blue Nesta looks at, a brush gripped firmly in her hands.

Nesta stares into the clear teardrops.

“Where would we put it?” She asks, trying not to meet his eyes. She notes the stalls across from them and the amount of people drifting from each. Tries to count them one by one in her effort to escape his gaze, questions already forming at the tip of her tongue. How long will they stay here perusing items that have no commonality? How long before the items become unwanted again? Things thrown haphazardly around each room with no purpose but to be pleasant, yet still can’t manage even that.

“Maybe, above the dining table…after we get a new dining table.” He remarks. “Maybe, the living room.” He nods slowly, tapping his finger on his cheek. “I can see it hanging there.”

Nesta can see it there. She hates to admit it, but she does.

Such a bright light in all that darkness.

She can imagine them under it, too, with more than enough pillows cushioning them on the couch, pushed to the floor. A thick rug she can feel through her toes, that she can feel on her back. Their shadows tangled by firelight. Her head resting on his shoulder. His fingers trailing along her arms and—

Nesta shakes her head. Her face growing warm.

“We can look at other things, if you don’t think—”

“No” Nesta says, breathless and her heart beating much too fast. “It’ll work; I think. With the rest of the house I mean.”

She scorns herself for sounding flustered, but Cassian simply smiles in confirmation. Mouth wide and endearing.

“We can make it work.” He promises, as he signals the shop owner.

Nesta watches as they talk, the muted gestures careful as he hands the chandelier to Cassian. Such craftsmanship in glass. Beauty in something so breakable. She could shatter it before they even made it back home—

Home is not a prison like she thought it was. It is not four walls and a roof, or food or no food at all. It is not poverty or silk sheets. It is not made of glass and it is not so breakable that she could crush it between her palms and bleed on white carpet.

Nesta’s not entirely sure what it is, but she knows what it’s not. Knows that it is not fragile, and it does not hang, and it is not painted with decorative leaves that fall in shades of blue.

It is not glass.

But maybe it’s wood, and the next stall, larger than the last, offers an array of furniture and a female that carves and carves never noticing Nesta as she gleans.

On and on she gathers. She walks to the next stall and then the next and the next, not even sure if Cassian is following or if he stayed behind collecting the light that will hang above them like a glittering star.

It’s odd, Nesta thinks as she turns in a sea of unknown faces. She’d spent so much time with her nose raised, she forgot what it was like to stare straight ahead, and… see the world for what it is. Color and wind and sun, and not just walls. A thousand different things she could see, feel, touch… A thousand different things she didn’t have to hate—that she didn’t have to love either but could choose to anyways. So many choices at the tip of her fingers.

As liberating as that thought is, there’s something sad about it still. The world tinted grey, even when the sky is blue.

Even in a crowd of people she is still not where she ought to be. She isn’t at the center, while the world spins around her. Nesta is not where the world ends or where it begins or where it continues. She’s not even sure if she could see her world if she could fly above it. She is not the part that if removed would eradicate all function, all fluidity.

People move around her, whether she stands in place or walks. They laugh with their friends, talk to their family, to shop owners, mumble to themselves. And as Nesta stands, glancing here and there, a thought enters her head. She is still merely at the edge. Hanging off of it? Maybe not. But she could see her feet dangle. See all the rocks below—

“Are you going to buy anything?” The sharp voice cuts through. Nesta manages a quick glance at the older fairy, unaware that she’d been standing by a shelf of framed mirrors.

“I’m sorry. I was—I’m waiting for someone.” She manages, wanting to kick herself for being flustered twice in one day. The female looks pointedly at Cassian who is still talking animatedly with the shop owner.

“Could be a while.” She says, and Nesta can’t help but agree. “Come in while you wait.”

The female moves, lifting the tent flap behind her, revealing a dim, dark space. A hidden place tucked into a corner of the market, larger than the others had been. A tent, Nesta thinks, rather than a stall. With wine-stained cloth enclosing all inside.

Nesta tries not to look to curious at the awaiting female, analyzing every tick of her patient gaze.

“What do you sell here?”

The ominous panels shift, and Nesta wonders if perhaps she asks too many questions. Never trusting the slightest possibility of endangerment, even when it’s disguised as shopping and pretty trinkets.

“A great deal of things.” The fae answers. “But nothing I can show you if you stay here outside.”

Her skin like weathered paper, crinkles as her eyebrows raise in waiting. “There are things you’d like I think.”

“How would you know what I like?”

Without so much as a blink, the fae steps inside, her chipper voice carrying behind the tent flaps. “I don’t expect you to be so different from anyone else.”

It’s those words that bury themselves in her, make a home in her, crawl into her skin, until they all but coat her like a new wool sweater.

For as long as Nesta can remember, she is always the one who’s different. The smart one, the clever one, the quiet, judgmental one, the mean one, the one with the most hostility. Never the one who played nice with the others, who had many friends that ran to her with secrets and gossip. She was not the one they trusted. Not the one they let in.

But not in this world—she’s one of the many in this world. Not one of the few. So, Nesta enters the little shop and wanders.

She walks from one shelf to the next, expects to see marvelous rubies and diamonds with a thousand different colors woven into its shine. Imagines inventions that move when she winds them or talking clocks that sing songs at the end of an hour. Disappointedly, all the shop owner keeps is picture frames.

Nesta stops to stare at a large one, dust covering the worn brass.

A picture of the market appears in its frame, and Nesta blinks at the sudden image. She can make out one of the shopkeepers, children laughing with balloons and candy in their hands. She can even see Cassian in the corner, talking with the fae next door, his hands waving. His head nodding.

“Is it—” Nesta shakes her head in disbelief, “Is it moving?”

The female comes to stand next to her, peering into the image. She smiles, too self-indulgent to be anything but praise and pride. With the glint in her eyes, Nesta almost expects to hear a long-forgotten secret make its way out of her lips. Perhaps where the treasure lies. Or where the golden eggs are hidden. She leans in unconsciously towards her and listens.

“Marvelous, isn’t it?”

She points to one on her left. “This one is Monteserre in winter… and this one depicts the stunning shades of blue in the Night Court stars.”

Nesta follows her down the row as she continues to describe the various pictures that wink and wave and shudder beyond her control.

“This one is my personal favorite, Spring in Dahlias, I call it.”

Nesta looks at the flowers that flutter as if wind has shifted them. She places her hand on the image, her fingers gliding along, expecting to feel soft petals. Nesta only feels the cold glass.

She doesn’t try to keep the awe out of her voice.

“How much are they?”

“They are not for sale.” At Nesta’s furrowed brows, the shop owner explains, a small, conspicuous smile creeping along the edges of her mouth. “I only sell the frames.”

Nesta watches as the shop owner maneuvers behind the first image. The market a bustling and lively place that one could dream of and be satisfied with. “Pictures are a kind of magic, I think… and just like hopes and dreams and memories, we see what we want to see. Feel what we want to feel. ”

The fairy trails her fingers along the brass, hunching over the top to get a better view. As if she had not made the view herself.

“In many ways I made these because I was trapped in places I didn’t want to live in and was myself not someone I wanted to be. They let me escape this world. Even for a moment.” The fairy gazes wistfully at the picture, turning towards Nesta. Her eyes a pale shade of green and self-assured promise. “And later when I didn’t want to escape anymore, they were memories. Little recollections of times I didn’t even consider the magnitude of or how much impact they would have on my life.”

The female steps around the image and Nesta feels the sudden urge to run, though she doesn’t know why. She is in no danger as far as she’s gleaned and even if she were Cassian is only a few stands away. But Her heart thumps regardless, one beat after another, faster and faster, as the shopkeeper continues.

“Hopes, dreams, memories. It’s all simple magic, really. Perhaps the only kind we all possess. Past the names we call ourselves, beyond the masks we wear. I think to master it is to master ourselves.” She takes a cloth out of her pocket and wipes the edges of the frame. “How else can we see things as they truly are?”

“Why do you keep these hidden?” Nesta asks, her voice soft and accusatory. She could hear the light laughter. Mocking her or believing her to be naïve, Nesta didn’t know.

“Because there’s some who’d rather not know what they look like when they don’t know they’re being watched… Others who don’t want to know what magic looks like when it’s not used for violence or war… No, these are for the special few. Those who think too much already. The ones who need to see.”

Nesta shakes her head.

“I don’t understand—” She starts, but Cassian appears through the tent flaps, a box placed carefully in his hands

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

He sets the box down gently at his side, combing his hair with his fingers. A carefree, contented kind of way. “I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Nesta can feel the urge to roll her eyes but she can’t deny that that something about him makes her feel assured. More calm. Less cautious. As if all the words ever spoken make sense somehow, even if she can’t decipher what they mean. Even if she can’t tell if they’re meant to be dangerous.

“I wasn’t so far away.” A huff in her words. “I was waiting for you, but you took too long.”

“Sorry” Cassian answers, a sheepish grin on his face. “The shop owner wanted to talk about the new policies of land ownership in Prythrian, and once he started, he wouldn’t stop.”

He notices the shopkeeper watching them, an intrigued, curious gleam in her eyes, and nods slightly in her direction, taking his time perusing the items leaning on each wall. A warrior’s assessments that Nesta would find odd in such a place if she had not done so herself.

“Did you find anything you like?” He asks, at last.

Nesta maneuvers to the corner, tracing her fingers along one of the frame’s edges.

She is not a painter like Feyre. She is not hopeful like Elain. She is not brave like Cassian. She is not useful, or pleasant, or trusting… but something in her heart says that she can have this one thing, if only she’d reach out and take it.

Perhaps, Nesta lies when she says she doesn’t want to be like them. Maybe, she’s been waiting for them and them for her and got lost somewhere along the way. Somewhere that was messy and monotonous and crass. Maybe she lets herself get carried away, swept up in the lively fire of anger and the grandeur of being unrelenting and unforgiving.

Perhaps it is also true that Nesta is not like them at all. Maybe she is merely trying on different shoes until she finds one that fits the best, until she can walk in those shoes comfortably, stand in front of every person who means anything to her and look each one of them in the eye.

What will she tell them after it’s all said and done? What will she see reflected back at her?

“I want to get these frames.”

Nesta holds them up for Cassian to see, the brass of one contrasting with the wood of another. She counts three in her palms, but she wants more. She’d take them all home if she could.

“We’ll take these.” Cassian directs his words to the female waiting, “As many as you have.”

He doesn’t ask what she’s going to do with them. Possibly trusts her enough to know about such things, or maybe he doesn’t care at all, Nesta thinks. Maybe Cassian knows she needs this, like he knew she needed all of those books, or the training, or the teasing arguments whenever she was too sad to get out of the house or out of her nightgown. Like all of those games he played with her or the food he set out to have her try. Maybe it was just in his heart to be like that. To be that caring.

Nesta barely notices as the female collects the frames, giving Cassian back his change.

His eyes light up when he’s content, she notes. Not quite green, not quite amber. A little bit eager as he looks at her. Nesta wants to know what it means to be looked at like that. If it’s as dangerous as she always imagines it would be...

Cassian takes the frames out of her hands, holding them for her as they make there way outside. But not before the shopkeeper grabs a hold of his arm and leans towards him.

She holds her hand next to her mouth as if she is telling some secret, and though the statement she says next is directed at Cassian, Nesta still grasps the words.

They float around like music notes, reach her ears, travel down her spine.

The words curl around her heart, burrow in the center of her chest, warming her all over.

Your mate is lovely.

~~~

The mountains have many different names, she learns, and its acres sprout multi-colored flowers. Enduring patches of delicate petals. She passes wisteria, rhododendron, azalea, feels their softness on the tip of fingers. It’s for this reason, Nesta asks to walk some more before they go home.

She spends her time balancing on the raised edge of the sidewalk, Cassian close beside her. Never too far away. Never so distant that she can’t make out his shape or smell his scent or feel the warmth he resonates in the early spring chill.

Her hands are clasped behind her, but she feels a little braver, a little more playful and child-like. Not nearly enough to hold her arms out like she wants to and fit the whole world in the length of them. But she does wobble slightly every now and then, just to see Cassian flinch.

“How did you find the market?” Nesta asks as they reach a clearing of muddy rocks and grass.

“I used to come here when I was young. Azriel, Rhys, and I.” He shakes his head fondly as he remembers. “We used to spend all day here, eating as much as we could and taking more home.”

Nesta waits for him to continue as he passes her, going to sit on the cold ground. His large body at odds with the tiny daisies that sprout in aimless places on the field. She stays behind watching, trying to capture the outline of his figure and every color that bleeds into his skin.

“Actually, I didn’t start coming here until Rhys’s mom took us. She used to sell dresses here and she’d take us with her sometimes. If we behaved, she said she’d get us each our own surprise. It always ended up being food, but sometimes it was new clothes, or toys, or weapons as we got older.”

Nesta can see his fists clump the grass as she gets closer to him, lured by his story and the image of three children running around the market square.

“I don’t know why I remember, but I know we used to steal food when no one was watching, even made a game out of it. Who could take the apple from the crabby goblin? Or how many strawberry tarts could we eat behind the dryads back? The one who always raised her nose at us and complained to Rhys’s mother to.”

Nesta laughs quietly. The sound bright as she pictures a smaller version of him, with rosy cheeks and a penchant for getting in trouble. She wonders if she ever looked that way, too. Innocent and hopeful. Playful and proud.

Nesta wants to say so much to him. Ask him questions about his favorite things, the memories that make his voice sound like he sprinkles sugar atop them. Such sweetness in the light of his smile.

“That sounds fun.” Nesta says, cringing at the perfunctory response.

“It was,” he agrees. “Until we got home and took turns throwing up everything we ate.”

Nesta can’t help the grin that appears, and Cassian knocks his shoulders with hers. His smile reaching his eyes as he looks at her, mirth in the crevices of his mouth.

“You have dimples.” He notes. Nesta touches her cheeks, covering them with her hands. “I didn’t expect you to have them.”

The words sink in before Nesta can decipher what they mean, and she spends the next minutes deciding on an answer, worried more about her response than the stillness that tangles around them. She can feel her teeth pull on her bottom lip, begging her not to say anything.

She never says anything.

“My mother didn’t like them.” Nesta admits, not daring to look at Cassian. “She said that I was born with such a perfect face, it was a pity that the only imperfection she could see was in my smile.”

She shakes her head, staring into the wide expanse of interlacing pinks and marigolds. When did she lose the right to laugh so freely, the freedom of being love drunk and a curious daydreamer? When did life decide she was no longer a child and the only thing she could carry were the memories piled so high and so heavy they were crippling?

“I never wanted to smile in front of her, after… I didn’t want her to look at me and only see what I lacked—how imperfect I really was to her.”

And, Nesta lacked almost everything to her mother. Always talking when she shouldn’t, saying things she could never take back. She was always too moody, too angry, too taciturn. Never what her mother wanted her to be.

Even now she reveals too much and Nesta wants to slap a hand over her mouth, rewind time, start at the beginning where her secrets are kept hidden. Safe in the anger she never hid well.

She can see the questions already forming, something Nesta hopes isn’t pity making a way in the honey tones of his irises.

“I guess I took her words too literally.” Nesta bites, the animosity burning bright red.

Cassian opens his mouth to say something, but Nesta doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t even want to know what he could possibly say to take the bitter taste out of her mouth.

“Why did you stop coming here?” She asks accusingly, amazed that she can switch her emotions, like blowing out a candle. One minute a flickering flame, another smoke rising to the mist.

His brows furrow as his eyes darken. Nesta is almost ashamed that she feels proud to have caused such a look. ”You said you used to come here. Why don’t you anymore?”

Cassian grimaces, his wings drifting higher. “No, I don’t come here often.”

His hands wring themselves around and around and Nesta wants to know what he is imagining between his fists. If he hopes to maim as much as she wishes to pummel.

“When she died, I never had the heart to come back. I didn’t want to see where she had walked, where she had laughed, the people she knew so well, and not see her in the midst of it all. There was a part in me, a part in all of us, that was already empty. I didn’t want to see how empty this place had become—what the world looked like without her. So, I just… stopped coming.”

Nesta pauses at his words, suddenly guilty that she is playing a game of whose life turned out worst. There is no winner in daddy issues or absent mothers. No crown for the unwanted, the unclaimed. And she will not find secrets in fingerprints or under the skin her nails dig into. There is only pain.

His and her own.

“Did she come here often?” Nesta asks, her voice steady and soft. His words blinking away the burning sting in her eyes.

“When she could get away—from raising us that is, or some task she had to do for Rhys’s father.” He scoffs. “Raising us mostly. That was all she good for apparently. Never mind that she was smart as all hell and could rival any male Illyrian, trained or no.”

“Do you think she would have been seamstress all her life if she had never mated?”

Nesta doesn’t know why she asks more questions, when she all but ruins the conversation. When they get back, she’s sure she’ll spend hours going over everything she says, marking every tally of moments gone awry. But she wants to salvage as much as she can, wants him to spill the words out so she can collect them like tiny seashells, like parts of a ship already wrecked and abandoned.

Cassian stays silent and Nesta wonders what has trapped him in his head. He stares at the mountains not meeting her gaze and takes his time answering her question. When he does, she can hear the strain of his voice, can see the veins in his hands bulge as he tightens his fists on the grass.

“Illyrians are not… good with females making their own money. They saw, it is as a bad example to the others. No one needed to get ideas, so they gave her more chores, more work. And that was before she had married, so I’m told.” He pulls on the daisies between them. The petals falling in clumps as he grits his teeth. “I can imagine what they would have done if she continued.”

She can feel the anger from Cassian, and feels it rise up inside her, as well. A pain Nesta supposes she shares with all of them, no matter what body she walks in. Like calls to like, she hears Feyre once say.

To be an Illyrian, fae, or human. To be a female, forever young and beautiful. To be a male, always the strongest and most self-assured. To be nothing, but petals and dust. To have it all. To have so little. It was never enough.

In that way, they are the same, she supposes. Both with their feet in the sand, the waves crashing on their ankles. Anger and sadness floating out in that bitter sea she so often drowns in.

Nesta never stops drowning, gives up trying to keep her head above water. She imagines her mouth opening, and a waterfall bursting out. A broken pipe siphoning from an ocean that would never dry. Something explodes out of Nesta. A silence she can no longer keep by holding her lips tightly together.

“My father used to make carvings out of the wood I had to cut,” Nesta holds her palms out as example.

She always expects to see the blisters, count them one by one, as some kind of reminder that she’s suffered. Sometimes, she wishes they’d appear, so she could rub her fingers across them and trace the memories. But they are long gone, and all she can see now are weaving lines and skin.

“I remember being mad at him, so very angry that he’d use the wood that was supposed to be for fires or…food—" She looks towards the bushes, so full and overflowing with berries. What would she have given to have just a taste then? To have these resources growing just outside her door. “He’d sell them, and I still could only thing that it was mine. He’d use my wood, my time, my pain, and it was my money—what I deserved for dealing with a father who could care less about his own daughters.

“I suppose that’s how Feyre felt.” Nesta feels her eyes sting as she stares straight ahead, “And I guess that’s why I understand.”

The anger, she thinks. The sour taste of regret.

Cassian stays oddly quiet as she speaks and Nesta can’t help but be grateful. She does not need to hear sweet coddles as if she needs sympathy, but equally so Nesta doesn’t know what she’d do if she heard criticism. He can’t possibly understand something he’s never lived through, and it makes a part of her furious to think he’d try. But it also makes a deep sadness fill the center of her chest.

Nesta—never to be understood or her sins forgotten.

He stares up at the mountains and she watches as he closes his eyes, his wings lifting slighting at the breeze. “The only thing I remember of my mother is her voice. I don’t remember what color her hair was, how tall she was, even what eye color she had. I can only assume they’re like my own…but that isn’t good enough. Not really.”

Nesta listens carefully to it all.

She’s never heard anything about Cassian’s biological mother and he’s never spoken a word about her, though she often notices how he looks at the others in the camp. The children, the couples, the families he is and will never be a part of. Even sometimes when he looks at her—like he is missing something that nothing in the world can fill.

“I like to imagine that she smelled like the woods, like fresh air… fires…warmth. That she carried me when I was tired and tucked me in when I was sleeping. I liked to imagine that she told me bedtimes stories. I hoped she told me bedtime stories, and I imagined waking up and believing every word that she said the night before. As if she painted my soul, my wants, and my wishes on the edge of my dreams.”

Cassian sighs, his shoulders sinking to the ground as Nesta resists the urge to lay a hand there. She is always trying to resist him, shake the feel of him off of her. A lump forms in the back of her throat, and she clenches her fists to stop the reaching.

“All this time, I could hear her call out my name as if she were screaming right in front of me,” He croaks. His eyes red as he stares, never quite looking at her. “This year, I could barely remember what she sounded like.”

“Why are you telling me this?” She asks, softly, her head resting on her bended knees.

Nesta watches as his grins. His face so obviously despairing that Nesta wants to ask him why he smiles when his heart is broken, why his expression looks so familiar to her. As if she were looking in a mirror as opposed to his war-torn face.

“Maybe all memories fade away, at one point or another. Whether we want them to or not.”

Nesta looks away, leaning back and blinking at the sky quickly turning to its dark cerulean hues. An ocean of darkness, she thinks.

She is always, always drowning.

“Do you miss your mother?” Nesta asks.

Cassian sighs, his hand running through his hair.

“As much as I can miss someone I’ve never known.”

“Do you miss your father?” He questions.

Does she?

Sometimes, it’s hard to tell. Grief looks so strange in Nesta’s eyes, she often wonders if she cares at all.

But she remembers the tombstone she can never visit, the goodbyes that get caught in her throat, the ships she doesn’t even want to look at in fear that she would cry and never stop.

Does she want to miss someone who hurt her so badly?

“More than I wish I did.” Nesta decides.

She looks him over once more before laying down on the grass. The feel of it pillow-soft and cool against her arms. The sky watching over both of them.

“We’re both orphans,” Nesta remarks.

Cassian chuckles, their shoulders touching as he follows suit. Nesta can feel the heat from his body all the way to her toes. “Penniless, parent-less lot, the two of us.”

She stares up at the wide expanse, the stars already peeking through the twilight. The space so substantial and vast it could swallow them whole.

“I suppose we have each other now.”

Amren tells her to think of magic as water. To bathe in it, to wash in it, to let it move around her. Nesta never tells her she’s afraid to take a bath, afraid of what the water might to do her. Even after she put one foot in and another until her whole body is submerged, she’s never wanted to touch that magic she felt just beneath her skin. Never wanted to know just how much it felt like hate.

But, Amren also tells her that if magic is water, her emotions are fire. The more she rages against it, the more she can’t control it. The more she hates the magic, the more it burdens her. Her anger breathes through her, and so the magic evaporates before Nesta can see exactly what it’s made of and what it calls to.

That’s what she tells herself when she stares at the picture frames and nothing appears. Nothing moves and she swears it’s because the magic inside of her does what it wants and doesn’t care at all about her. How could anything care about something that is so miserable and broken.

She scowls at the offending structures leaning lazily on the wall. The picture frames seeming to hum before her. The one Nesta holds in her hands, with its carved mahogany, glares at her to get on with it.

Nesta supposes it would be easier if she knew what images she wanted to appear. She can think of nothing, though she tries all morning, all last week, and all the way back to Windhaven when they make it back from the market.

Nesta sits back and sighs, her head bumping on the new couch they are still deciding on where to place.

The problem, it seems, is that Nesta can think of no good times worth remembering. She has seldom laughed with unutterable joy at the jokes her friends make. She has no friends. She can’t imagine the famous blooming roses of Rask or the briny beaches of Vallahan. She has never been anywhere. She doesn’t want to be reminded of Velaris, where she can still smell the putrid scent of puke and whiskey. An image would merely remind her of the headaches she gets with even a whiff of alcohol.

She moves on to people, but she is not inclined to dwell on any of them either. In fact, Nesta doesn’t want to think of them at all. And so Nesta sits there, resigning to the belief that she was born to be good at nothing…

Some part of her knows she’s scared.

The stiff spine, the wringing hands, the focused gaze. It isn’t an enemy that stands before her, but—Nesta inhales—there is too much that hasn’t been said.

She doesn’t want to know what her mind thinks of when she loosens the reigns. Amren has taught her so many times to keep those shields up, it seems counterintuitive to break them down now. But mostly, Nesta doesn’t want to know what magic looks like. She’s spent so much time denying it’s even there, that the idea of letting it move freely makes her feel wild—her spooked horse-like tendency to see all things as fearful even if they were smaller than her and she could stomp on them easily.

Nesta sets the frame down, the base screeching against the hardwood without leaving a scratch. Her fingers tapping along her thigh to some unnamed melody she can barely recall.

Her powers are always a mystery to her. Never to be understood, never to be forgotten. They are always there. She imagines its depth, the endlessness like drowning in a cauldron, the questions forming in the space between morphing bodies. Human to fae or… something or other.

Nesta tries to silence these questions, but she is simply too curious.

Will the magic shoot out of her hands, follow the sound of her voice, grant her wishes? Will it twist around her spine so that every time she uses it, she’ll feel a twinge in her back and a terrible need to bend and crumble? Will it spit fire out of her mouth like those roaring insults meant to bite and hide her away?

Is it hollow like a hole never filled? Does it echo like a rock in a well? Will it squirm? Eating her from the inside out.

Nesta does not want to know, she asserts, does not even want to imagine what the others have called powerful and strange.

But she can name one type of magic.

It was there that day. Between the two of them.

Nesta thinks about the idea of them several times. Even before she ever lives in this cabin. Long before she lets herself think about them together like that. The image always there, always waiting, and always agonizing.

She lets herself dwell on it now for the picture appears.

Maybe not a memory. Maybe not a dream.

In the space between mahogany lines, Nesta traces her fingers along the glass and brings it closer to her. The appearance finer than paint and perhaps more vibrant. She is almost afraid to look at it for long, fearing that it will change into something dark and horrid. But there they lay.

The two of them.

On that hill of vibrant green. The specks of white and yellow dusting their skin. A blanket of beautiful things she’d like to wrap them in, across both of their shoulders where dust and time had settled. This Cassian looks down, a soft grin on his face, pulling his arms around tighter, wrapped around this—this girl who looks a lot like her and nothing like her at all.

This girl grins. A wide and happy smile, her cheeks brimming and a lively red. Nesta watches as the girl in the picture with her hair and her eyes, leans her head on his shoulder. Both of them so close and so…loved.

Nesta hates this girl. Immediately chastises this young thing.

This girl who never sees terror or feels the deepest regrets. Who never knows starvation for touch and affection. Who never looks at the world with its hatred and despair and is just so hungry that she eats them like scraps of food left on the dinner table. This girl doesn’t know pain—

Nesta breathes deeply. Her fist only inches away from punching the glass into oblivion.

Or maybe she does… Perhaps this girl, this young, naïve, hopeful girl sees it all—feels it all, as she does, but smiles as Nesta always wishes she could, remaining free and unencumbered like no Nesta has ever been before. Perhaps this Nesta knows what it’s like to feel the raging disappointment and instead of soaking it up and bottling it for later, she tells stories instead, laughs instead, thrives instead.

Despite the pain. Regardless of the memories.

Nesta does not destroy the image. Whether its some dream manifested or some cosmic joke, the magic is there. Her power is in the center of it all and it is not cruel or angry or crass.

It’s water…and if it is, she’s made of it. There is no separation between who she is and what the magic makes her. There is no way to pull it out and leave the whole of her behind. As much as she wants to pretend it isn’t there, she can more dismiss that it exists than she can claim that air doesn’t take space in the atmosphere or that she doesn’t dream strange, improbable dreams.

Pretending doesn’t equate to truth.

So, Nesta leans the finished, moving frame on the living room wall and picks up another. The lavender paint reminding her strangely of dinner parties.

Nesta makes so many, fills all of the frames of different sizes and shapes and colors with moments she not only remembers, but of those she wishes to see—the pictures she needs to see.

Of Cassian with that group of friends she almost always resents. Of Amren and her, in that tiny apartment with puzzles strewn about. Of the camp and the raging, rising females who lay claim on her and treat her like one of them. Of the stories she swallows and the worlds that swallow her, that she can feel in the pit of her stomach.

Of her sisters. Because she loves them.

More than herself, most days.

She fills the walls with them all. The snow, and city lights, and night stars, and mountain tops filling the backgrounds, quietly saying hello, goodbye, stay a while. We promise you’ll like it here. We promise to be good to you.

Nesta straightens each one.

The one of her and Cassian though, she hides. Behind her bookshelf, where it won’t taunt her with its hopeful dreams, with its lies it tells so truthfully.

That one can wait.

When the night arrives, Nesta goes to the doorway and the moon scrutinizes her as she waits for the tell-tale sign of wings that signals Cassian’s return. It’s silvery sheen ordering her to do more this time, than watch from the living room window.

She is not the one trapped behind glass.

His feet hit the pavement as the crack of the open door reveals him. She is not a painter like Feyre, but she counts all the shades of indigo and wine that form the backdrop as he steps towards her. The stars as alive as each person who stares at her from those picture frames and blinks.

He looks at her cautiously, waiting for her response, but she takes his arm instead. Pulling him toward the day’s work.

She doesn’t ask him what he thinks, what he can read through gazes on his family’s faces, but she watches as he scans over the images, taking his time assessing each one.

She swallows when he looks back at her, and Nesta braces for the response. Will he deny her visions, her hopes and her wishes? Will he call her out for moving too fast? Will he knock all of them off the wall and yell?

Worst of all, will he say nothing? Her wants not even worth a response.

Cassian places his hand on her cheek. She feels his thumb trace her skin where it burns and if he moves any lower, he can probably hear her heart thumping wildly. And even if she’s scared beyond belief, Nesta still leans into his palm.

She closes her eyes, clenches her fists, and waits for that crippling fear.

Nesta feels the hot press of his mouth instead.

He pulls her to him, his arms moving to her waist as hers wrap around his neck.

His lips are soft, and she leans into him, tastes him, soaks him into her skin. Not at all sure what she should be thinking. Not thinking at all.

But Cassian pulls away far too soon, and when she opens her eyes again, his cheeks are brimming red. Nesta doesn’t say anything and neither does he, but she can feel him in the silence. Joy in deep breaths. Warmth she can feel to her toes.

She turns as he does, back to the images on the wall. Their shoulders almost touching as Nesta fiddles with her neckline and Cassian smiles neatly.

The two of them beaming.

The people of their pictures dreaming their own little dreams.

She will not be afraid of memories. She will not be afraid to hope.

Tags: @dreaming-of-bohemian-nights , @missing-merlin, @strangeenemy, @saltydreamcollector, @midnightbluhm, @my-fan-side, @queenofillea1, @tswaney17, @gloriousinlove, @ekaterinakostrova, @thebluemartini, @anishake, @lord-douglas-the-third, @mis-lil-red

AN:

I wanted this part to be a battle for Nesta. Happiness and Sadness are two sides of the same coin, and I wanted Nesta to constantly toss it and I wanted it to be a fight against what she hoped it would land on. I didn’t want to write her one day getting over it all, because I don’t really think that’s true. Healing, after all, is the ugliest part. So, this chapter ends a little hopeful but bittersweet and it will probably remain that way for the rest of it.

I split this chapter up, so we have one more part 4/4. And then the last segment which I may or may not ever get to called “Love is Bright Red, Hope is Dark Blue” which is more about the inner circle and their part in all of this. Since I think it’s easier for Nesta and Cassian to love each other in the dark so to speak and maybe not in front of their family. But, I haven’t written any of it, and to be frank, I only sometimes like writing this fic and I want to move past this. So, I will not make any promises.

But I hope everyone is doing well. It’s an odd time to be alive right now, and I really hope everyone is staying home and staying healthy. Oh btw, I’ve read Crescent City. It’s such a good book! I was amazed but not at all surprised. SJM always writes the books I want to read so there’s that.

Anyways, thank you for sticking with this fic, I know I take forever to update, but every comment, kudos, like, and reblog mean the world to me and tbh, the constant comments are the only reason I have even made it this far.

Of course, if you like this second to last end part, please feel free to do just that! I always love what you guys comment. I’m out! Finally

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acofas #acomaf #acowar #my writing #vidalinav #nessian fanfiction

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lu-undy · 4 years

Text

Chapter 9 - SBT

Here it is! And thanks for those who leave comments and appreciate my scribbles :D !

Lucien’s next destination was the tailor. He needed to fill his wardrobe, but not only that, he also needed to get his first contact with the man. He was on the list of the people he should visit to fully understand where he was.

The Frenchman went back to the hotel to get his car. The tailor was quite further away. As soon as he arrived, he went straight to the reception.

“Mister L, how can I help Sir?”

“I will need my car ready in a few minutes. Would that be possible?” He left one key on the counter.

“Of course, Sir. Anything else?”

“Non, that will be all. I will be waiting in the lounge.”

“Understood.”

Lucien waited on a sofa, a glass of water in his hand. He tried to remember the content of the file as regards the tailor. He used to be based in France but had asked to move away and his heart had set to Australia.

“Hm.”

Australia was as far as one could get from France. There weren’t a lot of places further away from home. He looked outside the hotel’s front window and could see a bright blue sky and the sun shining beautifully. It almost seemed as though he was on a different planet. One where he was clean shaven again, dressed in a suit, and off to be what defined him the most, a spy. He smiled to himself in that bittersweet feeling. He felt decades younger for a fleeting moment.

“Uh, sir?”

Lucien recognised the shy voice.

“Oui, Bastien, right?” He asked and the young man nodded timidly, his head lowered down.

“Your car’s ready, Sir.”

“You can call me L.”

“Thanks, Sir.”

“Thank you.” Lucien answered and stood up, heading for the door.

“Uh, Mister L, Sir?”

Lucien turned.

“Oui?”

Bastian was staring at his feet and the Frenchman took it for shyness.

“Uhm, thank you, Sir.”

Now Lucien understood. Bastian was staring at his new shoes.

“My pleasure. See you later.”

They courteously bowed to each other before the Frenchman exited the hotel and hopped on his car.

“Bien, allons-y.”

[Right, let’s go.]

He placed the map on the passenger’s seat next to him and put on a pair of sunglasses. Lucien drove while glancing at it from time to time. Soon enough, he found himself in the right street and was lucky enough to find a slot to park the Panthera. He exited his car and entered the tailor's.

"Bonjour, good Sir. How may I help?"

A man impeccably dressed himself came to welcome the Frenchman. He was about Lucien's height but quite older as his equally neat white moustache showed. Judging by his spot on pronunciation of "Bonjour", Lucien confirmed that he was indeed French too.

"Bonjour, Monsieur. I would need a word with you. My request is rather unusual." Lucien answered.

"But of course, Sir." The tailor moved behind his counter and invited Lucien to follow.

"Your name?" He asked as he looked down at a notebook behind his counter.

"L."

The tailor looked around. A few apprentices worked with him. He sent them to the workshop behind the shop and went to the door.

"Pray take a seat."

Lucien went to one of the leather armchairs and sat down. He watched as the tailor flipped the sign on his front door from "open" to "closed" and locked the door. Eventually, he released the curtains and to whoever passed by in the streets, it seemed as though the shop was closed.

"Bien, we may talk now and please feel as free as you would in Paris." The tailor finally broke the silence and sat on the armchair opposite his client. "My name is Richard. I am honoured to meet you, L."

Hands were shaken.

"So am I. You knew I was coming?"

"I have received communication from Paris, oui."

"News travel fast." Lucien answered.

"They do indeed. But tell me, how may I help you?"

"I have come to get to know you and your trade. But before you explain it to me, do you mind if I smoke?"

"Non, please by all means."

Lucien nodded and offered a cigarette to his colleague who politely refused.

"I have stopped smoking ages ago. My wife you see, she made me see reason."

Lucien smiled.

"I am sorry for you then, Richard."

The older man smiled softly.

"Don't be. She's the best thing that happened to me in my life. But I can tell by your smirk that you haven't met yours yet."

"The description that you make of your wife is touching. But indeed I haven't met a woman who fits this description yet."

"And yet your reputation tells me that you have met quite a few, non?"

Lucien chuckled.

"Quite a few, oui. But let us come back to the point."

"Oh, of course. My trade? Well, I sell high quality, custom designed and custom made suits. Uhm, do you mind standing up for an instant…?"

Lucien put the cigarette between his lips and obliged. The expert tailor had a close look at the Frenchman's suit. His fingers carefully ran on the sewing lines, the shoulders, the buttons and the pockets.

"Ah, you had Jean-Marc do this suit, non?"

Lucien opened wide eyes.

"I did indeed, how could you tell without looking at the-"

"I know a thing or two about suits. This is very classic, almost strict design. The sewing lines are tense. This is Jean-Marc, there is no mistaking it. Also, this is very uhm, French. I guess you have arrived recently…?"

"Indeed, I have."

"Tell you what. I'll tell you more about the house while I get busy, alright?" Richard suggested and before Lucien could argue, the tailor clapped his hands and his apprentices came in the room. They guided the spy on the side. There was a stage there, a few steps to climb on it and three large mirrors surrounding it.

"Now, les enfants, allons-y!"

[Kids, let's go!]

Lucien watched as they removed his jacket and started taking measurements.

"Feel free to speak in front of them as you would in front of me. They are my sons."

"Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, young men."

Both nodded but remained silent.

"While we make this new suit for you, allow me to discuss our business further. The front shop is a tailor and that is my first job. However, clothes are not the only things I sell. You will find a variety of… Well… equipment in my shop."

"What kind?" Lucien asked as Richard's sons walked around him and took more measurements.

"Weapons and accessories you might find useful. Of course, my suits can offer possibilities of storage for such equipment."

"I see. So, should I need to prepare for some more frontal encounters, I should visit you first?" Lucien asked.

"Exactly." Richard answered. "But that is not all."

Lucien's eyebrows rose as Richard's sons put the spy's jacket back on his shoulders and showed the measurements they had taken to their father. The tailor inspected the notes scribbled by his son closer.

"Hm… I understand your reputation." He said. "Your proportions are worthy of a model!"

Lucien smirked proudly and adjusted his tie.

"I have never had any complaints."

Richard chuckled.

"But pray tell me what else you can do." The spy asked.

"Before I answer, for the suit, do you have any preferences?"

"Something classic, something that doesn't stand off too much. Maybe grey, or brown."

"Ah, that might work in Paris, L, but here you have to wear a bit more colour."

"Hm…" Lucien winced.

"Don't worry, I am not suggesting you should dress up like a clown. Why not try this…"

Richard stepped off the stage and Lucien followed him. He took a Burgundy cloth off one of the shelves.

"A mix of cotton and linen. Sober and classic, yet the red brings that little touch of colour to be more discreet."

"More colour to be more invisible?" Lucien asked.

"Australia is a parrot zoo. If you want to blend in, you need to be as colourful."

Lucien sighed.

"You are the expert. I will follow your advice."

"I deeply appreciate it. Now, boys, get busy with this! And you, L, pray follow me."

The tailor went on one side of the room, he pushed the clothes rails aside and put his hand on the wall, at the shelf's height. There was a fleur-de-lis flower made out of what looked like silver. He pulled it like a lever and Lucien heard a metallic click.

"Boys! If you please…?"

Richard's boys came back and opened the wall as if it was two doors. The gentlemen now stood in front of a corridor.

"This will lead us to my more uhm, private, shop."

Lucien nodded and followed Richard in while his sons closed the doors after them. If the decor of the shop was very traditional with wood and yellow lights, this secret part was much more modern. The walls were made out of white marble and the lights shone bright. Lucien could almost see his reflection on the white tiled floor.

"Here we are."

Richard opened a door and unveiled a room full of weapons. Revolvers, assault rifles, shotguns, sniper rifles. You name it, Richard has it.

Lucien entered and had a look around.

"These are all very modern I see."

"We try to keep our library up to date, indeed. Should you need other models, we can have them delivered within a day, sometimes less."

"Any blades you might have?" Lucien asked.

"In here…"

Richard and Lucien went to a display case.

"Ah…"

"You are quite the traditional man, L."

"For my equipment, most definitely."

"And your suits too." Richard added.

Lucien's eyes didn't leave the blades. He inspected them one by one, paying the closest attention to any detail.

"I guess you are making those yourself. They are most definitely very beautiful. The work on the handles is quite unique."

"Indeed. I can also repair one or add a few features to it if you insist on keeping yours. Same for the guns. Most upgrades happen here but we sometimes send the guns to other places as we are not yet equipped with all the machinery necessary for them."

"I understand. May I have a look at the revolvers and pistols?"

"But of course. If you would be so kind as to look behind you…?"

Lucien obeyed and bent over another display case.

"Any non-lethal ones?"

"Those on display are lethal but I do have their non-lethal counterparts in store. Also, and given who you are, I will personally make sure that whatever piece of gear you get from us will be custom made and adjusted to your hands."

Lucien's eyebrows jumped.

"That is most kind of you, Richard."

"It isn't everyday that one gets the privilege to work with you, L."

"Bah, I am merely doing what must be done."

"Quite so, quite so… I can leave you to have a closer look at the library in peace if you prefer?"

"Non I think I have seen enough. Although, Richard, may I ask you something?"

"Anything, L, of course."

"Let us go back to the shop first."

"As you wish."

In a minute or so, both men found themselves back on the armchairs, surrounded by the shelves of fabric.

"Do you know this restaurant called The Queen Victoria?"

Richard nodded.

"Yes, of course. The most sought after of all places here."

"I will need to go there shortly. May I order a few suits from you, for the occasion?" Lucien asked.

"Please do. We have your measurements already so it shouldn't prove too hard although the red suit will be my priority."

"Oh?"

"Once I finish it, I will have your taste and measurements in my fingers and it will be much easier for me to get to more stylish pieces."

"Ah, I see."

"But tell me, I guess it will be for dinner?" Richard asked, pulling a notepad and a pen off his inner pocket.

"It is for business actually, but yes, it will be the evening. Also, I need to impress. I have the main things sorted out but if the suit could help, I will appreciate it greatly." Lucien added.

"I see…" Richard continued taking notes. "I have it all in mind. Anything else you want me to do for you?"

"Oui, actually. Do you have any information on the target?"

"A few, but I doubt it will be anything of value to you L."

"Pray tell."

"Fine. The gentleman you seek is rare to the sight of the general public. I am told that he likes his golf and his fine gastronomy. He has ladies like the pearls on a necklace and some of them we never hear from ever again…"

"I see." Lucien frowned. "Any idea on his recent activity?"

"Non unfortunately…"

"Dad, Mister Black and his friends should be arriving any minute now to pick up their suits."

"Oh, yes indeed, time flies! L, I will have to re-open the shop, anything else you needed?"

Lucien shook his head.

"I have heard and seen enough to get me started. Merci beaucoup, Richard."

[Thank you very much, Richard.]

The tailor nodded and signalled his sons who pulled the curtains and opened the shop again. Lucien stood up and shook hands with his new acquaintance.

"All the pleasure is mine, L."

Richard accompanied his client back to the door.

"How long should I wait for the suit?"

"A few days. We shall let you know."

"Good. Well, I wish you a good day, Richard."

"And to you too, L. See you soon!"

The Frenchman nodded and exited the shop. He slipped in his car and drove back to Victoria's restaurant. He parked in front of it and went to sit at his usual table. Lucien didn't have to wait too long for the young lady to appear.

"L! You came back for lunch?"

"Indeed I have."

"So… Uhm… ¿Qué te gustaría?" She asked with her notepad in her hands.

[What would you like?]

"Ah, I see someone has done their homework…" Lucien smiled.

"Was that correct?"

"Oui, not a mistake!"

"Haha!" Victoria laughed, triumphant.

"And to answer you, lo que me gustaría es lo que te gustaría."

[What I would like is what you would like.]

"Ah, uh, ok, so, uhm… If I were you, I'd have uh… Hm…"

She pouted and scratched her head with the back of her pen.

"I know! Go for the roasted chicken and potatoes. It's a nice day, it'll go with it nicely. You can add mayonnaise too!"

Lucien laughed.

"Fine, I will follow your recommendation but please, unless the mayonnaise is homemade, I would rather not have it."

"You're so posh…"

"I have standards, V, nothing more."

"Yeah, yeah… And to drink? Let me guess, posh sparkling water?"

"Is there a posh edition?" Lucien taunted her.

"Oh, you know what I mean!"

"Indeed I do. Sorry, I was pulling your leg as you say in your language. But oui, tienes razón, I will have the sparkling water please."

[You're right.]

"I know I'm right, I always am!" She arrogantly answered and Lucien rolled his eyes with a smile. "But L?"

"Hm?"

"D'you mind if I sit with you to have my lunch break?"

"Non, of course, by all means."

"Right, give me a few minutes then."

Lucien looked through the window and thanked the Lord that the sun had turned and was not hitting him directly. The Australian sun was much more aggressive than back in France. Victoria soon came back with a full tray.

"Here we go, old man! Posh sparklin' water and chicken and potatoes!"

"And what will the young demoiselle have?"

[Lady]

"My usual, good old homemade sandwich!"

Victoria sat in front of the Frenchman.

"You call that a sandwich?"

"Oh alright, I'll go have my lunch in peace elsewhere…!" The young woman said as she dug in.

"As if…" Lucien confidently answered. "Mh, the chicken is very good by the way."

"Oi, why d'you say 'as if'?"

"Clearly you had your hopes up."

Victoria blushed.

"You have waited for me to have your lunch."

She averted her gaze.

"Don't be ashamed when it is the truth."

"Hm…"

She buried herself in her sandwich and the Frenchman chuckled softly.

"I apologise, V. I didn't want to put you on the spot."

"It's alright…"

Both ate their food and Lucien didn't dare say more.

"L?"

"Oui?"

He raised his eyes to her.

"D'you have any family?"

Unfazed, he answered:

"A companion, only."

"Oh, what's her name?"

His ice-blue eyes met her hazelnut ones.

"Solitude."

He smiled.

"Oh… I'm sorry…"

Lucien shrugged.

"You really have no one? No parents, no kids, no…?"

His gaze impressed her. She didn't know if he was saying 'Do I look like I'm joking?' or 'I'm as sorry as you are'. It might have been none, or even both.

"I-I'm sorry."

Lucien wiped the corners of his mouth elegantly.

"No reason to be. I prefer it that way."

"Really? I-I mean, are you ok to talk about it?"

"Of course, go ahead."

Victoria frowned.

"Don't you feel like… alone? Like, you're missin' someone even though you don't know who? You're just missing like a… presence?"

The Frenchman let a half smile slip through his lips.

"At the beginning, oui. Not anymore now."

"What's changed?"

"What do you mean?" He asked.

"How did you go from 'oh I'm lonely' to 'Bah, whatever'?"

"I accepted it."

"Bullshit!" She answered and Lucien's eyebrows jumped.

"Pardon?"

"I don't have anyone either and it's impossible to not feel lonely! It's just not possible!"

"Non, Victoria. It is possible, you are just still too young, you have experiences to go through still before you hit that point."

"What point?"

"The point of no return. The point where the only emotions that your body are able to produce are contempt, pride and disdain; but not sadness, not heartbreak, not anymore."

Victoria had listened through and her eyebrows frowned further.

"Crikey… that sounds…"

"Liberating." He said.

"Awful." She answered.

Silence fell for an instant.

"Anyway." Lucien said and stood up. "I shall see you later. Don't wait for me for dinner."

He left what he owed on the table with a tip and left without adding a word. Victoria didn’t know what to make of her friend. Had she struck a nerve? No, he had seemed unfazed, he couldn’t have been moved by her words, or could he?

On his drive back to his place, Lucien was brooding, the slight breeze of the air conditioner in his car barely enough to keep his mind cool. His brow was furrowed behind his sunglasses and his mind was set. He needed her to wrap her arms around him, he needed La Solitude to comfort him.

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #SBT

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galfridus1 · 5 years

Text

Melban Weekend Day 1: BROTP

I’m super excited to publish this for @meliodas-and-ban’s Melban Weekend. Thank you so much @jacklynnfrost for writing this with me. You are amazing to collaborate with. Partly inspired by my drinking pal and a song with the same title by Gene.

Fill Her Up

A collaboration between Galfridus and Jacklynnfrost

As soon as the door opens the muffled music expands forth to pound the bass line in his chest, and he feels the sounds reverberate inside his ribcage. He frowns softly, stepping in and looking around the place. Booths line the left wall, a bar is to the right with half the stools empty and a female bartender reaching for a top-shelf bottle of amber liquid. It smells like stale barley and a little like cigarette smoke, but mostly disappointment.

He recognizes none of the faces, looking over the group by the window and giving a second glance to the full table beside the restrooms. With a sigh, he walks to the bar while pulling out his phone to double-check that this is the right establishment. It is, but while double-checking a text comes in from one of the colleagues of the many included in this plan, ‘Bar meetup is canceled, we’ll try again next week.’

Since he’s already here and thirsty for something warm and bitter, he finds a seat at the far end away from the couple cozied up together. The shiny table-top is sticky and he frowns before moving over a seat, eyeing the community bowl of nuts before him. It isn’t as if he is particularly interested in getting to know any of the people he works with, but he made the effort today where no one else seemed to take the plans seriously.

“Yo!” a deep voice calls out, one he recognizes and he turns to see that one of his colleagues has also shown up. The man looks almost too young to be in a place that serves alcohol, his green eyes sparking with an almost indecent enthusiasm and his small face alight with a wide, beaming grin. “Hey Ban, sorry I’m late. Where’re the others?”

“Meet up’s canceled~” Ban drawled as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop.

“Aww, really?” Meliodas flops into the seat opposite him, shaking out his messy head of blonde hair. “That’s a shame. I could really do with a drink.”

Ban grins, a sharp canine poking out from the side of his mouth. “We’re here aren’t we?” he says leaning forward. “I’ve got nothing else going on this evening.”

“You’re on!” Meliodas sits up a little straighter. “What’s your poison?”

Now, this is more like it. Ban grins. “Aberdeen Ale,” he says with a bit of a leer.

Meliodas cocks his head to one side. “Hey! Me too! Okay, coming right up!” Meliodas hops down from the chair and Ban quirks an eyebrow to see just how small the man is. He can’t be more than five feet at most. As Ban checked his phone, listlessly scrolling through Facebook, he found himself wondering more about the man who was busy buying him a drink. Meliodas has a reputation for being an extremely effective operative, someone who can sell rocks to a troll. Ban is not bad at it himself, well he hits all his targets each month, though his rivals would say that’s because he scares all the clients.

“Here you go!” Meliodas is suddenly back at the table, plonking two frothing pints of dark brown liquid down before him. Ban cackles, wrapping his fingers round the cool glass. “Cheers!” the other declares as he retakes his seat, and both men take deep, grateful drafts of the ale.

“So, how did you get into sales?” asks Meliodas. He swipes his sleeve across his face to make sure he does not have any foam on his mouth while speaking.

“The usual way,” Ban replies, “I needed a job so I found one.” He grins, raising his glass as his companion snickers, “I’ll drink to that.”

Their mugs rest on the bar top, silence between them but the noises of the bar are loud. Meliodas taps his fingers on the wood, barely hearing the sounds he’s making while Ban vaguely turns to the television currently showing a commercial. “Is it what you want to do?” he finally asks, not out of real interest but more for something to say.

“Nah, of course not,” Ban says with a laugh, taking another long drink and Meliodas stares. The man certainly is putting it away. Not to be outdone, he too takes a draft, clearing just a little more of the ale than his companion has done. “This is just a temp thing, you know.”

“Same.” Meliodas’s gaze flicks to the table and back again. “So um… what’s the plan, long term I mean?” Ban says nothing so he presses on, “I want to open my own bar, actually. Do a better job than this,” he adds with a smirk as his eyes rove around the room taking in the faded decor, the peeling paint and the obvious shine of something sticky on the bar itself. “Have you seen the toilets?”

“Not had that pleasure,” says Ban with a grimace, “and it’s my round. Same again?”

Meliodas gives a cheerful nod then drains his glass ostentatiously as Ban does the same. With a grin, Ban gets up from the table, his long legs elongating before him like a spider’s. Eyebrows raised, Meliodas watches as Ban makes his way to the bar, the slight smile on his countenance broadening to a huge grin as his colleague returns with not two pints, but four.

“It’s happy hour,” Ban explains. “Drink up, we should get another round in before these go back to full price.” Meliodas gladly obeys, sinking half a pint in one go. “Not bad,” Ban observes as he sets down his own glass, now more empty than full.

“Not bad yourself!” Meliodas drains his pint then raises the next. “Bet I can finish this before you.”

“You are so on!”

Together Ban and Meliodas raise their glasses, clicking the vessels together. “Three...” Meliodas begins.

“Two…” Ban follows.

“One...” teases Meliodas as he pulls the pint close to his face, the tang of ale on the air making his mouth water.

“Go!” The two immediately place their drinks to their lips, chugging down the alcohol as quickly as they can. They are both fast - very fast - and Meliodas makes himself hold his breath as he downs the drink more quickly than even he is used to, feeling a little lightheaded as he swallows the last of the ale. When he bangs the glass down on the table, he is gratified to see that he is a second before Ban, whose face is now a little pink round the cheekbones.

Meliodas stands, swaying slightly as the room reorientates itself. “S’my round,” he declares, grinning to Ban over his shoulder as he makes his way to the bar. Feeling the thrill of a challenge, he decides to buy six of the ales, the bartender giving him a sideways look and a tray.

“There!” Meliodas sets the tray on the table, joining in Ban’s chuckle as his colleague rubs his hands together. “Alright!” Ban declares as he takes one of the glasses.

“You know, that’s my plan too,” Ban slurs.

Meliodas’s brows furrow. “What is?”

Ban barks out a laugh. “You wanna set up a bar. Me too. That’s what I’m saving up for.”

“You do?” Meliodas’s jaw hangs a little slack, and he closes it quickly, covering his confusion with a draft from his own pint.

“Yeah. I figure there’s not a lot better than being surrounded by alcohol all day. Plus I can cook. I’m damn good. I want to have this traditional pub, cobbled stone floor, oak tables with stools, the lot. You know, like a tavern they’d have in the old days.” Ban’s face is dreamy, his eyes set into the middle distance as he leans forward to rest his arms on the table. “I’m gonna get someone to do front of house while I cook pies and roasts. It’ll be heaven.”

Meliodas is breathing heavily, and he swallows hard. “What’s eating you?” Ban asks with a cackle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mind made up, Meliodas reaches for his bag, pulling out a worn, leather-bound sketchbook. “I… you mean something like this?” he asks tentatively as he opens the book. He watches Ban carefully, heart pounding in his chest as the other looks down at the page, his expression morphing from curious to amazed. He looks down himself at the scene he has so carefully drawn: cobbled stone floor, neat little stools set by round tables, patterned diamond windows, and a well-stocked bar. This is his dream, and he looks into Ban’s wide-eyed stare, excitement flowing through his veins.

“I call it, The Boar Hat,” he says diffidently.

“Oh. My. God.” Ban glances at him, then picks up the book, gazing with intent at Meliodas’s sketch. “This is perfect. It’s exactly what I imagined. How did you… what… how?”

Meliodas gives an awkward laugh. “I’ve wanted to set up my own bar as long as I can remember. It was, um, a distraction from… stuff.” He picks up another pint, knocking it back to cover his embarrassment, rolling the liquid around in his mouth.

With the book in one hand, Ban reaches for his glass as well while staring at the page and takes long drags from the beer. The pages fan out without his hand there to hold it in place and sketch after sketch flashes, too fast to make out more than a few. “You must have needed a lot of distractions,” Ban notes, trying not to pry as he rights his new friend's book and slides it across the clean side of the table.

Meliodas shrugs, having just finished a deep swallow of his beer to dive back into it before fully breathing, finishing off the glass. “Same, honestly,” Ban notes, looking down into the amber liquid as if it had the answers, if not those he knows it has some relief. To keep up, and with memories trickling in, Ban finishes off his glass as well.

They both reach for another, in tandem and when their gazes meet their expressions are mirrored as well. The two are physically different but it's like one wounded soul recognizes the other, seeing that deep dark pinch of something that had been left to burn inside. Seeing it sparks a true connection. “Huh,” they both exhale and then snicker as they lean away with their cups and take another healthy swig.

“You too, huh?” Meliodas asks, shaking his head in a mix between exasperation that the world is so fucked and companionable wry acceptance. Ban shrugs, taking a second deep inhale of his drink following his first. He gives a start, his glass slowly lowering from his lips as he realizes that had been Meliodas’s non-answer moments ago. A heavy laugh bursts forth, a bit too loud until Ban slaps his hand over the table. “We’re the same!” he declares, edging into inebriation.

Meliodas laughs with him, downing his glass before smirking with foam on his lip, uncaring about his appearance at this point. “Fifty bucks says I had it worse.” He’s joking but Ban’s shoulders square up to their table, “Buck-fifty, and you’re on.” He accepts, both look to their next glass on the table, their last one, and say together, “We’re gonna need another round for this.”

To keep with the pattern, eight glasses are ordered and he’s all snickering grins as he wobbles the tray to their table not spilling a drop of the golden comfort. “You go first,” Meliodas demands.

“Nah, mine’s way more disturbing. I don’t wanna ruin yours.” Ban leans back in his seat, his crimson eyes a challenge as he takes yet another long drink of the ale.

“Confident huh?” Meliodas downs his pint. “Okay, but you’ll regret it.” He picks up another of the glistening glasses, condensation beading around the outside. “Life was alright when I was young. My old man has always been… well, he’s always been him but my mum did her best to shield me from it. He was never violent, you see, just… horrible.”

He gulps, wincing a little as Ban stares at him intently, a bit of heat burning the back of his neck. “I didn’t really know how bad it was at the time but I’ve pieced things together since, you know? He wouldn’t let her go out on her own, except to buy groceries, and if she spent too much or didn’t get the right things he’d yell at her for hours. And I mean really yell, at the top of his lungs. He’d call her all sorts of names.” Meliodas pauses, taking another draft of ale as his throat starts to burn. “He chose what she wore, wouldn’t let her have friends, wouldn’t let her talk to her family… I didn’t know that was weird until much later.”

Ban is leaning forwards now, his eyes slightly misty. “Go on,” he murmurs softly as Meliodas sucks in a deep breath.

He nods, then continues, “She… died when I was ten, giving birth to my brother. I didn’t even get to see her…” He takes another breath, willing himself to keep it together. “So there I was with my father and this baby and I had no idea what to do. I had to learn pretty quick,” he says with a laugh. “And Zeldris was tough work. He’s great and all but…” Without thinking, Meliodas tugs at a lock of his hair. “Anyway, with my mum gone, my father turned his attention to me. My grades weren’t perfect, Zeldris made too much noise, the house wasn’t clean enough.” He breaks off at this, contemplating his glass before drawing the remaining liquid into his mouth.

“I’m sorry,” Ban says, all trace of slurring gone from his tone. “That sounds shit.”

“I really did think it was my fault,” Meliodas says with a laugh. “It wasn’t till I met Elizabeth, then I realised that it’s... not normal. She took me to see her family and, well, they are. Normal, I mean. They’re nice to each other. I… I wasn’t nice to Zeldris,” Meliodas says with a rush. “I was pretty nasty to him actually. He won’t talk to me anymore…” He zones out, looking over Ban’s shoulders seeing nothing as he mutters, “I left him there, he was a kid and I, I knew.”

Ban sets down his pint with a thunk. “You should make it up him,” he admonishes, his voice cold as frost. “Brothers and sisters are… you look after them.”

“Yeah.” Meliodas takes another drink. “I know. I’ve tried to apologise,” he pleads as he looks into Ban’s face to see a stern line to his companion’s jaw. “I really have. He doesn’t forgive easily.”

“Then keep trying.” Ban glares, then his eyes soften, his own emotions spiking. “Aw, I know you are. And don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll come round. Who’s Elizabeth?” he asks, a smile creeping back onto his face to help his friend focus on the good part of his life he just shared.

Meliodas grins in return. “My girlfriend. We’ve been going out for a few years now. If I get a bonus this month, I’m gonna buy a ring.”

Ban slaps the table harder than the first time, his laugh so loud it reverberates over the thumping bass of the music and other patrons turn to gaze at the pair. Behind the bar, the staff glance at each other with worried looks. Then the hubbub of conversation resumes and the staff relaxes, returning to the serving of drinks and wiping down surfaces in a desultory way. “That’s why you’ve been working like crazy! It all makes sense now! Rings are damn expensive,” Ban says rather glumly.

“Sounds like you’re talking from experience.” Meliodas peers at Ban, whose face has turned slightly red. “You are talking from experience,” he declares. “Go on! Tell me more.”

“Her name’s Elaine, and that’s all you’re getting tonight.” Ban grins then drinks. “I’m gonna ask her this weekend.” Meliodas does the same at the news, tilting his mug in Ban’s direction in a mini salute to his new friend's future happiness. Their glasses hit the table and Meliodas arches a brow. “All I’m gettin’, huh? I spill my metaphorical guts and you only give me your girl’s name. I think this is the easiest one-fifty I’ve ever made.” After a breath and a smirk, he continues, “Maybe Elizabeth will get her ring first with all this easy money coming in.”

Ban snorts, takes a drink of his beer, finishing it with long gulps before pushing it to the side with the other waiting empty mugs. They clang together and with a flushed face he announces, “If this were our bar, these would be taken care of already.” Ban sighs when his declaration goes unacknowledged before turning to Meliodas with a small wince. “My old man was the opposite, never said much but communicated through violence. Ma wasn’t much better, sending me out to steal for them. Her requests were always impossible and when I’d return with less than asked for, I’d get punished. But all that shit, that’s fine.” Ban laughs humorlessly, fingers stretching across the sticky table for another of their waiting beers.

“See, I learned my lesson too late too, the one about protecting your younger siblings.” Ban grinds his teeth, hissing in a breath between them. “I hate that my life got better after. That I benefited from her death. I was put in a nice home, got a father figure worth his salt, food every night and even a brother my age… all at the cost of my sister’s life.” He can take no more, the memories sparking and leaving his chest tensing, his actual heart aching. Ban tips his drink back in a clear sign he is done revisiting the dark, but never forgotten, corners of his life.

“Fuck.” Meliodas grimaces, finishing his mug so Ban isn’t drowning himself alone. “I think this is a wash, then.” They both eye the other, then take another drink. The two gather up their next beers and Mel starts drinking but Ban halts, bringing the mug to eye level. He spots that this cup still has red smears of lipstick stains on it, he’s drunk enough to holler again. “Wash!” He yells, not gripping what Meliodas is talking about as he focuses on the dirty glass. “This place wouldn’t know clean if Mr. Clean himself squeaked in here with a soapy rag.” He holds up his glass, showing no one and everyone in the same go. “Look at this! I’m basically making out with a stranger with these lip marks!”

Finally the bartender glares over to him, and in an exaggerated move Ban points to his current cup before sliding the full mug across the table to clang into all the empty cups waiting for pick up. Meliodas snickers, finishing off his beer with a sloppy wipe of his face on the back of his sleeve. “We’ll have pretty girls serving and picking up the dishes,” Ban determines.

Meliodas’s eyes grow wide, his hand slaps at the table top making the glasses jiggle together in a chiming chorus perfectly timed between songs and the bartender gives an exasperated, audible grunt from behind. “Elizabeth in a cut off shirt with a short, short shirt. Mm-hm, It’d be the uniform, she can’t refuse.”

Meliodas finds this idea brilliant, he’s practically beaming as his mind races with all the things he can ask her to do dressed like that. He’s mumbling, drunk enough to not realize he’s speaking out loud. “Obviously she’ll have to reach for the top shelf stuff, being short has its perks, and bend to pick up the fallen cups…” He’s practically licking his lips about it when Ban laughs.

“If you put Elaine in that ‘uniform’ I’ll knock your block off. C’mon let’s get some more. In, like, clean - CLEAN - glasses’s time.”

Ban’s slurring just about makes sense and Meliodas grins. “I’ll drink to that,” he cries, using the table as support to stand making the pile of glasses clink together from the unstable wobbling. “Alright. I’ll come with ya. We'll carry more with… um… one, two, three, four! Four hands. Right? Right!” He counted it out on his fingers and holds them up with a snorting laugh from his perceived success.

When they reach the bar, however, the staff stand in front of the vast array of multicoloured concoctions forming a firm, supportive line, their shoulders pressed back and some with arms folded across their chest. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, sirs?” the bartender asks, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

Meliodas’s head is swimming like a fish in a tank, but even he can make out the insolent tone and his fists are curled by his side in an instant. He’s about to swing when Ban leans over him, nearly knocking him to the floor. “Who you callin’ sirs?” He growls, the effect somewhat undone by the way he leans his hands on Meliodas’s shoulders so hard the blonde loses an inch off his height as he fails to keep his knees straight.

“I will have to ask you to leave.” The bartender’s face is thunder. “Don’t make me call security,” he threatens as Ban leers and cracks his knuckles audibly.

Meliodas has a brief moment of clarity - they ought to leave, they could go back to his and continue their session, Elizabeth is staying at her sister’s tonight - but instead, he shakes his head and yells, “You and who’s army!” He picks up the nearest thing to hand - a dull metal fork, bits of food adhering to the prongs - and starts waving it about in, what he imagines to be, a rather menacing way. The bartender rolls his eyes, and a moment later Meliodas feels himself being picked up by the scruff of the neck and carried towards the exit. He attempts to swing round and to use the cutlery he is carrying but it is pulled from his grasp.

Ban is yelling as they are marched from the premises. “This’s a shithole anyway!” he proclaims, his words all blurring into one another. “You should’ll come t’our bar, it’s got, like, a pig, and a hat and like… it looks good okay, and it’s CLEAN.” Meliodas snickers, “Yeah!” he calls. “And we don’t have any mice either.” At this, the other patrons look around the bar with sharp glances, some pulling their feet up from the floor. A few leave money on the table and make a hasty exit as the bartender slaps his face down into his palm.

“Don’t come back,” the security guard warns as he deposits Meliodas and Ban out on the street before dusting off his hands and stepping back inside.

The pair stand on the sidewalk, swaying slightly as they break into spontaneous giggles. Meliodas claps Ban on the back, the latter nearly careening into the road under the force of his blow. The two look at each other and, in silent agreement, shuffle along, their sides bumping together as they make their way to a rival establishment a few paces along the street.

#nnt #meliodas #ban #melban weekend #thank you for doing this with me Sam!#tw: heavy alcohol consumption #no more than canon #tw: referenced past child abuse #long post

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rnufharose · 5 years

Text

Blood, Sweat, and Tears - Chapter 7

Words: 2.6k

Trigger Warnings: There will be violence and attempted rape in this chapter so please read at your discretion!

Songs used in this chapter: Señorita by (G)I-DLE

︻デ═一 ♥

Sehun pulled up his car by the curb a block away from The Magic Shop, which was no doubt having good business tonight. He went to the club for a drink but the staff wasn't acquainted with him, having frequented the place once in a while. He knew the seven men that ran the place were good people who did honest work—men that could have been angels who were sent to shine their light on this dark city.

He locked his car and tucked his keys into the pocket of his slacks, walking toward the restaurant and bar, hearing the soothing pop music and beautiful voices from inside, the tables occupied and the employees bringing food and drinks. The raven-haired male pushed through the door and made for the counter, taking a seat on the stool and speaking toward the silver-haired female, "Can I get something for the top shelf?"

"You got it," the beautiful woman bowed and began to make his drink. He turned the stool to face the stage, balancing his chin over his knuckles, listening to the pink-haired male with the soft voice and his blue-haired friend who complimented his singing with a deep, husky tone.

Jimin and Taehyung were the ones on stage, and they had decided to sing a more chill song, and once again, their performance never ceased to the amaze the patrons, who gazed in awe and smiled from ear to ear, forgetting the troubles of the outside. It still made Sehun bewildered as to how these men were capable of making these people happy. Though he knew once they left and that security was gone until they returned, he felt they gave the patrons a sense of hope.

That maybe, one day, the violence would end.

Haneul was in the back, touching up her makeup and fixing her hair while she stared into the small mirror that resided on the desk, putting her eyeliner and lipstick away. She was in a black dress that stopped in the middle of her thighs, her hair cascading down her back and a dainty necklace around her neck. On her small feet were heels of the same color. After Jimin and Taehyung would finish their song, she would be taking the stage.

"Why don't you sing tonight?" Jungkook suggested, to which she shook her head and turned away, ready to take a tray of food toward another table.

"I don't think anyone wants to hear a sad person sing," she said.

"Don't you remember the last few times you came here?" He pressed. "Everyone loves to listen to you sing. Your voice is special, Haneul. One day, someone is going to listen to it everyday."

"You and the others already listen to it everyday, Jungkookie," the brunette turned away from him, walking ahead.

"That's not what I meant," the slightly older boy exclaimed. "Just one song won't hurt! Please?!"

Here she was now—having accepted his request to sing despite her reluctance, staring into the mirror. She wasn't sure how this would make her feel better. If anything, it made her feel helpless and sad. Halmeoni didn't get to hear me sing that day... I was too busy... if only I had sat by the piano that day, then maybe...

Her eyes were glazed over, but she blinked away whatever was stinging at her waterline.

"Noona?" Huening Kai stood by the doorway, wearing his waiter's uniform, his long brown hair a wild mess of fluffy waves. "Are you feeling okay?"

She caught his eyes in the mirror, quickly wiping her eyes and giving a nod, standing and smoothing our her dress for a moment, "Yeah... I'm okay. Just about finished getting ready, that's all."

"That's good," the boy grinned. "You look very pretty. It's been a while since we heard your voice."

"Well, you'll get to hear it tonight," she replied with soft laughter.

"Great! Because we all want you to sing for us more often," the boy chirped. "You haven't been here in a long time and... The Magic Shop's magic came from your voice."

She was pulled out of her trance, eyeing him endearingly and walking toward him, patting his head, "You sweet boy. If it makes you feel better, I'll sing more."

"Yes, that would make me much better!" Huening Kai exclaimed with excitement. "I really want to know what you'll be singing today."

"You'll see," she sang, walking past him and down the hall to where the bar resided.

Jimin and Taehyung got off the stage as the floor buzzed with applause, smiling at the brunette as she approached the stage, "It's all yours," Jimin patted her elbow. "Knock them dead, will you?"

"Yes, sing this new song," Taehyung encouraged her.

"Thanks. You two did great up there," she squeezed their hands gently, smiling half-heartedly as she took the stage, a pop song mixed with Latino beats filing the restaurant, the lights going dim and now lit red and purple. Haneul grabbed the mic and faced the audience, who all watched with intent.

The Magic Shop's mysterious female singer had returned with a new song.

Sehun's eyes widened with surprise. He didn't think he would run into her here. Even so, seeing her here made it a lot easier for him to protect her. Now he knew what those old ladies meant when she said she had friends here—she was close with the owners of this restaurant.

He couldn't help but stare, admiring the way her hair fell down like a silk curtain last her shoulders and toward her lower back, the black dress hugging her thin, petite frame in all the right places. She wore a soft colored lipstick and eyeliner, and though still had that despondent expression and her chocolate eyes didn't have that sparkle, she looked as beautiful as that photo back in her grandmother's house.

The intro music came to a halt, and the female backup dancers and chorus joined her on stage—five other women who were dressed in similar black dresses like Haneul's, and she raised the mic to her lips, singing,

[Haneul]

Why are you staring at me like that?

Without giving you anything

I don't avoid my eyes, ah

Why do you come so close?

We don't know much yet

What should I call you?

A little bit fast

Whatever I don't care, I don't care, I don't care (vamos)

Something's even worse

Whatever I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay

What should I do?

Come here

(Hey señor)

Please come to me

Hold me tight

I want to know about you

I fell in love with you

I don't know, it's true

Just love you so, love you so, love you so

Please call me

Why do you laugh so much?

My heart keeps coming to you (vamos)

I have to send you (ay)

Just focus on me

Is it important for others?

Hold me in full, I don't even have a name

Please tell me

(Hey señor)

Please come to me

Hold me tight

I want to know about you

I fell in love with you

I don't know, it's true?

Just love you so, love you so, love you so

Please call me

She moved with such grace, her voice something to behold, and Sehun hadn't touched his drink ever since she stepped on that stage. He found her voice to be soothing—something that he needed to help him forget about the darkness that lingered and the work he did. Though he was numb to it, he could feel the tension in his shoulders leaving him, and he was completely enchanted, pretending this song was for him.

"She sings beautifully, right?" The silver-haired woman behind the counter had noticed him staring, and he broke out of his trance, meeting her chestnut eyes.

"Huh?" Sehun asked, his expression harboring confusion. "O-Oh... yes... she does... she has a gift..."

"One day, she's going to make someone fall for her with that voice," Bella leaned an elbow against the counter, her chin on her palm. "Whoever that lucky guy is, she's going to be singing for him everyday..."

"Right," the hitman mumbled, and the song came to an end, Haneul and the backup dancers finishing the outro, and she breathed into the mic.

"Hey señor," she pulled the mic away, and the customers erupted into applause, screaming and smiling toward her. For the longest time, they had waited for her to return and they hoped she would sing more songs in the days to come.

Sehun clapped along with the rest of the patrons and staff, the bartender's thoughts still fresh in his mind. Maybe it was true... the girl had most certainly made him enamored, even though this happened to be the first time he watched her sing. It was a shame she had to use her talents for the nightlife though. This establishment wasn't like the hostess bars and brothels he had encountered, which meant she wasn't selling herself and that she had self-respect, but he knew there would be people that accused her of doing dirty work. He would shield her from them even at a distance, and he prayed that when things were back to normal, she could sing on a much bigger stage.

Haneul placed the mic back onto the stand, leaving the stage and heading toward the storage room once again, choosing to keep to herself. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, her eyes downcast and she sunk to the floor, burying her face in her knees.

"Halmeoni," she spoke quietly. "Did I do okay...? Did you like my performance?" She wished she was there, that maybe she would be seated on one of the empty tables clapping along and smiling like she used to. Then reality would hit her and she remembered she was gone. Ha-Neul has to learn to cope on her own and get back into her feet quickly. She couldn't let her friends be burdened with her grief. That wouldn't be fair to them.

She exhaled, standing once more and crossing the storage room toward the back door, grabbing the handle and pulling it open to let the cool air in. Stepping outside to clear her head would do her some good. She needed this time to think and figure out how to get out of this place quickly. Bothering her friends by living in The Magic Shop wasn't such a good idea in the long run.

At the bar counter, Sehun had noticed Ha-Neul was gone. "Um... excuse me," he spoke to the silver-haired female. "If I may ask, where did she go?"

"Oh, Neullie?" She looked toward the back. "The poor thing has been through a lot lately so I'm guessing she's just keeping to herself. Her grandmother passed away a few days ago. Why, are you interested?" She smirked teasingly and he cleared his throat, looking down at his drink.

"I..." be tried, his hand closing into a fist.

"Not many men ask about her," she continued speaking. "I think you're the first. If you want, I can introduce you to her. You seem like an upright guy."

A guy who kills people for a living, the raven-haired male thought to himself. "I think I'll head for the men's room," he stood up. "Can you tell me where it is?"

"Just down the hall toward the back," Bella gestured, and Sehun followed her directions. Once he was out of sight, he quickly looked around the back rooms to find her. He couldn't lose her, especially when he had promised Suho he would protect her. His hand closed around the door knob of another door and he swung it open, but he found the boiler room instead.

"Where did you go?" He mumbled, pulling back and continuing toward the next room.

Haneul stayed close to the door, the night air brushing against her cheeks and blowing through her hair gently. The alleyway was dark and damp but she could still hear music coming from inside. She glanced at the black sky with despondency, exhaling and closing her eyes, a pair of footsteps approaching her and pulling her away from her moment of respite.

"Hey," a voice came from the other end of the alleyway, prompting her to come to a halt. She didn't dare look at the person approaching her, but she could smell cigarette smoke and dried blood from him. "What's a pretty thing like you doing out here in the dark?" He towered over her now, that awful going in his eyes and that devious smirk on his lips. "Don't tell me you're alone? Wanna get out of here? I'll keep you nice and warm..."

A pervert, she thought, her expression neutral, and the moment he reached out to touch her, Haneul slapped his hand away and made to step back into The Magic Shop.

"Oh no. You're not going anywhere!" The man hissed, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her back, and she released an awful cry.

"Let go of me!" The brunette screamed, elbowing him and fighting back, hearing him grunt with pain.

"Aw, you fucking bitch!" She has angered him now, throwing her onto the grimy ground and straddling her.

"I said get off!" Haneul cried, pushing him away, but she could feel how hard he was, that sick sneer still on his expression as he leaned in to press sloppy kisses onto her cheek and neck. She felt disgusted and dirty, and she knew this was only the beginning. She made to slap him, but he pinned her wrists on either side of her head with a growl, her face contorting pervertedly.

"Now now, don't struggle," his tone held slight irritation as she continued to squirm. "Just give in, will you?" Be began to grind, and she stiffened as his hips gyrated. "I'll make you feel good and then, we can have another round later. What do you say?"

"I said get off!" She screamed, managing to knock her knee into his crotch, and he shouted, toppling off of her and giving her ample time to escape, but pressed his whole body weight onto her, trapping her underneath him again, pushing her violently onto her stomach.

"You're going to take it like the slut you are," he pulled at her hair and she sobbed, his erection pressed to her backside, ready to pull down the zip of her dress. "If you scream, I'll kill you!"

Sehun had heard her scream, quickly following the sound of her voice until he found the right door. He swung it open, running through the storage room and toward the open back door, bolting through it and stepping onto the alleyway. He saw the man who had held her down, his blood boiling and his gaze deadly, quickly storming toward him. Grabbing onto the back of his collar shirt, the hitman pulled him off of her with brute force, turning him around and hitting him straight across the jaw.

Haneul was finally free, slowly lifting herself to a seated position, and she looked up at her savior. He stood taller than the other man, his shoulder broad, and his stare was cold and blank. She inhaled sharply, the anxiety that was already welling inside her increasing, moving away from the man. She had never seen a gaze like that before. It was like death had come to take the other man's soul. She thought she should have been relieved, but really, she had never been so scared in her life.

︻デ═一 ♥

#exo mafia au #mafia au #exo sehun #sehunxoc #sehunsmut #sehun x oc #sehun #oh sehun #eventual romance #eventual happy ending #eventual fluff #eventual smut #fluff smut #fluff #smut #romance #hurt #comfort

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jamgrlsblog · 5 years

Text

Swiss Chocolates!

Crowley arrives on the day of Aziraphale's bookshop opening to finally deliver the chocolates he had meant to give him a few days previously. Aziraphale is unable to comprehend his feelings about this event. --- "Aziraphale didn’t know why he was nervous. Is that what he was? Something about Crowley being here, here. It was rather different than running into each other by accident or meeting for a specific arrangement related discussion."

Notes:

This is a follow up to the deleted scene in which Crowley shows up to Aziraphale's brand new bookshop with chocolates in 1800.

AO3

Today was the day. The day of the bookshop opening. The day that had very narrowly managed to arrive.

The bookshop was as orderly as it could be, Aziraphale’s many tomes delicately arranged on the shelves, very carefully written opening hours in the window, and somewhere in a corner, a medal haphazardly shoved into a drawer that wouldn’t manage to close properly.

Aziraphale adjusted and fiddled with his ascot nervously as he stood at the front entrance of the shop. He gingerly turned the lock on the door and, letting out a heavy breath, turned the open sign forward for the first time. Aziraphale remained there frozen, waiting for something to happen.

Through the window, he could see a thin stream of Londoners strolling by, no one paying particular mind to the shop. It was a glorious sunny day and it was just after lunch, so surely many people would be taking the opportunity to enjoy some exercise and the streets would be quite bustling soon.

Aziraphale didn’t really know what to do with himself, but once his initial shock of having officially opened had worn off, he realized that blocking the entrance probably wasn’t in his best interest, lest he be walked into by his first customer. So instead, he took to pacing about, pausing in different locations in the shop, testing them as possible places to stand in a dignified manner.

Later, as the blazing afternoon heat was being replaced by the whisper of dusk breezes, Aziraphale found himself busied by rearranging his books and wondering whether he should reconsider his categorizations.

The bell of his shop door had only rung twice in the day since he had turned the open sign forward. The first time, the door was swung open by two young ladies, surely not one and twenty, who had burst through the door giggling, only to turn towards the window, just hiding behind a bookshelf, as two very young regimental men strolled by. As soon as the men were out of sight, the ladies were out the door again as quickly as they came, in a fit of giggles once more. An hour or so later, it was a smartly dressed young man who removed his top hat and politely nodded at Aziraphale, only to take a single turn about the room, stopping just barely at a few book stands, and finally giving Aziraphale an appraising look before nodding curtly and strolling back out.

Aziraphale sighed as he thought back to the visits. He supposed it was for the best that Londoners didn’t seem interested in his books. He didn’t really want to sell them, anyways. His amassed collection had just been becoming unmanageable.

Feeling like his book rearrangement was as complete as it could be for the moment, Aziraphale stopped to smooth his coat jacket and smile approvingly at the shelf before him. With that, he swiveled to face the bookshop entrance with the intention of returning to the door to switch the sign to closed. What he saw, however, stopped him in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat.

It was Crowley, waving at the store window, the same package in hand he had had a few days previously. He had never managed to come into the shop that day, with Gabriel and Sandalphon’s unexpected visit. Aziraphale had forgotten Crowley had stopped by, his own mind first preoccupied with the prospect of being unmercifully torn from his station just as he was settling into his new shop and then baffled but relieved when the two angels had returned only to tell him he would be staying after all.

Crowley, who had swung by with chocolates. Here to celebrate the shop opening? They had had many rendezvous in their nearly 6000 years on Earth, but Crowley coming here? To Aziraphale’s shop? For some reason, unknown to the angel, it made his heart pound.

Now Crowley was pushing through the front door, removing his top hat but leaving his sunglasses in place. “Exciting opening day?” he asked.

“Rather uneventful, actually,” Aziraphale managed to say, still planted firmly in the same spot. Crowley strolled to a bookshelf to examine its contents.

“More eventful than a day at head office, though, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes!” His tongue was loosened thinking of the angelic visit. “Even an uneventful day in London has more of interest than that. I don’t know what changed their minds but thank heavens for whatever it was.”

“Heaven had nothing to do with it.” Crowley flipped his head around, pushing his sunglasses down his nose just long enough to give Aziraphale a wink.

“What? You-?”

“I only happened to be practicing my acting outside of a certain tailor’s shop. Working on my Hastur impression. I performed a nice back and forth on what a boon for Hell losing such a worthy adversary would be,” Crowley said, mirroring Aziraphale’s description of Crowley to the angels. “I was rather good. D’you think I could go for Hamlet?”

Aziraphale hadn’t paid mind to that last part. A smile had widened on his face. Oh, he was a wily serpent. “That was very kind of you.”

“On the contrary, Angel. It was exceedingly selfish of me. Giving up the Arrangement? Having to actually work?” He made a face of disgust. “Couldn’t let that happen. I don’t think Micheal would be quite as- what would you say, flexible?”

Flexible. There was something about that word that felt almost dirty.

Aziraphale huffed. He didn’t enjoy being reminded that he was aiding a demon, but he did admit that the Arrangement was rather convenient and did allow him more time for his books. And for himself and his own amusements. He really did enjoy Earth’s pleasures, and, well, perhaps some of the company was nice as well.

“Never did get to give you these,” Crowley said, holding up the package still in his hand. “Happened to be in Switzerland and thought you might like them.” He tossed the package at Aziraphale. Surprised, Aziraphale just barely caught it. Swiss chocolates. Aziraphale stared at the package, wide eyed. “What do you say we give them a try?”

“Oh! Oh, yes of course! Tea? I’ll put on the kettle. Would you be a dear and turn the sign to closed? I’ll just be in this back room—“ Aziraphale hurried off to the back room. Once done fumbling with the kettle over the fireplace, he paused to take a few deep breaths and collect himself.

Aziraphale didn’t know why he was nervous. Is that what he was? Something about Crowley being here, here. It was rather different than running into each other by accident or meeting for a specific arrangement related discussion.

Of course, even those meetings often became social. There were very few people with whom Aziraphale could feel truly comfortable. And Crowley... well.

He was an enigma, really. A demon, of course, stirring up trouble. But also secretly kind. And his questioning, well, it did make sense, often. He challenged Aziraphale’s notions in the best ways possible. You can’t have the light without the dark, is not that right? Aziraphale mused quietly, letting a smile creep onto his face.

Aziraphale had been in the back room for a while now and realized suddenly that he had left his guest alone for quite some time. He had half expected him to follow him, Crowley wasn’t necessarily the most polite. What could you expect from a demon, really? But he hadn’t followed.

Aziraphale peaked through the back room door to the main shop to check on him. Crowley was now in the Shakespeare section, closely examining the volumes. Aziraphale wondered if he was thinking of the original productions. The times they had seen Hamlet- once nearly alone and once with a roaring crowd that one could barely move in. Those memories were truly a treasure. Aziraphale couldn’t help but to smile again at the fond memory.

Snapping himself out of it, Aziraphale cleared his throat. “You can join me back here,” he said, a tad shyly. At this, Crowley swiveled, a dazzling smile on his face as he casually approached, brushing past Aziraphale as he made his way into the room. As the demon surveyed the space, Aziraphale became painfully aware that there was only one armchair and a decidedly less cozy desk chair in the small room. “Oh! I’m afraid I don’t have much in the way of sitting room—“ Crowley snapped his fingers and a couch that matched the armchair appeared in the room, just managing to fit in the cramped space. Aziraphale looked at Crowley disapprovingly. “Where did that come from?”

“Oh, don’t worry! The shop owner will wake to some very nice compensation in its place,” Crowley said, waving his hat in the air and flopping onto the newly appeared couch, letting the hat fall from his hand and to the floor. Appeased, Aziraphale moved to sit in the armchair before stopping in his tracks, remembering the kettle and bustling to the back pantry to fetch teacups and make them each a cup. He was really forgetting himself. What a terrible host he was being.

He returned to the living area with the two cups and the box of chocolates under his arm, handing one of the cups to Crowley, which was received graciously (Crowley was sitting up now) and finally settling down in his armchair. Holding his teacup in one hand, Aziraphale carefully removed the chocolate package from under his arm and began to gently untie the red ribbon surrounding it with his free hand. When he managed to get the box open, he saw a dozen beautifully crafted chocolates with elegant little designs on them.

“Oh, Crowley! These are- these are lovely!” The sight of the chocolates filled Aziraphale to the brim with such a warm affection for his friend (yes, yes, friend was right) that he could even feel his eyes beginning to water. He blinked a few times to keep his eyes from spilling over and, gaining his composure, he delicately picked up a chocolate and placed it to his lips, closing his eyes to savor it. The chocolate had a creamy texture that melted beautifully in his mouth with each small bite. He couldn’t help but to let out a sound of enjoyment and contentment. “Mmmm.” He opened his eyes to see that his friend was sitting forward now, gazing at him intently with a wild smile on his face, making Aziraphale blush.

“You like them, then?”

“Oh, yes, Crowley, they are splendid. You must have one.”

Crowley lithely sprung to his feet and ambled over to Aziraphale, plucking a chocolate from the box. He rotated it in his fingers for a moment, considering it, before popping it into his mouth. My, he was graceful. In a sort of demonic way, of course. Aziraphale watched him expectantly as he swallowed the chocolate. “Well?”

Crowley shrugged. “‘S’not really my thing. Alcohol, though, now that’s something I can get behind.” Crowley lazily discarded his empty teacup on Aziraphale’s desk before laying back out on the couch.

“Oh! I’ve got some stores here! If you’d like wine, I’ve got some nice vintages, oh and I think I have a nice scotch somewhere as well!” Aziraphale placed his own teacup and the chocolates on the desk before rushing to the pantry to rifle through the cupboards.

“Wouldn’t mind some scotch!” He heard Crowley call from the couch.

~~~

4 solid hours of drinking and half a box of chocolates later, Aziraphale was becoming less and less capable of lucid thought. Crowley was pacing around in a rumpled shirt, his coat and waistcoat strewn somewhere. He was waxing on about something philosophical, Aziraphale was struggling to follow what.

Aziraphale’s limited thought capacity was focused on reflecting on the gift of chocolates from Crowley. This was the first gift Crowley had given him. They had had many meals and drinks together, met at various rendezvous locations, and most recently, Crowley had actually saved Aziraphale from what would have likely been a rather unpleasant beheading and a mountain of paperwork. But this was something more. Did chocolates have some sort of meaning? The answer was out of Aziraphale’s reach, escaping to the corners of his mind, pressing up against imaginary walls he couldn’t reach.

Perhaps he really did just think Aziraphale would like them. He had been quite right.

Is this what it is to have a true friend?

Someone who thinks of you when you aren’t together?

Someone who celebrates with you when you accomplish something?

A minor accomplishment, really, acquiring a space for a bookshop. But it was exciting, all the same. And Crowley was probably his only peer (are they peers? He supposed so) to understand why.

“What do you reckon?”

“Sorry?” Aziraphale realized that Crowley had directed a question at him and he hadn’t the faintest idea what it was about.

“About all these rules about virtue and propriety and all that. I mean, it’s a double standard, isn’t it? Women and men. Take women- isn’t their position in society sort of, well, bonkers? I mean, it’s daft, innit?”

“Well, how would I know?”

“What’Dyu mean, how would you know? Haven’t your side got an argument?”

“Well, yes, I s’pose. I s’pose my side would say Eve was made of Adam to be his help-meet, or what have you, which I s’pose means something about womanly duty-“

“And what do you think?”

“‘M an angel. I must agree with the heavenly, um, something.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re cleverer than that.”

Aziraphale felt his face redden. “I don’t expect you to understand heavenly arguments.”

“No, ‘course not,” the demon responded with an edge in his voice. He scooped his hat from the floor. “Well, I wouldn’t want my lowly demonic presence to taint your shop any more than it has.”

“What? Crowley. Surely you aren’t leaving? My dear fellow, let’s just sober up.”

The demon seemed to calm at that. “Yeah. S’pose.”

After they each scrunched their faces and squeezed the alcohol out of their systems, Crowley flopped again on the couch dramatically. “You know, all this class division the humans have come up with, and all this gender nonsense, it’s all out of their control, isn’t it? They can’t help if they are born a bastard or a woman or just plain poor. And there’s no way out of it!”

Aziraphale was still trying to get the bad taste of sobering up out of his mouth, but he looked at Crowley curiously. “But you’re a demon. Shouldn’t you be happy about something like that? I mean, humans creating misery for each other? Makes your job easier, doesn’t it?”

“Well, maybe, but it’s not much fun if it if there is no choice,” Crowley said simply.

“Well, really, the ones that are born bastards or women or poor are the luckiest because it is the meek that will inherit the earth.”

“Doesn’t do ‘em a sod of good now.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“I mean, take women, like I was saying before,” he re-positioned himself to be perched on one of the couch’s arms, from which position he could now gesture wildly. “Even born rich, their entire lives are spent trying to become the best prize so some bozo with lots of money will choose them. Why? So they don’t have to be poor and so they don’t bring shame to the family? They can’t inherit for themselves, can’t do business, it’s worse for the rich ones, even. At least the poor ones can work and have some independence. Imagine, knowing that marriage is your most important life goal and it’s a financial arrangement. No choice. Just because of who you were born. And one little mistake can end everything. One little impropriety. Men don’t have to worry about that. What if she loves someone who’s poor? No dice. Not if she wants to maintain her position in society.”

“What would you know about love ?”

Crowley seemed surprised to have been cut off mid-tirade. He gazed at Aziraphale open mouthed for a moment before closing his mouth tightly and remaining silent. A few more silent moments passed and Aziraphale wondered if he had said something very wrong, indeed. He searched Crowley’s face for an answer. He had his glasses on and was still as a statue, his face expressionless.

“Nothing,” Crowley said with an air of sober finality. After a thoughtful beat, “You know, I am beginning to think this class stuff is one of your lot’s. Sounds like the Almighty. One little mistake, no choice.” Crowley’s bitterness cut through the stale air.

“Now, see here,” Aziraphale responded sternly. “My lot is responsible for nothing of the sort.” Aziraphale couldn’t help but be offended. Sure, he hadn’t given much thought to classes or gender or social injustice in general, really, previously. But since Crowley laid it out so plainly, he had to admit he had a point and something so wretched could not have come from the Almighty. Aziraphale would have known about it. When Crowley didn’t respond, Aziraphale added “I certainly wouldn’t be involved in creating such a system.”

Somehow this little statement managed to break Crowley out of whatever spell he was under and he picked up his top hat again to spin it lazily, a smile creeping on his face. “No. You wouldn’t.”

Aziraphale was relieved to see him back in what appeared to be his usual playful state.

“You never told me any more about your first day in the shop. Any interesting customers?” Crowley asked lightly.

Aziraphale told him about the two rather uninteresting encounters, but Crowley seemed to be gleeful with each story, anyways.

“Ah, young hearts. I may not know much about love, Angel, but I do know about lust. You had better be careful.”

“Whatever do you mean? Those young ladies were certainly not interested in me.”

“No, not them. Though I appreciate their interest in regimental men. One of ours, militaries are. No, no,” Crowley said, waving his hand. “The gentleman who came in? I don’t think he is interested in your books.”

“No, I rather gathered that much. Hold on, do you mean to imply-“ Aziraphale’s face flushed as Crowley raised his eyebrows, a wide smile on his face. “Well, that is just preposterous!” Aziraphale stammered.

Crowley sprung from his perch. “I’m just saying. I’m willing to bet that’s not the last time he turns up,” Crowley teased, circling around Aziraphale’s armchair and positioning himself just behind him. Aziraphale stared forward, huffing. From behind him, Aziraphale heard, “Well, it’s rather late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, rather.” Aziraphale’s response came out a bit petulant. Crowley chuckled.

“I had better be off. Don’t let the rest of those chocolates go to waste,” Crowley demanded playfully, giving Aziraphale’s shoulders a light squeeze from behind him, before sweeping through the room to gather his scattered belongings.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Aziraphale responded breathlessly. Any indignation he had felt at Crowley’s teasing had evaporated instantly upon Crowley’s touch. His eyes locked onto Crowley, tracking his movement through the room. Finally, with all his belongings in hand, Crowley faced Aziraphale from the door to the main shop.

“I look forward to more bookshop stories!”

“Um. Yes, of course.”

And with that, Crowley was out of the back room and into the main shop. It took a moment for Aziraphale to gather himself enough to get up. He followed hesitantly into the main shop to see Crowley already gone. He made it to the window just in time to see his retreating figure fade into the darkness of the night.

Well. That was a thing.

~~~

The gentleman who had visited did come back to the shop, as Crowley predicted, several times. He exchanged pleasantries with Aziraphale during a few short visits (never showing much interest in the books) before eventually inviting him to join a discreet gentlemen’s club, one not too dissimilar from the one in which Aziraphale would learn the gavotte some decades later. Aziraphale was delighted to join and quickly became a regular member in attendance.

If the man who originally invited him became frustrated by Aziraphale’s lack of special attention, to him or to any of the club members, Aziraphale never noticed. (Aziraphale merely reveled in having happened upon such a fun social group.) There was no question as to whether he belonged in the group, but the gentlemen did wonder at this completely delightful and effusive man who never so much as returned a coy glance to any of them. It wasn’t until some of the gentlemen were in a tea house together, the angel in their company, that some explanation revealed itself.

They were laughing gayly and exchanging stories about their favorite indulgences (of the food variety, thank you very much) and Aziraphale had brought up the chocolates. “Swiss chocolates! Actually from Switzerland! Oh, they were delightful. Simply divine!” This, of course, was met by approving nods.

Someone else was sharing, going on about some cake at a particularly high society ball, when Aziraphale, who had happened to be gazing out the window contentedly, gasped. The man’s story paused as all the gentlemen turned to look at Aziraphale in surprise. “But- but that’s him! There!” The men remained in an awed silence as Aziraphale pointed out the window. “My friend! Who gave me the chocolates!” Aziraphale stood from his chair abruptly, causing several teacups to wobble on their dishes as his burst shook the table and his chair. He smoothed his waist coat, eyes fixed on the someone outside. “I- I had better say hello. Excuse me, gentlemen,” he announced rather absently as he quickly gathered and donned his coat and hat, rushing out the tea house door. The gentlemen’s gazes followed after him through the window, seeing him catch up to a thin and handsomely dressed man who had been looking through a shop window. When he saw their friend, the man took off his hat, revealing fiery red hair, and bowed theatrically. The bow was met by a chuckle and blush none of them had ever seen grace their friend’s face in their own company.

“Swiss chocolates. All the way from Switzerland,” one of the men watching from the tea house said, shaking his head.

“Well there you have it, John,” another man said. “You never stood a chance.”

AO3

#Ineffable Husbands #ineffable boyfriends #otp: ineffable #fanfiction #good omens #aziraphale/crowley #crowley/aziraphale

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danvssomethingorother · 6 years

Note

Mirrorverse!AU where Rusty and Brock became villains not long after college and never went the Protagonist route. (Because honestly the first Brock thought I had over that S7 finale was Mirror!Villain!Brock along with Rusty being the Supervillain that Killinger believes he should have been.)

I had to finally make myself tap off on this one. I was making it too long. I hope you enjoy!

A03

—

“Are you coming with me?”

Rusty didn’t answer him,taking a few quick puffs from his bong before setting it aside, he didn’t lookat the large blonde man instead keeping his eyes on his text book. If he lefthis thesis meant nothing, if he stayed it meant everything. He opened thescience book his father himself had written and just stared at the man whocontrolled so much of his life smiling brightly back at him from theintroduction page.

Large fingers coveredover that smile as Brock forced the book down forcing Rusty to look at him.

“Babe, I can’t do thiswithout you.”

Rusty stared him in theeyes and finally sighed shrugging.

“Is that a yes?”

Rusty didn’t answer, hejust leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against Brock’s lips and thelarger man smirked pressing him against the mattress and deepening the kiss.

—

Rusty had been in many,many, many uncomfortable situations in his life, but there was just somethingthat struck a primal fear seeing someone he loved and trusted so much loomingover him like this. Pinning him gently but firmly against the mattress with histhighs pinned tight against his sides and a pair of plyers in his hands.

“Just breathe Rust,”Brock sighed out just as nervous himself glancing at the plyers in his hand,“I’m just gonna yank it out and then we can leave.”

“This is easy for you tosay,” Rusty sneered back at him breathing picking up just staring at theplyers, “No one is using plyers to yank your damn teeth out!”

“One, just the one damntooth,” Brock sneered back correcting him.

“Do you know which one??”

“Second molar on the topof the right side of your mouth,” Brock grumbled back rolling his eyes notliking that Rusty wasn’t trusting him to yank his tooth out.

“Stop, time out,” Rustymoaned loudly shoving at his boyfriend, “Get the fuck off me.”

Brock growled at him butcomplied to his request allowing his boyfriend to get up from the bed and beginpacing in a circle around the bed, taking deep breaths and wringing his fingerstrying to calm his nerves.

“That’s half a bottle ofjack still in the fridge,” Brock said to him but Rusty was barely listeningcontinuing to pace, “You can drink some of that before I yank it out.”

“I don’t want thosethings in my mouth,” Rusty finally mumbled taking a quick glance at the plyersbefore looking away, “Just punch me really hard.”

“Babe, I’m not punchingyou in the face,” Brock snickered but sobered watching Rusty begin his paceonce more.

“I don’t want thosethings in my mouth!” Rusty whined dangerously close to breaking down, theplyers were upsetting him, Brock could tell but he didn’t know what else hewanted him to do. They needed to yank the tracking device out, if they didn’t,well they would just be caught by Team Venture before they got out of thestate.

“How do you suggest weget the tooth out then?”

“I suggested you punch mein the face, but you don’t seem to want to do that,” Rusty grumbled outstopping in his tracks and taking uneven breaths before opening the mini fridgeand taking the bottle of jack out, carefully swishing the content with a flickof his wrist measuring how much there was.

“And what? Lose more thenone tooth? Babe, come on, stop being a freaking cry baby and let me do this.”

“You need me, mister,”Rusty sneered his way, “Without me, you get nothing and will have to do whatyour mom wants you to do and join the OSI’s crusade. We do this shit my way oryou can just go get killed by a weirdo in a Snake costume.”

“Fine, I’ll go join OSIand you can just go back to your dad and be alone,” Brock sneered back andRusty just glared hard at him before turning towards the window. His heart ratewas already high, but it seemed to sky rocket at the idea of Brock leaving himand being gone forever.

“I’m gonna chug thisentire bottle,” Rusty finally began taking a deep breath staring down at thebottle in his shaking hands, “And you are going to grab me, pin me to the bedand just yank it out. Don’t give me time to relax, just do it.”

Brock shrugged at theidea, it wasn’t the worst thing ever and they were already behind schedule.Might as well just yank that band aid off.

Brock watched hisboyfriend tip the bottle against his lips and knew he didn’t have that muchtime before that bottle would be empty. He prepared himself quickly, taking theplyers in his hands and straightening himself up ready to pounce the man thesecond he finished.

Rusty stood there amoment, tense waiting to be yanked back and man handled but was given a momentto take a breath, dropping the bottle on the ground in a pile of laundry thatstill needed to be packed and put all his focus on a nest of baby birds thathad made a home on their window sill. He began to wonder what it was like tohave a family that loved and cherished you watching the mother bird nuzzle herhead against her newly hatched chick when he felt his boyfriend grab his waistand toss him onto the mattress.

He bounced against themattress, disoriented from the liquor but had no time to get himself togetheras his very large boyfriend forced his weight on him temporarily taking hisbreath and making him moan out his protests, changing his mind all at once asBrock’s large fingers pried his mouth open and the glint of metal caught hiseye.

He gurgled out protests,but Brock just forced his mouth open more, easily holding it open uncomfortablywide.

His arms were pinnedagainst his side under his boyfriend’s weight and it was impossible to move, hecould do little more then let Brock do what he wanted.

He didn’t even feel thetooth get yanked out, his panic overriding all his other emotions. He gentlyfelt his boyfriend pulling him up and resting him against his chest as hesobbed, wrapping his now freed arms around his chest. He heard Brock tellinghim something, but the words were fuzzy and he couldn’t really understand them.

He felt him kiss him onthe head a few times before laying him back down, gently pulling his mouth openagain, making his heart race increase again as he shoved something smooth andfuzzy where his tooth had been before gently kissing him on the forehead.

When he regainedconsciousness later, he was reclined in the passenger side of Brock’s car, thestrong smell of cigarettes making him nauseous.

He curled himself tightagainst the door, not ready to face his boyfriend after the childish way he hadreacted to something they had agreed needed to be done.

Brock didn’t say anythingto him, gently resting his hand on his head, messing with his messy ponytail aminute before putting his attention back on the road.

He pulled himself upenough to rest his head against the window and see they were leaving Coloradobehind them.

There was no turning backnow.

—

Rusty hadn’t realized howtruly sheltered he had always been until he was really out of the world hisfather had made.

They had been stayingwith Brock’s younger brother who had recently been trying to break into theunderground technology game, selling tech to wannabe heroes and arches alikebut well the problem was Brock’s brother Charlie was an idiot. He was a giantjock more suited for ripping men’s throats out then making complex machinerybut he thought he had a chance in this game after he taped a knife to a vacuum cleanerand his stoner friend had somehow weaponized that and went three rounds againsta seasoned pro hero.

It ended tragically ofcourse, his friend still in the hospital likely not going to make much longerbut Charlie considered it a victory. When he heard his brother was messingaround with a Venture, he thought he would change both of their lives.

So far, he had onlychanged Rusty’s life.

No longer did he have hisfather’s money or robots to do basic house work for him or any of the materialthings he had realized he took for granted when he was a pawn in father’s game.

Rusty now had to cook andclean while the Samsons worked during the day, Rusty now had to do withoutwhatever took his fancy and Rusty had to actually see a project through. Theyhad a dead line they needed to meet, Charlie somehow weaseled his way into an auctionand they now had to have something to present to it or they would be blacklisted before they had a chance to get their foot into the underground.

Rusty found himselfgrumbling every curse word he knew as he scrubbed hard at the kitchen floor, onhis hands and knees like a commoner trying to scrub the grime away tired ofwaking up to cockroaches and vermin.

On the counter his blue printswere still laid out, ready for revisions so he could start the first design butthat had to wait until he got the blood splatter off the ground. One of Charlie’s‘friends’ had bled out here last night and Rusty couldn’t stand the sight ofthe splatter anymore.

The only thing that neverchanged in his life was the violence. It was just always going to be here. Onlythis time he had to clean up the blood that stained the floor.

He stopped, what was hedoing here?

One phone call and hecould go home. He could go back to school. He could have his nice things back,go back to drinking and doing drugs just cause he was bored.

He could go back to beingalone, being a porcelain doll, everyone just glued back together and stuck backup high on the shelf.

He could go back to nothaving Brock here to hold him through the nightmares and make him feel safe andwanted.

He could go back to justhaving the violence but no one to protect him from it and make sure no one everhurt him.

He grit his teeth andscrubbed harder before turning back to the design, he could do this. He didn’tneed his dad.

—-

“Is this a Mardi Grasmask?”

The Samsons were laughingat his choice in costume but he stood his ground, folding his arms firmly andglaring towards them.

“We are going to anauction with like super villains and heroes and shit, right?”

“Babe, I know you workedhard on these or whatever but come on,” Brock snickered picking up one of the handmade glittering masks before tossing it back on the table, “Our image is goingto be wrapped up in this. You want everyone to see us and think we are going tostart handing beads or some shit out?”

“What? Did you just wantto wear ski masks?” Rusty sneered at the brothers who just glared hard at him.

“I worked hard to get usthere! We are not—”

Rusty cut Charlie off,jabbing his finger straight into his large chest and saying loudly and firmly.

“This is my invention!You two will wear the suits and masks I made or you can present your own shit!”

“Yeah that’s what Ithought, its either my way or you can pull out the Stab – You – Vac again foranother disastrous performance.”

“Just so we are clear here,the Stab – You – Vac almost took down Captain freaking Sunshine, what the hellcan your force field belt even do? Last I checked it barely worked.”

“It barely didanything! Your idiot friend just got lucky it was like midnight and Sunshine’s powerswere down and he had a big blunt object with a bunch of knives glued to it…”

“And if you don’tremember, once Sunshine’s friends showed up, your idiot friend got such an ass kicking,he is a vegetable now!”

Charlie snarled loudlygrabbing Rusty by his shirt and slamming him against the counter. He lookedready to kill Rusty and well, Rusty wasn’t in that much of a position to stophim if he wanted to.

He tensed but he didn’tdrop his glare, if he was going to die he wasn’t going out crying that was for sure.

Brock however didn’t seemto care Charlie was blood and had already made up his mind no one was allowedto touch Rusty.

He punched his brotherout with one hit, knocking him to the floor and pulling Rusty behind him whenhis brother gave him a murderous look after touching his broken nose.

“Get the fuck out!”Charlie snarled.

Brock didn’t say anything,he just grabbed Rusty firmly and pulled him out the door with him. Brock hadalready shoved Rusty into the car as his brother came out still screamingthreats tossing their belongings out with him, promising they weren’t getting intothe auction tomorrow night.

Rusty sucked in a nervousbreath as he watched Brock shove his brother back into the small run downtrailer, Charlie still yelling but Brock still not saying a word.

Rusty gave a nervous waveto the drug dealer next door he sometimes bought pot from and he just as nervouslywaved back.

This had not been thefirst fight like this, Charlie could get violent when he wanted to, put two ofhis former girlfriends in the hospital and Brock had made it clear when theymoved in he wasn’t allowed to touch Rusty. And well, he finally broke that ruletonight because of Rusty’s mouth, so it looked like they no longer had a placeto live.

He watched a young womanwho worked in the strip club off the freeway look nervously towards the Samsonresidence before running into her own trailer, slamming and locking the doorbehind her.

Brock came back out a fewmoments later shoving some stuff in the trunk, the few things to their name fitneatly into one medium sized box, what a world Rusty had entered into.

Brock got in the driverside a few moments later lighting up a cigarette. He didn’t look like he wantedto talk, so Rusty said nothing letting him crank up the radio full blast anddrive around for a few hours to calm down.

“We aren’t doing thiswith Charlie anymore,” he finally said.

“Can we still get in theauction without his connection?” Rusty mumbled not making eye contact with hisboyfriend.

“Yeah Charlie agreed togive me his contact finally, we can do this on our own.”

“Babe?”

Rusty glanced over atBrock looking more vulnerable then he had ever seen him, gripping the steeringwheel hard enough to break it, just staring off at the cars driving past themfrom the truck stop he had pulled off into.

“Yeah?”

“Do you regret coming outhere with me?”

“I don’t know yet,” Rustyfinally admitted putting his hand on Brock’s, “The sex is great as always buthaven’t been a fan of the poverty.”

Rusty was feeling bold hesupposed as he crawled on top of Brock and began kissing him. A little car sexwas just always the thing to get their mind off stress.

—

Rusty sat nervously infront of the dressing room mirror, brushing his hair and just glancing at the poorlymade unicorn mask he had made himself. His white tux was the only thing thatwas clean about him, he hadn’t properly bathed in three days since they had takento living in Brock’s car.

Brock stood by the door,knife in one hand and his dragon mask clenched between his fingers.

It was really happening,they were about to go up on a stage and try to sell one of his inventions tothe highest bidder.

Rusty was so nervous hewas sure that if they had been able to eat today he would be throwing up rightnow.

The knock at the doormade him jump, he glanced back at Brock then towards the clock, it wasn’t timeyet.

“Let them in Brock,” hesaid somehow keeping his words steady.

A man who looked strikinglysimilar to David Bowie stepped through the door making Rusty jump from hisseat.

“Its alright, I shall notslay your unicorn nor do I seek to put him in captivity,” the man chuckled atBrock who had his large knife against his throat. Rusty shook his head towardsBrock and Brock finally lowered his weapon allowing the man to fully enter theroom.

“When they told me RustyVenture was here, I didn’t believe them,” he said with a chuckle, “I had to seeit with my own eyes that our boy had grown up and was up to no good.”

He stepped towards Rustyand gently cupped his cheeks titling his head a little to get a better look athim before smiling and stepping away.

“Who the hell are you?” Rustyhissed at him putting some distance between them and catching from thereflection in the mirror Brock was stepping closer to them, “I sure as helldidn’t tell anyone my real name.”

“Do you think no onewould know?” the man’s smirk only grew at the pure terror that was stretchingacross Rusty’s face, “No one would come to seek your father’s bounty? No onewould come to see the prodigal son try to step into villainy? A dollar storemask doesn’t cover up who you are.”

“Your boyfriend’s brotherwas running his mouth that he had a Venture doing his dirty work.”

Brock glanced awayrubbing the side of his head showing he knew his brother had done that.

“I came with an offer, Ihad to have you once I knew what you were up to.”

Rusty opened his mouth,an insult already at the tip of his tongue but the man shook his head, raisinghis hand to silence him and Rusty was surprised that was all it took to keephim from starting. Maybe it was his nerves.

“I want to only help youRusty, I want to make you a star, reinvent your image.”

He made a face runninghis fingers through his greasy hair and shaking his head, gently taking his armand stretching it out, shaking his head once more seeing how loosely the suitfit him. Rusty yanked away glaring hard, not liking the way he was being scrutinized.

“Who are you?” Rusty repeatedmore firmly.

“Sorry, awfully rude ofme,” the man said with a shake of the head and a chuckle, “You see Rusty, youand I aren’t strangers. You just don’t quite remember me, do you?”

“You kidnap me in thepast?”

“Not my style,” he said witha shake of his head, “You and I met when you were a scared little boy who didn’tthink this world was fair. I passed Rusty’s Law just for you, but your fatherhad to ruin it throwing out many of the clauses that would make it illegal toput a child in this line of work at all.”

Rusty was so pale now hewas almost transparent, gently backing until he hit Brock who pulled him closeto him, sending a threatening look the man’s way.

“I want you to join theGuild, Rust. I want to help you. Protect you from the people out there tonightwho just want to hurt you.”

He pulled a business cardfrom his pocket and placed it in Rusty’s hand, gently forcing his stiff fingersto hold on to it.

“Come to us when you areready, Thaddeus. Don’t waste your potential on the garbage here tonight.”

He gave them a smile andthanked them for their time before sauntering back out the way he came.

—

Rusty didn’t stick aroundto sell his invention that night, he caught up with the mysterious man and he andBrock left with him that night to join the Guild.

#Brusty #Rusty Venture #Brock Samson #Venture Bros #The Venture Bros #Dan's fics #Dan's answers #fannishcodex

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themarchblessing · 6 years

Text

SOMETHING NEW

SABRINA

Feeling like I’m about to burn up I tossed and turned suddenly feeling some air hit my skin. The coolness relaxed me, allowing me to comfortably go back to resting. However someone holding me awakened me completely. I thought it was Izaiah but when I looked over my shoulder I was shocked to see Corey sound asleep. Carefully I looked underneath the blanket seeing that we were both completely naked. What the hell happened last night? How did I get here? Moving around I gently readjusted him so he could continue sleeping in peace. I sat up in his bed and as the covers fell into my lap I glanced at my chest seeing hickies and soft bite imprints all over me.

“Que carajo?” I whispered looking around the room. Clothes were thrown everywhere, pillows and feathers from one of them scattered all across the floor and a bottle of Ciroc laying on the table at the end of his bed. His bed linen was all sorts of messed up and since Corey sleeps alone just about every night, his space never looks like this. “What the fuck did we do last night?” I asked myself. Turning over I saw Corey turned over on his stomach with his head under a pillow. Leaning down to get level with him I placed my cheek on his back to ensure he was still breathing.

“Corey?” I said kissing his shoulder. He never budged and the state of him made me giggle. “Papi wake up..” I tried again for minutes to wake this man up but to no avail.

“Stop yo..” he complained, bringing an arm out to push me by what he thought was my shoulder but he ended up doing so by my breasts instead.

Giggling at how tired this dude is I shook him a little bit. “Corey, honey get up, come on now..” I plead.

“Mm..” he took the pillow off his head and gave me this sad and evil look. He reminds me of Izaiah when I get him up for school. “What?” He groaned.

“What happened last night?” I asked taking another look around the room. My gut is telling me exactly what we did but I can’t remember shit!

“Bri, it’s too early to be up..leave me alone and go back to sleep.” he complained, laying back down. Rolling my eyes I softly beat on his back until he showed himself again. “Lori..it’s too fucking early for you to be playing games. And what do you mean what happened last night?” He sat up in his spot and rubbed his eyes sleepily while looking around the room. When he made eye contact with me again his eye were wide and I saw some flush in his cheeks. “Yo..what the fuck happened?” He questioned pulling the side table around over his lap.

“I’ve been asking myself that for the past ten minutes. Corey, I do not remember coming here.” I sighed feeling lost and embarrassed. Covering myself up and laying back down I finger combed through my mess of curls which are ridiculously tangled right now. “This room looks a mess. Who’s going to clean this up?” I spoke as I ran my fingers across the hickies on my body.

“Did I do that?” He quizzed touching the marks on my chest.

“Well I didn’t give them to myself so yeah I think you did. Do you remember how I got here?” Corey shook his head no and fell back against the bed. We both laid still just letting the moment linger. Did we have sex last night? Or did I just decide to take my clothes off for the hell of it? Oh God..I hope I didn’t strip and drunkenly embarrass myself in front of him.

“So..” we simultaneously spoke and looked at each other. We both died of laughter because neither one of us knows what we really got into last night. Like I honestly cannot remember anything after I got in the car with Ray last night.

“Bri..I don’t know what we did but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable in any way around me. We may remember later or we may-“

Slapping my hand over his mouth I sat up not bothering to cover myself up. It makes no sense to feel shy about him seeing me naked now. It’s pretty obvious what happened. “It’s alright Corey we’re adults and I don’t ever feel uncomfortable around you. Even with whatever we got into last night.” Inhaling sharply I looked around for something to put on while I go and get myself together. Finding a shirt on the headboard I pulled it over my head lifting my hair up out from under the back of it. Leaving Corey to himself I went to his bathroom and cut the light on going to his linen closet. I found a spare toothbrush I can use since I don’t have any of my things with me.

I brushed my teeth, washed my face and stood at the mirror wondering how to manage my mane. It looks a mess and my head itches meaning I need to wash my shit. I got the shower going, set out a towel for myself and pulled Corey’s off the back of the door. When I turned around to go and get him I was taken out of my skin seeing him already in here. He was at the sink doing what I just finished.

“You constantly scare me like that and never say anything. You just laugh and it’s never funny.” Rolling my eyes I peeled the shirt off and set it aside in order to hop in the shower first to get all the hot water.

“Because it is funny. Otherwise I wouldn’t be laughing.” He said still at the sink.

I searched around his shower seeing a big bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the built in shelf. Getting a closer look I laughed softly at the brand name. “Hey..since when do you use this kind of shampoo and conditioner?” I asked over the water. I moved over to the door to slide it back and poke my head out but he was standing right there. Lightly socking him in the chest I stepped back, glaring at him evilly. “Jesucristo! Deja de astustarme Corey!”

“I’m sorry baby girl but you’re easy as shit to scare. I like it.” He grinned crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are those yours?” I pointed to the stuff on the shelf watching him follow my hand. He nodded and pushed the door aside, stepping in after me.

“Whose else would they be?” He retorted smartly.

Deciding not press this I grabbed the shampoo bottle and began to wash this dirty ass head of mine. Without even having to ask Corey jumped right in to assist me. While he was working on my hair I washed myself down feeling so good to be clean. The sexual tension in this bathroom is bouncing off the walls. I still tried my best to do a mental replay of last night but nothing comes to mind. It’s like my memory of the last ten hours or so has been wiped clean.

“Por qué tan callada?” I swear I get a little hot when I hear him spit my language back to me. It’s never intentional it just happens. His pronunciation has improved so much better than what it used to but don’t let me sell him short. He’s always had a natural tongue. He’s just gotten so advanced and it’s a little bit of a turn on. That I can’t lie to myself about. Men who know other languages is a natural turn on for most women I think.

“Pensando..” Letting my shoulders fall I squeezed out the excess water from my hair and returned the favor of helping him get clean. Never in my life did I think I’d be taking a shower with this man. Never did I think I’d spend the night and do unspeakable things that I do not recall with this man either. But what’s done is done and I feel okay with it all. I’m more comfortable with him than any man I have ever known. I let him takeover so he could take care of the rest himself like he did for me. When he was done we just stood here with the water pouring down over our heads. I backed up against the wall studying his arm and chest full of tattoos.

“Creo que tengo sentimientos para usted. Creo que te amo, también..” I blurted out. My palms got all clammy and my gut tightened as I thought over what I just said. It’s not like me to say things I don’t mean. But like I’ve been preaching for weeks, I’ve been different since that night. I think about that first kiss every time I close my eyes.

“Tú crees?” He mumbled, eyes roaming my frame like a work of art.

“I-I mean..I don’t know what I mean.” Biting my lip I dropped my face in my hands not sure what else to say.

Corey’s hands tugged on mine, trying to uncover my face. He picked up my chin, pulling at it softly, beginning to trace the shape of this god awful ugly scar. He’s the only man since Ace that I’ve allowed to touch this part of my face. The way he’s looking at me doesn’t help. It’s only making me more nervous. “Sé lo que quieres decir.” He whispered against my lips. The compassion in this kiss fried my brain. But I like it.

Wrapping my arms around his neck lazily I poured my heart into it. I kissed him hungrily getting more and more aroused every second he gripped and squeezed different parts of my body. Needing something more I pushed him back and down to his knees. Picking up my leg I rested it over his shoulder guiding him right where I need him. Kisses and tongue action against my thigh leading up to my center made me relax. Corey is a man of value I have learned. Time is of the essence for him. He never wastes time especially when something really matters to him. Licking over my lips I looked down at him with pleading eyes. He didn’t verbally respond. He just obeyed and that’s all I want.

The difference with him and J is that I really don’t have to tell him how I like to be pleased. He somehow just knows. Feeling my legs shake I ran my fingers over his hair, scratching at his scalp delicately with my nails. “Hah, I never knew you could be so good at this.” I breathed and trembled in pure pleasure at how amazing he is with his mouth.

Searching for his hands I smiled as I felt them tracing the tat on my back and hips. Corey moved one step ahead of me providing with more than what I thought of in my head. He wrapped both of my legs around his shoulders, stood on his feet not once struggling to keep a secure hold on me. The tactic boosted my arousal sending it through the roof. Slapping my hand on the tile above my head, I held onto his for extra support. Not even the water could erase the sounds of him eating me alive.

“I need you baby..I need you now.” I plead. I leaked like a faucet all over his handsome face, clenching my abdomen the longer he went in. Corey carefully set me on my feet and kissed me in a way that basically said he loved me back. He doesn’t have to say it. He did weeks ago but he meant it in a different way. We left the shower going not caring to turn it off since we are too occupied rolling around on his bed.

He sat up and motioned me to flip over and up and that’s what he did. He pushed my legs apart, getting back to what he was doing in the shower. But there was a twist. My eyes popped open and wide, rolling to the back of my head when I understood that he wasn’t eating my pussy but rather my culo. His hands took care of my centerfolds while his lips and tongue occupied my back entrance. “Oh my god..” I groaned, whipping my head back, my hair clinging to my body. I shook violently from when my wet strands touched bases with my bare skin.

Corey took good care of me, brought me up and down from yet another orgasm in such a short amount of time. “Put that ass up.” He ordered. I looked back at him stunned that he’s so ready. “Stop playing and come here.” He smiled, wiping his lip in a cocky manner.

Obeying like the good woman I am I perched myself up on my hands and knees. I welcomed the foreign feeling of fullness of him nestled inside of me. Humming in bliss I lowered the top half of my body wanting to feel him as deep as he could possibly go. His strokes started out so perfectly. As much as he wants to make me feel good I want to do the same for him. It’s easy to throw it back on a man in this position if you have the right rhythm. That’s something Ravyn told me once. And she’s never been wrong about it.

“Relax Lori..” He encouraged, running his fingertips along my spine. Obeying again I shook myself off and successfully moved at a pace I’m great at. “There you go baby..just like that.” He grumbled, picking up speed. The quickness and roughness of his strokes are a match made in heaven for me.

“Eres increíble. Absolutamente perfecto..” Gasping at the pinch in my lower pelvis from such a strong hit I let my head fall forward. Corey laid his palm against my stomach and lifted me up so my back was touching his chest.

“Teach me,” he kissed my ear, sucking on the skin underneath, holding me as close as possible.

“I said you’re amazing and absolutely perfect.” I translated, closing my eyes to be in tune with my body and senses. “Let me give you what you want.” Turning to the side I kissed him softly breaking free of his hold.

“You think you know what I want? Mm, prove it.” He challenged.

Taking hold of one of his hands I positioned it against the back of my neck. Next, I resituated my legs and put a deep arch in my back to ensure I’m gonna feel everything. I was shuddering and moaning up a storm feeling that palo magíco of his touch bases with my cervix. Well that’s what it feels like anyway. His grunts and moans are music to my ears.

“You know me so well.. This is exactly what I needed.” He confirmed. A slap on the ass is what I earned for being more than right.

Pulling at my hair that’s now fully dried and curly as hell I hissed aloud with Corey’s nails digging into my waist. The ceiling fan being on is a goddamn blessing right now. Because if it weren’t it’d be so fucking hot in this room. Leaning back on my hands I took a little break leaving Corey to do all the work. I peeped the time noticing we’ve been at it with each other since noon. It’s now going on two in the afternoon and I have no idea what day it is. But I hope it’s the weekend or else I’m super late for work.

“Hey..” He said grasping my attention. Giving it to him I watched him sit up, throwing an arm behind my back. I rocked my body and hips is every direction that I was capable of. My clit began to swell the faster he helped me ride. A double team of pleasure for a woman is life changing.

The sensation got to me instantly, satisfying me in the most glorious way, persuading me to go faster. Touching my forehead to his I forced myself not to start crying but I failed so hard. Not even J made me comfortable enough with my sexuality to show him how emotional I can get. Corey effortlessly brings out the most vulnerable sides of me. Without being concerned for his own nut first, he worried about mine. That to me says a lot.

“I can tell all of my ex’s you have magic pussy right?” He groaned, caressing my lower back using only his fingertips.

Clenching my teeth and applying slight pressure to my jaw muscles I pushed my hair to one side. “No you can’t..” I exhaled. My lower half trembled the closer I came what I think is my third or fourth maybe even fifth climax of the day. The vibrations I’m feeling have me on cloud nine. “Baby I don’t think I hold this one,” I panted moving my hair away from my face. Corey gathered my curls in his hands tipping my head back. He kissed, licked, and sucked on the spots I’m most sensitive to during sex. My breasts, shoulders, my neck, my sternum, and my ears are all instant turn on spots for me.

“Don’t hold it. Get yours first B..I’m not going nowhere.” He spoke devouring my left breast entirely. Tossing my arms over his shoulders I threw my head back. I called on both God and Corey’s name wishing I could stay here forever. “Fuuck..I love you girl. I love you so much..” Corey moaned laying his cheek on my chest, clawing at my back. The sting from his short fingernails only added to the pleasure. The neediness in his actions me feel so desirable.

His confession and return of verbal confirmation that he loves me sent me over the moon. We changed positions when I least expected. He pinned my legs to his chest and from there I knew he had me. This rhythm of his is probably what earned him that nickname back in high school and college.

My lips parted like I was going to speak but I could not get the words out. My legs shook uncontrollably and then came the wave. And little did I see it coming but his nut touched bases with mine creating one hell of a sensation for both of us. I let the tears go I held in and thanked the man above for blessing with me the opportunity and courage to take this step. A little piece of me thinks this was bound to happen. Two people with such rich, deep, personal history who share so much with each other, are bound to develop some feelings overtime. It’s inevitable. When I hear people say men and women can’t be friends I’m always torn to debate that comment. I think a male and a female can be friends for life as long as they understand that feelings aren’t deniable. There’s no way one can have the type of relationship I have with Corey and not feeling one single emotion beyond the friendship level.

The sounds of us catching our breath trying to come back to our senses took control of the whole room. My tears subsided and I was left with were dried trails of liquid going the distance from my eyes to chin.

My whole body sunk into his mattress. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.” Chuckling at the smirk on his face I pulled my hair out from inside my lip.

Corey laid between my legs using my breasts as a pillow. Intertwining our fingers I started at him in a total daze. “You love me huh?” I said tiredly. Caressing his back and shoulders with my other hand I made him look at me.

“Yeah. I think I have for a long time now and just never came to terms with it. What made you want this? Me, I mean?” He inquired.

Smiling at him wanting answers now we aren’t busy trying to out please each other I ran my foot up and down his legs. “I don’t even know how to say it without sounding stupid.”

“Tell me, I want to know. Please.” He begged. The spark in his eye reminded me so much of Izaiah. Why do I continue finding similar qualities in them both?

“God you remind me so much of Izaiah right now.” Rubbing my chest I stared into his eyes. “I got swept up in the moment. You make me feel so many different emotions that are impossible to ignore.” I shrugged.

The two of us laid still exploring one another’s bodies. His hands touch me so delicately like he’s afraid to mess up a clay pot in the making. His touch is comforting and so relaxing. “You hungry?” He questions with concern.

“I could use some fuel. Are you doing the honors?” Laying my arms across my head I toyed with my hair.

“Don’t I always?” He chuckled sitting up, getting level with my face. “I want to hear you say it again. One more time.” His pleading smile touched my heart.

“Je t’aime.” Blushing at my bravery to say it with a sense of pride I turned away to avoid that smile of his.

“So now I have to learn French too?” Gripping my chin with his thumb and index fingers he got in my face. “Tell me again in a way I can understand.” He demanded politely.

“I love you okay. I do. I don’t know what it means for our f-“ he kissed me to shut me up. Smiling at his sneaky ass ways to get answers out of me I lowered my arms, our tongues going to war, getting me excited all over again. “I thought you were going to cook for me?”

Nodding to my words he carried me into his closet and placed me in the chair for the time being. He walked around looking through his clothes. Corey gave me a t-shirt to put on and once he found something for himself he carried me out of the room. We made it to the kitchen which looked ten times better than the bedroom. He sat me on top of the counter and disappeared into the pantry.

Blowing a breath I leant back on my hands and let my thoughts take over. We had sex. We must have all night and again today. I wonder what else we got into last night. I wasn’t lying when I said that was the best sex I’ve ever had. The connection, the intimacy, the bond we have behind closed doors is special and heart warming.

“What do you think this all means? I mean like what happened between us last night and this morning?” I quizzed, crossing my legs as he appeared with a bunch of stuff.

“I really don’t know. Do you want it to mean something?” He shot back setting the food items down and organize them as he wanted. I love watching him in the kitchen. That’s why I ask him to cook. He always gets so concentrated and his focus is very sexy to me.

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to wrap my head around everything. What are you making?” I tried to get a closer look but Corey wasn’t having it. All of his basic cooking essentials are in glass jars so it’s not like I can read any sort of label. He doesn’t label his containers, I assume he knows what everything is off the dome.

“You’ll find out when I’m done.” He smirked tying the strings on his sweats close. “You wanna check on Zay while I get started?” He went over to a drawer and pulled out an iPad bringing it over to me. He unlocked the device and brought up FaceTime. He handed it to me and got back his meal prep.

I put in Rochelle’s number, tapping the video icon. I fixed my hair and choose a good angle to let him see me in. The connection was successful and there I saw Izaiah laying on the floor in Rochelle’s living room.

“Izaiah? Someone wants to talk to you..” she said. He turned around and jumped up off the floor rushing to take the phone from her.

“Mommy! What are you doing? I miss you.” He smiled cheerily.

“Hi baby, I miss you too. Look who I’m with?” Turning the view around on Corey I tapped his hip with my foot. He made eye contact with the camera and broke out into such a mind blowing grin.

“Corey, when are you gonna come see me again?” Zay asked.

“Whenever you want me to. What you doing man? You okay?” He quipped, sifting some flour into a large bowl.

“Yeah I’m good. Auntie Elle made me breakfast so I’m eating and watching tv. It’s a special on sharks, they’re so scary and cool at the same time.” Zay rambled.

“Sharks huh? Okay I got you. Well look I’ma let you talk to your mom ok? I’ll see you later.” Corey glanced at me asking with his eyes if that’s alright. I nodded in absolution hearing Zay say his temporary farewell.

Turning the iPad back on myself I looked my little boy excited to see him today. “I miss you so much baby . Did you behave for tía?” Hopping off the counter I walked into the bedroom with the iPad in hand. While he’s doing the honors of feeding me I thought I’d clean his room up.

“Me too mommy. What are we gonna do today?” He asked, sticking his face in the camera.

“Whatever you wanna do baby I’m fine with. Let me clean up okay sweetie? I promise I’ll call you when I’m coming to get you and be on your best behavior. I love you so much Little Guerrero.” Chuckling at the nickname I gave him I set the iPad up on the stand so I could clean without dropping this thing.

“I’ll think of something. I’ll see you later mama, besos.” I looked over at the screen in time to see him practically kissing the camera.

Waving to the camera I decided to see what kind of music Izaiah Sr has on file. I ran through his playlists seeing an old one that I made over ten years ago. Running out of the room I searched around for Corey spotting him on the balcony. I saw smoke seeping inside telling me that he’s clearing his head. The scent of food made my stomach grumble with anticipation. His dick game is fantastic and so are skills in the kitchen. How much more lucky can I get?

Going over to the balcony I leaned on the door welcoming the breeze. “Pensando?” I announced my presence.

Corey looked over his shoulder sticking a hand out for me. I reached out and took it after I stepped closer to him. Rubbing his shoulder I leaned on him looking out the view. “I thought this was Brian’s habit?”

“It is. But my brain feels like a goddamn rubix cube. We need to get you some clothes little lady.” Corey put on his hand on my ass drawing me in, teasing me.

Grinning, I stood in front of him hiding my face in his chest. The outside air combined with the silence gave us both time to think and collect our thoughts. I think another reason I couldn’t be with Julian full time, exclusively is because he wasn’t on the same level as the man before me. I hate to be the one to compare but these men are so different. They different with me and my offspring. I’m in two different head spaces when it comes to them.

“Would you want this to go anywhere? Unless you’re still in with old boy?” Lifting my head I met his eyes and relaxed my shoulders.

“Corey I told you I couldn’t be with him. I never could and I don’t think I ever will again. He’s nothing like you. He’s nothing like you with Zay either. And he doesn’t treat me the way you do. Forget the gifts, I’m not talking about that stuff. I mean everything else. I never thought we would ever end up here. Shit I didn’t think I’d ever tell you that I loved you. But times change and obviously we have too.” I explained, running my hands over his shoulders and around to the nape of his neck. I meddled in his baby soft hair searching his eyes.

“I don’t care if everything stays exactly how it is. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that you love me.” Him bypassing everything else I said is such a male thing to do.

“Ay ay ay, lets go back inside. You need to finish making my food.” Stopping him from smoking of anymore of his potent weed I and held onto it pushing him back in the house. I ushered him back to his work station and got back to cleaning. I’m going to enjoy his drugs for myself.

Dialing Rochelle’s number I put the call on speaker kicking my feet up on the couch.

“Hi sweetie, you coming over to get Zay?” She answered right away.

“Yeah momma I about to leave in a few minutes. How’s he doing?” I asked looking behind me to see Corey putting a grey long sleeve shirt. Flipping over on my stomach I watched in awe as he ran around the room getting dressed.

“He’s good. He’s reading right now. He can’t wait to see you.” She said.

“Aw I can’t wait to see him either. Listen Rochelle, thank you so so much for keeping him this weekend. It means a lot to me that you did this solid for me.” Corey threw a pair of socks at me once he caught me staring.

“Put your tongue back in your mouth princessa.” He warned.

Laughing quietly I stood up to go grab my heels from yesterday.

“Oh Sabrina you are family. That means your baby boy is family too. We take care of each other, remember that ok? Drive safely and I’ll see you when you get here.” Rochelle said her goodbye and so did I.

“You ready baby?” He asked coming out the room.

“Yes sir.” I uttered. Looking around the place to make sure I had my things I held onto my purse going into the hallway. Corey locked up and walked beside me to the elevator. We rode in silence down to the lobby seeing people come in and out. My heels caught the attention of some people but I didn’t pay it any mind.

“You’re making people stare Ms. Daisy..” Corey whispered in my ear.

Waving him off the doorman held the glass door open for us. “Gracias.” I smiled at him. Valet had Corey’s car out front on and ready. I hopped in the passenger seat setting my bag in my lap. My phone went off inside my purse. I whipped my cell out seeing three missed calls from Ravyn, two missed calls from Julian, and a voicemail from my uncle.

Calling my uncle first I put my seatbelt on as Corey got in the car. We headed off toward the city since Rochelle lives closer that way.

“My little girl finally answers the phone. You okay up there? What little boy has your head in the clouds Delores?” He jumps down my throat any chance he can get. He’s been super protective of me since I don’t have my dad around anymore.

“Aw Tino, I’m so good thank you for asking. How are you? How’s Marisol and the boys?” I looked over Corey seeing him muffling his laughter. Clearly he heard what my Tino said or else he wouldn’t be laughing.

“Shut the fuck up.” I muttered lowly.

“Mari is good. She’s over in Colombia with our church and the boys are doing alright. How’s my nephew and my favorite niece doing?” He asked sounding serious.

“We are great. Zay is loving his school. I’m actually going to pick him up right now. He loved the coin book you got him for his birthday. Now he’s got four of them. One from me, you, Corey, and mommy. His collection is going to be worth something valuable one day if he decides to sell it.” Staring out the window I slid my hand into Corey’s lap. He grasped my hand, setting it on his thigh, massaging the back of it.

“Oh yeah? Well that means he and you will taking care of this family in the future then. How’s Corey doing? Last we talked you said he and Zay were getting along well..” I told you my family loves this dude.

“He’s great. Do you want to talk to him? He’s right here..” We bypassed the highway and took back roads instead.

“Sure, put him on.” I handed Corey the phone tuning out the guy talk he and my uncle are having.

I don’t know what will happens between Corey and I but whatever it is, I want to ensure that we don’t lose our history. I can’t positively say I’m ready to be his girlfriend or anything but I like where this could go. A title from Corey is the last thing on my mind. This new journey will be one hell of a ride.

#the march blessing

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rynne311 · 6 years

Text

65 Questions You Aren't Used To

Tagged by @an-all-write-life, thank you lovely!

1. Do you ever doubt the existence of others than you?

I think I may have answered this one before, but basically no.

2. On a scale of 1-5, how afraid of the dark are you?

1, maybe 1.5. I really don’t mind the dark, but sometimes it’s the unexplained sounds that will get me.

3. The person you would never want to meet?

I don’t know if any of you watched Community, but Troy loved LeVar Burton, he was his favorite celebrity. Even though Troy loved LeVar Burton, the most he ever wanted was a picture/autograph, he explicitly told Pierce that he never wanted to meet him. When Pierce brought LeVar Burton in as a way to mess with Troy, he was completely starstruck and could not speak, he just sat there wide eyed and terrified of disappointing his hero, until he ran away from dinner screaming. Long story short, any sort of media hero I have I wouldn’t want to meet because I’d probably make Troy look like a normal person with how starstruck I got.

4. What is your favorite word?

Oh boy, this is a lot of pressure! I don’t want to offend all the other words. I’ll go with onomatopoeia because it’s kind of fun!

5. If you were a type of tree, what would you be?

An oak, I guess. They look pretty as they change, and dropping the acorns can cause mild annoyance, which I seem to be able to do pretty easily for the friends and family around me.

6. When you looked in the mirror this morning what was the first thing you thought?

Why does it have to be Monday??(I answered this when I started working on these yesterday)

7. What shirt are you wearing?

Simple pink and gray stripes.

8. What do you label yourself as?

Nerd

9. Bright room or dark room?

Dark, it just feels kind of relaxing and like it’s time to unwind.

10. What were you doing at midnight last night?

Sleeping - I’m kind of boring and go to bed by 10:30 (usually earlier) every night, so I’m definitely dead asleep at midnight.

11. Favorite age you’ve been so far?

I actually really enjoyed ages 18-20, and 23 was pretty good too. I’m sure I’ll hit a good stride of ages again, but until I hit that sweet spot, I’m just going to roll with it and have the most fun I can.

12. Who told you they loved you last?

Umm, probably my friend Alex telling me she loves me more after I had sent her a second reminder in a night that I love her. Or my mom.

13. Your worst enemy?

Honestly, I’m probably my own worst enemy.

14. What is your current desktop picture?

It’s the generic blue design that came with the laptop

15. Do you like someone?

In any way other than platonically, no not right now.

16. The last song you listened to?

Either “Rich” by Maren Morris or “Hotel Key” by Old Dominion on my way into work.

17. You can press a button that will make any one person explode. Who would you blow up?

If I dislike someone that much, shouldn’t they just be left to suffer...like forever.

18. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

It would be too easy to say some of those politicians that I think are awful and spewing hate, but that’s probably who I’d want to hit the most. But then I’m putting hate and violence out there and I aspire to be better than those I wish to punch in the face.

19. If anyone could be your slave for a day, who would it be and what would they have to do?

Yeah, people shouldn’t own people. What I would be more interested

20. What is your best physical attribute? (showing said attribute is optional)

Probably my eyes or smile.

21. If you were the opposite sex for one day, what would you look like and what would you do?

Umm, I sure hope that would mean I would be tall! At least considerably taller than 5’2” and then I’d go and reach stuff on the top shelf...without a step-stool.

22. Do you have a secret talent? If yes, what is it?

If I do, it’s news to me.

23. What is one unique thing you’re afraid of?

My fears are pretty run of the mill.

24. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your disposal.

I might just be pretty boring and say a really good grilled cheese with like a good kind of cheese like pepperjack or something.

25. You just found $100! How are you going to spend it?

If only that would cover all my loans! I’d probably treat myself to something like a new pair of heels or just save it for a bit and maybe put it towards Christmas presents.

26. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere in the world, but you have to leave immediately. Where are you going to go?

Probably back to Spain. I loved the four months I lived in Salamanca and want to go back! Also, my host family was amazing, and I’d love to visit them again.

27. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. “Be brand-specific” it says. Man! What are you gonna say about that? Even if you don’t drink booze there’s something you can figure out… so what’s it gonna be?

I’d probably get some Barefoot Pink Bubbly, but I’d be a little suspicious of some greater ulterior motive.

28. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?

Everybody has to be left-handed lol, actually establishing some sort of guidance for rights and behavior, making sure that all groups are treated equally and fairly.

29. What is your favorite expletive?

Shit. As much as I curse in real life, I try to avoid it in my writing, instead opting to find other words to express the sentiment, although that isn’t always possible.

30. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don’t worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely. So what’s the one thing you’re going to save from that blazing inferno?

Probably one of my mom’s jewelry or memory boxes that has mementos from my late grandma in them. It would mean the world to her and I was close with my grandma too, so I’d still be able to preserve a piece of her.

31. You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be?

As much as I’d love to erase any bouts of poor mental health I’ve had in the past, I’ve learned from them and without that experience, I wouldn’t be prepared to tackle my next big challenge whatever it may be.

32. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit… you can move to anywhere else in the world!

Just like in question 26, I’d probably move to Spain!

33. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn’t think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world. Who will you bring back?

As much as I would love to bring my godfather back, it wouldn’t be fair to take him from the afterlife, or to put his wife, kids and the rest of us who love him through that pain again. If I could open some sort of communication between this life and the next, I would absolutely offer it to him. At least being able to communicate would probably be able to heal some wounds for a lot of us here, and I’d love for his 10 year old son to get to know him outside of the stories he hears from me and the rest of his family.

34. What was your last dream about?

Selling houses and moving...just all around kind of odd.

35. Are you a good….[insert anything you’d like here]? - Are you a good listener?

I’d like to think I am, yes. Recently at my weekend job, I was clocking out for the day and finished one of my purchases and the woman in front of me had a bag that was just a little too heavy for her to carry, so I brought her bag out to the car for her. I ended up spending another 20 minutes out there with her talking, well she was doing most of the talking, and before we went separate ways she kept thanking me for listening to her. So if that is any indication, yes I am a good listener, also it broke my heart that she felt the need to thank me for listening to her because it tells me that she really isn’t getting much of that in her life.

36. Have you ever been admitted to the hospital?

I’ve been to the emergency room twice, but never admitted to the actual hospital. And both of those visits were within three days.

37. Have you ever built a snowman?

Grew up in New England, it’s kind of a mandatory part of childhood here.

38. What is the color of your socks?

Gray and teal

39. What type of music do you like?

Country, plus some pop and rock

40. Do you prefer sunrises or sunsets?

I’m rarely up for sunrises, but when I was in college, I was pulling an all nighter in our computer/printer room and I got the most spectacular view of the sun rising over the mountains in Vermont. It made up for the severe lack of sleep I was experiencing.

41. What is your favorite milkshake flavor?

Chocolate

42. What football team do you support? (I will answer in terms of American football as well as soccer)

I don’t sport. As far as American football goes, I suppose the NY Giants, but in reality it’s more of anyone who isn’t the Patriots.

43. Do you have any scars?

A few on my arms from stupid stuff while growing up, like fighting with my sister.

44. What do you want to be when you graduate?

I graduated from college 3 years ago and still don’t know. Maybe to know and be happy and secure.

45. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Physically - the list is kind of long and pretty personal. Otherwise, I’d get rid of those nasty things like my anxiety and depression.

46. Are you reliable?

Almost to a fault where some people have tried to take advantage of it so they could slack off.

47. If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?

Have you found the happy path you want to be on?

48. Do you hold grudges?

Yes, but it’s something I’ve been trying to work on. I’ll stop and think what did this event/person impact my life and is it still important? That’s been pretty helpful for letting things go. I doubt I’ll ever be able to move on from things immediately, but being able to step away after I’ve had some time and choose forgiveness really does help.

49. If you could breed two animals together to defy the laws of nature, what new animal would you create?

CatDog

50. What is the most unusual conversation you’ve ever had?

Probably once when talking about childhoods and one girl brought up how she got sent to water therapy because she would insist that she was a mermaid and didn’t have legs to walk. If I remember correctly, they thought this was her way of manifesting her fear of water, but really with her red hair, she just wanted to be Ariel from Little Mermaid. It was definitely a wild ride of a conversation.

51. Are you a good liar?

Yes and no. I’ve got some tells, but over the past few years, I’ve gotten much better at hiding them.

52. How long could you go without talking?

If I’m not talking because I’m mad, at least a few days. I love talking, so if there isn’t much of a reason to be silent, I’m probably going to be talking. There have been a few times I’ve been home alone and will just begin talking to the dogs or the cat as I’m going about my business.

53. What has been you worst haircut/style?

As much as I like them every time I get them, bangs! Within a few months I’m done with wanting to deal with the maintenance and they never looks as good as when I first get them done. Some folks look absolutely amazing with bangs, but as a long term thing, they are just not for me.

54. Have you ever baked your own cake?

Yes! I love to bake.

55. Can you do any accents other than your own?

A little bit. With practice I can start to imitate other regions of the US and with enough drinks, I’ve tried an Irish accent.

56. What do you like on your toast?

Butter with a bit of cinnamon sugar.

57. What is the last thing you drew a picture of?

If painting counts, and I’m going to say it does for this, then a nice riverbank landscape I did at a paint and wine studio near me.

58. What would be you dream car?

Jeep Wrangler - like Lorelai’s in Gilmore Girls

59. Do you sing in the shower? Or do anything unusual in the shower? Explain.

Not really, I’m mostly focused on getting what I need to done and getting out. I might go through an argument in the shower while I’m washing my hair, but that’s about it.

60. Do you believe in aliens?

I guess so, but that’s more of the universe is so expansive and I think it’s a little narcissistic to think that we are the only ones occupying it. Besides, if there are no aliens, how will Superman exist to come and save us some day??

61. Do you often read your horoscope?

I don’t, and most of the reason is I don’t believe in them. It’ll pop up in other stuff I’ll be reading, but it always frustrates me that pisces are put at the end of the list so I don’t even try.

62. What is your favorite letter of the alphabet?

R! Yes, it is my initial, but I also like doing the sign for it in my sign language class. The sign is like you’re crossing your fingers, so it’s like R has some mystery and is keeping a secret.

63. Which is cooler: dinosaurs or dragons?

Dinosaurs

64. What do you think about babies?

They are really cute and I like getting to spend some time with them. It can be really fun to watch someone experience so many things for the first time, especially things we take for granted.

65. Freebie! Ask anything interesting you can think of. - Worst movie you’ve ever watched?

Leprechaun in the Hood without a doubt!

I’ll tag anyone else who wants to do this! :)

#tagged #tag game

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slumberlog · 3 years

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Thrift Shop of Horrors

Dad and I are at what seems to be a normal thrift store, right up until we find a doorway into a massive room. The cavernous space is a chaotic mess of customers pulling around flat metal carts like you see at a hardware store except they’re the size of semi-trucks. And of course, they’re all in a hurry and a bad mood. We’re careful to avoid getting run over.

Eventually we find an unremarkable stairway descending into the basement. While the giant room had an air of cartoonish absurdity, the basement hints at something more sinister. The ceiling is low, the lighting dim. Narrow paths stretch into the distance through sprawling shelves of items. The few customers we see speak in hushed tones, if at all. We pick our way through the maze of stuff. I find some kind of tool, new in the box, and show it to my Dad. He’s pleased, saying the tool itself is worthless but contains a small bit of gold in the electronics which he can sell for three times the price. With that we make our retreat and the dream skips ahead.

The next morning my friend invites me to spend the day together. I oblige and what do you know, she takes us back to the thrift store. She seems familiar with the place, heading straight to the basement level – happy as a clam. It’s deserted at this hour; I don’t even think the store is open yet. She reassures me they will be in a few minutes and we’re okay to be here. She points out a few fake scares the staff have installed. In one area when you step on a certain spot, a nearby piano plays a few notes. Another area has a round cabinet with doors that close themselves when you pass by. We laugh but I can’t shake the distant feeling something else lurks, something real.

For awhile, I dutifully trail after my friend in the silence of the basement. Eventually a door bursts open and several people come streaming out – the staff I presume. It’s a welcome disturbance of noise and humanity. One man catches my attention who seems to be the one in charge. Tall with dark hair and eyes, he makes me uneasy.

My friend seems to know the staff, chatting with them as they pass us by. My gaze wanders, settling onto a small box. It looks like a dollhouse if it were only a single room. One of the women sees me looking at it and quickly tucks it away on a bottom shelf away from my view. Odd. The staff members eventually go about their duties and we are left alone. My friend meanders away looking through the shelves. I of course go straight to the strange box.

Like a dollhouse there are mini versions of furniture inside; an armoire, a folding mirror, and a chair. I pick up the armoire and open it. A small decorative piece inside slips from my fingers to the floor. In my effort to catch it I drop the whole thing, the plastic door popping off the armoire. I look around nervously but no one is nearby. Placing it gingerly back in the box, I inspect the mirror next. It opens like a book, two mirrors instead of pages within. The mirror surface is wobbly and distorted - it’s a toy after all. As I close the mirror, I catch a glimpse of myself.

I’m a man now. This part doesn’t surprise me. What I do notice is my eyes seem to sort of smear in the tiny mirror. Perplexed I pull it closer, tipping it back and forth. At a certain angle the mirror overlays a different appearance. The whites of my eyes take on an orange hue and the pupils stretch vertically. What a neat trick! I angle the mirror over my mouth, pulling back my lips to expose my teeth. As my reflection wobbles along, my teeth elongate and sharpen. Just then my friend appears with the man who caught my attention earlier.

I drop my hands to hide the mirror but they don’t even notice me. As they chat, I lift the mirror again, angling it over my shoulder discreetly so I can see them. My friend appears as normal but the man looks very different. The sides of his mouth stretch back like a snake’s, filled with too many sharp teeth. Bright yellow eyes glow in the dim light, his pupils black slits. And peeking from the skin of his forehead are two small horn nubs. The mirror is crystal clear for the man, not hazy and distorted like it was for me. I put down the mirror for a moment then check again to be sure I’m really seeing this. He still looks like a demon.

Carefully I return the mirror. Their conversation continues normally. Unsure what to do I decide to just wait, the man after all does not know what I’ve seen. He shouldn’t suspect a thing. Eventually he leaves and I rush to tell my friend about the man. She seems more disappointed than anything, wishing I hadn’t found out. She knew all along! I gather this is his domain, but as long as you’re careful there’s nothing to worry about.

Another staff member comes by, this time a woman. They chat as I ponder the whole situation, hardly paying attention to them. A sudden crash cuts the talking short. We all look towards the sound. Silence.

Then something small and dark shoots across the floor in the gap between the shelves. I’m holding my breath. My friend exhales sharply and snaps into action, shouting commands to the staff member. My brain seems slow to catch up and I race after them, catching snippets of their frenzied chatter. The word “puppet” sticks in my head. But it’s not that kind of puppet. That’s a whole different genre of a horror. This must be some kind of subservient creature the demon man has created.

My friend now has a large metal tin. She and the woman are working to corral whatever the thing is towards a closed door. I grab whatever is handy and try to help. I come face to face with it. It’s like a spider mixed with a demon baby. Its face is humanoid with long sharp fangs and reptilian eyes, and its body has too many arms and legs. It hisses at me. I flick a large paper book (like an Atlas) towards it, trying to herd it towards my friend. It skitters to and fro, then rushes off. We play this game several times. My friend always waits with her tin next to a door with bright white light shining from beneath. Each time we get it a bit closer.

But I’m getting tired and make a mistake. The spider demon baby leaps towards me and sinks its fangs into my hand. I shake vigorously to no avail. Running over to the door, I shove the thing towards the floor, not really knowing what will happen. My friend is yelling. Something about me being bitten, imminent transformation. But I don’t have time to think about that.

Reality shifts. The creature elongates, smearing towards the gap beneath the door. With horror I see my hand doing the same, stretching away from me. Pain erupts and I distantly hear myself screaming. My awareness, body - my whole being - is ripping apart, pulled towards the light with the weight of immeasurable gravity. Inky black clouds writhe around churn around me. Even my screaming shreds apart. There is sudden silence, then the world goes blindingly white.

I blink several times. Silhouettes slowly coalesce into people. There’s a throbbing pain in my hand where the creature latched on. The people murmur and the pain subsides. I sit up to find myself in what may be Heaven. Everything is white, including the clothing they wear. Maybe they are angels. I cling to this idea, begging them to help us - to fight the demon man in the basement. One of them responds snidely, “They always want to call in the cavalry. Well things must be approved, done in a certain way. We will help, but it must go through the proper channels first.”

That’s bullshit and I’m furious. My friend and the employee are in real danger. Who knows how many of those creatures there are, and what about the demon man? I jump up and sprint back the direction I came from, the “angels” chuckling behind me. A towering wall of dark curtains shields the way. I turn back to give the angels one last withering glare before diving through the black fabric.

Unfortunately, the way back is just as bad. I’m pulled apart, screams and all, my being sucked through the wriggling clouds of darkness. My limp body appears suddenly, shooting out from the door and sliding across the cool concrete of the basement. I lay gasping in the darkness as a figure rushes towards me, my friend screaming off to the side. In an instant the demon man is crouched beside me, hand firmly planted on my chest.

As my eyes adjust, I realize I can see his true form. Whatever powers the angels used must have lingering effects. But he’s not focused on me. He stares at the others with fangs bared, eyes blazing. He must think I’m still infected or whatever, going to transform into one of his creatures. He’s actually protecting me. I can use this.

“They’re …. coming…” I manage to gasp out. He glances down, features transformed with fury at my words. “Soon...” I rasp with urgency, mock concern on my face. He jumps up, grasping my hand and pulling me with him. “They turned me away,” I say more confidently, really playing up the sense of betrayal. “Saw what I am. They were disgusted.” I can see his mind at work, calculating his next move to fight the angels.

I turn to my friend and whine some more, accusing her of all kinds of things. I wave my hand subtly to my side where only she can see. She understands I’m on their side. I never told her about the mirror. My plan is to somehow bump the box with the mirror to signal its importance.

Then I woke up.

#dreamlog #dream journal #bestof

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